From My Window

From my window, what can be seen?
Freshly mowed lawns, a blanket of green.
Billowy branches of myriad trees
Lazily loll in a summery breeze

Suburban houses stand in a row
Windows like eyes, what do they know?
A car whizzes past to the end of the street
Birds flutter by with a chirrupy tweet

Telegraph poles against a cloudless blue sky
A man on his Iphone slowly shuffles by
Shade from a tree falls across the road
A van is parked, neighbours empty a load

Summer lingers, the sun fierce and intense
No one is keen to chat at the fence
I keep to myself, I like staying inside
Watching, wondering, weary yet wired

The road is now searing in the midday sun
Doors and blinds close, air conditioners hum
A grey car appears, a curious cube shape
I stand at the window to goggle and gape

A haughty cat defies the sultry heat
To silently slink along the quiet street
Tail arched she stops to choose
A shady spot where she can snooze

Visitors pull up and walk into next door
You rarely see children outside anymore
Our road curves around like a horse shoe
Some homes are old, others brand new

The gate is shut next door at number nine
Across the road there's a for sale sign
The people in these houses I hardly know
What do they do? Where do they go?

I stare out the window and wistfully wonder
If it will rain, bringing lightning and thunder
No, it won't, I think this out loud
The sun is too bright, I don't see a cloud

Yet there's the promise of a violent storm
It's autumn now, and the weather's too warm
Everything is brightness, mission green and baby blue
Bushes, branches, leaves becoming a rusty gold hue

I reflect upon this mundane suburban scene
Where things aren't always what they seem
There are stories out there, of this I am certain
One more glance then I slowly close the curtain.


What do you see from your window? 

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Taking Stock - February 2018 Edition

Making: An effort to be (reasonably) tidy, organised and have a morning routine. I didn't even make that up. It's true! Seriously. Stop laughing! Sniff. 

Cooking:Lots of really nice recipes out of books from the library. I like to pretend it's still 1990 and there's not billions of the things on the internet. Works for me. 

Drinking: Recently I switched back to decaf tea. Because that's how exciting and cutting edge my life is. Be very jealous. 

Reading:  Various library books, including:

Tales From Below Stairs: The Bestselling Memoirs of a 1920's Kitchen Maid by Margaret Powell. 

Quite an interesting and easy read, especially if you're a Downton Abbey fan like me. The author also wrote several other books  including a cookery one which would be interesting to have a bit of a gawk at. 

Did She Kill Him? A Victorian Tale Of Deception, Adultery & Arsenic by Kate Colquhoun. 

True story of Florence Maybrick, who was convicted of poisoning her husband with arsenic in 1889. In my humble opinion, I reckon she was completely innocent, which makes it a heartbreaking story. Although she escaped being hanged (Eeeeeek!), she spent fifteen years in prison. She died in 1941, penniless and living in squalor. So sad. 

Six Degreess by Honey Brown. 

Fiction. Sex, sex and more sex. I didn't even fathom this from the title of the first chapter: Threesome. What am I like? 

Trawling: Library Books. Obviously. Just for something different. 

Wanting: Rain! Lots of it. Pouring, soaking, glorious RAIN. Side note: it did start pouring after I wrote this! Perhaps I'm a witch or something. Muahahaha! 

Looking: Like a potato with grey hair. So attractive. 

Deciding: What to type here. Hmmmm. Decisions. Decisions. Nope. Got nothing. 

Wishing: THIS: 

Image credit: https://www.facebook.com/mayaishappy/

Enjoying: A nice hot cup of decaf tea. Because I like to do wild and crazy things on Monday mornings. 

Waiting: For summer to be over.  Today is actually giving me the illusion that it is. But it will spring back from the depths of hell to incinirate me one more time, I'm sure. 

Liking: Inane things. Like the word 'inane'. Love it. 

Wondering: Why I have such demented dreams. And why I'm demented in general. 

Loving: Snuggling in bed when it's raining. 

Listening: To the rain. A dog barking. The tap tap of my own typing. Blissful silence. 

Considering: What recipe to cook next. Feels like good soup weather today. 

