Sweet sweat

Today is a bad, bad day. Today is the day when the anonymity of the blogging world has come back to bite me on the bum. I've made a couple of really good friends in blog land -people whose ideas I connect with on a very personal level- and I guess you just go on forever thinking they'll always be there waiting for you to log on. Do you know their home address or phone number? No. Do you even know their email address? No. So what do you do when they suddenly disappear?

One of my dear friends has disappeared. She said she wouldn't be able to blog anymore and that's it. I can't even console myself with reading her old posts. Her whole blog - years of work, personal history, stories and sharing has simply gone - fallen into a big black hole.

I feel like a close friend has moved away and not left a forwarding address and I don't know why.

My imagination runs away with me. Has something happened to her children or her husband? Did she lose her blog in a blog-host failure and was just too discouraged to start all over again? Has she made a pact with God to give up the thing she most enjoyed in life apart from her family? If she just stopped, that would be bad enough - but for her blog to not be there anymore... that seems really sinister.

Anyway my friend, you've become very dear to me. I hope everything is ok in your world and there is some rational explanation but it makes me very sad we can't communicate any more. I've left my email address for you somewhere I hope you will find it. Would it be outside the rules of whatever pact you've made to email me? I do hope not and hope to hear from you soon.

I wasn't even going to open the computer tonight. Now I wish I hadn't.

Hey Ho! As usual I've had hassles trying to post the pictures -below- but at last, here they are.

I'm feeling good tonight because last night my drawing teacher heaped praise upon the brolga drawing and today, I did a media training course and got lots of praise for my interviews in that as well. Afterwards I celebrated with a glass or two of fine Chardonnay and a seafood dinner on the wharf overlooking Darwin Harbour. It was a glorious tropical evening with sensational pastel sunset. Maybe I'll draw that next time!

Feeling good and looking forward to a week's Easter holiday with good friends so I might not blog till April.

Hope you all have a lovely Easter. Not too many chocolate eggs now - ok?

That's done it! I'm hooked again.

I wonder whether there have been any studies done on how or why certain electronic games are addictive. The most obvious example is gaming machines or poker machines. Now I would have thought the addictive thing about these is the gambling aspect - you stand to win actual money. This seems to hold up in that the people who get most addicted to them seem often to be desperate people- people on low incomes with little chance of ever getting the luxuries (or sometimes necessities) they need/want without some kind of a financial windfall. But this doesn't explain the addictive powers of some similar, non-profit-making games.

I don't find gambling for money addictive, because I'm always too aware that money is hard-earned and easy to lose. I rarely gamble at all and when I do it's always a very small amount and gambled in the full realisation that it will more than likely be lost rather than increased.

But there are certain electronic games that do have an addictive effect on me. About 7 or 8 years ago, I was introduced to Tetris. Do you remember it? All those little coloured blocks of varying shapes that fell down from the top of the screen. The object of the game was basically to fill as many rows as possible by fitting them together like a jigsaw puzzle. If you got too many of some of the odd shapes they would pile up on top of each other and once they reached the top of the screen, you were a goner. Tetris really got me in. I used to sit up till 2 or 3am staring at the computer screen, nerves on edge, trying to turn or move those pieces so as to get up to the next level. My breathing would be fast and erratic. I'd get wiped out of one game and no matter how tired I was, I couldn't resist having 'just one more turn'.

Well I eventually managed to get out of the clutches of Tetris - I think we lost it off the computer - and I really never gave it another thought until today when Daisy mentioned a game on her blog and I checked it out.

It's called Collapse and darn it if it's not a tetris-like game and after three goes I'm well on the way to being hooked again. This one's even better. It's less complicated - all the blocks are the same size and the object is simply to click on any grouping of three or more of the same colour to detonate them. This realigns the remaining blocks. Like Tetris, the game ends when any row of blocks reaches the top of the screen.

