Family, gotta love them.
As a family, we’ve come to the agreement that our old cat, Jesse, is about 17 or 18 years old. Our youngest child (22) would have been about 5 years old when Jesse and his brother James joined us.
James was lost during a thunderstorm, quite early on. Both cats ran away, but we found Jesse in the end. He’s always been a wild and tough old tabby. Even though domesticated and sterilized, for his first 10 years he had a large territory – a neighbour theorised it was as much as 5km and couldn’t believe we’d had him fixed.
It wasn’t until we moved to Esperance though in December 2007 that I began to connect to Jesse. Previously, he was ‘something I put up with’ and this was because he was always away from home, at one of the neighbours and I felt he only came home to see if it was dinner time.
When you move to a new place, it is recommended that you keep your cat inside for some weeks – 2 to 4 weeks, perhaps. I decided that to be sure, we’d keep him in for 3 weeks. And surprise, surprise! By the end of this, that darned cat was sleeping at the end of our bed.
At first, of course, he’d settle where he wanted to and was very stubborn when asked to ‘move along please’. However, with some perseverance on my behalf and gentle nudges, he learned that he was allowed only at the end of the bed, on one of the corners and on the towel provided.
And then he was moved along to NSW, across the Nullabor from Western Australia, in Eric’s car with our other, younger cat. He handled that very well. And he settled into his new home in NSW, becoming even more domesticated. He didn’t create a large territory for himself, just visiting across the road occasionally. And luckily we live in a cul-de-sac, so he wasn’t in too much traffic danger.
Eric (my husband) comes from a farming / country background and therefore ever since we’ve had cats – if they were sick or injured – he’d make comments like ‘I can always take him down the back of the garden!’ 🙂
Of course, he never did. I didn’t want to visualise my lovely and gentle husband ‘knocking off the cat, with his bare hands’. And Jesse and Eric grew even closer, with Eric’s lap being the preferred place to hang. And, just recently (for some unknown reason) Eric began to address Jesse as ‘me old cock!’. 😀
We grew sentimental in our old age!!
So, this brings me to the sad ending that Jesse died last night. He had been physically deteriorating for a couple of years. He was skinnier, too many bones showing through. He was hungry and thirsty all the time. And when he wasn’t hungry, he was asleep. Even more than cats usually sleep – which is like 16 out of 24 hours every day! He wasn’t complaining though, didn’t seem to be in pain – apart from arthritis. And we decided that everyone gets old and unless he was obviously suffering, then we wouldn’t be seeking out drugs or other treatment.
It happened so fast. About 8.30pm he gave a cry when he was gently moved off a lap. About 11.45pm he dragged himself out of his cat bed and staggered across the floor, falling and clearly not able to keep upright. He defecated. We put him into his cat bed, with water nearby and extra towels and went to bed. He wasn’t complaining.
A couple of hours later, I heard the tinkle of his collar bells indicating he’d moved and listened for his footsteps down the hall. But they didn’t come. After a while I went to check and he was sprawled on the floor just outside of his bed and miaowed to me as I approached.
We brought Jesse to bed. Our other cat was on the end – in her corner. But we broke the rules and placed Jesse between us, on top of the doona, but with towels under and over him to keep him comfortable. He started out in his cat bed on top of the doona, between us, but soon crawled out and crawled as far up as he could – seemed he wanted to be close.
Eric tried hard to sleep – he had an early meeting. But I lay ‘drowsing’ with one hand in his basket, which he kept nudging. Then when he was out on the doona, I kept talking to him and patting him. He kept trying to purr between his gasps for breath. By this time, he did have some pain. He’d occasionally throw a 180° as he tried to get away from something. But otherwise, he breathed heavily and miaowed occasionally.
Eventually, I woke up with a hand on him and could feel he was no longer breathing.
I didn’t think I’d be sentimental about this, but it was clear that he wanted to be near us and we obviously cared about him. He has gone from us now, but will be remembered with love by his family.
Farewell, ye old cock! xx
Timely advice from Liz. Sucks what she’s been through but at least she was able to recover. Tricky times when your body can’t keep up with your mind and enthusiasm.
