The Kitchen Table

We're still getting rid of things post the renovation. Some of the delay has been caused by a lack of access. In packing up to commence demolition, large items were placed, Tetris-style, into the shed.  with smaller crates packed into the gaps. It's taken months to get our two large mirrors back on the wall as they were trapped behind an enormous mahogany writing desk and blocked from the side by an antique blackwood pew.

The desk has since found a happy home in Canberra, the pew has been reinstated inside and the mirrors, finally, have been hung. At last, I could get to the kitchen table so I could take a few snaps and get it on eBay. (You might recall the win I had with our new dining table).

We've had the table for over 25 years. We had it made from recycled Oregon and over the years, changed the colour of the stain, had it widened, a drawer added, as well as changed the legs from turned to tapered. It had served us well, but it was time to go.

Pricing on eBay is tricky and you need to take care not to confuse emotional connection with commercial reality. The table was solid timber and we'd had many happy times around it - kids' birthdays, dinner parties, Christmases - but no-one on eBay cares about that - they want a bargain! Nor is there a short supply - so it had to be priced to sell.

I popped it on for a seven-day auction starting at $100, which on expiring, I was offered $50 from a woman in a nearby suburb who could collect it - immediately - SOLD! And here's where the hilarity began...

The buyer arrived with roof racks to which was attached a bike fitting.  She had some vague idea that the table could just sit next to bike rack.... yeah, no. This is a very large, heavy, solid timber table - that hasn't got removable legs.

She eventually managed to get the bike attachment off and it took her, the girls and me to get it onto the rack. I asked if she had ropes and she assured me she did, pulling out three occy straps!! (Occy straps, short for octopus straps, are those lengths of cloth-covered of elastic with a hook on each end - notorious for flinging off or snapping at inopportune moments.) She wrapped one around a leg and hooked it to the roof rack, after which we left her to do the other two. She did assure me she was going to drive slowly, but I could just picture her braking at a red light and the table sliding forward, down her windscreen and onto her bonnet. The whole thing seemed highly precarious and frankly, dangerous!

Anyway, I had my $50 and the table was out of the shed, so frankly, not my problem!!! (Although of course, I do hope no-one was hurt!)

An inconvenient call

I don't know why it popped into my head, but this morning I recalled one of the most bizarre phone calls I've ever had.

It was late on the morning of Monday, January 4th, 1999.

How do I recall that so specifically? Because I was in the birthing suite at the hospital!!!

I would have taken the call on my very corporate Nokia - remember these??

I'd arrived at the hospital earlier that morning for what Geoff would later describe as 'the most boring day of my life'. My contractions, like the action in the cricket on the TV, were intermittent and separated by long periods of tedium. It's probably why I took the call.

For many workers, it was the first day back after the Christmas/New Year break - luckier ones had an additional week. I'd finished up work when the office had closed - about two weeks prior - and was planning to return in April, so I assumed it was family or a friend. In those days, your phone didn't tell you who was calling - you either recognised the number or took your chances by picking up.

It turned out to be the Executive Assistant to the Managing Director of a financial services client I looked after, and I was, needless to say, surprised she was calling. She'd previously struck me as a bit vague, but this time she excelled herself. Here's how the conversation went:

MMW: MWW speaking...
EA: Hi MWW and happy new year. Did you have a nice Christmas?
(Bit of small talk)
EA: The MD has asked me to ring you as he's hoping you'll be able to attend a workshop he's having on Thursday
MWW: Yeah, probably not - I actually started maternity leave before Christmas...
EA: Oh, really? I didn't realise it was so soon... I thought you still had a while to go (Said in a way that suggested maybe I'd got that wrong and she was, in fact, correct...)
MMW: Yes. I'm actually at the hospital now.
EA: Oh... right. So.... you won't be able to do the workshop on Thursday? (In a tone that suggested perhaps I could and should)

Seriously.

And when I did clearly state that no, I wasn't available, she sounded rather put out.

Oh, well.

Generational time keeping

When I was a kid, getting your first watch in late primary school was a rite of passage. I got mine in grade 4 or 5 when my parents had been somewhere in Asia and bought me a pale pink and white one. I was so proud.

