She has had a great year and it seems that the move to the new school has really worked out for her.

I’m so proud of her my heart might burst.

I had to laugh though at the terms they use.  What happened to duxes and speech nights?  

I guess there weren’t many speeches come to think of it.  The principal of course and the head of Junior School gave a little speech but that was about it.  

The rest of the evening was dancing, acting and displaying artwork.  I guess it really is better described as a celebration of learning… not that I saw much in the way of maths and science - does Jack Johnson’s song “3 R’s” count?

As we mingled about afterwards I saw a girl I used to hang out with at uni.  She was the girlfriend of my boyfriend’s friend.  She hadn’t changed a bit.

Still immaculately turned out.  Full make-up.  Coifed hair.  Her cream suit spotless.

I felt like dumpy Dora. 

Not much changed there then.

Groover earned his wedding ring as we walked away that night.

“She’s got too thin,” he said, his arm around my waist.

Ohhhh gotta love that man! 

(did I mention my Dippity won a personal excellence prize?)

I’ve been appointed to the job I’ve been doing for the last year (after acting for two years in a similar position the years before).

My boss wrote a lovely affirming email and sent it to my colleagues and today has been very pleasant getting lots of kind supportive emails congratulating me.

The thing is about a month ago I decided that I didn’t care anymore. 

The acting thing, which used to frustrate me, I turned around in my brain as my “get-out-of-jail-free” card. 

You know, if it all got too much I could say “I want to go back to my old job” and walk away.

I dropped the “acting” from my signature.  I figured that I was actually doing the job.  It had been over six months.

It’s not like you see the actors on stage whisper to the audience now and again - don’t worry I’m just acting - in a dramatic moment do you?

And then I was appointed.

It occurred to me that I did the same thing way back in 1992 when I was living with Groover in Subiaco.  (that’s where today’s photo comes in *wink*)

We’d been going out for a couple of years and it seemed to me that he was “the one” but as yet he had not raised the subject of marriage or future commitment.

Again, I decided to turn that into a positive.  My get-out-of-jail-free card again!

The next month he came back from a holiday with his mates and proposed.

A life lesson learned?

What else can I apply it do…

It’s horrible news.

It takes you out of your comfort zone.

Your easy relationship of the past has gone.

Suddenly all the rules have changed.  Your friend could be dying.  Suddenly you don’t know what to say.

Big C is in the room.

But have the rules changed?  

Has your relationship altered?

Does your friend feel different about you?

Of course, the fact is that nothing has changed.  Your friend had cancer before he or she told you about it, before they themselves knew.

The only thing that has changed is your comfort level.

Get over it.

I was speaking with someone with cancer last night, in fact, she was going in for some more chemo today.

When she was first diagnosed, eight years ago, she said the most marvellous thing that happened was that three male friends of hers rang her and told her they loved her.

One of them (I’m proud to say) was my dad - who went to school and university with her husband.

She has carried that with her in the eight years since.

So if you are in any doubt as to what to say to someone diagnosed with cancer, the lesson I’ve learned is to ring them, and tell them that they are loved by you.

As Patrick Dodson, WA Senior of the Year said - “I don’t know what the questions are - but I know the answer is love.”

Not that south west orchids smell - well not that I know of - but it occured to me today that I haven’t seen even one orchid in the wild this year.

In fact at all.

And I love these little treasures of the bush.

It makes me feel good to find them.  Feel good to know that they are there.

Also most of this year I haven’t played bridge (although I have started again in the last fortnight).  And I love playing bridge.

Are these the indicators that tell you your life is out of balance?

Maybe it’s the holiday season or maybe it’s Groover’s change in work.  His change becoming my change?

Or at least forcing me to reassess my life.

What are the indicators in your life?

Sent to me by a colleague who knows me too well.

Maybe there’s another that would suit you?

To go with maybe this tee-shirt as a present?

Be it a new car, tv, dress, pair of jeans, website, quality of card play or haircut it is a minefield most of us fear to tread.

