So ….. crisis over …? Okay, I know it’s not completely all over yet but it feels like it is. Maybe there will be a few bumps along the way but look at us. We’re back.
Well, almost back. I have a few residual hang ups that may take me a decade or so to overcome.
I’ve never been a great hugger so this was always going to be a difficult time for me. What is it with SiLs who hug every time they see you? Like, I saw you yesterday. You haven’t been away for 12 months and I’m not dying.
Now, finally, to television. There is none. NoTHinG! Fftt.
Fingers crossed for next year. Of course it will be better.
It’s been an odd year. Quietly whispering *unprecedented times*.
The whole year feels like a pause and re-stock year. I’m not complaining because that’s not necessarily a bad thing. My house is clean, junk has been thrown out, I have narrowed my hobbies down to five, and the dog thinks that routine household chores should only be done to maximise his comfort. And I oblige. I have my priorities right.
Lately, I have taken to looking to the future. I am eternally optimistic and hopeful, more often than not. Mostly. Sometimes. When I can.
Right. Preamble done. Excuses made and you have been softened up. Forgiveness assumed.
We went shopping for Christmas decorations. I know. I know. Too much.
I had a blast. My tree is a glass cylinder, 2 feet tall, battery operated and glows in the dark, and my shelves are covered in gnomes and elves. The doggo tells me that they are rabbits, and he reminds me that he is very patient and very tall. I suspect the gnomes will have a short life.
And now I slide away from the topic so cleverly that you barely notice. The best thing about the lead up to Christmas is all-things-British-on-TV.
I love black and white movies. I watched The Ghost of St Michael’s on the weekend – a little bit of fun – and it is just going to get better from here. I love this time of year.
I am in the middle of Staged (ABC iview) with Michael Sheen and David Tennant. I haven’t tuned in to something that is such easy watching since The Good Place (which I am rewatching on Netflix). I am against anything that makes me think too much.
The new series of Grantchester (again iview) fits all my criterion for a murder/mystery: limited number of suspects, clues and red herrings sprinkled liberally throughout, pretty villages, good actors and I feel so smart when I see the obvious.
Slightly off topic, I am also watching The Rise of The Murdoch Dynasty. I didn’t mean to. It wasn’t something that I thought would appeal to me, and I am not a Rupert fan, but I could not change the channel. There’s a man who screwed up his kids right royally, so let me finish with what I imagine would be the Murdoch Christmas tree.
We are driving home from Perth with the doglets on the back seat, when we took the opportunity to call in at the Dardanup Butchering Company to see if we could get some roo for the dogs.
While there, I bought some other meat and hopped back into the car with two bags of all sorts of meat (sorry Dave). Now the dogs are drooling, thinking they hit the mother load for dinner.That got me thinking of a good chat piece.
While stopping for a drink on the way home, at our usual half way stop, I saw a lovely, big doughnut, thick with chocolate icing that took great strength to resist because I was imagining how delicious it would be in my mouth.
At the ripe old age of 65 (say what?), my weaknesses are (after sunset) chocolate and pretty much any nice food. I can go all day, no problem, but after dark, sweet carbs call to me. I can’t have them in the house. I would steal them from a baby.
I have a greater weakness; kids and grandkids but it’s probably not quite the same as those other things that cause us great delight and great temptation. It’s an endorphin thing.
What are your Archilles heel; those things that get you drooling? Sunshine and the beach are my mood lifter. And the bush at certain times of the year. Those I can enjoy without doing a next-day damage assessment.
Y’all think that kittens are adorable. I can tell.
Apparently I should have been happy to provide amusement to my family. I know that we all need a laugh in these unprecedented times but a dad joke would have sufficed.
My brother has a fondness for black cats. He says they are stealth bombers.
And he does acknowledge that they are evil but excuses that on the basis that he speaks cat.
I am guessing that it says something about my brother but I agree with him that films with, and about, cats are much more entertaining than those with dogs. One of my favourite scenes ever is that one with the Siamese cats in The Lady and the Tramp. Now there’s an ear worm. 🎼
I know someone is going to mention The Lion King. I haven’t seen it. It optimises something about children’s movies that I hate with a passion: the tired cliche of the death of a parent. Why do we think it’s okay to reduce children to tears with a trauma at the beginning of a movie? There should be an equivalent of the Bechdel test.
