Monthly Archives: May 2016
I gots a new phone! Hold your breath, wait for it….. – RRSAHM
I gots a new phone! Hold your breath, wait for it…..
….. no! it’s not an iPhone!
I know, anti-climax much? Sorry. But a new phone was a matter of necessity, not luxury. And the budget didn’t quite cater to an iPhone. So I am still officially iJealous. (Which is almost a good thing. After all, what would I have to blog about if I actually got an iPhone? Nada, nothing, zip; that’s what).
Early (ish) this morning I embarked on an expedition, limited only by my budget; the count down to sleep time; hectic, feral children and the incompetent rudeness of the staff my local Vodafone store, I adopted a Samsung SGH-F480i. Just rolls off the tongue, doesn’t it?
Ah well. It’s pink (yay!!). Coral pink, in fact (double yay!!). It has a touch screen. Rude incompetent staff swore to me it is Twitter enabled. And FaceBook too, which is an unfortunate oversight on Samsung’s behalf. But, you know, whatever.
Pretty and sparkly and obviously no, that is not a picture of my actual phone, because I am too lazy to get the camera out and take a picture and upload it and how much easier will that all be once my new phone is all juiced up?! Awesomeness.
I did make the mistake of buying a faux leather cover for my pretty new pink phone. In red. Which will clash terribly with the phone itself. I was distracted by two small demon children and desperately in need of nicotine by that point.
Um. The red case is kinda like this one. Except, of course, not for an iPhone. But this is the best Google Images had to offer. And, ya know, I’m lazy. The Google God is mocking me. And I’m starting to think he needs his own tag on my blog.
You see, the Man has gone away for the weekend. I’m Single Mum-ing it and I’m extraordinarily frazzled. After 48 hours, I’ve already been distracted enough to let my child suck on a potentially dangerous object (baby drool and phones don’t mix, OK? Thus, new phone becoming a matter of necessity). The Purple House looks like the aftermath of a drunken Toys’R’Us Christmas party. And I am clashing my phone with it’s accessories.
Honestly, I don’t know how Real Life Single Mummies do it. Hats off to you, ladies. Two days in your shoes shows me how freaking precious I actually am.
Anyways, I can’t actually tell you if the phone is super cool or sux hard because, obviously, I haven’t used it yet.
So… erm… hang out for the review post, OK? Or something. I just thought I’d share my excitement with you. Not total excitement, because it is not the fabled iPhone, but excitement none the less.
Previous post: I’m Not Afraid of Poo.
Next post: 5ive Things I Hate About You.
Oh, the pain of de-Follow-nisation… – RRSAHM
Oh, the pain of de-Follow-nisation…
A hello to y’all,
It’s just the pain that never ends, isn’t it? Losing a Follower. It seems Bad Humpty ruffled some feathers after all. Told you he’s a troublemaker.
Ah well. Can’t win ‘em all. Just remember- every time you un-Follow someone’s blog, a fairy somewhere dies. OK?
Leave a Comment
{ 10 comments… read them below or add one }
-
March 13, 2010 at 12:33 am -
Oh well, their loss! GIVE US MORE BAD HUMPTY!
- March 12, 2010 at 9:30 pm
-
Hi Lori, now following from FlogYoBlog Friday. Just about to check out your Bad Humpty post, love a bit of controversy! ;)…Nic
- March 12, 2010 at 9:06 am
-
Oh Melissa that was just hysterical, thanks so much for the link.
Bad Humpty will return. Damnn the man. Save the egg.
- March 12, 2010 at 8:28 am
-
Yes, yes, very sad, the unfollowing bizzo. But I have been guilty of it too, killed a few fairies in my time. Oh well, it all evens out in the end. Just try and figure out who unfollowed, I swear, it is damned near impossible!
I like bad Humpty btw!
- March 12, 2010 at 7:24 am
-
Me? I love Bad Humpty. I think he's a bad egg (oh, the puns are flying, and I've only had one coffee!). I get your concerns.
A while ago, my Alexander fell into some bad company…
http://thethingsidtellyou.blogspot.com/2008/04/all-about-scruffy-and-someone-tell-me.html
- March 11, 2010 at 10:40 pm
-
Some people are just puppet prudes. Don't sweat it :o)
- March 11, 2010 at 8:53 pm
-
Do I laugh or do I cry at the lunatic remark? I'm inclined to laugh. And you're pretty kooky yourself. But that's why I love you. And I'd love to see more of that Bad Humpty dude. He's rockin' it.
- March 11, 2010 at 8:53 pm
-
Note to me…. Never ever get on lori's bad side
- March 11, 2010 at 7:33 pm
-
Say it with me, Lori. It's their issue, not yours! It still sucks though so major hugs for you, babe.xoxoxo.
- March 11, 2010 at 7:22 pm
-
Roflmao at the fairy dies comment! Now who would unfollow you when you provide such wit?
Previous post: Ha! Recognise, Hot Piercer Dude!
Next post: The Muse Wars- Writing Challenge Three
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Sedation
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Running Away Again.
The TTD Shield, Part Two. – RRSAHM
The TTD Shield, Part Two.
Continued from yesterday…
Things happen so serendipitously, I often don’t even wonder about them anymore. And, cynics, stay or leave; but know that I right this whole post with the lingering knowledge in my rational mind that out of thousands of events, its easy to place emphasis on a few, scattered over a period of years.
But does it surprise anyone at all to know that Tony loved rugby, played it when he was younger? That he taught me the rules to it as I watched it with him, curled up on the lounge…? It was mostly in those first few years, before pure first child begun walking, if truth be known… before we both got to busy to do that often, before I got too busy to do that, ever.
***
Drink after the Shield game are just so warm and lovely they make my heart ache in a way that’s difficult to explain.
So many blokes, just like my husband. So many wives, just like I used to be. Couples chasing tiny toddlers, mothers nursing tired bundles of restless children. Football on the TV, laughter and lough voices.
I miss my husband so much I could weep from the inside out.
But I can see him, in another reality… it plays in front of me like a movie.
Tony’s sliding door story, instead of mine.