Buying: Food, food, food and more food. And then, five minutes later we need food again. I never have money to buy anything else because it's all spent buying food. 

Watching: Bits and pieces of the ice skating in the winter Olympics. The only sport I can watch without nodding off. 

Hoping: We can go on a holiday some time this year. 

Marvelling: That we can eat quite so much food. 

Needing: According to my shrink I need to make friends. Bwahahahahahaha! She doesn't know who she is dealing with here. Besides, doesn't she know that I have lots of imaginary friends inside the computer? They count, don't they? HMPH. 

Questioning: How on earth you make friends?

Smelling: Pain Away Arthritis cream. Because I appear to be a 95 year old woman called Ethel. 

Wearing: Stretchy 'yoga' pants that I never do yoga in, sexily teamed with a fleecy pyjama top. Tousled bed hair completes the look. Nice. 

Noticing: I have a sore throat. It's so sad. A very tragic situation. And now there is violin music swelling in the background. 

Knowing: Knowing Me, Knowing You! A-HAAAAAAAA! 
Okay, that's an Abba song, but that's what came to mind. And it's mixing it up from Carpenters songs, so shut up. 

Thinking: I need to exercise. I have a sore throat. Why did I put that Abba song in my head? I love the rain. I hate other shit. Where did I put my phone? What day is it?  I wish I could stop thinking...

Admiring: My family. They're pretty awesome. I think I'll keep them. 

Getting: Myself sorta kinda reasonably organised and tidy. Wait. WHAT? Yepski, it's true. See: Making. No idea how long it will last but it's good shit at the moment. 

Disliking: Unspeakable things. Hideous, vile things. I not only dislike these things, but hate them with a passion. You don't want to know. No really, you don't. 

Opening: My mind. To trying to be tidier, kinder to myself and more positive. Something like that anyway. Oh, shut up.

Closing: My eyes for a snooze. 

Feeling: Tired.  See: Closing. 

Celebrating: Mr 13 will be Mr 14 in a few weeks. I also like to celebrate the small wins. Like getting out of bed in the morning. That's something, right? 

Pretending:  I've got my shit together. 

Embracing: Home hacks. Well, some of them. Others are just STUPID.  

So there you have it. That is me tacking stock this fabulous February. Side note: it's only fabulous because it's over in a few days and, with it, summer. Good riddance! 

What are you celebrating in the month of November? 

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February Is...

February is...

The shortest month of the year. Consequently it's often the month my dad chooses to go on a diet. He should probably trademark it and sell it. The February Diet. But I'm guessing somebody already has anyway...

February is...

Tricky to spell. Who knew there was a rogue 'r' in there? Okay, only me. Oops. 

February is...

The last month of summer.(If you live in Australia, that is.) Hallelujah! Cue glorious uplifting music. I am SICK of the heat and humidity. SICK OF IT, I tell you! Of course it won't be long before I am complaining about the cold. I like to be consistent in some things. I'm a very consistent weather whinger. Winning! 

February is...

When you're smashing all your resolutions and goals full steam ahead feeling smug and strutting about like a peacock owning 2018 already in month number two. Except I'm not doing that. Oops. 

February is...

The month when I remember the passing of the late great Karen Carpenter. She left this earth 35 years ago on February 4th, 1983. 35 flipping YEARS?! *sobs* 

February is...

The month of lurrrrve, romance, hearts, flowers and all that mushy stuff. Not into it. That's surprising, yeah? But Mickey Blue Eyes did present me with some lovely chocolates from Aldi, and I didn't get him anything. Therefore I decided a Facebook photo with a lovey dovey frame would have to do. And that is what I like to call romance, people. 

February is...

A month in which I have done so many exciting things. Including:

• Washing windows
• Tidying the linen cupboard
• Mopping floors
• Washing truckloads of dishes
• Folding vast mountains of clothes
• Borrowing library books
• Reading library books
• Writing lists
• Writing draft blog posts then never publishing them
• Going to a shrink appointment
• Going to a GP appointment
• Going grocery shopping
• Making beds
• Cooking food
• Eating food

And yeah, I think we're done with the bullshit bullet points. I'm sure you're all suitably jealous now. Snorts. 

