How Embarrassment!

On the train to work this morning, a rather dishy bloke seemed to be checking me out. Nothing unusual a few years ago, but not so common recently. I didn’t pay too much attention, I was listening to a podcast, and knitting on the first of the facewashers for Hamish (thanks for the yarn Emma!).

But then he spoke to me. He knew my name, and asked if I recognised him. He did look kinda familliar. Sorta. He said his name was David. At that point I could have sworn we had met before, so I asked him how we knew each other. “We were together for about a year”.

Ouch.

To my credit, he has new glasses, lost weight, had an extreme haircut, and seemed a lot more confident than the man I knew about six years ago. And last I heard of him he was married and living in Arizona. So his appearance in my train carriage was rather out of context. But really, how vague can a person be. Should I get checked out for Alzheimers ?

About The Greens

Since I was old enough to learn about sharing, I’ve been staunchly left wing, and as a youngster campaigned for Bob Hawke (in support of his anti nuclear platform) in the 1984 federal election. Two weeks after he took office, we were selling uranium to the French. I was 14, and after crying myself to sleep for two weeks (I felt I had betrayed people by campaigning for him, I took these things very seriously back then), I gave up all interest in politics. I had felt that I could work for positive change, but a feeling of helplessness overcame me.

Fast forward to early 2003. I had just met the lovely bloke whom I would later marry, and there was an election coming up. I remained disillusioned, but still felt passionately that our democratic right to vote was also a serious responsibility. I asked Mark who he thought I should vote for in the election, and he suggested that the Greens were a good option.

This was around the time that my interest in animal welfare was becoming an interest in animal rights, so I asked Mark about the Greens animal welfare policy. He didn’t know, but looked it up for me and emailed me a link. I read the policy, and agreed with most of it, so I took a look at their other policies, and wondered why I had spent so long having a love/hate relationship with the labour party. I felt like I had found a party of forward thinking, rational, intelligent and passionate people, whose values were very close to my own.

I voted Green.

A few weeks later, Mark and I were discussing an anti war rally. I was planning to attend, and Mark mentioned that “Kerry will be speaking”. At this stage I hadn’t met his family, so I didn’t know that he had two sisters, one of whom is a Greens Senator for NSW. He was SURE that he had mentioned this to me, but “My sister is a Senator” is the kind of thing that a girl remembers. Honestly.

So now we’re married, and Kerry is my senator-in-law. And I’ve joined the Greens and am an active member. I am secretary of our local group, and was part of the Media group during the Andrew Wilkie Campaign for the 2004 Federal Election. We forced the Prime Minister to preferences in his own seat. Bennelong is now considered to be a marginal seat.

I’ve come to know Kerry in this time, and can honestly say that she is an inspiration. Lovely in person, passionate, committed, and compassionate, Kerry has been a beacon of hope in dark times – when the coalition took control of the senate, Kerry maintained her positive attitude saying – “now we have an opportunity to make a real difference”.

I used to be cynical about politicians, to the point that I gave up even reading the newspapers, but joining the Greens, and meeting the candidates has convinced me that they are everything that good politicians should be, and I get a little cross when I hear people say “all politicians are….”. No, they are not. Some of them work really hard, in difficult circumstances, for the betterment of all, not just the people who will re-elect them.

I haven’t met Bob Brown, but I have met Kerry, and I can say that she’s tops. And she knits too…..

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Picture taken using Photo Booth on my new macbook. There has to be some advantages to working in a mac shop!

Yes, though I should be shopping for furniture so I can continue to organise the craft room, or washing clothes and linen, or doing dishes, or going to SSK, I am pottering around with the lights that Mark bought me as an anniversary present, photographing small furry people, and generally enjoying a day off with no commitments.

Photos of Blueberry and Custard to come.

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Harmony in the Disco

Janis free ranging with Barbara on the left, Grace in the middle, and Liza hiding in the bushes. Janis is on the right.

In case anyone is interested, they are on a carpet of ivy and parsley, with perpetual spinach in the foreground, and cardamon in the background. Cardamon is a lovely lush bushy thing, and the leaves make great liners for a steamer basket.

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Daisy is 12!

Yesterday, the first of August, the “Horses Birthday”, and – as close as we can estimate, the birthday of my large and bad tempered feline. Daisy has been with me since he was 8 weeks old, and a tiny wee kitten. I was 24, and living in a shared house with a few girlfriends. Between us, we decided that a black and white cow would perfectly round out the household. Unfortunately, we lived in Darlinghurst, and had a tiny, concreted backyard. Perfect for sunbaking nude over a morning coffee in summer, but not a good home for a beautiful bovine. And so our Daisy the cow had to be a cat. A black and white one. Until we found that there were no black and white kittens to be had (this was before I had a clue about animal welfare, and was choosing a pet like I would choose a handbag..).

