*swat*

Most of the people I know have a stand way of greeting others.

My husband says "hi dee hi" and my son says "what's going on?". I have a pommie mate that always says "alright?". Others say "G'day" or "hello" or how's it going?". There's "how y'going" and "what's up" and "morning". I have an elderly acquaintance that greets everyone with "who's this here, then?" and my best friend always just says the person's name.

That is, for most of the year.

In about mid November it all changes. Everyone suddenly has two distinct greeting. There is there usual, run-of-the-mill salutation for inside meetings and the standard November/December greeting for outside.

"The (sometimes insert expletive) flies are friendly."

It is invariably accompanied by the great Aussie salute.

Where the hell are the dung beetles?

out with the old

So, we have a new government. And a brand new Prime Minister.

The party made lots (and lots and lots) of pre-election promises. They are going to spend vast amounts of money on lots of very popular things (none of which will directly affect us). There are to be tax cuts (which are nice but not really necessary for our income bracket). He's going to water down Workchoices and get rid of AWAs (which, again, doesn't touch us) and do other nice things job wise. The troops are being brought home from Iraq (no timetable of when or whether this includes our field hospital and engineers) but increased in Afghanistan (which will effect us). There are lots of positive plans about "the environment" but, as Peter (I can't sing or dance) Garrett will be in charge, the whole idea is pretty scary (does that man ever think or bother to do research before he opens his mouth?).

Fiscal policy will stay pretty much the same as it has been because Mr Rudd played the me-too game. Interest rates will rise because they are doing that world wide. Petrol will still be expensive. House prices will remain ridiculous. Pensioners will (again) only get a token rise.

Like the whole bloody campaign, the outcome is all very ho-hum *yawn*

What wasn't boring about the weekend was our visitors.

My gorgeous son, and his significant other (when the hell will he marry that girl?!) came down to help us celebrate the patriarch's birthday.They brought prezzies, which is always nice, but they most importantly, brought themselves.

They arrived late afternoon on Saturday. After much hugs, the cab-sav was opened and we sat and nattered while dinner cooked. A quick glance at the telly gave M a pleasant birthday gift of the party he supported getting voted in but election conversation was vetoed as we had all voted for different parties and that debate is one that is never going to be won.

We stayed up late and caught up on all the news and gossip. It was wonderful.

Sunday was a lazy day. S did a bit of marking at our dining room table but, mostly, we all just slothed. My son introduced me to the joys of Facebook (and signed me up!) and showed me a few other sites that are accessible now that we are on broadband. A pleasant lazy day.

I guess poor Johnnie Howard had a pretty shitty weekend. But I didn't.

freak of nature?

I either have the world's first push-me-pull-you dove with a head at both ends....

....or she's hatched another chick.

Yep. It's a chick.

But, couldn't she have found a better place to breed than the nesting supply basket? Birdbrain!

psst - wanna buy a vowel?

It's been a while since I did a quiz. Obviously time for another one.

I thought, maybe, I'd find out how much of myself I have exposed in these pages (or how well you remember). There will, as usual, be an outstanding prize for the winner (if you are happy to supply a snail mail addy).

1. I have a huge dog. What is his name?

2. I live in a (pathetically) little country town. Where is it?

3. Which of my family are in the army?

4. We are renovating our house. Why?

5. My best friends is

a) anorexic
b) an ICU nurse
c)having an affair
d) pregnant

6. What sort of vehicle does my youngest drive?

7. My husband's dog killed Peanut. What was Peanut?

8. What does my son do for a living?

9. I have kids living in which Queensland town?

10. Do I have any siblings?

11. What colour is my hair?

12. I'm a bit of a sports tragic. Which sport?

OK, see how you do. Answers in comments or by email (the is a link at the bottom of the page).

There will be a proper entry tomorrow. I promise.

may the speed be with me

Guess who's got broadband?!?

Yep. The one and only ME!!

YAY

There are lots of other things I could be writing about because I have had an interesting couple of days but I am too busy playing with my super quick browser. Maybe tonight.

Or tomoorow.

Did I mention that I have broadband?