February is...

The month after January. Conversely, it's also the month BEFORE March. I always feel the need to include a glaring Captain Obvious moment in my posts. Because why not?  January is my birthday month, so February is my one year and one month birthday. Or something. I don't know. I'm just making this up. 

What else have I been up to in this plodding fast-paced February? I'm glad you asked. The fact that you didn't is only a minor detail. I'll tell you anyway. You're very welcome. 

Recently I borrowed a book from the library called The Housewife's Handbook. See bullet list.  Inside, I found a newspaper clipping with a headline that went something like: "Fair distribution of assets when a marriage fails". 

Evidently someone who borrowed the book before me was also trying to be a top notch housewife. Until the day they decided, screw this, and promptly filed for divorce. I'd like to think that this woman (because only a woman would borrow such a book, I suspect) is now currently sunning herself on a beach in Greece a la Shirley Valentine. 

Meanwhile, I've been a contented little (or not so little) housewife of late. I've been merrily cleaning away. (Again, see bullet list). The other week, Mickey Blue Eyes, looking very concerned, asked me why. You'd think it was totally out of character or something!

Clearly he thought I'd either invited guests without telling him, or completely lost my marbles. Well, it definitely wasn't the former. So yeah, I'm wondering how long will it be before I wish to join my imaginary 'Shirley' on that beach? I think I'll keep Mickey Blue Eyes, though. Hopefully we'll get to that beach together at some point. 

In the meantime, farewell to you, February. Until we meet again. Same time next year. Can you please leave quietly and not incinerate us on your way out? Thank you. 

Now bring on March! 

What is February to you?

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Favourite Weather

Hello again!  Here I am, back to thrill you with the most scintillating topic:

The weather! 

Specifically, my favourite weather. All I know is, it certainly isn't 47 degrees celcius (or 116.6 fahrenheit, according to an internet converter)!!! Yuck!

This temperature happened here a few weeks ago when NSW officially became the hottest place on Earth.  Yeah, screw that.  That shit is only for satan. Whew. Not fun. Not fun AT ALL. I'd quite like to keep my face attached to my skull, instead of it melting off, thanks very much. Not keen on death by drowning in my own sweat either. 

Image crhttp://www.nedmartin.org/v3/amused/in-gods-kitchenedit: 

Although, I don't really enjoy extreme cold either. I'm an in-between kind of girl.

When it comes to weather, I am Goldilocks. I like it 'just right'!

And since we're talking about Goldilocks, what was her problem anyway? Sneaking into the three bears house and eating their porridge? Who does that? Not cool, Goldilocks!

I know what you're thinking. Calm down, Ness. She was just a character in fairytale and she was lost and hungry or something. Besides, bears don't actually have houses, nor eat porridge. Get a life.

Um. OK. Good point.

So yeah. Weather.

This heat bullshit is exactly that. Utter unmitigated bullshit. We even had a thunderstorm that was more like a mini cyclone! I quite like the odd thunderstorm, but that bordered on scary.

These last few days have been blissfully cooler. On Sunday,  we took a day trip up to the Central Coast to visit friends, and yesterday I celebrated my birthday with a buffet lunch. It must have the been the first birthday in my now 47 years that it hasn't been a scorcher. 

However, the temperatures are set to soar again by the end of the week. Apparently, anyway. Save me! Oh well, no point in complaining about things you can't control. But that doesn't stop me. Ahem. 

So, like Goldilocks. I will find the place where it's just right. And by just right, I mean air-conditioned. And I'll remind myself that Autumn is on it's way. Yay! 

What about you?

What's your favourite weather? 

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One Word: 2018 Edition

Good morning, groovers and shakers. Hustlers and movers. Artists and makers. And, you know, everyone. Because of course everyone reads my blog. 😉

A Merry New Year to you all. Can't remember if I said that last time. If I did, it still applies and is worth saying again. I say merry because we can't be happy all the time but we can be merry. Oh wait, is that the same thing? Oh well. Enough about that. 

