erratic

Boy, have we ever run the gauntlet of atmospheric emotion, this week.

The beginning of the week was so bright and cheerful, one could have sworn it were mid-spring. Today though - sheesh - you may as well have plonked me in a snow globe and told me it were home. The scene looked like the Gods had forgotten to take the Kleenex out of their pockets before doing the washing, and were now giving their clothing a damn good shake out.

Today's snow was a complete surprise to me. I headed out the door on the way to pre-school, and concluded that the temperature was rather nippy. Thankfully, I felt inclined to bind each child in great wads of clothing, because I was in need of a long walk.

I wasted a bit of time in a store that was having an incredible clothing sale - jeans, no kidding $7.50!...I found NOTHING. I never have any luck at sales. Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. I was surprised to find a Bananas in Pyjamas book for 50 cents though. That is an Aussie kids show, so God only knows why the book was selling in Canada, I haven't seen it here...which might explain why it was selling on the jumble table for 50 cents.......(After looking it up on Bananas in Pyjamas on Wikpedia, I have learnt that "Banana's" are played in the States. So there you go, learning something new everyday).

Once I emerged from the store, the snow was falling thick and fast. Worried about my little girl swathed in jackets and gloves, but wearing only thin trousers, I decided to head home. The council trucks were on patrol assessing the situation - which is a bit premature for them. Normally they don't bother to scan our street until two weeks after the fact, when the entire community has taken to wearing ice skates and a helmet and the kids have declared a coo over the roads, pushing hockey pucks up and down the slippery streets.

Only then, well after the proverbial horse has bolted, do council workers bother to start sprinkling a minuscule smattering of salt over the road. It doesn't have much effect, especially since McDonald puts more salt on their fries, than the council seems capable of parting with, for the sake of drivers on the road. Then, just as the snow has all but melted away, the snow plows move in, normally some tiny ride-on mower looking thing.

You would think our street would qualify for urgent ploughing, since we have a pre-school, sports field and a large car park on our street, which seems to be reserved for local hoons to practice doing iced donuts and truck skating - but never mind.

Apparently it is supposed to be getting warm for the weekend (10 degrees). I hope so. I think I am over the whole snow thing for this year.

Dreaming

I dream a lot. Well, at least I used to dream. I enjoy a good dream and I like to analyse dreams. I am not bad at it either, I think.

Since having the kids, I don't think I have had a long enough stretch of sleep to warrant the remembering of as many good dreams. I am not really into sleep that much, which is ironic really, because you need to sleep in order to get the dream, but sleep has never offered me that refreshed feeling that people talk about.

I have a sleeping disorder. It is a common one. It is called sleep paralysis, you have probably even had a bout of it. Mine occurs with the onset of sleep, and often accompanies hallucinations or weirdly vivid scenarios. For me, sleep paralysis is often brought on by some kind of stress or severe sleep deprivation. It started when I was 14. I used have several episodes a week, but now it only occurs a handful of times a year.

For me, a typical scenario for this kind of thing, might see me hallucinating/dreaming that someone has entered the house, while I am asleep. I will dream that I am asleep- everything is exactly how I "left it" when I closed my eyes only seconds before. I hear the front door open and footsteps downstairs. The dogs will be barking or growling at the unexpected night visitor. I can't move. I can't call out. I can't open my eyes. I hear the foot steps creeping closer and closer, and I feel the person in the room. Sometimes they might touch my arm or breathe so close to my face I can hear them, and I feel them looking at me. Sometimes I feel them sit down on the bed next to me.

I struggle like a drowning woman fighting for breath as I attempt to break the paralysis, and when finally I do, I find myself alone. There is a strange calm about the room, and my dog is asleep on his mat next to the bed. God I hate that type of dream. I am never really sure if it is a dream or not, as it is happening of course.

I have had two kind of funny regular nightmares. One was so dumb, that in hindsight, it is laughable to even call it a nightmare.

Some incident was happening, I think I was in the middle of being graphically murdered or something. It was a horrific scene... extraordinary, in fact so extraordinary, that I didn't even believe it could be real. So in the dream, I reasoned with myself that, if it were a dream, the time on the wall clock in the dream, would be different to that on the wrist watch I just happened to be wearing.

Of course, the times do not match, which lead me to cry, "A-hhha!", to which I immediately awoke. Now how ridiculous is that? What would have happened if the times hadn't matched?