*happy dance*

an interview with Jen

Now that my brain is not sleep-deprived moosh, I can actually write a proper entry.

A few days ago, Jen had an entry in which she answered questions designed by one of her readers. She offered to send questions out to any of her buddies who asked to join the game. Here are the questions she sent me (and my answers).

1. What are the joys, and what are the sorrows, of having children in the military?

The joys, I suppose, are mainly those that I have for all my children, military or not. Watching them grow, mature, experience life. Pride in their achievements, in their demeanour, in their responsibility.

There are two joys that are particularly attached to their military service. The first is my pride at their choice of career. It is not an easy choice. It is not just a job but a all-consuming life. That they feel strongly enough about the defence of our country, our national social responsibilities and protection of our values is a matter of huge pride for me. A joy indeed.

The other particular joy was unexpected. It is the knowledge they share with me about their contact and (often quite intimate) understanding of the foreign cultures with which they have contact. Through their deployments overseas, they have been exposed to both the country in which they are stationed and the foreign nationals with whom they serve. That process of learning with, and through, them is a great joy.

The sorrows. Hmmm. Many, yet able to be condensed into two easy words. Fear. And distance.

Fear for the things they see, the things they might have to do (or have done) and fear for what could be done to them. As a mother I want, no, need, to protect my children. No matter how grown up they are, that need will never leave me. Yet, in the places my kids are sent, that is so far from possible, it is fantasy.

There is also fear that they have so many secret from me. There are so many thing they can't ever tell me. I know that they have been witness to (if not part of) horrific things yet I can't be part of the process of coping and acceptance. I guess that fear is also part of the sorrow of distance.

They are, whether abroad or on our soil, physically very far from me. They are also emotionally remote in areas I cannot even begin to understand. Our relationship has become one of mail and phones and secrets. A sorrow indeed.

2. You seem to be a great cook! What is your favorite recipe of all time.

I must preface this by saying I am more a lover of eating the food than preparing it.

So, favourite recipe. This one is a whole family favourite and is what we eat for breakfast on Christmas morning. (And, yes, I know it is a dessert recipe but, meh, Christmas is that sort of time.)

Passionfruit Flummery

In a bowl mix a heaped tablespoon gelatine powder with a cup of sugar. Slowly mix in a cup of cold water. Set aside. Boil 2 cups of water with the shells of two passionfruit. In another saucepan blend 2 tablespoons of corn flour with the juice of two oranges and a lemon. Slowly add a cup of the boiling water. Stir over a low heat until it turns thick. Pour in the gelatine mixture, still stirring. Add the pulp of 8 passionfruit and pour into a serving bowl. Refrigerate for several hours until set.

3. What are your favorite luxuries in terms of time to yourself when your hubby is on a business (or other trip)? For example, my mom’s best friend has macaroni and cheese every time her husband is away, because she adores it and he hates it. What do you choose to do?

I think the thing I like best is that any sense of a timetable goes out the window. I can eat when (and what) I like, I can get up late or burn the midnight oil, I can go out in the evening. What I choose to do is exactly what I bloody well like because I don't have to constantly take someone else's demands, desires and moods into consideration.

Bliss.

4. What is the thing that you’re most looking forward to in terms of becoming a grandma?

Sharing.

Knowledge, experience, love, cuddles, stories. Yep. Sharing. With the child. With my daughter. With her man.

And watching.

Watching the child grow. Watching my daughter grow as a parent. Watching a couple become a family.

And spoiling.

That's a grandparent's job. To spoil the kid outrageously.

So there you go. My interview with Jen.

I think it is only right and proper that I offer the same deal she did. So, if any of my buddies would like me to pose four d&m questions (based on my reading of their writings) for answering in blogs, let me know in my comments space and I will email the questions to you.

*yawn*

It is really sad when, after a whole weekend of totally flogging my body in the garden and having the bed to myself (yes, he's away again), I can't sleep. I'm tired as but just I rattle around like a fart in a bottle. Slumber eludes me.

I've watched appalling television (I think a WWE film qualifies as appalling), had a nice warm shower, done a crossword, knitted. I've even tried a long midnight walk. Sleep just isn't coming.