Later, in high school, Mum gave me a watch with a slim black leather strap, a gold rim, and a white face with the numbers written in French in a black script font. It's really quite classic and I still have that one somewhere. I don't wear it as it needs to be wound and ain't no one got brain-space to remember to do that!!

These days, fewer kids wear a watch at all. George had quite the collection but in truth, they were more of an 'accessory' to a look than serving a function. I don't recall the girls ever wearing a watch. I could be wrong, but if they did, it was brief.

Even today, they just use their phone or laptop and insist there's no need for one.

Gone too, is the thrill of changing your analogue clock or watch for the start or end daylight saving, trying to remember if it's forwards or backwards and the inevitable colleagues who fronted up to work at the wrong time because they forgot or got it wrong. Now it just happens automatically - even if you move time zones.

Cleaning out a drawer the other day, I stumbled across the watch my grandmother left me. Probably from around the 1920s, it's sweet but so impractical. There'd be no 'quick glance' to see the time on this! It's elegant but tiny!! Maybe people were smaller back then?

Compare that to my watch! I've had two of these. The first for probably five years before the gold wore off and some of the 'diamonds' had fallen out. I also took a big chip out of the glass when I fell off my bike. So I waited for the January sales and just bought another one.

Other than being about 10 times bigger than my grandmother's watch, it also has a much shorter life span. I know some people invest in a proper, 'for life' watch, but I tend to just go with fashion. I can't even guess at how many I've owned.

Anyway, the next generation will be making up for my disposable extravagance by owning no watch at all!

Cleo & Rob

I was thrilled when my friend and renowned author, Helen Brown asked me to launch her new book, Cleo & Rob. This is the children's version of her book Cleo, which tells the true story of the small black cat that rescued Helen's family after her oldest son, Sam, died in a tragic accident.

Cleo has been translated into over 16 languages and has sold more than two million copies, clearly touching many people around the world - and the children's version is equally as powerful.

Helen and I met when she and her family moved into the house across the street about twenty years ago - after Sam and before Jaz and George had died. Here's what I had to say on why this seemingly regular children's book is in fact, so important.

Helen and I share a special bond – we’re part of the club that no family wants to belong to – those that have lost children. There isn't a name for this status – for the mothers, the fathers, the sibling, grandparents, cousins.

People are uncomfortable with death. And the more we avoid talking about it, the longer it stays shrouded, buried and feared. It’s not just our fear of death itself, but the fear of making other people uncomfortable, that prevents us from sharing our stories.

Most people know someone who’s lost a loved one, and yet social norms force us to quickly skate over the surface with impersonal platitudes like ‘I’m sorry for your loss’ or ‘Terrible news about John.’ While these acknowledgments are well-intended and often appreciated, they don’t really help

Put another way, we have a group of people who’ve experienced the death of someone close, fearful of upsetting those around them by talking about it. And the people around them are fearful of bringing the topic up because they don’t want to upset the person who’s grieving. And that’s just not helpful.

We need to find a way to bridge this gap.

If you were building a house, organising a party or even having a baby - you’d have a bank of other people’s experiences that had been shared over the years to draw on. And you probably wouldn’t hesitate to phone a friend to better prepare yourself for what’s ahead.

It’s through these shared experiences, of all facets of life, that we learn to cope and accept and feel connected.

*******

Death might be the penultimate unmentionable, but the death of a child is the ultimate. There’s no conciliatory ‘At least they had a great innings’ – because they didn’t. It just doesn’t follow the expected rules of nature – the Lion King’s circle of life, if you will.

But like Helen, I do tell people about my children. Not all the time and not every time, but if asked how many children I have and the mood takes me, I’ll spill the beans. I’ve had people shocked into silence, a heart-felt acknowledgment and even been thanked for sharing.

And if adults have trouble talking about death, imagine how that mystery is translated by children.

Death is a fact of life, and it can happen at any age. But we don’t tell children that. Of course, we hope it doesn’t happen that way, but it might.

If the concept of death is introduced at an early age, discussed in a matter-of-fact tone on regular, relevant occasions, understanding and familiarity replace fear and mystery. As part of this conversation, it’s important to convey that if and when a death occurs, that life goes on. It’s not the same life, it is irrevocably changed – but in time, there will be joy and happiness, laughter…  and even cats!