The other funny nightmare occurred at a time when I worked as an assistant baker, and commenced work at 3am on a Sunday morning. In this dream, my car broke down and I had to walk home to get my bike, so I could ride to work. I was walking along a dark street near my house, when I saw a man up ahead. He is a far enough away that he should have posed no threat, but when he saw me, he began to approach. I turned down a street, wary of his presence. He was walking behind me now- following me. I looked back and he looked away. I walk faster, he walked faster. I started to jog to see how he would react, he started to jog to keep up, which freaked me out. I started running for my life, but was slow and the man caught up to me, his jagged arm outstretched, crooked fingers lurching for my shoulder. Then I started to wonder..."perhaps he isn't trying to harm me at all. Perhaps he just wanted to ask me something". So we stopped running and he says in a calm and friendly voice, "Miss, I was wondering if you knew what time the next bus comes by"? To which I awoke, greatly relieved and slightly confused.

I think the most dastardly of dreams I have ever had, was a dream in which I was presented with the opportunity to know my life's purpose.

In that dream, I had infiltrated a secret building and had broken into a room housing a top secret computer containing the name and life purpose of every person on earth. Persons allowed in that room were highly restricted, but somehow I was in front of the computer trying to crack the password, so I could learn my own life purpose.

I sat there on the edge of my seat working quickly, while keeping one ear out for approaching footsteps; if I were found, I knew I would be killed.

I managed to break the code, so I entered my own name. The role for my life's purpose was , strangely referenced "Goddess" . To find out more about the life purpose of the Goddess, I had to download further information, and that was going to take time. In the meantime, all I could do was sit and wait for the process to complete.

It was about 60% done when I heard footsteps at the end of the corridor. I started to grow impatient and anxious, "come on , come on". My heart began to race with the anticipation and want; my life's purpose was almost within my reach. I was about to learn everything I had ever yearned and ached to know about my reason for my being; my life was about to make sense.

But the footsteps were coming closer, so close that it was getting dangerous. The footsteps stopped outside the door of the top secret room, and I was forced to ABORT the operation, only moments before the download was complete.

I awoke immediately, feeling completely pissed off, ripped off, frustrated and ARRRRHHHHHH! I tried desperately to go back to sleep and resurrect the dream; change the outcome so I could learn my fate - but I couldn't.

Gee, I have had some doozies....

So there you go, a little venture into my warped little mind. By the way. I can't seem to interpret my own dreams at all. I think I am too close to see the meaning - that is, if you believe dreams offer some kind of insight.

Actually, I should really be having dreams right about now, rather than writing about them. So sweet dreams all.

I walked all day...

I went for a walk today, with a friend and the kids. It was the PERFECT winter day in Canada, and I don't mean snow - I mean it had snowed in the mountains, but not where I was standing, and the sun was gleaming off the mountains exposing a panoramic sugar dusted picture-scape against blue sky - STUNNING.

The sun was out and the breeze must have been tucked up under a log somewhere I think, because on clear winter days like these, the wind-chill factor is normally enough to send anyone diving back under the bed clothes exclaiming - "let me know when it is spring".

We walked along the dike at Steveston in Richmond; old river houses, many of which had seen better days, creaked on water logged stilts, looking cramped, cold and uninviting. And yet, though in a largely dilapidated and abandoned looking state, surrounded by old logs, black and heavy, bobbing in the wake of a passing river barge, these old river houses had a beauty about them. I don't really know what it was, perhaps an energy that encapsulated and radiated a long and colourful history.

There were definitely a few stories in those dank walls and darkened windows, dull like dead eyes. In the windless air your could almost hear whisperings of the souls of departed tenants....houses seem to do that to me.

There was also something about the entire area'; the bare trees stretching for the seldom seen winter sun; a large letter box stuck high in a towering tree, acting as a makeshift bird house (I suspect); an abandoned train track leading to a modern day industrial building that had never in its life had a used for the old line; the lulling of the water lapping at the river bank. It was all so peaceful. I could have walked all day.

After that walk, we all went to a cafe, had coffee, and then went our separate ways.

The day was too lovely to spend indoors, so we took the dogs and walked around the block. My son rode his bike.

And to top it all off, the friend who I had walked with earlier, rang and urged me to go to my Nordic Walking group. I hadn't been since the flu and my slack old self was coming back to haunt. It is too easy for me to stay home. I feel so much better when I do venture out; so I was held accountable, and I am grateful for that.

The walking group was fantastic. I was dressed appropriately, unlike last time. I got so into it that I went into a zone. I could have run even (bit drastic).

I must have been a lot sicker last time than I thought, because I had none of the pinball kidney pain, like I experienced the last time and I could have walked longer. I am pumped for next week, and also for a repeat of today's weather.