I can see him. Standing at the bar, ordering a drink (OP rum and lemonade, a double if they serve them). Wearing a blue shirt that he nearly lived in permanently when we first met, that had become an oil stained rag by the time he died.
I can see him, clearer than I have been able to picture him for months. I can see him order a drink. I can see the way he used to touch his mouth when he did something that made uncomfortable, like opening his wallet with a lot of cash in it in public.
 |
| Tony, in that blue shirt, with our tiny, four week old son. |
I can see him make a passing comment to a bloke standing next to him. I can see him look over the bar, catch my eye, and wink… just like he used to do Just like I was the only person in the room.
I miss him so much… I can see him. I can feel his prescience, smell him… I can feel the happy jump my heart used to do knowing that at some point soon he would come up behind me and wrap his arm round my waist, so proud that he was mine and I was his.
It hurts like scalding water over my lacerated heart… but at the same time, it’s a comfort, a blessing.
You see, a funny thing happens when I actively relive the events of that horrible, fucked up afternoon– say, when I speak of them in detail, as I did for an interview recently. My mind burns all over again with that picture, that wicked posture of a person already unconscious and being held up by their neck; that vivid torture drumbeat of blue shirt, orange rope.
And it burns so hard that it stays there, behind my eyes, like an optic picture from staring at the sun too long; it becomes the image I see every time I think of Tony.
I can’t tell you how disgusting that is, how much my soul shrivels into itself every time my mind draws that picture up.
How badly I need some other, equally vivid image to replace it with.
I got that, Friday night. I think of Tony right now, and I see a bloke standing a bar in a warm, small, well lit club that caters to families and serves nice food. I see a good looking guy, stacked with a few extra pounds since he became a dad, ordering a drink.
I see the man I know, the one I loved… not the one I lost that horrible, hot January afternoon. And that’s a blessing like no other.
That, if nothing else, will be enough to make me take a pilgrimage to Canberra every year, something special for me to honour the man I loved. And I’ll be taking my kids too.
I know, I know, I keep saying this…. but words are failing me. Thank you so much to Darrell, who organized all this– the good you’ve done is immeasurable.
***
So many people have asked me if there is somewhere they can donate to the Shield Appeal online– I can’t thank you enough. Just under $1000 was raised on the night. All donations through my PayPal account for the next two weeks go directly to the Tony “Toz” Dwyer Shield Appeal– you can donate right here.
Leave a Comment
{ 5 comments… read them below or add one }
- May 25, 2012 at 12:39 pm
-
These posts have me wondering if any of Tony's family or friends managed to go too?
Next year, I'll check it out. And navigating in Canberra really isn't that bad, once you've figured it out :p
- May 22, 2012 at 10:02 pm
-
Eventually that horrible memory will fade out and the millions of happy things will prevail.
What a lovely community you have.
Virtual hugs x - May 22, 2012 at 8:59 pm
-
I'm so glad that this event came to be. I know parts of it were painful, but it sounds like such an amazing blessing. Lots of love to you Lori.
- May 22, 2012 at 7:32 pm
-
Sounds like a perfect occasion to meet up with Tony in spirit each year.
xoxoxo
Pix - May 22, 2012 at 2:39 pm
-
Darrell and Jo – they are good people. Not only for organising a match in Tony's honour, but for giving you back the memories you deserve to have.
Previous post: The TTD Shield, Part One
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Internet Dating 102- First Dates
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: LoveStamps and Voodoo Dolls
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: LoveStamps and Voodoo Dolls
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: The Crappest GiveAway Ever (really, this time)
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: F*ck.
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Rememories.
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: F*ck.
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Not Speaking About Just Everything…
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: F*ck.
One Post at a Time. – RRSAHM
One Post at a Time.
Well… hi. It’s been a while.
I’ve been afraid to write on my own blog, and I’m still not sure why. It’s bizarre how something that was my salvation now causes me a strange kind of anxiety.
I’ve been afraid of a lot of things over the last year or so. I kind of lost the ability to function in any meaningful way for a while there. Blogging is just part of it.
It felt like six months of falling deeper and deeper into a hole I didn’t even know was ahead of me. And it’s been six months of rebuilding myself. Step by step. Bit by tiny bit. You know how it can be- one step forward, two steps back.
I’ve been afraid of myself, and everything that resides within me. It’s taking a while, to get to know myself again.
I am angry at myself for thinking I knew everything. For not realising what an effect such a huge geographical move would have on me. I try not to think about it too much.
I have missed writing, and I feel the hole that it’s left. But I think about blogging. And that leads to thinking about the avalanche of unanswered emails in my inbox; the Facebook messages I haven’t responded to. Which ties in to the phone calls I haven’t made, the to–do list of things I haven’t done….
And it’s all downhill from there.
So I’m not going to worry about that, right now. I’m just going to write. It’s just fingers tapping on my iPad screen. It’s just writing. A few hundred words and nothing more.
***
Life is good. Life is laughter and school lunches and Sunday trips into the city, and late nights curled up watching TV in bed.
Life is normal. I feel normal. We- the Most Amazing Man, the Chop, the Bump and I- are a happy, relatively well–functioning little family of four.
Some days I’m still… not great. Some days I jump at little things. Sometimes the sound of sirens make my heart beat fast and a lump of dread sits like sour dough in my stomach. Some days I spiral into things I shouldn’t think about.
But that’s just life, and everything has something that haunts them. Everyone has bad days. These things just manifest themselves in different ways.
***
The Most Amazing Man is still pretty damn amazing. My children are gorgeous, beautiful, magnificent little creatures. It continually amazes me, how much I can love two people who drive me so absolutely fucking insane with their cheeky naughtiness.
There’s so much i want to tell you about them. About me. And I will, I’m sure I will…
Baby steps. This is one post. One post at a time.
Leave a Comment
{ 17 comments… read them below or add one }
-
August 12, 2014 at 2:19 pm -
Welcome back
-
August 11, 2014 at 5:47 am -
Normal is good and happy is even better. So you just write when you feel like it and don’t worry about anything else.