In keeping with new years, comes the whole 'new year, new me' thing. Additionally there is also the 'one word' phenomenon. The way it works is, you choose a word which is meant to encapsulate your year. A kind of a theme or guide, so to speak. Something like that anyway. I'm probably not explaining it properly.

At any rate, my usual tendency when faced with such frivolities (or important rituals, depending on your point of view), would be to eye roll and dismiss it as claptrap. Because, let's face it, claptrap is, in itself, just a great word. As is codswallop. However, they are not the usual suspects when it comes to choosing your 'one word'. It's the common practice to choose something a little more uplifting.

I certainly wouldn't want my whole  year to be defined by codswallop, while at the same time, I would rather like the opportunity to say such a word at decent intervals throughout the proceedings. I'm weird like that. 

Therefore: codswallop.

Right. Hopefully I have gotten that out of my system for now. Moving on.

In the interest of being a bit more open to things and less cynical, I thought I'd have a crack at this one word malarkey last year. The word I chose was:

MOVE.

Um. Yeah. That didn't go as planned.

Well, there was SOME movement, but not nearly as much as I would have hoped.  But you know what? I am not going to berate myself for this. You know why? I have decided that my one word for 2018 will be...

Drum roll, please...

COMPASSION.

Image credit: http://mallorybecker.com/self-compassion/

With particular emphasis on self-compassion.  You see, I have this inner mean girl who mocks, taunts and castigates me constantly. Yet I would never do such a thing to another human being. What is that all about?

I have gotten somewhat better at thanking my mind for some of these jibes, and then just moving on. This is a practice derived from ACT (Acceptance & Commitment Therapy). So I feel that taking this practice a bit further with some self-compassion on the side will be quite beneficial. That's the plan anyway. 

Image credit: https://www.slideshare.net/marva78/selfcompassion-60420359

I expect it will be uphill work. When you've lived with your inner mean girl for almost 47 years (next week), it's not gonna happen overnight. It will be a work in progress and we'll see how it goes this time next year. It's truly a lifelong thing, isn't it? But this year is about setting it all up for the rest of my life, however long that is. 

And hopefully when I am being much nicer to myself that will help to motivate me to move more. I will be more likely to do the things that benefit and nourish me. Instead of thinking of myself as a fat, lazy sloth creature for not moving, I will tell myself that it's not easy but I can do it. I like the sound of that. Wish me luck! 

What about you?

What do you think of this 'one word' phenomenon? 

Do you have a word for 2018? 

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Goodbye To 2017

Happy new year, dear reader! I'm sure it will happy some of the time anyway. Except when it's not. Because that's kind of how life is. If your life is always happy then please leave a comment telling me what drugs you're on and where I can get them.

Meanwhile, before I get on with this year I wanted to tell you a bit about the year just gone. 

In 2017 I: 

January: Curly hair.

• Slept for hours. And had the weirdest dreams EVER. 
• Folded MOUNTAINS of washing because I have SUCH a glamorous life.
• Made the weekly pilgrimage to Aldi because I have to get my excitement somehow.
• Started the year with curly hair and finished with spiky hair. 
• Ate lots of bad food.
• Ate lots of good food. 
• Got a new shrink because apparently I am still demented.
• Felt anxious in K Mart.
• Felt calm in Coles.
• Drank a billion cups of tea.
• Borrowed tonnes of books from the library then forgot to take them back on time.
• Drank cappucinos while sitting on orange chairs under fluorescent lights. 
• Daydreamed.
• Wrote pointless lists.
• Wrote purposeful lists. 
• Chose my 'one word': MOVE.
• Decided to take this word as more of a light suggestion in favour of other entrancing words, such as REFINED CARBOHYDRATES and SLOTH. 
• Pondered important questions.
• Pondered trivial questions.
• Prayed I didn't have cancer again. And I don't even believe in God. Weird.
• Had my tits crushed. I didn't have cancer. YAY! 
• Had a tooth ripped out. Which is always fun. Said no one ever.
• Drank lots of Bailey's Coffee Liqueur in Wagga Wagga.
• Drank champagne in the south of France.
• Made stuff up. Like that last point. Incidentally I have no idea why the south of the France is supposed to be better than anywhere else in France. I'm never likely to find out either. Sigh.
• Wrote in a two dollar journal from KMart with glitter pens from Aldi.  Yes, I know. There was no need for me boast about such things. We've already established how lavish my life is. 
• Passed a lady at the shops wearing a vivid multi-coloured sparkly kaftan with her hair dyed just as many colours and thought she's probably quite fun to have as a friend. Or a complete nut. One or the other. 