Something looming ahead for me!
It’s been a funny year so far – in fact funny is probably the wrong word – dangerous might be better. Yes, it seems to be developing into my year of living dangerously! It began with a fall in late February when I was on my way to a work meeting. I was ambushed by a small variation in floor level and tripped and fell onto my left arm. When I looked up it was into the faces of four horrified students who promptly rescued me. I’d forgotten how humiliating it can feel to fall over in a public place, especially when you can’t immediately scramble to your feet and brush it off with a laugh. The students were lovely and I was eventually restored to a vertical position and taken to the medical centre and then sent for an x-ray.
What seemed at first to be a torn ligament…
View original post 856 more words
AVAILABLE 28 JUNE Over the years, the residents of Emerald Street have become more than just neighbours, they have built lasting friendships over a drink and chat on their back verandahs. Now a ne…
Source: The Woman Next Door
Hello again! Well, I’ve been on an up and down emotional roller coaster since early August 2015, when my beloved youngest son and his girlfriend thought to take offense at a comment I made on my Facebook page.
I was in a new town, having relocated from country Western Australia to NSW and was looking for a beauty therapist. Now there seem to be a large number of salons offering beauty treatments and massages here run by ‘Asian’ ladies and this was new to me. They seem to be particularly Thai in cultural background and one day I walked into a salon looking for someone to do a manicure and pedicure.
I entered the premises, to find several women and some children seated on the floor and sharing a meal or snacks. There was no sign of the typical beauty salon paraphernalia – you know what I mean? Products, seating, basins, nail workstations, annoying bird song playing in the background, the smell of varnish remover – a reception desk! None of these were evident. I thought I’d walked into the wrong place; but then a lady came to me and asked did I want a massage! I explained what I was looking for and she said, yes that was available.I actually was unsure if I had made an appointment for an actual beauty treatment.
When I got home and was updating my Facebook status, I made a throwaway comment that was totally aimed at myself and my fears – and it was a joke, being shared with my friends and family, people who actually know me. I said something along the lines of ‘I thought I’d walked into a sex or drug den or something’ and I joked that maybe I was in danger – although I’m middle aged and overweight! Like who would want that?!
That was the joke – and it was thoughtless from the perspective that I didn’t THINK AT ALL that I was possibly offending anyone, because it wasn’t specifically directed at anyone, I guess. But there was absolutely no malice intended. And then my beloved son commented with a rant – effectively. It put me firmly in my place and told me what I was really doing – and it was all in an academic voice that was a pain in the behind to read and I was clearly being lectured to.
Hurt is the simplest way to describe how I was feeling. We aren’t a family that does confrontation. I’ve raised the kids in a calm and peaceful environment. Things are kept very light. And yes, that means we don’t have really deep and meaningful conversation about things. We all read and have always read. My husband and I have always worked. We are middle class. We are all kind and thoughtful to each other.
So my son publically (that is, in front of my friends) lectured me about my wrongdoing. My sister and daughter pulled him up about how he was treating his mum (and this is regardless of whether they agreed or not, by the way) and suggesting that she was racist; and his further response (another academically worded lecture) included that as he knew that I could be racist (WHAT?) he thought I could learn something. Then my daughter got really angry at him, because previously he was suggesting I was racist and now he was saying that I was racist.
I’ve deleted the conversation from my Facebook page, so this is a rough recollection of the comments made. And for the record, the same sister who defended me later explained to me that her first impulse thought was ‘Racist, much?”, but then she went “No, this is Trish!”.
I responded privately to my son that the world had gone political correctness mad! That it was very Australian to poke fun ‘at ourselves’ in this sort of way and that there was no offense intended to anyone; that they were being too serious about it and that I didn’t appreciate being lectured to. Especially as the wording of the comments was clearly from an academic viewpoint, therefore essentially coming from his girlfriend who is currently being educated in something like ‘gender studies’ (I’m probably incorrect in exactly what she’s studying, but it’s along those lines) and although it was great and understandable that he was interested in what she was learning and able to take it on board in his own dealings with the world – I still didn’t appreciate the way I was being told.