Cars for instance.  For me they are a form of transport.  Sure I love that new car smell and shiny leather uphostery.  I especially like blue dashboard lights and expandible cup holders but I’m hard pressed to tell a Honda from a Mazda from a Mazerati (they are the flat ones aren’t they?).

I’m not one for appreciating the line of the spoilers or whatever they are.  I’m never going to fall into that “pimp my car” category, no neon lights under my chassy baby.

Same with television sets.  I like them big and flat but do I know the difference between a Panasonic and a Sony?  No.  Can I really see better definition in one over the other?  No.

So don’t ask me to comment on cars and tellys… or computers - can I tell what graphics card you’ve installed?  No.  

Does my bum look big in this?

When you don’t have the jargon and you don’t want to hurt the asker’s feelings - what do you do?  

It’s the classic - does my bum look big in this scenario?

Frankly you don’t want the answer - you just want appreciation.

So that’s why you’ll hear me comment on the sleek lines of your turbo charged machine, the definition so crisp you feel you could pull a hair out of that actor’s head, the lack of lag time in that grisly-so-violent-I-can’t-bear-to-look game you’re playing.

Do I really have an opinion?  No.

But I care about you and I want to be enthusiastic about the things you like.

Which leads to the real subject of this post.

My new haircut.

It’s a little… short.  But just think of it as always-having-my-hair-up.

Groover has an honesty in comments policy - which is good because I know when he really likes something but it’s bad because I also know when he really doesn’t.

I’m a little nervous.

So here’s my strategy:

I’ve texted him from the hair salon: “Don’t freak out.  I’ve got short hair!”

My plan is to get him to imagine the worst - some scary Prisoner (Cell Block H) style - and then when he walks in the door the reality will be a relief.

That woman up the back looks scary doesn’t she?

I don’t look that scary…

Update:  he’s either a very convincing liar… or he liked it!  (my strategy worked… bwah ha ha!)

By the way, the title of today’s post comes from a great song by Christine Lavin - check out the lyrics!  Classic.

I used to find it quite convenient to pop out during lunchtime for a quick half hour workout.

But then I went on holiday to Ireland (yes I’m blaming the Irish) and after that I never really got back into the rhythm of regular exercise.

Hence joining the team at Club HASAY.

So yesterday I had to walk to the bank at the end of the road to get coffee money.  It was a beautiful morning and I was quite pleased that the rediteller downstairs at the cafe was out of order, forcing me into the fresh air.

I got my money and almost skipped along the road to my favourite coffee pot - Punch.

As I neared the corner where my gym is, I blanched.

I’d forgotton to swap to the other side of the street and there, eyeballing me, was my former personal trainer - Dean - who remembered my name…

“Hey Cellobella, how’s it going?  Doing much exercise lately?”

Of course it was obvious that I hadn’t been.

I couldn’t get out of there quickly enough and I came up with the perfect exit line.

“So Dean, when is the next boot camp?”

“Not til January…”

“Oh,” I said, “What a shame… well, better go.  Bye!”

As if I was going to do boot camp.  *snort*

So how is the exercise-diet thing going?

Well I’ve been walking 3-4 times a week but the diet is a bit of a worry… apart from lunch.  The Lunch Club at work is still going strong and really works well.

I’m sitting here now, waiting for my lunch to arrive, waiting for the surprise!

Now if only I could organise a dinner club…

My baby is 14 today.

And, poor thing, is lying in his unmade bed today.

You see, Groover and I had birthdays in the last couple of months and the kids did not think it necessary to make a fuss.

No cups of tea, no homemade cards, no thought on the morning of our birthdays.

To be fair, Hugamuga did make a bowl of soup for his father for his birthday but failed to tell him it was his present and it sat, congealing on the stove until Groover chucked it out, not realising it was a gift of love.

And on the afternoon of my birthday I did come home to a lovely present, bought after school.

So this morning was a pretty lame affair.

