Tuesday, June 24

 Marilyn set her alarm this morning to make sure we were up at a reasonable time.  After years of early-rising I think I can be relied upon to have my eyes open by 7 o'clock but there have been too many cases recently when I snored until later.  My bladder is a pretty reliable alarm clock but not such a great time-keeper.  After all, who would choose to get up sat 3.17 am as I did this morning.

Today is Marilyn's day for going to her Craft group.  It's more of an excuse to meet up with some other ladies for a bit of friendly gossip.  This group also raises money for charity by having what they call a Trade Table.  Everybody donates something and buys something else back.  Marilyn might come home with jelly crystals or home-made chocolate slice.  Who knows?

A few months ago we tried ordering Meals on Wheels but it wasn't successful, so we cancelled it and went back to preparing our own.  When I had my Aged Care assessment the young woman recommended ordering meals from Toosey, the local Nursing Home, and our first try was great: good serving, plenty of meat and tasty vegetables.  So, we've decided we'll order a week's menu to see whether it might work for us and save Marilyn the drudgery of being in the kitchen.

Every little bit helps.

Monday, June 23

Looking out of the window, I think today will be spent at home: the air is cold and there's a persistent drizzle; typical Tasmanian winter weather.  I've watched a couple of videos on Youtube before breakfast  but didn't find them particularly satisfying.  Perhaps I need more stimulation than watching Scott stumble along the streets of some town in Germany or an unshaven Steve looking for another ferry trip.  Maybe I need to do some research and see what else is out there on You-tube.  But, where do I start?  I will have to draw up some parameters: no Americans, for a start.  Maybe limit the selection to travel, or even narrower, travel by train.  Will that be too limiting?  Who knows but I can only try.

 Today's story was written in 2021, one of the first I produced for the Writing Group I belonged to.  I can't claim it is one of my best.

THE ONE WHO CAME BEFORE                                                                                                     2021

Liam knew from an early age that his parents had high expectations of him.  His mother had taught him how to make his bed as soon as he was tall enough to pull up the blanket, his father gave him chores to do in the garden and, on his 6^th birthday he was allowed to steer the electric mower around the lawn, under strict supervision, of course.  His parents often said they wanted him to be able to look after himself.

There was vague talk that one day he would study to be an accountant and eventually be able to take over the family business.  Liam watched his father go off to work each morning, always dressed in a dark suit and striped tie, and carrying a briefcase.

As he grew older, he became aware that there were some things in the house which seemed not quite right but were never talked about.  There was a bedroom which he wasn’t allowed to go in, there was a shed in the yard which was always locked.  He never seemed to get any new clothes; when he needed another singlet or pair of shorts, his mother would look in a drawer and find what he needed.  All his toys had a ‘used-before’ look about them and he was never allowed to ask for a particular present for Christmas. His presents didn’t even seem to come from a shop, they seemed to have been in the house all the time.  At first, Liam didn’t think this was odd; as far as he knew this was normal but, when he became more aware of how his friends’ lives differed, he started to wonder.

One time he found some picture books in the bookcase with the name William inside the front cover.  I wonder who William is, he thought.  Another time, he found his mother crying in the kitchen.  He had never seen his mother cry before, but she never laughed either, or even smiled.  “Don’t worry, William,” she said. “I’m only thinking about someone that I used to know.”

Why is she calling me William, Liam thought.  That’s not my name.

On his 12^th birthday, his parents sat Liam down and said. “Now that you are 12, there is something important that we have to tell you.  Before you were born we had another child, your brother, William.  Sadly, he died.  All our hopes and dreams rested on that little boy and, when he was gone, we decided to have another child as soon as possible.”

That night, Liam thought about this for a long time.  From what his parents had said, he was only a replacement for the one who came before.  Even his name was just a shorter form of William: a bit like William, but not as good. Everything I have, he realised, was William’s first.  William is so important, Liam thought, that, even now he is dead, he still has a bedroom in the house and a special locked shed in the yard.

It was William, Liam understood, who was supposed to train as an accountant and take over the family business.  Well, I’m not going to be just a substitute for William, he decided.  I’m not going to spend my life stuck in an office.  I’m going to follow my own dream.

I’m going to be … a Lumberjack!

Sunday, June 22

 The Coles man has been so the pantry is stocked up and we have what we need for the next few days.  he was saying that there is fog on the highway but I don't suppose we can expect anything else at this time of year. It made me think of driving on the Maddens Plains near Wollongong and the fog which seemed to hang around there.  One time I remember I had to get back to Sydney on a foggy Sunday evening.  I had borrowed my brother's car (I think mine had been stolen) and I ran into the back of a car which some fool had stopped on the highway while he got out (I think) to relieve himself.

He came back and saw the damage to his car, claimed to be a policeman who had stopped to investigate a suspicious vehicle and threatened to arrent me.  Not a happy memory.