That was okay. I’d been told. I’d listened (although they don’t think I have) and it was past and done with.
Then some time later – weeks? – I got a text message from my son. Had I looked any further into the issue. My answer “No, I haven’t really.” Well, they’d appreciate it if I took the time to learn something about it. I basically said that I wasn’t that interested in ‘researching’. That I was well read; I followed the news and I wasn’t unaware and I was considerate of other cultures. I didn’t need educating. I quickly said that I was happy to have another look (in the spirit of not blindly saying “no”) – and confirmed that it was ‘human trafficking’ that was the issue. No mum; it is micro-aggression. See you weren’t listening. They hadn’t actually mentioned that term before; and I thought they were upset that I was joking about human trafficking, because of the Asian sex and drug den comment.
So, I said Okay I’ll take a look and he said he could recommend some sites, or his girlfriend could get on Skype with him to talk to me about it, because she is academically qualified to do so. See how serious they are being about this? I’m struggling to get past that!
I said “no thanks, I’m capable of googling and I can read, so I’ll do my own informing!” And when he asked me again, in the middle of another text conversation, had I done any reading yet. I answered “Yes! Really only one site, but it gave me the gist of what they were saying, so that was enough!”
They disagreed that one site was enough (and that’s fair enough, if I was interested in doing some heavy research into the issue, which I wasn’t) and that if I was truly interested in understanding their position I’d do more about it. I again said to them that I loved them, but I didn’t need to be pushed. It is definitely acceptable for gentle nudges – “Oh mum, do you realise what you just said? You know, it might not be the best thing – people might think you’re racist!” Me, “oh, really? You know I didn’t mean anything by it!” Them, “Yes, but that’s what everyone thinks mum. They don’t mean anything about it, but it’s the way that racism and stereotypes continue to be perpetuated and that is how they become normalised and how they can become so harmful.” I might then have responded, “Shit, I didn’t really think of that. I’ll be more careful in future”. END OF STORY.
But no, that’s not what has been happening. And last night, while the world was hearing the first stories about the terrorist activities in Paris, my son was texting me again to ask if I’d done any more looking at micro-aggression. 😦
Son, I have taken a look. I’m a quick study. Thank you for pointing out my faults. I’m not interested in looking anymore. Your responsibility for educating me in this instance is over. Let it go.
And of course another long long text came saying that he’s sorry that he’s trying to help me understand, more than I want to. He’s sorry that I care so little about it. He’s sorry that I think they’re exaggerating issues that have ‘entire academic disciplines dedicated to them’. He doesn’t want to talk to me again until I’ve taken time to look into the issues more and am prepared to talk to him as adult to adult.
Okay, so yes I forget to mention that the old-aged issue of parents not talking to their adult children as adults has also come into play here.
I eventually said to him last night that what I was feeling was bullied. And judged. That they’re adopting a highhanded ‘we’re right and we won’t talk to you until you admit it and accept what we’re saying’ position – and that they were effectively being radical and that kind of attitude leads to terror and hatred. I suggested they look around them and that there were a lot more important things to worry about than beating your mum into submission – and saying they didn’t want to talk to me until I was prepared to learn more, was emotional blackmail. Way to hit below the belt with your mother. I also said (tongue in cheek) that I’m worried they’ve joined a cult!
Yes, the above response was emotive; because I’m not a robot and I’m not a professor, or university educated. And yes, I’m the mother – the mother that has been loving and supportive his entire life. They don’t seem to be able to let it go, which is something I’ve trained myself to do in my lifetime. Deal with it now; whatever the outcome – whether satisfactory or not – you’ve tried and now ‘let it go’. They’ve tried – at least they know I’m more informed than I was – I now know there’s such a thing as micro-aggression and that they’re serious about it – and I will think twice before sharing my witticisms again.
Even though I’m an Irish/Australian and both of these cultures are big on cheekiness and taking the mickey out of everyone and anyone – including ourselves. With no malice intended!