November: Spiky hair. 

And I could go on and on, but it's obvious what an eventful year 2017 was for me. So it is with a wistful heart that I say farewell to you, 2017. No, we will never meet again, except in my memories. Well, let's face it,  not even there particularly, because I have a brain like a sieve. So it's a firm goodbye. You were neither good, nor bad. Just meh. Boring. Beige. But I didn't mind a bit of beige. I've had quite enough of pink, thank you very much. 

Let's see what 2018 brings. Be nice, 2018! 

What about you?

What did you do in 2017?

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Dear Santa...

Dear Santa,

How are you? Season's greetings and all that. How is Mrs Claus and all the elves? I expect things are quite hectic as you're doing all your last minute preparations. 

Loading up the sleigh. Making sure the reindeers are well-rested for the big night. Checking your lists: one titled Naughty, and the other Nice. It must be a magical winter wonderland over there in the North Pole. I can only imagine, as it's summer here in the land of Oz.

However, I wonder if could be so cheeky as to interrupt your busy schedule to ask a few questions? They've been on my mind for a long time. Years, in fact. They're really rather important. I am a master at asking all the important questions, I think you will find. 

Okay, here goes. I will just fling them at you randomly and in no particular order. I've been over thinking about them for so long and I just need to get them off my chest:

• Where did you find FLYING reindeers? 
• Why are you always judging people? If they're naughty or nice? I mean, who are you to decide what's naughty? 
• And furthermore, aren't you actually somewhat of a... err... STALKER? Watching people when they're sleeping or otherwise is just plain creepy, Santa. 
• How do you fit enough presents for ALL THE CHILDREN IN THE WHOLE WORLD on one little sleigh?
• Likewise, how are you able to traverse the entire planet in a single night? I'm sorry Santa, it just doesn't make sense. 
• How do you get into houses or apartments that don't have chimneys? 
• And, if they do have a chimney, how do you slide nimbly down them, given your advanced age and ample girth? Sorry to be a bit personal there, Santa. 
• I need to know why I never received that much coveted Barbie Dream House when I was a child? I was nice! Mostly. Oh shut up, Santa. Yes, I know I got the Barbie Camper Van, but that's not the point! 
• Furthermore, how can you POSSIBLY be in every single shopping centre at exactly the same time? Have you figured out how to clone yourself? 
• And what about the poor little elves? Isn't it slave labour making them toil away in your workshop? Who's not nice now, Santa?
• Last but not least Santa, riddle me this: why is it that parents do all the work, and then you come along in your red suit and hat all jolly like and TAKE ALL THE CREDIT! RUDE. 

Well Santa, I'm waiting. I want answers. And I want them NOW!

*Silence*

AHA! I thought so! You can't answer these questions, can you? It's almost as if...

YOU DON'T EVEN EXIST. 

There, I said it.

I've suspected this for some time. Especially after my tragic revelation about the phoney old dinner fairy. Sigh. And not just any sigh. A deep, long sigh containing all the sorrow of the ages. 

The thing is Santa, maybe you're not real. And you can't ever answer my questions. But you know what? Who cares!

I know, I know! I did a few lines ago. Details!

The truth is, we all need a little magic in our lives. To believe in fairy tales. Well, at least sometimes... To revisit our childhood innocence. We need some Christmas cheer. We all need this more than ever right now.

So on with the show, Santa! Load up that sleigh. It's nearly Christmas Eve! I'll have carrots ready for the reindeers. And I'll leave you out some wine and chocolate instead of milk and cookies, because I know that's what you'd really prefer. 😉

See you soon, Santa! 

Sincerely, 

Ness.

Do you still believe in Santa? 

Image credit: https://www.pexels.com/photo/blur-celebration-christmas-cookies-260498/

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