-
August 9, 2014 at 6:22 pm -
Welcome back lovely. I agree with Danielle. Clean slate the shit out of your inbox and rebirth yourself fresh and clean.
-
August 8, 2014 at 11:28 pm -
Wow this is the first time I have found this hang in there girl, we are aligned it is spooky love to you and yours thankyou for your blog We have gone through the some shit at the same time. Through our husbands and we have SURVIVED what they did to our family we will never recover from but we are now so strong and they do don’t have anything except there past….not ours or theirs…..
-
August 8, 2014 at 9:22 pm -
Great to see you back
-
August 7, 2014 at 8:03 pm -
Welcome back. We are here with open arms to listen and support.
-
August 7, 2014 at 7:37 pm -
Welcome back you beautiful soul. So lovely to read your words again. Glad to hear you are well, much love xxxxxx
-
August 7, 2014 at 6:36 pm -
So nice to see you here again , you write so beautifully Lori x
-
August 7, 2014 at 3:38 pm -
Well done. One post a time. So nice to see you write again. Miss your smiley face xoxo
-
August 7, 2014 at 11:18 am -
LORI! So glad to see you making words on my screen.
You do what you need to do, write what you want to write, be awesome and we’ll all still be here, wishing only the best for you.x x x
Marlee Jane recently posted…Notes on the Last Day of a Writers Workshop
-
August 7, 2014 at 11:12 am -
Welcome back x
-
August 7, 2014 at 10:19 am -
I often wonder how you are doing, I’ve noticed your absence! I’ll bet your just loving this Melbourne weather…I’ve lived here my whole life and it’s really bugging me this year. Can’t wait for daylight savings and hanging washing on the clothesline again!
Glad to see you back! XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX -
August 7, 2014 at 10:10 am -
The biggest tip I can give you is to wipe it clean. Your inbox, your Facebook inbox and start a fresh. If it’s important they will reach out again and you will have a fresh start.
-
August 7, 2014 at 8:57 am -
RRSAHM! exclaimed I, when I saw you in my RSS feed. Missed you! Glad for one post to read or many. Just made a huge geographical move myself (including leaving my husband after discovering his year long affair). Day by day (and post by post), on we go. So glad your little fam is happy!
-
August 7, 2014 at 1:06 am -
Missed you! Glad to have you back! My kiddo is leaving the nest tomorrow!!!! We move her into her dorm. I am ONE. HOT. MESS. right now.
I’m glad you’re considering blogging more often! I love your writing! Remember that people all over the world have come to care about you and yours through your blog. Also? You have helped A LOT of people by describing your progress through your own struggles. I know. I’m one of them.
Big hug and a big ole smooch from all the way over here in Alabama!
Marianne recently posted…Put in perspective…
-
August 6, 2014 at 11:02 pm -
Welcome back, I’m glad you’re still putting one foot in front of the other! Here’s a tip for your (overwhelming?) inbox – delete it and start fresh. Chances are you’ve already dealt with what needs dealing with anyway, and the sheer numbers of unread mail gets to be paralysing. I’ve been there. Trust me, trash it and it’ll be a huge weight off you.
Take care of you xx
- August 7, 2014 at 4:22 pm
-
I like the delete and start again approach
-
Previous post: Smile
Next post: Growing Up.
babies
babies
My children grow older in great jumping stretches, strides of development and intellect that take me by shocked and awe-struck surprise. They learn things while I’m not looking, not watching, not quite paying attention; some days they seem to eat the world whole and regurgitate it, piecemeal and filtered down to it’s most keenly observed and amusingly purified status.
They make decisions. They form their own likes and dislikes, opinions and quirks. Desires and preferences and aches and soft spots. They become little people, a formation of their own selves. Without ever needing my- nor anyone else’s- permission.
My son leaves for school each day buoyant, blessed, the sunshine of scabbed knees and school awards all over his happy smile and lightly freckled nose. He adores Big School and he’s well behaved and popular, smart and polite.
I’m so proud of him I could pop, burst apart at the seams with a sunshine of my own. I worry so much for him it aches at my heart. He rarely mentions his father, hardy ever; and when he does its with the sunny side-up– spotting a star and saying goodnight, sharing a wistful memory of ‘when we lived in the Purple House‘ with me (some days, it seems he keeps more memories from there than I do, and I don’t know if that’s happy or sad, awful or heartening).
My daughter is now older than my son was when his father died. Sometimes I look at other children, younger children, unsteady on their feet and still with a baby-fluff of hair on their heads and I think to myself, in a tone that carries a desperate guttural sort of sobbing sadness- she was so little. She was so young- just a baby, really. And again, I don’t know if that’s good or bad, a happy occurrence or a sad one.
I still keep tabs and measurements on my kids- maybe I always will. I track growths and accomplishments- toilet training, learning to count, my son writing his name, whole nights of (blessed) unbroken sleep, wobbly teeth and birthday parties. I pay extra attention to them, record and file them in the recesses of my mind. Accomplishments made. Things done. Less out of a fear of forgetting all of them, with no one to remind me; more because these are things I have witnessed, alone. My children’s accomplishments are mine as well.
My children have been mine now for much longer than they were ever Tony’s. The majority of their growing, their formative years- that’s been done by me. And I look at them sometimes, myheart beating with a pride I never thought possible, because I’ve never felt it before; my head rings with ‘mine, mine, mine’. Because I have done this. I’ve created two beautiful, smart, funny, caring and empathetic people. As a solo unit. And the three of us, we are a team.
Conversing with The Most Amazing Man In The Universe just a few days ago, we happened to touch on the subject of (in my own ill-thought-out wording, with no criticism from either of us, as negative as the phrase may sound) mothers ‘like me’. Mothers- single mums and partnered mums- who seem to struggle just that little bit. Mothers who allow washing to pile up, who feed their kids hot chips for dinner. Whose houses are always slightly chaotic, with pets and toys and half-done projects interrupting the flow of organisation. Mums that are hopeless at cooking and planning weekend outings, and let their kids watch too much TV.