I’m well-travelled – and I’ve always been proud to say how multi-cultural Australia is; but recently I’ve been amazed at how much vitriol there is about how we treat our ethnic groups. And I’ve written before in this blog about how embarrassing it is to be an Australian, when our government treats ‘illegal’ refugees so badly.
Now about this ‘micro-aggression’ term they’re bandying about.
The first link I read was this one http://www.buzzfeed.com/hnigatu/racial-microagressions-you-hear-on-a-daily-basis#.oq7D49L92 – 21 Racial Micro-aggressions you might hear on a daily basis. And I have to say that I’d never say any of these to anybody. If I meet an ethnic person – such as in my current bookkeeping classes – I ask them what their cultural background is. And that seems to be an acceptable way to start the conversation. I’ve learned that the girls behind me are speaking Hindi and that most Indians know several languages; at the very least 2-3.
Then I found a definition of Micro-Aggression ‘Microaggressions are the everyday verbal, nonverbal, and environmental slights, snubs, or insults, whether intentional or. unintentional, that communicate hostile, derogatory, or negative messages to target persons based solely upon their marginalised group membership.
I read the following GREAT article – great because I agree with him? Probably!
And this article, to which the author of the article above refers to:
So, Micro-aggression – a term first coined in the 70s has suddenly become a mainstream (academic) phrase and now the ‘word of the moment’ to explain the ‘logic’ behind what has become an ‘excuse/reason’ for forcible reactions by perceived ‘minorities’ to refuse to be educated in how to get on in life, because they perceive slights at every turn. I believe that what it is encouraging – more than understanding – is a generation of potential victims. Whingers, Australians would say!
We already live in a narcissistic society – it’s all about me and what I can get (for free) and what you can do for me – and look at me, look at me; poor me; look what’s happened to me. We are already like that – people want something for nothing. And now we’ve a new excuse for “sooky la la’s” to cry and moan and encourage tension – instead of seeing an obstacle and working out how to jump it, how to prove themselves – as individuals; not as an ethnic minority.
Casual remarks blown out of proportion, hypersensitivity and irrationality – do you know that minorities want to be recognised for their qualities, culture and value, but we aren’t allowed to refer to their qualities, culture and value as a way of quantifying their value or worth? Because if we refer to their ‘differences’ we are racist.
For example, we might assume that an ‘Asian’ applying for an IT job will be great at it. Or that ‘Asians’ work harder than Australians. Hello! If I make those assumptions – I’m being positive! White Australians can be (and I’m generalising here) lazier than many ‘Asian-Australians’, ‘African-Australians’, ‘Indian-Australians’. We know in Australia, whether we are prepared to acknowledge it or not, that migrant Asians – like previous generations of Italians or Greeks – come here starting with nothing, grateful for the chance at new beginnings and they work their butts off. They put us to shame! We know that historically; but if we acknowledge that history in our assumptions or comments, we are racist.
We aren’t allowed to comment on a cultural difference such as colour, ability or performance – because that’s racist; but then we are vilified because we don’t acknowledge that these people come from a different culture and should be acknowledged outside of white society’s norms.
I’m not educated. I read these papers and articles and I get the gist of their commentary – but I can’t articulate myself that way. I can attempt it more in writing; but I can’t articulate it verbally. Especially not when the son or girlfriend ARE trained academically and blah blah blah at me.
If humanity had not had all the difficulties we’ve had to overcome as we’ve evolved, we wouldn’t have come as far as we have. When things are too easy we stagnate. When we play the victim, we don’t grow. When we have challenges and we work at them, we evolve; we grow.
Build a bridge and get over it – is a great Australian saying. And that runs through my mind as I try to understand why my child can’t accept that he’s made his point and now it is up to me to do with that as I will. It is important to him and he’s tried to direct me – his job is done. He’s caused me emotional distress; think of that son, instead of how ‘racist’ I am.
Charade or Truth, is how I’ve headed this. Is the umbrella of ‘micro-aggression’ pretentious; deceptive; farcical or a disguise – a place to hide and not grow and put blame. Or, is it a truth – the honest reality.
My life credo is honesty. It is often painful to me to live honestly, realistically and in truth; but I aspire to this and at heart this story is about honesty. And owning your own life, reactions and determinations.