Collapse turns out to be a simplified Tetris combined with the addictive elements of pure destruction - it feels and sounds like popping balloons or bubble wrap - and tell me anyone who can resist popping bubble wrap?

For 10 minutes of mindless, joyful, childish destructiveness, I recommend it - just watch out you don't get hooked... well by for now, I'm back for another attempt at level 8!

She felt as though they were linked by an invisible elastic band

Was it by design, manipulation or sheer chance that whenever their lives drifted apart, she was snapped back, if not by her own instinct or a random sighting, then by a call from an unexpected third party such as a bank or a doctor.

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During the cyclone cleanup around here, I lifted a pot plant into the house, forgetting momentarily that underneath that particular pot plant there is a water well and that water well is the home of my pet frog, Nicky. After an hour or so in its new location, I noticed a small inquisitive face peering out of the hole in the water well. Not wishing Nicky to be lost inside the house, the pot plant had to go back on the verandah. Cyclone or no cyclone, I definitely didn't want to find that small, green body lying shrivelled in a corner somewhere. Nicky hopped out of his refuge once it was returned to the verandah and I moved the pot back into the most sheltered corner, hoping he would find his way to it and that it would remain standing in the cyclone. Last night, to my great relief, I saw his dear little face again peering at me from his doorway and found his little muddy footprint tracks leading to the pot.

The end of the wet season must be near. This morning I saw a frill necked lizard running across the park. They tend to engage in mating rituals at this time of year and are much more visible than at other times and they are so amusing to watch. This one stood at least a foot tall. They run with their bodies at a 90 degree angle to the ground, very stiff and tall, with their long tails trailing parallel to the ground. They remind me of a stiff English butler with a poker up his bum!

Daisy asked me, what is a prawn? Prawns are sea creatures and I believe they may be called 'shrimp' in other parts of the world but I'm not sure whether 'shrimp' are exactly the same or a smaller relative - the word 'shrimp' in Australia is most often used to mean small or undersized anything as in "That kid is a shrimp!"

I've caught prawns in salt-water lakes and estuaries along the east coast of Australia during the summer months. Standing up to your knees in the water, scoop net in one hand and torch (flashlight) in the other, they swim out of the darkness towards the light; their eyes lit up like red coals. It's quite exciting to see how many you can catch, then arrive home at midnight to boil them up in a big pot of salty water. The sweetest, most delectable flesh you'll ever eat.

The live prawns are a translucent greyish/green colour and when boiled for a few minutes, they turn a brilliant salmon pink and are ready to eat. School prawns are fairly small, about 1.5 to 2 inches but king prawns are the most desirable at anything up to about 6 inches in length. I found this link to over 7,000 different prawn photos on a google search.

What is it with me and web photo host sites? First there was Hello and I loved it until I got stuck in some knot that I can't unravel and am unable either to post or obtain a new account and start again. The final reply from the help desk told me I am able to post - yeah right, I just waste my time trying to sort this out for fun! Then I tried FlickR. I found it very slow and cumbersome, but hey, it had been recommended, so I persisted. Tonight I tried to update the loader as in accordance with the instructions on the site. Guess what? Now the FlickR software reckons I'm not connected to the internet and I'm going nowhere. So now I've found Photobucket.com. I've successfully joined up and posted a photo. Who knows how long this love affair will last but as long as it does, I found the site easy to use and a whole lot faster than FlickR and the picture on my blog is bigger too.

I had my camera charged up and ready to take disaster photos of the cyclone last night but it came to nothing here -thankfully. Photos of the devastated islands lying just off our coast convinced me I don't ever want to go through the real thing. We got a fair bit of rain last night and today, a few flickers of the electricity, a bit of wind but nothing gale force, and that was it.

We are now off cyclone warning status which means the bureau of meteorology has decided Darwin is out of danger. Strangely we had stronger winds tonight after the warning was cancelled than for the whole 48 hours we were on warning - go figure!