The mothers that seem unable to contain the chaos of small children. The ones who wouldn’t know a housework roster if it bit them on the butt while they were vacuuming around and not under the lounge (again).
The chaotic, disorganised parent whose children turn out all kinds of awesome anyway- polite and pleasurable, earnest and enlightening company. Flowers of unmitigated perfection, grown of a garden unkempt and tended with the very best of intentions.
I’m that mum who’s always running just that little bit late, the one who forgets permission notes and homework (but hasn’t missed a library day yet). This morning, I’m attending a (godforsaken) school assembly, to watch my little man receive a special award. I’m feeling all the satisfaction that comes from years of bitching hard work and rampant parental insecurity finally manifest itself into one of those allusive “I’m doing OK at this parenting thing” moments.
It’s like some kind of holy parenting pinnacle. A rest stop on a long road that’s not marked with signs and where I have no GPS. An un-navigated journey I began naively that sometimes seems endless and I’m always worried about running out of fuel before I can stop and replenish again, getting lost and finding no one to ask for directions.
This pit-stop feels like a victory. One that belongs to me and my kids. It’s ours, and ours alone.
I did this, raised these gorgeous little people.
And I did it all by myself.
***
Updated: The award itself turned out to be specifically for the Chop’s “caring and responsible personality”.
For today, I will answer to ‘super-mum’ and ‘best mum ever’. In my own mind, at the very least.
{ 30 comments }
Once upon a parenting forum, in the time of the Before (a long, long time ago), I knew a woman named Lulu.
Actually, Lulu wasn’t her real name, just her screen name. But that’s what everyone on this forum knew her as– Lulu. And everyone on this forum knew her– she was a site moderator and unapologetic alpha-female. Lots of bloggers knew her as well. Her blog, Unperfect Life, is still here. She buried her sister just days before she died herself.
Lulu passed away, suddenly and unexpectedly, just a few days after Tony died. I remember one late afternoon out the front of my purple–becoming–orange house, Fairie Sarie telling me that Lulu had died and being unable to articulate anything except “Our Lulu? From the forum Lulu?”
What resulted was just the queerest feeling– one of those sliding door anomalies, where things are shifting just beneath your surface in a whole other life. In that other life, this news gutted me. It was monumental.
In this life, I was stunned but not even surprised. The whole world had turned upside down. Of course there were going to other be casualties, other losses just as great as my own.
Lulu’s avatar- know this isn’t how she actually looked… but it’s how I see her in my mind, still.
I’m not even sure why I’m writing this post. Only that I think of Lulu– a woman I never even met In Real Life– often. I hope her kids are doing okay without their most awesome, amazing mother. Bizarrely, I credit Lulu with teaching me so many things about child-raising, so many things about life in general. About standing up for yourself and believing in your own opinion. About having compassion and empathy and a sense of humour. About treating our children they way they deserve to be treated– like the little people they are.
Lulu was, online, an absolute force of nature, and I can only imagine she would have been the same In Real Life. She was funny and honest and wise in that cool-auntie way that some women have about them.
When I look back on it, try to verbalise it or write it down, the most important lesson I learned from Lulu sounds silly and simple. It’s more an attitude than a ritual. And I still put it into practice sometimes now, five years after I ‘met’ her for the first time.
Some days, its both useful and practical to vacuum the house in a tiara.
Why?
Because you are a motherfucking princess.
And why the hell not.
{ 7 comments }
Unashamedly inspired by Tina Fey’s prayer for her daughter. She did it better.
***
A quick, quiet prayer to whoever may be in charge, regarding my sweet, fairy daughter. If it be within the keeping of your (admittedly skewed) sense of humor…
May my darling little girl always keep her uniqueness, her sweetness, her sense of humor. She may need it.
May she know that, no matter what, she is loved by a great deal of people; and will undoubtedly be loved by many, many more people over her lifetime. And if everyone else seems to have failed; I hope she will know that she always, always has me.
Allow her to be teased, bullied and left out, but only once or twice; just enough to grant her empathy and convince her never to hurt someone else like that. When it happens, may she have enough of those people who love her unconditionally around to break the humiliating impact.
May she feel the simple platonic pleasure of being mates with members of the opposite sex. Let her know, every know and then, how it feels to be ‘one of the boys’, so she might respect them and demand the same in return.
Let her know herself enough that she is able to find interest and hobbies she is passionate in. Let her know, through some divine intervention, that high school, homework and final exams are not the end of the world- six months after her eighteenth birthday they will probably seem insignificant, anyway.
May she be at ease with her body, know herself and how she works; and never think of herself as shameful or dirty or unpleasant. Allow her to know the decadence of food, untainted and untouched by belief her body is not perfect as it has been made.
May she fall in love, hard and fast and blissfully, at least twice. And may the first time break her heart, shatter it to pieces… much as that hurts to ask for. But allow her that so that, the second time, she appreciates and understands what it is to love someone and be loved in return.
Give her the ability to appreciate simple pleasures that come with being female. Allow her to feel the simple fancies of lipstick and high heels, having her hair done and dancing, dressing beautifully and batting her eyelids. Let her enjoy the ripe pleasure of sex. But give her control over herself, and make her at least a little aware of how awesome she is, so she avoids doing the same silly things that I did.
May she be blessed with children, should she want them. May the conception be without the heartbreak of infertility, and childbirth as fast and pleasant as her own entry into the world was.
Give her the blessing of female friendships, of sleep-overs and coffees and play dates- give her sisters in other women that she will not have by blood.
Let her work hard enough that she knows what hard work is; but never to, nor for, desperation. May she find a job where every day is an adventure, where her mind feels stretched and her comfort zones questioned.
Let her live, completely and fully- taste things, feel things, smell things, see things. May her life be peppered with experiences, with happiness and sadness and realities and laughter. If she is afraid then allow her the strength to see through that and do the things she wants to do anyway. May she see every day as something new, every road as a possibility.
And when things do go wrong- when she loses her favorite toy; when she misses out on something she really wanted; when her best friend hangs out with someone else; when that first love breaks her heart or the pregnancy test comes back positive; or her own daughter won’t stop screaming at her for something undetermined…
May she known that I have been there, done that; and even if she never, ever wants to admit it, I kind of understand. And may she not hesitate to come to me. Without guilt or fear of judgement, though no doubt she will have them.