I’ve now spent time writing 2,487 words in reaction to my emotions! They could have been 2,500 words put towards my novel-writing activities! 😀
Well, well, one week into NaNoWriMo and I’ve just passed 20,000 words (out of an expected 50,000).
That didn’t take very long! PHEW!
Of course, I’ve procrastinated with the best of them and my bookkeeping studies have totally taken a back seat, so today’s effort of 7,922 words has to be it for about 4 days. If I’m sensible.
I’ve an assignment due on Thursday, and I totally need to read ahead for this week’s class.
Actually, I believe I’m out of words right now.
I’m busting, I’d like a coffee and I’d like to read my book – I should look at my assignment. We’ll soon see which one wins!
Adios amigos! Take care! xx
Well, those friends connected with me on Facebook will know that I committed to writing 50,000 words (a small novel) over November, with NaNoWriMo.
This is an inspirational and goal orientated writing site developed to encourage ‘would be writers’ to let their creative juices flow – and write, write, write!!
I signed up in 2013 and 2014, but didn’t write a cracker!! This year though, it is on!
On, as in I thought about the story and who my main character is (protagonist?) outlined some chapters and did some teeny research – about some background. I read interesting items on the NaNoWriMo page, writer’s magazines and one of the books my daughter bought me a couple of Christmases ago – ‘No Plot? No Problem!’ by Chris Baty, the founder of National Novel Writing Month. And it has all helped.
Of course, readers make writers, is the saying – and I read A LOT!
So, of course, bursting with enthusiasm and excitement I bounced out of bed on Sunday morning 1st November, the first day of the event! (1st November to 30th November – 50,000 words in 30 days). Jumped out; leaped even; joyously and with energy to spare – really! Really, really!!
Actually, it was more like “What? What time is it? Oh, 45 more minutes!” 😀
Eventually, by the time I got up and had pancakes (regular Sunday morning treat thanks to my lovely husband) did some housework (I know) and some gardening, got the bins ready, had another coffee (I know, I know!) it was about 12.30 AEST. Now, I know that sounds very late in the day to enthusiastically and joyously get up on the day of beginning your first 50,000 words – BUT IN MY DEFENCE – I’ve been a WA person for over 30 years!!! My body clock believes – and there is no changing its mind – that it is actually 3 BLOODY hours earlier!!! So, really it was only 9.30am!! 😛
Anyway, I sat at my gloriously old “American” IBM Selectric typewriter – chosen because I sit in front of a computer most of the day every day (when I’m working) and I do not for one second (except when I’m blogging?) feel creative! And I’m an OLD typist from WAY back! It feels comfortable – and I like to see my hard work recreated on tangible pieces of paper.
And the old “American” typewriter is a little scary – because I couldn’t find a secondhand IBM Electric in Australia I resorted to getting one in from the USA and it has to be connected to a big old transformer thing – before it is connected to the power. I’m always just that little bit frightened to push the ON switch! You never know ….. 😦
So, amazingly my first 30 minute stint finished with 1276 words! I know! Bloody miracle! Then I got distracted in the office helping Eric with things and getting him ready to go to the Google masterclass he’s headed off to in Sydney. Eventually, at about 4.30pm I had another go – by the end of the day 2776 words. I need approximately 1700 a day to ensure I hit 50,000. BONUS!!
And crazy, random Irish weirdo that I am – I also decided that I would blog through the month – perhaps not every day – but share the adventure; which realistically will be more of the above. Probably with more expletives, less hair (or at least more grays), but hopefully with JOY because I’m doing what I’ve been promising myself I’ll do for MY WHOLE LIFE!
Yes daughter, I’m writing! Yes, okay mother, I’m writing! YES, TRISH, I’m bloody writing! OKAY? Get over it! Grrr 😀
So, lucky peeps! Bear with me on this journey, if you’d care to. And we’ll see if I can hit that magical 50,000 word goal by 30th November, when I can claim the title WINNER and Writer!
Love you all! Bye xxx
Update: 2nd day I wrote 2100 words! YIPPEE!