So I shall see if writing an entry and reading some buddies makes the sleepiness come.

Trouble is, I've got SFA to write about. There've been no shipwrecks or murders, nothing to laugh at at all.

I could have a whinge about the breadwinner (he came home, sat on his arse and made sympathetic noises about my gardening exhaustion and then buggered off again), but that is so boring it would put everyone else to sleep.

I could give a run-down on my feelings about the election next Saturday but that gets covered in two words. Over it.

I could answer the interview questions that Jen sent me but that requires using a brain in a slightly less mushy condition than the one I am currently operating.

Ah. Idea. I could tell you the story about my daughter and the snake and show you what a Echis carinatus astolae (saw-scaled viper) looks like.

This is what my daughter found on the way to the ablution block the other day. She, and one of the medics, caught it with a bucket so it could be relocated to a less populated area. (Not much of a story, I know, but , meh, it comes with an illustration)

It doesn't look like much, sitting in the bottom of it's grotty bucket, but it is one of the most poisonous serpents from the region.

OK, that was my grand effort. I've got nothing more. Time to read the creative genius of others.

can you feel the serenity?

It's a balmy 22 degrees, I'm home alone, Schumman is playing in the background over the trill of cicadas. All's right with my world.

I'd write an entry but, quite frankly, I can't be arsed.

introducing..... "The Graygan"

Ladies and gentlemen..... meet my grandchild.

May I present "The Graygan".

going batty

When we were up in Townsville, we spent a lot of time sitting on the back porch (clothed!). The night noises were so very different from those at home. The geckos barking on the wall as they chased biddies, the cane toad making disgusting cane toad noises, the tree frogs chirruping, the palm fronds rasping together in the breeze and some restless birds chittering and flapping in and out of the trees.

Or, we thought they were birds.

When I managed to get a closer look, I realised we where hosting a flying fox party. They had found a bunch of ripe fruit in one of the neighbour's palms and were having a feast.

It was at about this time that I discovered an interesting thing about bats and cameras. They just don't go together. You can't aim at something you can't see! And, if you do happen to fluke it and capture the creature, the flash makes the eyes the only thing visible.

After many tries, this is all I managed to take.

(This is what you would be seeing if I was a half-way decent photographer....

but I'm not so I had to steal that one.)

Anyway, the reason I am waffling on about fruit bats is because of an incident that happened to night. Which was a repeat of something that happened on Sunday.

We were just about to go to bed. I was in the bedroom and the man was in the bathroom. They were the only two lights on in the house. Suddenly, what I thought was a big moth swooped past my head. I followed the movement and realised we had a little mouse bat chasing moths around the room.

We flapped towels around to shoo it out and it headed straight out the back door.

We get a few of them around, particularly when the Bogongs hatch. We have never had one in the house before (other than a small orphaned one my neighbour vacuumed up because it scared her). It was quite a buzz.

I don't know if it was the same fella, but I had a wee visitor just a while ago. I was catching up on some diary buddies and, whoosh, there he was doing boglaps round the room.

Maybe the aircon disorients their radar or something but, for whatever reason, I rather like having the odd bat drop in.

naked grandmothers (and other frightening things)

The thermometer on our porch hit 41+ today. I didn't actually melt but it was a near thing.

The crazy thing is, the last week has been beautiful spring weather and I've felt totally ploppy. Along comes a mid-summer scorcher and my mood soars faster than the mercury. A day that should have completely knocked the stuffing out of me and I'm on top of the world.

I did some shopping, I spent a couple of hours in the garden, I cleaned out the aquarium and even did some housework. I achieved more on this single leaf-wilting day than I have in the last week.

I took the dogs for a good long walk just as the sun was setting and came home and watered the garden. I took a nice, sinfully long, shower (cool water, washed my hair) and then sat out on the back porch, stark bollocking naked, and luxuriated in the feel of a warm zephyr on my damp skin.

Some days are just so perfect that not even foul weather can spoil them.

If I try hard and long, I might even convince myself that my glorious day has absolutely nothing to do with my husband flying off to Melbourne for a week!

feeding the troops

One of the things that had my baby quite excited about my visit was the prospect of some "mum" cooking. She had given me a list of some favourites that she wanted me to produce during our stay. It was quite an extensive list.