Still, I can’t wait for Cats to come to Netflix. I love a B-grade movie. Unintentional laughs are just the best.
You bought the $20 million lotto ticket. At first, maybe you apportion some to give away to family, friends or charities.
Now, let’s say you now have $10 million you have kept to set yourself up nicely. So, what would you do?
What in your life would change? What would stay the same? Coronavirus would limit some of your options. For instance, there’d be no first class flight to Europe. No house in Provence – not for a few years at least.
So what then? A farm? A boat? A luxury mobile home? Buy out all your neighbours so you can live in peace and quiet? What selfish indulgences would you like?
And what would you have done with your first $10 million? The $10 million you shared, gave away? See, when you spend your winnings in your head, you at least get a little trip down Fantasy Lane for your money. I’ll start. Off the top of my head: I’ll share my first $10 million with family, friends and donate toward the protection of native bushland, flora and fauna. I’d also donate toward Aboriginal education. Since coronavirus has stomped on my travel plans, I think I might buy a nice mobile home to drive around WA.
I’d buy more plants for our garden, and I’d put money aside for Woolif and me to have a gardener, housekeeper and, later on, a nurse so we can stay living where we do. Ask me next week, and my answer might be different. What’s your imaginary spending spree?
You’ve all seen my baby – an elegant, graceful, wonderful companion.
Still, I have been wondering what we would do without them during the lockdown. Well, sleep in … obviously.
But he does give me purpose and exercise.
I have a faint suspicion that I would turn into something round(er) and more unappealing if I didn’t have something that demands that I rise from this couch at regular intervals: food, walks, treats, letting him in and out every minute or so because he couldn’t be bothered using his own dog door.
I am a fan of all dogs and love seeing everyone’s pics but I am an absolute fan of greyhounds. It came as a bit of a shock really. I thought I was doing something nice by rescuing one but it turns out he rescued me. If anyone is thinking of another dog, I can recommend one of these. Just be aware that food costs are high, but there you go. Small downside.
Which is a long lead (🤣🤣) up to my five favourite dog movies.
1. Anything titled Wallace and Gromit. 2. Most movies with Scooby-Doo in the header. 3. Best in Show. Seriously. 4. Lassie. I used to cry every time. 5. The Shaggy Dog. Oldy but a goody.
The trouble with most dog movies is that there is a tendency for the dog to die. Hence, the leaning towards animated features.
And so as not to end on a sad not, let me add, this is not a dog.
By Daisy This chat, I thought I would talk about those things that brighten your day. Sometimes life is bright with happy things and nice people. Sometimes life is really tough, so tough it’s unbearable. So tough, you feel yourself going under a landslide of despair. Lately I have recalled days when sixpence worth of lollies and climbing a tree with my cousins was all I needed. Or a day at the beach. Or Gilligan’s Island. Or riding my bike. Or dancing in a ballet concert. Or drawing a picture. So many things. I have so many happy memories, like lying on a cane chair in a cabana with my grandma, in her garden, while she invented stories set in India.
When you’re older, joy can be more elusive. So this chat, I want to tell you those bright things that drive out gloom. For me anyway. The love of a family member. Love in action. Laughing with my kids. My siblings. Laughter and coffee with good friends. Good music, happy music played loudly. Sunshine. The sun at any time of year. The sky. Photographing clouds and sunsets. The beach. The ocean and swimming. Going to pottery. The new woodheater in my loungeroom.Escape to the Country. Exercise for my endorphins. Chatting on TTV. Travel and holidays.
I need a pick-me-up right now. Perhaps a bag of lollies?
By Bobi Daisy’s last post had me reminiscing about the good old days.
A time of children playing outdoors until dusk: where there were enough of us to field entire touch football teams but not enough to play AFL; of cricket matches where hitting the fence was a four and over the fence was a six; where what mattered was turning up rather than your skill set or gender.