The radio told me this morning that supermarket shelves were bare all over town. The most popular purchases were Bundy (Bundaberg Rum), bananas, baked beans and batteries and there was not a battery nor a roll of masking tape left in Darwin.

People's reactions were very interesting. I went for a walk along the foreshore last evening, about 6pm. There were fewer people than usual about, but still a considerable number walking, riding bikes, sitting on the edge of the elevated tide-line watching the waves (waves of any size being quite a novelty in Darwin). People were setting up in groups to enjoy their normal Sunday evening picnic in the park while across the street, others were taping their windows against the threat of cyclone damage.

As things turned out, I'm pleased to say I was one of the former, and while I had the tape at the ready, it became apparent that it wouldn't be needed. I got the torches out and knew where to find stuff but didn't actually drag the mattress into the hall or get the snack foods out of the pantry. Had the cyclone hit suddenly in the middle of the night I would undoubtedly have been sorry, but at least I didn't spend all Sunday setting up a shelter and today putting it all away again like one of my colleagues did.

Another interesting thing was the reaction of family and friends. Some I thought would have cared or at least been interested in my welfare didn't bother to get in touch at all. I received a couple of unexpected calls, a few emails, two unexpected offers of shelter, one 'hoped-for but not counted- on' offer of company and assistance, and of course my oldest and most faithful friend rang twice.

My favourite communication though was from my youngest son who simply texted "We're not in Kansas any more Toto" - thanks John that gave me a great laugh and I really enjoyed it. Sometimes grown up kids can be a joy.

My view is filtered through these palm trees. Spectacular black and white Torres Strait pigeons often feed on the fruit

Well here I am settling down for a nice quiet afternoon of grey skies, rain and the imminent threat of a cyclone heading along the coast towards us. At this moment it's a category 5 cyclone. Australia's most famous cyclone was the category 4 storm that hit Darwin 30 years ago on Christmas Eve. That one totally flattened the town and it's taken the last 30 years to re-build and recover.

My attitude is that it's a really big coastline. Why is the destructive heart of the cyclone going to choose this one little speck on it to cross the coast and give us a direct hit? Are cyclones attracted to city lights or something? ... and I hope I'm right! If the centre of the storm hits us we can expect winds up to 260 kilometres an hour. If it's only the outskirts that hit us, the winds will probably be not more than about 160 kilometres an hour - still pretty destructive but not devastating.

The thought of spending who knows how many hours camped on the floor of a local high school or shopping centre (the cyclone shelters) doesn't really appeal, so unless something changes drastically in the meantime I'm just going to sit it out at home. I've got enough food and water and can block off a reasonably secure area. I'm only on the first floor, so if the building looks like falling down it's a short run to the carpark and God willing, it will pass us by.

So I've got batteries for the radio so I can hear the cyclone instructions and soon I'll get some tape to tape over the windows but in the meantime, I'm just cruising.

I went to the supermarket yesterday and wondered what was happening. Every car parking space was filled, there were queues stretching the length of the store for the checkouts and everyone had big trolley-loads of groceries. Then it dawned. It's the impending cyclone - the nesting and provisioning mentality. Seems to me we're unlikely to be housebound for more than 8 hours and a couple of tins of baked beans and a few litres of water should last that distance. I'm glad I don't have young children here to worry about though, otherwise I guess I'd be frantically stocking up as well, but just for me, well I've got a big bag of fruit, some cheese and biscuit snacks and I reckon it won't hit till after dinner tonight and I'm planning a roast, so there should be a plate left-over that will last even without refrigeration until tomorrow lunchtime!

I also went to the doctor yesterday - nothing major just a persistent eye and ear infection that wasn't responding to my home remedies. Waiting an hour to be seen was only an irritation, but paying the bill!!! How in hell do families or people with a lot of illness manage financially? $50 to see the doctor for 15 minutes (which Medicare will give me $22 back from if I go and queue up at their office to get it) then another $35 on prescriptions. Hell, that's more than my whole spending money for the week. Friends, I am going to be one whinging and complaining old person if I start getting sick and having to pay bills like that as a regular thing. Thankfully I didn't need a 'long' consultation because 20-25 minutes costs $85 and 30 minutes costs $140 and the Medicare rebates on these items don't increase by nearly so much.