But may she know that whatever she confesses to, whatever the problem may be; I will always, always love her, and never turn away.
And may she know that’s because she’s beautiful, inside and out. And even if she wasn’t, I hope she knows that I would still be there, anyway. Because that just what mothers are for.
{ 8 comments }
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Not OK.
Something In The Water- The Muse Wars – RRSAHM
Something In The Water- The Muse Wars
This month, the Muse Wars– a monthly fiction writing challenge for bloggers. Check out all details on the Muse Wars here, and feel free to join in- you’ve got until the end of the month to write a short story based on this photo, and add your post to the linky list.
***
Something In The Water
It must be something in the water, she concluded. It had to be… there was no other explanation for it.
“There’s an underground spring,” the previous owner had said, crisp and distasteful of the dust and untended garden of weeds in her spotless, laundered two piece suit; “it’s safe to drink, if you have it tested every six months. It supplies all the water for the house and garden. I’ve never known it to run dry, but there’s a mains connection, just in case…”
Elsie had paid little attention, her mind on other things, bigger issues than a well–working water supply… she had a house full of dust and cobwebs to clear, years worth of unmoved sediment that needed to be cleaned and sorted out before she could take up residence in this dilapidated, ancient cottage with its overflowing and undisciplined country garden.
Her son came to help her, spending a week in the freshly painted spare room, and much of his time atop a ladder changing light fixtures, clearing gutterings and lopping trees while his mother– able and energetic, surely, but nowhere near as fit as she once was, now she was in her late sixties– scrubbed and mopped and dusted the inside of the house, setting straight years of neglect and abandonment. Elsie’s daughter hadn’t come, of course– she was busy, always busy, too busy. Forty years ago Elsie had known her daughter better than anyone else in the world… now, she barely recognized her voice on the phone. If it wasn’t for the fact that her daughter had launched into an immediate diatribe on how Elsie was far too old to be moving into a house that needed so much work, and was so far away, and that anything could happen to an old woman like her out there all alone, an hours drive from the suburbs; Elsie may not have known the hard female voice belonged to her own child. In fact, it sounded much like the clipped, brittle tones of the woman who’d just sold her this old cottage.
The effect of the fresh air, a change of scenery and the hard work of clearing the house and property was an immediate balm on Elsie’s soul, quite as she had imagined it would be. She felt lighter, younger, more energetic than she had in years. She ate fruits and raw vegetables, and except for the ritual of her early morning cup of Earl Gray; drank nothing but glass after glass of water from the kitchen tap, sourced from the underground spring the previous owner had spoken of. It was delicious, clear and pure; and, assuming the supply was as plentiful as she had been assured, she was soon using it to irrigate a burgeoning veggie garden, and nurse the neglected cottage’s rose bushes, snap dragons, daisies and agapanthas back to health.
It was two weeks after her son left her to her own devices with a slightly concerned, “You’ll be OK out here, mum?” that was nothing like the patronizing enquiries of his sister that Elsie begin to notice the woman who stared back at her in the mirror every morning changing, gradually, but continually; so slowly it teased at the fringes of her mind and made her wonder if she was seeing what she thought she saw, or if she had, in fact, gone mad out here in this little cottage, miles from the closest town.
Elsie watched as the wrinkles in her skin smoothed, as it’s paper texture regained elasticity and sun spots that had been part of her landscape for years disappear. Her teeth seemed to refill their own cavities, settle deeper back into her gums; the varicose veins on her legs popped themselves back smooth underneath her skin.
And her garden… it begin to grow. Roses seemed to unfurl overnight, transforming from sticks to healthy bushes laden with blood red blooms. Potatoes planted as spuds just the week before were now four feet of green growth from the soil. A pumpkin vine her son had hacked back to nothing but a small green stump now ran it’s tendrils and broad leaves across the knee–high grass and entangled the bottom of the clothesline; the garden beds underneath the cottage windows were an unruly cloud of color with bees dipping in and out of dozens of flowers, the paths the foliage grew next to usable and, eventually, unable to be seen at all.
Elsie observed this daily with an agitated distraction, her garden appearing to grow the moment her back was turned. Odd, she decided, certainly odd; but it paled magnificently in comparison to what she was observing on her own body– a change with every breath, a de-manifestation of natural cell growth with every heartbeat. A total reversal of the aging process.
As difficult as she found it to believe herself, Elsie was actually growing younger.
Her hair grew long and lustrous, touching her lower back for the first time in her life; and as it grew it seemed to streak itself with pigment the same way the grey had originally snuck in twenty years ago– within a month it was it’s former raven glory, thick and flaxen. Elsie’s breasts seemed to turn into her body until they were pert and uplifted, the skin on her stomach appeared to shrink until it was smooth and tight. She found herself amazed at her sudden boundless, ferocious energy, the sex drive she’d lost when her husband left ten years ago returned. She spent her days spent alone and content, barely noticing time passing or her garden growing up around the house like a jungle.
It must be in the water, she thought, so comfortable with that concept, so at peace for the first time in years that she never thought to question it, never wondered what would happen if she continued to become younger, and younger….
And the garden grew and grew.
It fell with her son, the onus of proof, the responsibility of proving Elsie still alive at all; and of course he had the paperwork, a copy of the land deed his mother had acquired just a few months ago.
A deed that proved nothing, nothing at all, except what they already knew… there was a block of land here, a property in his mother’s name that looked as though it once had a building on it but now contained just overgrowth and rotted ruins. The ruins of a cottage, choked and molested by foliage, that looked like it had been there for years…
And not a single inhabitant in sight.
‘);
rc=”/wp-content/uploads/2013/01/sig1.png” />
Leave a Comment
{ 8 comments… read them below or add one }
- July 28, 2012 at 9:31 pm
-
Wow. Beautiful. My mind is blown with how the concept of this came to you. Amazing.