It’s exactly this important story that Helen has tenderly captured in her new book, Cleo & Rob. She hasn’t shied away from the depths of sadness surrounding Sam’s death but thoughtfully stepped through the process we go through when someone dies. The disbelieve, anxiety, isolation and withdrawal, before the re-emergence and reconnection, all seen through the eyes of her younger son, Rob. Beautifully illustrated by Phoebe, it’s a very important story to tell.

My hope is that this book will not only introduce children to the concept of death, grief and recovery but that it will spark the conversation in families and among friends. We need to be able to tell our stories without the fear of upsetting someone, to learn to listen and come to terms with death – even that of a child.

Author Helen Brown (right) with illustrator, Phoebe Morris

Helen told me that some media interviewers were clearly very uncomfortable with the theme of her new book. I said it reminded me of when I didn't eat olives (yes, really!). My mother suggested I eat six in a row and she was right - I now really like them. So I suggest that people uncomfortable with reading this book, should sit themselves down and read it - six times in a row!!

Cleo & Rob is available at many bookstores, on and offline, including Amazon

Shanequa

I've bought myself a robot vacuum cleaner and I'm frankly, breathless with excitement!! Not only does it vacuum - it mops - seriously!!

For you young 'uns, this is what happens in middle age. In youth, your heart races at the sight of someone you're crushing on or a pair of ridiculously extravagant shoes - but come middle age, it's all about the time-saving appliance.

I wanted to name my new baby Bob. Elle has insisted on Shanequa - so Shanequa it is.

I'd been hankering for one of these for a while and had done my online homework. The good ones are about a grand so how excited was I when Aldi advertised one for $299. And it has excellent product reviews. Elle spotted it on Facebook and tagged me, so I diarised the day it was available and ensured I was at the Aldi entrance a bit before opening time - along with a handful of others.

Now, while this door-buster definitely didn't rival the infamous Aldi Ski Gear Sale Penny and I battled, there were a couple of die-hards who broke into a trot when the doors opened. Given there were only a few people, I continued at a leisurely walk - then fear struck me - what if some people were filling trolleys with them? I quickened my pace. There was some grabbing - which was actually quite ridiculous because it was quickly clear we were all purchasing for 'personal use only' - i.e. one each. I threw one in my trolley and went on with my shopping, noting at least six left when I checked out.

Anyway, she's now home and getting settled. It's like a new puppy that cleans instead of making a mess! And she sleeps quietly.

But the poor thing has been here less than a week and she's already totally confused. I've moved her dock three times and I'm still not convinced it's the permanent spot.

I've had several attempts to connect the app but no luck so far. I'll persist. That aside, she's doing a great job. Here she is, sweeping at the front and mopping straight after. Look at her go!

Does she do as good a job as me? Probably not, but I'd describe it as utterly acceptable.

Go Shanequa!!!

The Pet Warmer

As you know, Gary the cat is getting on in years. He's about 15 with a thyroid issue that means he's mostly skin and bone, and I suspect that's why he feels the cold.

In the morning, he'll head straight for the bathroom where we have underfloor heating and as that cools after the morning rush, he'll settle himself into our doona or on a couch.

We lock Gary in the laundry at night and, like Barnaby Joyce, turn the central heating off when we go to bed. He has a thick bed with plenty of blankets, but I was worried he was cold.

There's a reputable pet shop around the corner from us, so I jumped on their website to look for an electric blanket for him. They didn't have any. It seemed odd and they have every other way to extract a dollar from pet owners - but no electric blankets. I've now worked out why and suspect you have too! 

I then got online and found a swag of them. I chose this $15.99 one (incl free postage), as they all looked about the same but this one was cheap and less aesthetically hideous than most

And here it is.

It had the wrong plug, but I grabbed a travel adaptor and plugged it in.

Happiness for a few weeks.

Then, it just stopped working. The light was on but it was stone cold. I emailed the supplier and asked if there was any way to reboot it? He said to get it fixed locally and they'd refund half the price 'for your trouble'. Now I don't know how much they pay for repairs in China, but I'm pretty sure $8 won't go far around these parts.

As I contemplated my options, I took it off Gary's bed and noticed this... yep, a burn mark.