And Dippity is likewise looking at a fairly quiet day in April.

It’s not like we’re asking for much.  Some fussing, a homemade card, a cup of tea perhaps, presented in bed on the morning of our birthdays is all that is required.

Trust me kids, it’s worth sucking up to your parents.

I love that line… but I digress.

At the moment in Redsultanaland we are going through a bit of change - Groover is leaving his last job to go into business with a mate.

Yes I do know there is a global financial crisis on at the moment.

He makes much of my support but what choice do I have?

Since the topic has been raised, I haven’t seen him so excited and I know that if he doesn’t run with this opportunity he will forever wonder - what if?

I don’t want to live with that!

And really what is the risk?

If it goes pear-shaped he’ll find another job and we’ll have to take a few more years to pay the mortgage.  

That’s not much to pay for a chance at happiness.

The other day on our daily walk he said to me:  I hadn’t realised how intoxicating it is to work for myself.  To realise that yes, I can make money for me, not my boss.  And once I did realise it, it feels like I have no choice but to grab this opportunity.

So yes I’ll say you’re welcome gracefully when he thanks me yet again for my support but darl,  I don’t have a choice either.  How could I say no to your enthusiasm.

And if you are successful, well, I won’t be surprised.

(and I will be asking for some time off!)

On these boards you put pictures of things you want to happen in your life. It’s like an extension of The Secret.

Today I decided to take a photo of a block that Groover and I have lusted after for about twenty years. We drive by it and say - that’s our block. So far it hasn’t manifested for us probably because we don’t have the multi-million dollar savings plan required to buy it.

But why should financial reality get in the way of a dream?

This my friends is OUR BLOCK!

Not a bad view huh?

In walking around the suburb I came across this:

What the?

Some kind of creative visualisation maybe?

I’m guessing the residents of this house like horses.

In short, I probably wouldn’t again.  Grey hair?  It’s distinguished.  :)

And don’t you love the guy in the background getting into the shot.  It’s a close community up there in picnic blanket land.

I was at the John Mellencamp concert, supported by Sheryl Crow and another artist called Toby… who, now I think about it, I think is a friend of my cousin.

It was quite warm out there in the country and there were a few flies… and a few fashion victims.

This girl was my pick of the day.

I think it’s the skull socks.

Teamed with the little halfway booties they are a picture… but then add the white tights and wow.  Who was going to beat that?

Certainly not me in my wig.

And what do you think happened here?

It’s just not a good look.

And no.  That’s not my blanket.

I nearly wet my pants when I saw this guy outside my window!

He and a mate were cleaning the windows at work on these dinky little swing things - very athletically it must be said.

But I must say I did feel a little exposed.

btw - that little cone thing in the foreground is part of an Artopia exhibition we had in the foyer at work. Artopia was this great program where artists created installations in various workplaces in Perth. Unfortunately it has been discontinued.

I didn’t go with my family, just me, and it did feel odd going to a baby’s party without a… well… baby.

I was out of that space.

It made me wonder about how the people I invited to my first born’s first birthday felt because we had quite a big party and a lot of the guests didn’t have kids.  I even had nametags.

That’s my dad holding up his one-year-old grandson.

Of course for your first child you want to have what’s really an adults party.  To thank your support group and to celebrate surviving the first year.  

It’s more about you than your child - and really - now I wish I’d bought Miss Lithuania and Smartrider a present rather than their son - who, let’s face it - is highly unlikely to hold it against me!

Yeah.  That’s a great idea.

Next first birthday party I go to - the present will be a “well done, you survived the first year” gift.

Miss L looks happy she survived huh?

I learned a new tradition - not sure if it’s Lithuanian or not - but at this party the birthday child was allowed to grab his first birthday cake.  Apparently his mum and sister got to do the same.

Have you heard of that tradition?

I think it’s kind of cute… if a bit sticky.

Anyway it was hard to get up but Groover encouraged me with a few gentle comments:

“Get up you lazy lump of lard!” 