So we came home with a tiny grey and white terror. He was the centre of our lives for 6 months, but when the house broke up (as most shared houses inevitably do), I got left with the cat.

It’s been an interesting ride in those 12 years, and Daisy has been a faithful companion through all the ups and downs.

Thanks Puss, and here’s to the next 12 years 🙂

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Rainbow

Last night I put her in with the other girls for body heat, but she wasn’t comfortable being so close to them, and moved out to her own little nest to sleep on her own. This morning she was taking a few steps at a time, and there was harmony in the disco. Grace tried to peck at her, but she walked away, and Grace lost interest.

Tonight, when we went to check on them, she was snuggled in with the other girls in the nesting box.

I am thinking about an appropriate name for her – Rainbow is a very meaningful name, but it lacks a certain glamour. Paula had seen a truck full of chickens on their way to the factory, and felt powerless to change the fate of the little feathered souls on board. Later, she saw a rainbow, and found Rainbow by the side of the road.

I’m thinking about Janis Joplin – posterchild for the rainbow children of the sixties, and a great example of the “live hard, die young” ethos. Rainbow’s breeding means she is unlikely to live to a ripe old age – so we’ll just spoil her rotten till the end of her days.

A Weekend

Friday night was a haze of back pain and liquer muscat – not an inspiring start to the weekend, but unfortunately more frequent recently than it has been in past months. It sems like the last few weeks I’ve been doing more heavy lifting than I should, and the result is back pain so bad that I can barely sit on the train for 45 minutes without being in agony by the time the train pulls into Denistone station.

Saturday morning dawned with the promise of cleaners, so without the support of my usual morning caffeine injection, we did a quick tidy up so that the cleaners could find surfaces to clean. While they did their magic, I popped over to Mum & Dad’s to borrow Nanna’s spinning wheel for an afternoon of fibre fun with Emma, Andrew, and Christophe.

Despite much praise of my spinning ability, the resulting plied skein was a pile of crap. Emma assures me that I can re-ply it and it may come good. Or I could separate the plies and start again. No chance of that!

Saturday night I took to my bed again, watched Dr Who, and got an early night. Sunday morning, we got a little more housework done, and then Paula and Martin brought Rainbow to live with us. Rainbow is a “broiler”, a chicken bred for the meat market, and on her way to the slaughterhouse when she fell from a truck onto the side of Pennant Hills Road. Luckily for her, she was spotted by Paula on her way to work, and now will hopefully live out her short life with as much dignity and comfort as we can provide.

Broilers are bred selectively for massive weight gain in a short period of time. They are typically slaughtered within a few months of hatching, and their short lives are marked by the pain of massive muscle growth on skeletons that are unable to support them. Rainbow sat for two days before she was able to stand up, and it was another few days before she was able to take a step. She had likely never seen sunlight before she was loaded on to the truck, and hadn’t had enough space to stretch her wings.

A study, published in the Veterinary Record shows that broiler chickens, crippled and in pain, will actively choose a feed with painkillers, over a feed without pain relief, if given the choice.

After settling Rainbow in her new home, and having a lovely chat with her rescuers, I headed off to the pub to get my knit on. What a lovely group we have! It did seem to be “Pick on Emma Day”, so I hope here sense of humour remains intact, but we had a lively discussion, and Kelly was brave enough to try Continental knitting for the first time.

All in all, a satisfying weekend. We got housework done, made some new friends, and had a lovely knit and spin.

A Visit With Hamish

Last year, when I was beginning to recover from my ruptured disk, and was feeling, in general, rather sorry for myself, I received a phone call informing me that Hamish had fallen over and broken his spine. Crushed it. Really high up. Any higher and he’d be on a respirator till the end of his days. Or possibly even ending his days.

Hamish has always been a bit of a dare devil, a risk taker. If someone had called to tell me that Hamish had an accident bungee jumping off a motorcycle that was jumping over a burning pit, I wouldn’t have been too surprised. But he was playing cricket in the front yard with his son after picking him up from school. And he’ll never walk again.

Nothing like a story like that to kick you out of a self pity jag.

That was November. In that time I’ve been to see him about 4 times, and I feel like a completely shite friend. Utterly selfish and crap. The optimist in me knows that my life has been no picnic (for reasons that don’t get discussed much on the blog), but the rest of me feels that i have let Hamish down, that I should have been there for him and Heather more. I can tell myself that it’s ok, but I know that I am not OK with the sort of friend I have been, and it’s pointless to pretend.

A few months ago I knitted a moss stitch square of left over cotton from some baby hats, and gave it to him for a facial that Simone was going to do for him. Tonight he mentioned that the knitted washcloth was great for his skin (I figured that if he only has sensation in his head and shoulders, he might as well have a wash cloth that felt great). He even asked me to knit a few more. So I’ll do that. I may not always be there, but I can show my regard for him in a small way.

More washcloths coming up.