I emailed old mate in China and pointed out that I'd discovered the issue - that thing had shorted! And miraculously hadn't started a fire. He said he'd refund 100% of my money as they don't have any replacement stock. I'm assuming because lawsuits are both in progress and pending.

I was then reviewing Gary's bedding situation and found this... yes, that is a highly flammable, polar-fleece blanket and a scorch mark around a melted hole.

How the heck that thing didn't start a fire - or electrocute Gary - I don't know.

I was relaying this to a friend last night, who reminded me of the cautionary tale a fellow dinner-party guest relayed to me at her house a couple of years back. Their son had turned on his electric blanket and gone for a shower, only to come back and find his bed engulfed in flames. They called the fire brigade. Another guest was a buyer at one of the large supermarkets and confirmed that she had put an end to them selling electric blankets because the quality wasn't up to scratch.

I'd forgotten that.

Meanwhile, Gary is safe, if a little chilly, and I still have my super cosy supermarket electric blanket on my bed. I just don't leave the house when it's on.

You idiots!

You may recall that when we built the shed about three years ago, I suspected the concrete slabs it was constructed from would be a prime target for graffiti. Having investigated a few options like outdoor wallpaper and vinyl wraps, I decided an original artwork was the go.

Relying on my best friend, Google, I tracked down a company here in Melbourne and commissioned the amazing Awes, who collaborated with his mate Mayonnaize to produce the art below.

(It's not actually curved - I nicked this pic off Mayonnaize's Instagram and not sure how he took it, but it does manage to get the whole wall in. It also wraps around the left-hand side to cover the wall facing that laneway as well. It's hard to get a shot, as it's big and in a confined space - I think this is from our neighbour's garage roof!)

The process was a bit of a leap of faith, as there were no designs, pre-drawing or agreement of what it was going to be, just an exchange of emails containing images to determine what we did and didn't like and then they just turned up as appointed and did it over a few days. 

As it turned out, I LOVE it.

Here's what it looked like beforehand. A vast improvement, I'm sure you'll agree!

And for the past three years, people have occasionally headed over from the 'hip' side of town to check it out or take a pic.

That was until about four weeks ago...

We were having dinner with family friends, and at precisely 12.14am, two IDIOTS came out of the laneway gloom and signed their tags on our art!!

How do I know this?

Not just because of the orange tags we discovered in permanent marker, but because we have security cameras that aren't hiding!! Look - here's one of them in action. Seriously, how stupid could you be? She even looks directly into the camera at one point as if to say, 'oh... there's a security camera....'

I can't even recall when I was last so incensed. How dare they draw on artwork - how disrespectful.

Contacting the company that organised the original commission, it took them just a day or two to reach out to their community and have the tags identified.  They apparently had words with the culprits, before assuring me that they won't be back. They're also arranging for the repair (at my expense, but it's not their fault, and more importantly, I don't want others to think that desecrating artwork is okay, and add more tags - so am keen to have it fixed.)

And no, tempting as it was, I haven't asked for names. I have no idea of the protocol among street art peeps - but they didn't offer, so I didn't ask. However, I did say that if they are speaking to them again, they might want to let them know the police are also looking for them and similarly, are using the tags to work out who they are - along with very clear security footage.

I mean really, what kind of idiot commits an act of vandalism under lights, with security cameras - and leaves an identifiable name?

June or July? July or June?

They both start with 'J', have 'u' as the second letter and have four letters in total, but they are different. I swear I know that.

I don't recall ever confusing them over the last 50-or-so years, but I've excelled myself this year.

It started on a Sunday night a couple of weeks ago when I received a call at about 9pm from a motel in Port Lincoln, South Australia to check what time we'd be arriving.

'Um,' I said, confused, 'we're in Melbourne, so we're not checking in. Isn't that next month?'

Apparently not.

Allegedly because I'd booked through a third party website, it was 'so sad too bad' so I was forced to forgo that payment and re-booked for the correct month.

I had a small panic as this was just one part of the trip.

I called Whyalla to check that booking and surprising both me and the girl on the phone, someone had checked us in and apparently, we were still there!! No idea how that happened. Much more obliging, they moved my booking to the correct month.

Next was the diving and flights I'd booked - the most expensive part of the trip and lord knows how, but that was correct. Phew.