“Are you still in bed?  I thought you were getting fit?!”

So I got up and we set off on our walk.

It was low tide down at Cottesloe today…

Which was unfortunate really as the Climate Change people were down the beach preaching global warming and rising sea levels and sadly for them… it didn’t look that bad…

They were also there preaching against nuclear power - yes it is the Premier’s electorate and a lovely setting for a rally.

We walked on - it was a beautiful day - the sun was shining, the breeze was offshore and slight…

We walked past the OBH - hang out of rural folk who head to the bright city lights - and of travelling Irishmen. Yes Ken, this photo was taken for you.

I talk occasionally about the rubbish left by people visiting Cottesloe - it’s a little bugbear of mine - but that’s not to say the council isn’t doing their best.  Although I think they have given up on the Michael Jackson campaign.

Do you think people would throw rubbish at Whacko Jacko if he was seen swimming off Cottesloe Beach?

Maybe that was the problem…

And today I thought I’d take a photo of a group of musicians who sing and play their instruments every weekend outside The Blue Duck.

I don’t know anything about them but I love the fact that they are there.

On the way back we stopped into Lemon Station for breakfast.  The food was excellent, if slow in coming and the orange juice sublime.

Did you know that Valencia oranges don’t go bitter like Navel oranges do when you juice them?  No, neither did I until this week.

To finish today a “Dad Joke” from Groover:

Did you hear about the group of kids who broke into an Asian restaurant and threw loads of fried food around for no reason?

Police are describing the incident as wonton vandalism.

Yep them are the jokes folks - have a great weekend.  I have to study my bridge system card now. I’m playing bridge for the first time this year (!!!) on Monday.  What a life eh?

On the one hand -  he can maybe engage generation Y on their terms not his - possibly it’s a smart “voter” aquisition project.

On the other it feels a bit try-hard.  And… not very dignified for the Prime Minister.

It’s like when he goes on Rove.  He’s all so cool and groovy and yet when asked the question he knows he is going to be asked (because Rove asks it of everyone) “who would you turn gay for?” he wimps out (twice now) and says his wife.

Kevin if you want to be considered cool you have to commit!

Otherwise you just look like that geeky kid trying to get in with the cool crowd.

And that’s NOT a good look for a prime minister.

What do you think?

Why I think Geraldton is an unlikely place no doubt comes from some regional prejudice I must harbour towards the town which I haven’t rated for it’s design qualities in the past (although the new foreshore is a dramatic improvement).

It’s the Greenough airport, and it is a very pleasant experience indeed.  High ceilings, an aquarium, a display of aeronautic history - it feels more like a trendy museum than an airport.

But see for yourself:

*The title of this post comes from this quote:

It can hardly be a coincidence that no language on earth has ever produced the expression ‘as pretty as an airport.’ —Douglas Adams, The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul, 1988

And every time I do I think “Grrrr, some little toerag has spray painted that artwork!” …

But they haven’t.

I wonder if the artist intended me to think that?  

Was I supposed to feel relief when my fears and suspicions proved false?

A sense that all was okay with the world and it was my negative thinking that was making my world seem damaged and vandalised?

Because all I really feel is a bit pissed off at being tricked into admitting that my outlook is not always glass half full.

Hmphh.

You know, I have a pretty busy life.

I work full-time, I run a household, I walk four times a week (well, I will be), on Thursdays I go to sewing lessons (see photo), I blog, I listen to several podcasts, I read books,  I talk to my husband and kids, I watch TV and I sleep.

I really don’t have time for an addiction.

But I have one.

And it’s serious.

I just can’t stop playing sudoku on my phone.

Heeeeeelp!

And I’ve been walking a lot more.

My friend said I looked like the exercise was working.

And I discovered that people like it if I wear my hair up.

Goals for this week:

To track what I eat
To walk at least 4 times

If two emos have a baby - is their baby happy?

(is that a better image?)