Sometimes I think the government will have to introduce voluntary euthanasia to put all the old people who can no longer afford medical expenses or medical insurance out of their misery - God forbid I should have to give up drinking and smoking just to stay alive!

I keep borrowing DVDs from the video store and not finding a suitable time to watch them until the day they are due back. I kind of get them out on the basis that I'll fill in one of the blank spots in my life with them - one of the times when I'm bored with my book, there's nothing I want to watch on TV and I'm feeling too idle to do anything physical. Lately there seem to be fewer and fewer of these places. In a way that's good; in another, I'd like to watch these movies before I'm absolutely forced to watch them NOW so I can run them back to the store. Worse than that, I have my very best sleeps in front of TV (or DVDs it seems).

This week I have slept through most of Cold Mountain, waking in fits and starts only to realise at one stage that I've done this before in this self-same movie. I'm reliably informed it's a good movie. Some of the early scenes I managed to sit out were certainly shocking enough to keep one's attention.

Then there was the something or other of the spotless mind. That one I slept through most of the middle but saw out the final hour. I don't think I missed much.

Today it was JFK - yes I know it's really old but it was good - but once again I slept through most of the middle. Was it the longest movie in the history of movies? I started watching at 4.30pm, dropped off, woke up at 6pm and raced it back to the store after 8. I saw all the good bits I think and made it through the whole trial but only just in time to get it back before the store closed. Thank God the liquor store was still open as well because I was completely out of wine and I love my nightly glass - tonight imbibed at 9.30pm and dinner at 10 and all because I just hate taking those movies back without at least getting some value out of them.

The stupid thing is that I start watching them when I'm already tired. Today I'd gone out to a Japanese restaurant for lunch with some friends, then we'd dropped in to see some other friends, then they'd stayed at my place for a while so we would discuss her art project - and the weather here was really hot and humid - so by the time they'd left, I felt as thought I just wanted to go to sleep. Ha! she thinks, I have to watch that movie this afternoon, I'll do that now. I reckon I only lasted about 20 minutes before I was in dreamland.

Still those sleeps are so nice. It's great having a sleep when it's not the proper time for a sleep. I go to bed at night and toss and turn and can't ever get comfortable and listen to the radio and get up and down to the toilet or to have a cigarette on the midnight balcony, but put on a DVD or a TV show I've been looking forward to and it's off to dreamland, no trouble, and I love that wicked feeling of knowing I'm drifting off, eyes getting heavy, allowing them to close then forcing them open, knowing full well that it's a losing game and unless I get up and walk around I'm about to lose consciousness any moment now.

The books I've been reading have been fairly poorly written and trashy or too literary and slow and none of them have kept my attention. I've even given up on a couple after taking all week to get halfway through. Still I did identify with this passage from "The Jury Must Die" by Carol O'Connell:

" 'I got a philosophy,' she said. 'I'm gonna write a book - Zen and the Art of a Clean House - that's my title. You put a house in order, and you put your life in order. All this stuff is weighing you down Riker. You might as well drag it around on your back, the dirt, the mess, the busted coffeemaker that probably hasn't worked in twenty years. But that ain't the worst of it.'

He followed the point of her finger, looking through the doorway to the room beyond where dust balls, having acquired tenure, roamed free and fearless across the open floor. One windowpane she had cleaned; all the rest were fogged with a yellow grime of nicotine. And a layer of dust colored everything else in gray.

'That's what the inside of your head looks like,' she said. 'Scary, huh?'

Ah, the wisdom of the humble cleaning woman - works for me every time!

