To the celebration of Firsts.....

Been a while since I last blogged it seems. I am getting somewhat slack. And for a person as verbose as I, that's no small thing. Mayhap the year is drawing to a close and I am running out of my yearly word quota..... A first on it's own.

I was keeping a journal at home as well. Just a small one. To chronicle my first brush with a broken bone. Assuming I live the expected age span, I have made it through about half my life without ever having done anything energetic enough to break anything. And eventually, there was nothing energetic about the event, just a fall after getting off a bus, but boy, did I make a public spectacle of myself. Dunno if that was a first though.... However, I digress, the Teen asked me to make another entry last night. First one since August.

But today is a momentous one. The Teen is about to have her first ....... job interview! Ah, so grown up. And I feel so old. But because I am working - wotta drag - I can't be there to hold her hand like my mother did for me (Mu-um!) Actually that could be a good thing - I don't recall answering many of the questions, mum did it all for me. Mind, a healthy dose of the 'who-you-knows' went into that one.

But good luck Teen. You'll be fine. Just remember that if this one doesn't work out, there is always something better around the corner.

My environment......

Woot! A new camera. A photo study of where I live and work. My environment........

To which I say Bah Humbug! And give thanks to the muppets...

Well, I notice that it's now November, I have barely recovered from Easter, and the Christmas dekkies have made an appearance in the shops. Now I don't know if it's just me, but they seem to come, suddenly popping out from behind the Halloween toys and sweets and announcing loudly in glittering colours of green, red and gold, that hey! extract that digit 'cause there are only 'blah' shopping days left until the Teen gets to rip the paper off, curl her nose up because it's not the latest Louis Vuitton accessory and toss it in the corner sometime between opening and New Year's Day.

Not that I'm cynical or anything. I mean, I just love standing around in the heat with the rest of the family, watching the tempers fray, listening to the nieces and nephews fight over possession of each other's gifts, and tuck into handfuls of wilted lettuce and melted chocolate. Not in the same bowl, of course. And since they are teetotallers, not even a decent beer to help wash it down.

Seems to me that once upon a time, in a galaxy far, far away I did enjoy the Christmas spirit. But I was young and foolish then, and I didn't have to do much beyond trimming the tree and tearing the paper off the presents. Heck, I didn't even have to clean up the leftover wrapping. Dad used to put the Santa hat on, we'd all sit around and wait with baited breath while he - very slowly I might add - handed out each individual gift. Oddly enough, it's still a Family Tradition and the Teen and the Elder still enjoy it. Now I spend my time wrestling the tree out of the box and attempting to assemble it, worrying that we have enough food in the house, preparing food and clean up the paper leftovers. Put my gifts to one side so I can make the anticipation last, cause after they have laid themselves bare to my gaze, it's just another day. Oh, and after New Year, wrestle the tree back into the box and clean up the bits of tinsel that have fallen off the decorations.

But maybe this year will be different. Just the 3 of us. Hang on, maybe 4. I'll get my hands on Tim Burton's A Nightmare Before Christmas, and A Muppet Christmas Carol. Hang lights on the window and forget the tree. Let them eat chocolate for the day! And no opening presents until after lunch! Heck eat lunch all day! (See statement re chocolate) Stock in some alcohol. Run a repeat of the muppet movie and blast myself icy with the airconditioning - which I have this year.

Yes! Roll on Christmas......

The Woman

She walks down the road, carefully lifting and placing one foot in front of the other. Long blonde hair, once luxurious now streaked with silver and tarnish. Her lipstick is a vivid red slash against the paleness of her face. Sunglasses, square and dark obscure her eyes. The corner of a brown jacket slaps against her thigh in the wind. She leans forward as she moves, pushing against an unseen foe.

I sit, safe from the bite of the wind, in the car and watch as she moves past. Where is she going? What marvels, sorrows and joys have passed through her life? What tales could she tell if I were to ask?

Perhaps she is alone, a once loved husband lost through the mists of time. A love so grand, that once lost, could never be replaced? Is this a slow, lonely journey to the supermarket to purchase those small portions that speak of a solitary life?

How fondly does she look back on the special moments of her life - her first dance, her first kiss, the blush of a bride on that magical day?

Children of her own, and grandchildren. A house filled with love and joyous laughter. Treats must be bought, a dinner planned.

Man’s modern marvels, to celebrate our inventiveness – radio, television, a man on the moon.

Ah, what tales could she tell if I were to ask?