On the Wednesday after that, I sent a text to some friends who were coming for dinner later that week to check if they eat oysters, adding I was looking forward to seeing them on Friday. One shot a text back:
'This Friday? I thought you said July 7?'

I scrolled back through my messages and indeed, I had told her July 7, not June 7. By some sheer miracle, they could still make it.

I put it down to not losing my marbles but simply an anomaly - or two.

Until yesterday... when I rang and spoke to a colleague I'd emailed about attending a meeting in Canberra in June.
'Ah, June...' he said. 'I can do June, but your email said July - can't do July, can do June.'

Oh dear..... maybe I am losing my marbles!!

The Table

Without boring you further with the renovation, it has actually progressed pretty well.

Like all such projects, you suddenly realise the furniture you had is no longer right - and the expense rolls on.

I'd already chosen some lovely, dark green velvet dining chairs. In fact, Elle found them and they're very comfortable, so I got them. Gotta love a dining chair that invites those at the table to settle in and linger.

What I then struggled with, was a table. I wanted something that was:

•  Small enough to fit the space under the window for every day
•  Extendable for dinners of eight or more
•  Oval, in case I need to squeeze a few more around
• Able to accommodate the height of the already purchased velvet chairs (tricky with the mechanics of extension tables I discovered)
• Of a finish and design that will fit in with my eclectic taste, including almost-black floors

That last point was especially tricky as it will on occasion be positioned in the middle of the room in front of what I like to grandly refer to as 'the library,' and what the kids prefer to refer to as 'the bookshelf'. Cruel.

I nearly wore Google out trying to find one. I'm now of the opinion that unless I love it and it's perfect, I'll keep looking. But nothing fitted the bill. 

I saw this table in a magazine and whilst not perfect, (not crazy for the base) thought it warranted a call to get a price. Perhaps I could grow to love it.

When I rang and asked 'how much?', the friendly guy with the heavy Italian accent starting telling me how amazing and famous the European designer is, how exquisite his work, how fine the materials of porcelain and steel and the expertise of the craftsmanship. I was compelled to point out that the more he talked, the more expensive it was sounding - and I wasn't wrong - it was a hair under $14k. Yeah...no.

So on the search went - this time including eBay. 

And there it was - my perfect table - up for auction, in Melbourne, no bids, a couple of 'watchers' and a starting price of $35. I was so nervous I couldn't wait until the last minute, so placed a 'proxy bid' of $152 (in case someone bid $150). As it happened, no-one else placed a bid so it was mine - for $35!!

In a stroke of karma, about 2 hours after the successful purchase of the table, someone purchased the hideous Indian silk painting I'd had on eBay for months.... for exactly $35!

A few days later, we hired a trailer from Bunnings. That expedited the moving of the wine fridge from storage into the laundry, some cupboards from the shed back to the storage unit and after that, the collection of the table. The guy was lovely - I almost felt guilty taking the beautiful table for $35 - but I did it anyway!!

When we turned it upside down to glue carpet on the feet, I noticed an old black ink stamp, 'Preston Furniture' and an address. Googling it, the manufacturer had gone but it is still an industrial area so it appears that our table was made locally, I'm guessing in the 1960s. This was just getting better and better.

And look! Isn't it perfect?!! Next mission; leather couches.

Lake Tyrell

Ever heard of it? Neither had I until I saw an article in the RACV magazine and was inspired to take our annual Easter camping trip there.

It's about four hours north of Melbourne and, apparently, a favourite destination for Chinese tourists, of which we saw quite a few.

And it is spectacular! I'm no photographer, but check out these shots.

As it was Easter, there was a full moon, but other times when it's darker the view of the stars is remarkable - check out this image from the web

 The lake was a mostly dry crust of salt when we were there. The water is artesian and in winter, creates a mirror-like effect.

It didn't disappoint. It was amazing.

However, I'd booked 4 nights at the Sea Lake caravan park. I'm not sure why Sea Lake is called Sea Lake - I assume because the lake is salty like the sea? Anyway, when I rang, I was told bookings weren't required, even at Easter - and we found out why. Turned out, it was more your stop-over kind of camping spot rather than a 'settle in for 4 nights' - as you'll see from the photo below.

There was a bathroom, a camp kitchen with hot water and a microwave, but yeah, the kids were pretty underwhelmed. There's not even a pub (although encouragingly, the one there is under renovation) and no wineries with live music, no activities, no wi-fi - in fact, there's pretty much... nothing.