The idea of spending most of my "holiday" in the kitchen wasn't particularly appealing but, what could I do? I'm a Mum and that's what Mums do. Not necessarily cooking but the whole bend-over-backwards thing to spoil pamper make their kids happy.

She warned us, on the trip back to the house, that she had been routinely eating in the mess and that her fridge was pretty empty. This was somewhat of an over-estimation.

Her crisper held sprouting carrots, some limp celery, half a very brown avocado and some extremely elderly cherry tomatoes. The shelves had 2L of out-of-code milk, assorted tubs of expired fruit yoghurt, several containers of anonymous leftovers and a variety of condiments.

While the others caught up, I went shopping.

Over the following week, in 35 degree heat and 90% humidity, I produced lasagne, two batches of apple slice, stew-with-a-lid, Maz mince (don't you love those recipes with family names?), satay beef, 4 dozen pasties, 10 dozen sausage rolls, chocolate slice, bacon and egg pie, spicy chicken wings and a birthday cake.

My baby was suitably grateful.

One the Sunday evening, when we had the lasagne, she had invited around her three particular friends (all AJs). I had met them (briefly) last time I was there and liked them all. This time round I got to know them better. She has established herself a really good (and caring) support group. I very much like all three of them.

One of the friends, a lad named Benji, came around again on Wednesday night to share the pasties. He's a good-looking kid, a country boy from southern Queensland (wheat and sheep farming family) with a fun, down-to-earth nature. She is adamant that there is no romance there but there is an awful lot of touching and looking and intimate actions. She might think he is "a good mate" but I am quite sure (and M and T agree) that he would like it to be more. I would not be disappointed if it blossomed. He's a nice kid (for a boatie).

We shall see.

I didn't spend quite all of my time in the kitchen. We did other things but, with the washing pile calling, that shall be an entry for another day.

return of the melted

I am back from the hot and sticky place (why doesn't it just rain already?).

Like most good stories (and bad, for that matter), this one starts at the beginning. We picked up the pregnant one late on Friday evening and headed off for the airport. I shall miss details of the flights because plane travel is tedious enough to do, let alone read about. When we arrived at Townsville we decided to get off the plane separately to make the surprise more dramatic. The old fart and I got of first and were greeted by our (strawberry blonde!!) baby in the arrival lounge. She was thrilled and all huggy and misted up slightly. We did all the greety stuff and procrastinated a bit when she tried to lead us off to the luggage carousel. When I caught sight of her sister coming up the ramp I said "you know how I said we were bring your prezzie with us and it was pink? Well, it's actually yellow and pink and there it is" and I turned her round and pointed to her big sister.

The reaction was all we could have hoped (and then some).

She started to quiver and whimpered a couple of times. Then a sound came out of her that started like a siren winding up and developed into a full-throated scream. She then flung herself at T and wrapped her arms and legs around her. There were a lot (and I mean a very big lot) of tears.

She startled all the other people in the arrival lounge with her noise but they very quickly realised that it was a good time sound, not alarming. Her father and I stood grinning, feeling a pleased as at the way our surprise had been received.

We belatedly headed off to the baggage area with the girls going down the escalator glued together like Siamese twins.

When we got to the bottom, I looked at my two girls merged into one huggy unit. Bliss. Then the conversation between them went something like this...

T - "Pretty good prezzie eh."
R - "Yup"
T - "Can you think of anything that could make it better?".
R - "No way, best present ever".
T - "It wouldn't be better if I was, say, pregnant?"
R - "You're not"
T - "I am"

The whimpering came again. She went to hug. Drew back. Patted her sister's tummy, still whimpering. Then the whole siren squeal/scream started again while she hugged herself and stamped her feet.

It was a pretty auspicious beginning to our holiday.

And on that happy note, I shall depart. My inbox in chockers with update notifications and I haven't worked up the guts to sign into google reader yet! The number is going to be scary.

I leave you with a photo of my two girls snuggled up on the spare mattress where T slept.