- July 14, 2012 at 12:58 pm
-
Fantastic Lori, loved the images you created with your words. xxx
- July 13, 2012 at 9:49 am
-
Stinky, there are weeks yet – do join!
Very deep Ms Lori, very deep.
You did want me to have nightmares didn't you…
- July 7, 2012 at 4:20 am
-
That was really superb.Brilliantly done buddy….
- July 7, 2012 at 2:18 am
-
Great story! I am so in!
- July 6, 2012 at 1:40 pm
-
Oooh I enjoyed that, thank you! Intended to join in too . . . road to hell is paved with good intentions I hear. Maybe next time!
- July 6, 2012 at 11:29 am
-
That was really awesome! I'm working on my own one at the moment too – you've inspired me to get my rusty writing skills working again.
- July 6, 2012 at 10:07 am
-
Wow!!!
That was an excellent read Lori.
Hope the short stories continue!
Previous post: When Fan Heaters Attack.
Next post: Lori Runs Away And Finds Cool Stuff
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Giant.
Not OK. – RRSAHM
Not OK.
“Every day we starve while we eat white bread and beer instead of a handshake or hug.”
‘Little Sister’, Jewel.
Today, I am really not fucking OK.
All that numbness that was going, is gone. Everything is in Technicolor, vivid shades of pain and despair and loneliness and heart ache.
How loud do I have to scream? What’s the point of telling people to speak up, but when I do, I’m still ignored?
Do you need to go hospital? I’ve been asked that a few times today, when I’ve rang people, unable to stop crying.
No. How fucking stupid. I need people. I need company. That’s all. I just need people to talk to.
With the exception of my lovely Sarie– who has just come of pregnancy bedrest and still offered to jump in her car and drive three hours to me if I needed her, bless her and every part of her soul- most people in my real life seem to suck a bit.
I think I reached a new low of loneliness when I actually offered to pay a friend to have the day off work and come and be with me- just freaking be with me, nothing else, not even do a thing for me or my kids- and it’s still too difficult.
I know, there are a million people online who offer company and support, and I adore you all for that…but I’m sure you’ll understand when I say that I want people I know and love and are already familiar and comfortable with. (I had an interesting conversation the other night with some bloggers over whether people would be as supportive if I knew you all In Real Life- but that’s another post, for another day.)
As my bestie Emma said on the phone to me today- I just really want to people to give a fuck about me. I just really want someone who loves me to care enough about me to see that I am really, really, really not coping right now. And I don’t need a hospital or any more drugs. I need real, physical, practical support.
I have trouble asking for help.
It makes me feel weak and selfish. I always feel like I am burdening people, putting them out.
I don’t ask for help very often. The last six months, I’ve done this on my own. The help I’ve asked for involved taking care of my kids. And I always feel as if I ask a little too much, too often.
A couple of days a fucking fortnight.
But people are busy, and tired, and they work, and all of those things are more important than me, no matter how badly I’m hurting.
I think I’ve been hurting for too long now, maybe? Hurting for too long, expecting too much.
It just breaks my heart. I scream for help. No one cares. I’ve heard it before, so many times- people have their own lives to live, they can’t put themselves out for me.
But I don’t ask often.
Only when I really, really need it.
And that’s now.
My mum is coming tomorrow. And I will hold out until then. I just wish I didn’t have to.
Leave a Comment
{ 42 comments… read them below or add one }
- September 15, 2011 at 1:14 pm
-
Lori –
I haven't been on your blog in a while. I was spiraling downward in depression due to a situation with the US military and I was limiting internet time for my own sanity.
I am also too proud to ask for help. I've paid for companionship from my friends – offering a days wage or even more just to get them to hang out with me. I don't want to seem weak or something else to them. How silly is that? I have to pay my "friends"…
My husband is in the military – I have been so fortunate that he has come home to me – but I have been pretty much going it alone for the last ten years. I can relate to your loneliness.
I have to remind myself to breathe when the kids (6 & 2) wonder where their daddy is. I have a tangible location to tell them, but that is usually all. I pretend to understand how it is for you because time and space mean nothing to them.
Anywho – I am there with you, despite not knowing me. I have read your journey and so much of it has hit home. I suffer from depression and have PTSD due to being alone and under such uncertainty for so long.
I just want to offer my support. I wish we were closer and could trade company without feeling guilty and that we had to pay for it. It would be a nice change.
You are an amazingly strong and candid woman. I admire and appreciate you for all you are doing for so many lives.
Thank you again,
Lauren - August 26, 2011 at 7:02 pm
-
It's not much to ask at all. I feel impotent being so far away when I do nothing all day and could easily come over and just be.
Also feel like a douche for not seeing this post earlier, but hey, we can't be good at everything, right? - August 26, 2011 at 4:37 am
-
Oh Lori, I completely empathize with you. I know EXACTLY how you feel about needing someone and not wanting to ask for help because of how it makes you feel. I've been told to go to a hospital or try Xanax for panic and my weakest moments at the worst of my Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder. I've been made fun of, I've been abandoned, I've had to go through things alone because my husband is in school and our marriage is on the rocks mostly because of that, and when times get tough, I have nowhere to go. I had one friend offer to let me stay with her, but she's a young married woman with her husband of not quite two years and they have as much, if not more problems than I do. Lori, if I didn't have my book to write, I would go mad. My book is what is keeping me from going mad.
I know that our situations are not the same at all, but I do understand where you are coming from. Sometimes all you need is a friend. All I have is my book. It's sad that I can't just come to Australia and just stay with you for a while so we could each have a real, tangible friend.
Thankfully the characters in my book all like me…
- August 25, 2011 at 11:44 pm
-
Who is that bitch that refused to come help you when you offered to PAY HER???? That aint no friend in my book.
I've been there, Lori. I've been there for the last three years. It fucking sucks and it makes me want to ring up everyone I know and scream at them about how selfish they are.
And yet it wouldnt work, even if I did. People dont want to deal with ugly raw emotion, or situations that they find confronting. Like the pain of grief, or the emotional pain of chronic physical pain. People suck like that.
If I was there I would come over and just hang out. I'd bring my kids too. We could drink tea and I would make you cupcakes.