The girls were using the term 'trapped' which was captured in this pic when we visited Swan Hill Pioneer Settlement (which is actually pretty good!).

I eventually caved and we came home after three nights.

Anyway, don't be put off!! Lake Tyrell is absolutely spectacular and well worth a visit - just no need to settle in!

The Great Debate

Surprisingly, given a federal election is just days away, I'm not talking politics.

Nor am I referring to the circus that was the 'gallery' at my local council meeting last Monday night, debating the development of a new sports complex. That was a doozy, with the protesters putting on quite the performance, with heckling, name-calling, booing, swearing, waving laminated A4 placards, turning their backs in protest - the only thing missing was popcorn.

I'm all for the sporting complex, which is very much needed and very much not wanted by the bowling club and several other groups in the area. I get that people don't like change, especially as they get older, but with a rapidly growing population and a shortage of sporting facilities (especially for girls), it is inevitable.

The protestors had the decision delayed, but lost at this meeting. Their parting response was 'See you in court!'. It may go on, but as I said, progress, demand and change are against the protestors and it will surely, eventually happen.

But back to the great debate; where to put the toilet paper holder in our new bathroom.

Yep, nothin' but the big issues here, people.

So here's the situation; I want it positioned along-side the toilet, Geoff wants it in front of the toilet - almost (by my reckoning) near the door!

His argument is that when he's on the toot, he'll bang his elbow or leg if it's too close, he'll feel cramped and have to twist unnecessarily.

My argument is that'll it'll look like it's about to leave the room and would be much neater tucked in next to the loo - and as I'm much shorter, it won't be an issue for me at all.

Approximate markers of where the toilet roll holder should go

He had stuck a small piece of blue tape in his ideal spot and marked it with a pencil. A day or two after the discussion, he had the audacity to accuse me of moving the tape and smudging the pencil!! (Actually, I did.)

For this year-long reno, we've managed to agree or compromise on hundreds of decisions, but on this, we've reached a stalemate. And what I have discovered is, he who wields the hammer drill, holds the power. Which is not to say he's won, but that he's just refusing to put it on the wall at all - for now.

So, there it sits, with the box, two screws and packaging, waiting for a compromise...

No hurry. We still have about 30 other jobs that need to be done!

The Run

I reckon I've done at least ten Run For The Kids runs and frankly, I ain't gettin' any better!

Of late, I've been doing weight training (having thought I was fairly strong but discovered I'm a weakling!!) and attempting interval training on the treadmill. I can't even remember the last time I ran 10kms, and this was - thankfully - shorter than prior years at just 12.8km.

The course took us over the Bolte Bridge, which is a killer gradual climb, this year coupled with a strong, too-warm headwind.

Doesn't look high - you really need to be plodding up it to fully appreciate the pain!

At the top of the bridge, a local radio station had a promotional team waving some pretty funny signs, including these, which spoke to me!

Keep running. The day will come when you CAN'T do this. 

You're not slow. You're just enjoying the course.

There were over 20,000 people running and walking, and as always, I put myself in the second fastest running division. I do this because you don't have to hang around and get to start earlier, but it also meant that although I victoriously passed about 8 people (all walking), I was passed by about 8,000 runners!! It's not encouraging 😟

Some of the 'crush' who shot past me

Worse still, I took so long my Spotify running playlist ran out, so it started serving up a random selection of whatever. As I reached the low point of the run, about 4kms  from the end, I got "I Hate Myself" by the Pretenders - a dreary number with a terrible message that repeats the phrase 'I hate myself' about 80 times in a row. (Seriously, look it up - you need to hear it to appreciate the full misery of the moment.) So not okay. But to change it,  I'd have to have pulled over to get my phone out of my armband, and I was terrified that if I stopped, I'd never go again. (That and my time which I didn't want to compromise.)

After the run

I use an app that tracks my time and was surprised to see I'd started off oaky with 6-minute kilometres, but less surprised that my average slowed with inclines and time. Anyway, I plodded the entire way and got a time that in previous years, I would have been happy with - when the course was 15kms!!

So now, like after every other run, I promise myself to be better prepared and fitter next year - which never happens!!