I also have very fond but vague memories of watching a black and white television but a better memories of “someone” having to get up every time we wanted to change the station – not that it mattered particularly as there were only three channels. For some reason, I was the designated rabbit ear mover and there was perpetual snow on the screen during my favourite shows.
This is not a photo of my family but, trust me, no one I’m related to can tell the difference, right down to the home grown hair cuts.
I used to rush home to get to my favourite TV shows before the boys. Mostly I failed. There were more of them and it was a losing battle.
I was a huge fan of soaps. I never missed an episode of Bellbird right up until the death of one of the characters who fell off a silo. I was shattered and the vision haunted me for years. Still, that will never be as tragic as the death of Patrick on Offspring to me. I will never forgive them for that.
But my overall love of soaps remains cemented in my psyche. My niece (that’s a nibling) and I bonded over The Bold and the Beautiful.
I have no idea why it was Bold when, initially, I was obsessed with Days of Our Lives – especially after watching an interview with an actress (call me old fashioned) talking about being pregnant for 14 months on the show and how her son on the show was only four years younger than her in real life. She had a lovely sense of humour and I was enamoured with the tongue in cheek of it all. Where has that show gone?
And who cannot forget that lovely movie, Soap, with Sally Field. I’ve loved Sally since I first saw her in Gidget.
It is all so far from real life that it is almost comedic. In the current horribleness of 2020, this stuff is like having a warm bubble bath.
By Daisy I’m not really a hippie, although there is a bit of that influence in me. I have never been into New Age stuff: crystals and purple medieval velvet dresses, although I have always had a mostly casual wardrobe.
But I have navigated through The Age of Aquarius, wearing jeans, raising children and enjoying country living.
The Age of Aquarius didn’t quite happen the way they sang about it in Hair, and then perhaps people discovered they wanted to move on from a beautiful, $20-per-week, 100-year-old farm house on a dairy farm by a river, to town to complete their degrees and find fulfilling, well-paying work.
So, now many of us have found that maturity and even old age have taken hold, and life has given us scars and baggage. When Neil Young sang Old Man Look at My Life, we sang along and enjoyed it from the hippie, happy garden of youth, never thinking how soon we would become that old man ourselves. Now we find ourselves with regrets, sorrows and good and bad memories. Even worse, sometimes we find we have no memories …”Why did I come into this room?” Maybe we are re-evaluating our perspective and goals. Some may have spent a life achieving goals, and now wonder what to do when they no longer need goals, then there is a sense of lack of purpose, point and direction. Perhaps we have lost the ability to be selfish. Sometimes baby boomers are accused of selfishness, yet we have probably spent our lives looking after others, and being responsible. For me, I recall a time, when in spite of the usual teen troubles and dramas, (and some not so usual), I enjoyed myself. I didn’t care about goals.
I didn’t care about career, getting dinner on the table, being responsible. Those were the kind of things that got in the way of my real goal; enjoying life and hanging out with friends. So now that I am staring down the barrel of … mmmm … however many years, I have decided that it’s time for me to bring back some of that hedonism and selfishness into my life.
It won’t be easy. We baby boomer girls have been trained to worry and have a hard time saying, “No”. But I am in training for a life of hedonism now. It was a decision I made in January 2020, then we had Coronavirus, but perhaps it’s still achievable.
So that’s my ramblings on looking back at life, and looking forward. It’s a season for all of us to re-evaluate. How about you?
What’s everyone been watching, besides the pandemic news? I am on a sci fi jag, watching Snowpiercer, Dark (binged the whole final season in two days) and the new War of the Worlds.
Mr Juz is revisiting a favourite show from his youth that I cannot stand: Blue Heelers. What has the world come to?
I am actually enjoying the Netflix series Snowpiercer more then the film of the same name, probably because Jennifer Connelly is just so good as the “voice of the strain”, and the more leisurely pace of a TV series gives the director a chance to do more world building. It’s set in the not-too-distant future, where climate change has caused the Earth’s temperature to plummet. The last of humanity resides an a high-speed train, circling the planet on an endless loop. Life in first class is very different to those at the tail of the train, and exposure to just a few seconds of the air outside results in death.