Don't forget, we might just look like a typeface, but we are all actual real people here too, people who care and will help. xxx
- August 25, 2011 at 10:30 pm
-
Mum's make everything better.
- August 25, 2011 at 4:14 pm
-
Dont stop asking for help; the ones who truly matter, who truly love you, will always help. Its cold comfort but while there remains a blog community, you will long be loved x
- August 25, 2011 at 2:10 pm
-
You asked for a day and got a no? Really?! I hate this for you.
And no, people like us probably wouldn't be there for you in real life as much as we are here because it's hard to do that. But some of us would check in and visit and be there at the drop of a hat. I would. I wish I could.
- August 25, 2011 at 11:09 am
-
And don't forget we always have coffee, chocolate bikkies & cocktails
- August 25, 2011 at 11:08 am
-
I cannot believe that some selfish person would say no to you. I'm sorry but for you to be in such need for a friend, to offer to pay someone to stay with you, I cannot believe that anyone could say no to that.
Our home is always open, for an afternoon, overnight, or six months. You know you are more than welcome to be here and we will drop everything to come down if you need us. Aaron almost packed up the kids when I was still at work yesterday to come get you!
We're worried & we care & we just want to be there in any way we can.
Love you loads chicky xxx
- August 25, 2011 at 10:47 am
-
I hope the time passes quickly before your mum comes.
- August 25, 2011 at 10:14 am
-
You've reminded me to contact a friend who, like you, is going through longer-term problems. I know she feels the same as you, that friends disappear and aren't as supportive over time.
When there is an immediate crisis it is easy to step forward with a few hours or days of support for a friend. To continue that support over months, while our own life and little daily stresses continue, is harder.
I hope that your friends reach out to you and step up a little.
(hugs)
- August 25, 2011 at 8:45 am
-
It doesn't seem a lot to ask – I suspect that in fact there are real people there who care – it's just very, very hard for you to accept it ;;; keep on looking
- August 25, 2011 at 3:51 am
-
Oh, Lori. Sending you love and fierce hugs from the U.S. I wish I could be there for you in the physical sense, I really do.
- August 25, 2011 at 3:48 am
-
Wishing I could offer more than cyber-support. I hope you find someone to lean on, to listen and to hold you. Know that you matter. Know that we care.
Lisa
- August 25, 2011 at 2:39 am
-
Wow – your emotion here is almost tangible. I wish someone could come and give you that hug and listening ear right NOW! Sounds like you need someone around you and your kids for a few days/weeks – just to give you the security of knowing you're not alone. Sending you a big British hug! xxxx
- August 25, 2011 at 12:57 am
-
Nothing beats face-to-face. 100% get it. Thinking of you xx
- August 25, 2011 at 10:32 am
-
Oh mate, I get this, I really do.
It is so hard to ask, and then so much worse when you are rejected. I no longer ask. I now know I HAVE to do it on my own or with my immediate family.
It is just so hard when all you really need, as your friend said, is to matter. You matter to me Lori, but I know that is not much comfort from a random on the interweb.
Hold on until your Mum gets there, please, just hold on. xx
- August 24, 2011 at 11:49 pm
-
I feel exactly this same way.
- August 24, 2011 at 11:34 pm
-
*HUGS*
- August 24, 2011 at 11:25 pm
-
I completely understand. I learned in college that people don't thrive with any less than three (or was it five? I don't remember, so obviously I didn't learn it well) hugs a day. We folks across the world from you just can't do that, offer the hugs you really need. It's a shame really. Instead of singing telegrams I wish I could pay someone to give you a hug from me.
- August 24, 2011 at 11:19 pm
-
I wish I knew what to say. I wish more of your friends would step up. I can't imagine turning away any of my friends if they asked for it and were crying. Hope time with your mom helps.
- August 24, 2011 at 11:14 pm
- August 24, 2011 at 11:02 pm
-
Nothing I can say to make you feel better…but I will pray that some (even 1) of your real life friends will come through for you!
- August 24, 2011 at 10:53 pm
-
I think you are so right about wanting people you know. They're the ones you want to let your guard down in front of. They're the ones who should be there for you. You are not asking to much to expect that – you would be there for them. And the rest of us (as much as we would love to take away all your pain with our magic wands) should use this moment to remember the people in our own real-lives that are hurting and need our support. But I really would wave my magic want if I could…
xxxCate - August 24, 2011 at 10:40 pm
-
I wish I could fast-forward you over these moments x
- August 24, 2011 at 10:32 pm
-
If you lived next door, I'd come make you tea and give you a big hug – sending it over the interwebs xxxx
- August 24, 2011 at 10:01 pm
-
I'm sorry Lori.
I wish that there was something that I could do to make it all better.
So I'll just send you love.
- August 24, 2011 at 9:54 pm
-
I wish you didn't have to either.
I wish you had that familiar comfort and support.
I know that you know you have a tonne of people online who are here supporting you and many who are happy to transfer that over to real life in the flesh support, myself included. But for that to work you need to be ready to let those people in. And one day you will be (and maybe for some never at all?).
Just know all you have to do is speak up and people will be there. Those who shrug you off? They're losers. Idiots. They don't deserve you. - August 24, 2011 at 9:45 pm
-
I completely understand feeling guilty about asking for help – I always do – but it is not selfish to do so. You have coped admirably for months – that you're not doing so right now is completely understandable, and I wish someone from 'real life' would be there for you right now. God knows you deserve it.
Obviously I'm not real life, and I'm still quite new to this blog so you don't even know me in that context, but if there was some way I could teleport myself to Oz right now, believe me, I would. Not to advise, not to seek solutions (as if there are any), but just to be there with you and hold you. You deserve someone to do that for you, and I hope someone sees that and acts accordingly.
You're a good person. You didn't deserve, and don't deserve, any of this. Ultimately, words are meaningless, but I wanted you to know that I care.
Lots of hugs
Pan xxxxx
- August 24, 2011 at 9:42 pm
-
Dear sweet brave Lori,
I really wish I could send someone over to you who could help you with everything you need and hold you when you need it most. Someone who knows you, loves you, keeps you save. All my love….and hang on in there until tomorrow!!