This term I'm attending a drawing class. The medium is coloured pencils on drafting film - an interesting technique and I love the fact that the materials are so portable. Last time I was into drawing it was with pastels and I spent years carting round a huge and heavy bag full of gear every time I went on holidays or out somewhere. Half the time I didn't even open it. Next week we go onto pastels in the class. It will be interesting to see what a different teacher has to say about pastel techniques.

Hey ho, another day another dollar as they say. Last night, after posting that pathetic quiz, I thought of two interesting blog posts I could have made. I thought about opening up again and writing but was just too tired. I'm sure all bloggers can identify when I say that tonight I haven't the faintest idea what I intended to post about. Next time I will at least write down a reminder!

Tonight I intended to check a couple of my favourite links before posting, but blogger is doing something ridiculous - seems I've read a few complaints about various problems lately - and all my links are missing. How reliant we are on links - now I either have to wait till blogger gets its act together or try to remember your web addresses!

From me, seeing I've totally forgotten the 'fascinating' things I intended to post about, you might have to make do with a dream I had yesterday. Now I know other people's dreams are about as fascinating as bat shit, but I found this one quite disconcerting - enough that I wrote it down in the morning and I don't usually go anywhere near the computer while I'm getting ready for work. Any dream analysts out there who can interpret for me? My child's name has been changed, but he knows who he is.

28.2.05

BAD DREAM

I was at Thirroul Beach with Zachary. He was about 5 but I was my present age – old enough to be his grandmother. It was early morning. Zac had been doing a project for school and I was to go to school with him and help present the class that day. We were in a house I don’t recognise but which seemed in the context to be where we lived - an old weatherboard house with broad floorboards and not much furniture. I needed to present my version of the project as well.

While Zac was finishing his project, I was rushing to get mine ready. The theme was ‘what I did on my holidays’ and I was leafing through the photo album, selecting photos which I intended to use with captions. It was almost time to leave for school, my project wasn’t finished and between pasting copies of photos and captions into a project book, I was calling out to Zachary to get his stuff together as we had to rush.

Charging out the door, I held Zac’s hand in mine, my project book in the other, and he was carrying a small, brown Globite suitcase.

We set off down the street and soon became hopelessly lost. How this could be when I knew the walk -between Thirroul and Austinmer where he went to school- so well, I didn’t understand. We rushed hither and thither with me getting progressively more and more lost.

Finally I went into a Real Estate Agent’s office. He was one I used to work for, an old fuddy-duddy guy by the name of Noel. Strangely in the dream his office was in Thirroul rather than Austinmer. There were a couple of new salesmen sitting around and I asked them if they could direct me. After several abortive attempts for them to tell me the way, I finally spied a map on the wall and asked if they could make a copy and mark the route.

Just then Noel appeared and he made a copy and marked the way on the map – but it took forever, which if you knew Noel you would understand. I was starting to get a bit upset at this stage. Hours had past; I knew we’d be very late for school. While I’d been trying to get directions, Zachary had gone into another room – I think he was watching TV.

Eventually, we set off with the map, but even then, I got hopelessly lost. We ended up going back to Noel and I begged for his help. He walked with us but got ahead somehow, Zac was getting tired and I was at my wits end and very upset but trying to hide it. We sat down on a wall to rest and I was apologising to Zachary for stuffing everything up so badly.

Then someone came up behind us. It was Zachary's Dad. The first I knew he was there he bent down and covered my forehead with kisses. I looked up in surprise. Then it all came out and I wailed and cried. He packed us into his car – an old bus we used to have 20 years ago – and we drove off. Unfortunately the way he was going was not the direction in which Noel had disappeared. Now I had Noel on my conscience as well. He’d been kind, tried to help and now we’d gone off and left him wandering the streets. Would he be worried? How long would he look for us?

It was now 5pm. I’d been lost all day. I was unfit to take care of a small child – maybe even myself. I knew then that I had Alzheimers.