I have another memory which is a bit more intriguing.  When I was 3 years old I had my tonsils out.  It was not in a hospital but in my Aunt Jenny's bedroom in my grandparents' house.  Sheets were hung on the walls and all concerned wore hospital gowns.  It would have been 1946.  Later, in about 1948, I remember having my tonsils removed again, this time in a proper hospital.  I remember the long rows of beds down the walls of the ward and having icecream afterwards on the way home.

It's never made sense to me: why was the operation at home the first time and in a proper hospital the second?  And, the answer came to me this morning as I browsed the internet.  Something happened between 1946 and 1948 which made going to hospital the norm: it was the introduction of the National Health Schene in Britain.  I'm glad that's cleared up.

Saturday, June 21

 I've just been watching a Youtube video about a fellow taking a trip from Darwin to Adelaide.  Of all the possible ways to do it, he decided to take the bus. He might have enjoyed the luxury of The Ghan but that was a bit too expensive, or he might have flown for a few hundred dollars but, instead he opted for many hours on a Greyhound coach. The coach took 40-odd hours to get to Alice Springs where he had an overnight stop at a motel, then another 40-odd hours to Adelaide, and it still cost him nearly $800.  Madness!

Why does anybody do it?  

It's overcast here today but we have nothing arranged so it doesn't matter.  Marilyn says we have to order a few things from Coles and that might end up being the highlight of the day.

Friday, June 20

There's nothing much planned for today.  Our cleaner will be arriving shortly and that's my cue to change the sheets on the bed but, otherwise, it will be stress-free.  We had a call yesterday from a fellow who has been given the job of putting grab rails in our two showers.  We already have the removeable ones you can buy at Bunnings but, apparently, they're not reliable.  However, they've been there for the nearly four years we've been here and haven't let us down yet.  Not that they've ever been used.  Still, what we can do today isn't necessarily what we can do tomorrow,  

As the young lady from Aged Care said, they'll do anything to keep us at home. The full list of recommendations of what we need is out there on the internet and various suppliers will be in contact with us.  I'm not sure who pays what but I'm sure all will be revealed

Today's story was after a challenge to write about something mundane, like a cup of coffee.

I understand that the Flat White coffee was invented in Australia and has become a favourite choice in the US, UK and other places frequented by Aussies.  If this true, it is a cause for national celebration, for the Flat White is an invention to stand alongside the Hills Hoist and the Victa Mower.

The sad thing is, though, that the Flat White is so poorly regarded in its home country.  I would have thought that the defining feature of a Flat White is that it is flat – no froth nor foam, just a warm coffee- and milk-flavoured drink with no frills.  Those of us who now order Flat White are usually escapees from the days when the best you could hope for in a café was a poorly frothed latte.  The introduction of the Flat White was as important an event to us as the arrival of the first cargo of coffee beans to Australia.

Those of us who choose to wear a moustache, and I apologise to my female friends if they think I am being sexist (but you could have a moustache too if you worked hard enough at growing one), are particularly disadvantaged by the café owners’ confusion between a Flat White and a Latte. They are not interchangeable!  There is nothing worse than having the constant reminder of a sub-standard coffee trapped in the hairs on your upper lip.

You might say I should complain to the barista, or send the inappropriately named coffee back.  But I don’t blame the hapless, lowly paid employee. No, I blame the greedy multi-national who owns the coffee shop and is saving money on staff training.   In the meantime, I’ll keep recording the delinquent cafes on my black list and continue to frequent the patriotic little coffee shops where they take pride in their work.

Thursday, June 19

 It's a wet. miserable day here and our plan is to stay indoors as much as possible. I've started the day by watching a video on Youtube: a fellow called Scott who was spending a day in Andorra, a place I'll never visit.  Marilyn is now watching one of her favourites: a young woman called Brogan and I can't stand it so I'm retreating to my desk to write this blog.  I've tried to analyse why I can watch Scott wandering through the streets of Andorra but can't tolerate Brogan visiting a town in England. I keep coming up with the word 'shallow'.  Scott just goes out and wanders through different places, catching public transport, eating local food and so on.  Brogan, on the other hand, talks too much, goes on shopping trips, models the clothes she buys, loves Disneyland, collects pins and has a gormless husband called Benjy who wears his baseball cap backwards.  All of that drives me crazy.

We were probably better off before television entered our lives.

Wednesday, June 18

 We're up and about, both dressed and the houser reasonably tidy because we're waiting for a visitor.  Following the interview last week with Aged Care, somebody from Toosey, the local retirement home, is coming to talk to us about how they can get involved.  They can provide meals, assistance with gardening, washing windows and so on.  The last thing the government want is for old people to demand places in retirement homes.  Too expensive, so they will do whatever they can to keep us at home.

At the moment we're in the process of seeing what part of the system can be of assistance to us.

I always check Youtube in the morning when I get up.  I like to check what Steve or Scott is doing and, lately, I've been catching up on the exploits of Donald Trump.  He really is a three-ring circus, the entertainment which keeps on giving. I wonder how long it can last before someone says, 'That's enough!'

Update: Rebecca from Toosey has just left and we've signed up for a couple of meals each week and exercise classes. They also offer Water Aerobics but we would have to go into Launceston for that and we're not keen.