My Island Home - Christine Anu Live at Sydney 2000 Olympics

Not the greatest quality version, but still the only one I could find on the net...
This is one of my favourite songs, Christine Anu's: Island Home - yes it is overly patriotic and emotional - blah - but I still LOVE IT .
About 18 months ago, Christmastime and home sick, I pulled my copy of Christine Anu's beautiful song out of my CD collection and stuck it in the CD player - I cried (roll your eyes with me).
I know I JUST posted about applying for permanent residency status in Canada; it is funny how the world shifts and creaks and plays out, but a bit of the proverbial shit hit the fan today. I won't go into detail about it just yet - early days and all- we'll wait and see how things pan out...but Australia is calling....

Fashion tips for blokes

Bloke is Aussie for man....just so you know.

Last week we took my friend and her new bloke out for dinner at a local restaurant. For whatever reason, my friend and her new man starting talking amongst themselves. I wasn't paying any attention to what they were saying, until my friend turns to me and asks, in a tone that was pleading for support and reason. Her Question? What was my opinion about men wearing white socks with black dress pants.

The couple were definitely at odds with the answer to this befuddling of questions and conflict makers, as there appears to be a camp of blokes who seem to have passed down to their sons, the belief that it is the done thing to match your socks and shirt....at least that was my husband's argument many years ago, when I was merely the girlfriend of my beloved.

So to answer my friend's burning man-socks etiquette question, I had only one thing to offer, and it was the same as I blurted to my beloved sixteen years ago:

"Th-Th-Th-Thriller!"

Oh man, I could hardly contain myself. I turned into a pool of unrestrained giggling stupidity...I do apologise, but please.....unless you are planning on drawing attention to your moonwalking feet - don't wear white socks with black dress pants.

paper work

I don't think we are noted for being particularly disorganised, but we have kind of left our application for permanent residency in Canada, to the last minute.

It takes a good 12 months to get that sort of thing signed sealed and delivered, so with just over a month until our two years in Canada anniversary, we thought we had better get a move on.

It is not that we are umming and ahhhing about staying in Canada, it is just all that exhausting paper work.

Neither one of us likes doing paper work - yawnsville. We have already gone over the same million questions when we applied for our temporary status, so the thought of re-doing it all over again puts us into a state of near unconsciousness.

We have attempted to undertake the task several times before and have filled in bits and pieces of the book load of paper, but have never actually gotten around to completing it. It is all just so BORING.

Today it HAD to be done, so last night we sat down and supplied all the obscure and useless answers to all aspects of our thrilling personal life. Today we went Downtown to the International Fingerprinting Service of Canada to have a set of our prints taken off. Then it was down to get a set of immigration photos for the four of us. It was all relatively painless (except for the money dolled out for each service), so now I guess we must hand it over to the Gods and wait for the process to play out. Ho Hum.

puzzled

Of all the crazy-arsed ideas...Man!

When I was a child, I lived on a farm in the middle of nowhere...well, actually it was in the middle of a tiny rural community in the Murray Mallee district of Southern Australia.

Our farm could be found along a highway bound for Sydney. Neighbours were generally a drive away, so the sounds of the day were largely our own, and reasonably predictable.

In those days I guess I was an early riser, because I remember the sun rising in the morning, casting a glow across the land, and warming the night cooled sand beneath my bare feet.

The puzzling thing about this scene was a particular sounds I would hear during the summer months at that time of day - sunrise. I later came to learn that this sound was in fact a freight train, snaking its way through the tiny township that sprawled in sporadic clusters just beyond the golden dunes and cereal crops, but at the time, I had concluded that the distant chugging of the steam train, was in fact the sound the sun made, when whomever it was, hoisted that tired and sleepy yellow orb begrudgingly into the darken sky, to light and herald in the new day.

To me, the "whats" of that sound were a no-brainer, since it seemed to occur around the same time of each day; just as the sun peaked over the dunes. Unfortunately my bubble burst on the whole idea, when I asked my Mum how the sun made that sound, to which she narrowed her confused eyes at me and told me it was the train. I argued with her about it, but alas, her argument seemed....mmm, saner!

Since that time, I have been searching for a reasonable description of the sound the sun makes when it rises, and I guess I would have to say that is warbles like a magpie, crows like a rooster, screeches like a parrot, laughs like a kookaburra, twitters like an orchestra of tiny birds, honks like the Canadian geese, thuds like the morning newspaper on my doorstep, sopranos like the creaky gate next to my house and rustles like drowsy children wrestling with the bed sheets. I love it.

Sunday Scriblings - Puzzled.