Wendy
- August 24, 2011 at 9:39 pm
-
Shit, that's hard to read Lori. It's hard to want to give the support you need and not be the one to be able to give it. x
- August 24, 2011 at 9:38 pm
-
I am so sorry Lori. I have been in a similar place, many years ago, where I just needed someone, and had no one.
I wish there was some magical solution, some way to have a support system in place all the time.
If there is anything that the online world can do to keep you company until your mum arrives, let us all know.xxxx
- August 24, 2011 at 9:38 pm
-
I completely understand your frustration and I have learnt very quickly to depend on no-one but myself. I have moments of depression and feel isolated, but manage to get through it eventually. We have no family support either (they're interstate) and most of the time have issues finding someone to look after our son if, god forbid, we want to have a night out to eat dinner without whining, temper-tantrums and frustration. Everyone does have their own lives and sometimes they have their priorities wrong. I'm sorry but going out drinking with your other friends shouldn't take priority over hanging out with your god son when I only ask once in a blue moon. But it does. And you know what? I've just learnt to not depend on those people. I find so much more support in online bloggy and twitter pals. Sad as that is, it's the truth. I hope you find strength and happiness. You deserve it. And when your mum gets there tomorrow, she'll give you a big squeeze and things will feel so much better. Sending you lots of warm hugs over the interwebs.
- August 24, 2011 at 9:37 pm
-
Oh Honey – sometimes people just suck. Sending you big hugs xx
- August 24, 2011 at 9:37 pm
-
Yes, sometimes nothing can come close to an in real life person with in real life tea and tim tams or vodka. And it can be harder when you're trying to cope and it goes along the lines of coping-coping-coping-need help immediately with nothing in between.
- August 24, 2011 at 9:36 pm
-
Sending love and hugs your way Lori xxx
- August 24, 2011 at 9:35 pm
-
I'm sorry Lori. I wish you were awash in a sea of overbearing friends and family who would hold you up.
The sad truth is that people generally run from difficult, emotional situations. They don't know what to say or do – so they say and do nothing at all.
Asking for help is so hard, and not getting it when you ask is just total crap.
If there's something we (your online folks) can do – please just lay it out there for us. I know that I for one, wish I could do something for you. - August 24, 2011 at 9:33 pm
-
Hugs
xxx - August 25, 2011 at 12:28 am
-
HUGS Lori… Just HUGS. xxx
- August 24, 2011 at 10:38 pm
-
Strength to you Lori, enjoy your mums company tomorrow – Poppy xx
- August 24, 2011 at 9:47 pm
-
Oh, Lori… If I were over there in Oz instead of all the way over here on the other side of the world, or if I had an extra few grand to spend on plane tickets, I would more than happily be taking myself over to your place to do exactly this. Just sit with you. The real bugger is, I know EXACTLY how you feel. There have been so many fucking times where I've needed to reach out to someone, more specifically my "best friend," but her goddamn now ex-boyfriend and the fact that she feels uncomfortable talking on the phone when other people are around took precedence over me and my pain. She didn't care about the fact that I might be calling her because I fucking needed to talk; no, she just cared that she didn't want to accidentally say something embarrassing in front of her now ex-BF's mom or her now ex-BF. She told me "oh, text me that you need to talk." Well, she doesn't pick up texts either! And all this when it is SO hard for me in the first place to admit that I'm not OK, that I need some help. It just makes me so angry, and it makes me angry on your behalf that there are people in your life that you should be able to rely on that aren't being there for you. I don't know if there's anything I can do for you from all the way over here, but if there is, please, please, don't hesitate to ask me. I promise you, with every breath that's in me, I will not let you down.
(((HUG))))
- August 24, 2011 at 9:37 pm
-
If I could I would jump in my car and drive to you right now.
And that is the issue – well there are two.
1. I am not someone who you know well in real life who you can just be totally yourself with ( I so get that)
2. And there is that "If I could".. kids to look after, being the main thing. I know you get the difficulties.
But god I would if I could. I really would.
Previous post: Not Speaking About Just Everything…
Next post: Reckless?
{ 13 comments… read them below or add one }
Awesome, it's pink!
Um, that's sigh about sucking at it, not about having an Ex or, for that matter, the kidlets being away that half. It's what keeps me sane. Does that make me a Bad Mommy?
Sigh again.
It's still WAY nicer than mine.
As for the need for the new phone and why…BEEN THERE. The Widget has been responsible for multiple new phones, actually. And STILL I have one that is like Cro-Magnon Phone in comparison to yours, I-Jealous or no.
Single Mumming it is tough. I kinda suck at it. And I only have to do it half the time, since The Ex is Single Dadding it the other half. Sigh.
It's a sexy looking phone and I happen to think that red goes with anything. Hope you love it! I'm supposed to be able to get an upgraded phone in August per my AT&T; account so I'm curious if you like it or not. Not sure if I'll do the iphone thing – depends on how much it ends up costing with the rebates, etc.
Phone #fail. That is all. You're hot though. So it's all good.
Pink is like red, but not quite. At least this is what Aerosmith sings.
Love the new phone. I lack an iPhone as well but I covet my iPod touch. N gets jealous because he says I love it more than him.
I love the pinkness of your phone! Awesome! I bet it's super cool! I think the red case looks sharp!
Am commenting with my brand new Sprint EVO. Jealous?
It's pink too!
kind of looks like my t-mobile Behold phone. And I love it. It takes great pictures and I love the touch screen. Congrats.
Are you kidding me? Pink and red is like, the new black. Or the new black and white anyway, if you know what I mean.
Congrats on the new phone – I'm very jealous!
It's very girlie. Me likes it. For reals.
I am now iJealous…why can't my iPhone come in coral pink? Love it!
I have a samsung ultra-touch and I HATE it. grrr piece'o'crap phone. writing messages is a pain and the touch response time is crud.
Mines got a facebook widget on it, it used to work but my provider has stuffed something up again.
Have fun learning your new phone! What a cool colour!