Creative

When the rain comes








I love it when the rain comes.

When the rain comes so do the blackouts. Grown-ups turn into giddy little school children and watch the rain fall outside office buildings.
When the rain comes so does candlelight. Soft flickering in silent powerless rooms. Sensual shadows cast on walls.
Cuddles are in plenty when the rain comes.

When the rain comes so does the wind. Blowing branches tap on windows. Destruction in its mighty force.
When the rain comes the sky illuminates with lightening flashes; currents reaching out to touch the earth.
Children cry at cracks of thunder when the rain comes.

When the rain comes so do memories of warmth. Up north as a little girl, hot rain falls, quelling the humidity. Dancing in the street and swimming on the road.
When the rain comes farmers rejoice. Dry earth is replenished. Fields rejuvenated with new growth.
Home-cooked hearty meals stew on the stove when the rain comes.

I love it when the rain comes.

*Snippets*

Out of the frying pan

My office car park comes off a laneway backing onto people's garages, you know the type - where, from the street it looks like no one who lives there owns a car - aha but they do, hidden in a secret laneway behind the houses. Yes well, all secrets aside, this particular laneway is the access to our car park and this morning whilst turning slowly into said laneway, attempting to drive as slow as possible to stick to the 8 km/h speed limit (I swear 8 km/h is drivably impossible!) a little old Japanese lady wanders out of her garage looking in the opposite direction, completely unaware of the crunching of gravel under my tires, and that even at 10 km/h a little green Getz is about to hit her. However, as if a little old Japanese lady with a car park death wish wasn't strange enough for my morning, she was carrying with her, of all things, a frying pan into our staff car park. Realising she's not going to stop on her mission to cross the road, I slam on my breaks and she finally turns and sees me. Less than a foot away from my car, she gives me the sweetest 'oops' smile I've ever seen, to which I start miming my apology to her through the windscreen (because of course I was in the wrong - why do we always do that, apologise even when it's not our fault - politeness?). She signals for me to go past and I wave as I continue my endeavour to find a car space, free to go on living my life knowing tomorrow's headlines won't read 'heartless bitch runs down innocent Japanese frypan-carrying woman in car park'. But I'm still intrigued by the frying pan. So I watch her in my rear-view mirror as she continues across the laneway and into the car park, finds a small patch of dirt and fallen leaves next to a brick dividing wall and proceeds to tip out the remnants of this morning's tasty Japanese breakfast onto the patch. She then nonchalantly wanders on back to her pretty house off the laneway, free to live her life making many a tasty breakfast and wandering through car parks with kitchen items. I can't believe I've worked there for 3 years and was never aware our parking lot doubled as a pig trough. Might have to start bringing in my frying pans!

Gripe Vine

Blame your son - I'm just the girlfriend!

I generally make a point of refusing to take responsibility for buying gifts and cards for my boyfriends family, not because I don't like them but because it's not my job. It's bad enough that I am the general household calendar for all events, birthdays and special occasions, it is not my job to faff around trying to find presents and cards for his family when I've already got 7 family members of my own to track down gifts for every year. However, while I'd like to believe that if he doesn't get them a gift or a good enough gift or a card or forgets their special day, then it's not my problem; that the blame will be placed on him as a bad son. But the truth is that, to a mother of boys, it is expected that the girlfriend will ensure her stupid son comes up with something and comes up with something good! If a son makes a present faux pa, such as those mentioned above, it's almost as if his mother is more disappointed in the girlfriend than in him, and although I'm griping about it, I kind of understand why! You see she knows that you remember everyone's birthdays and still you allowed her son to forget/get them a present from the $2 shop/refuse to get a card because he 'doesn't do cards'. Why do we take on these responsibilities? If you didn't teach your son to be thoughtful, that is your own fault as a parent - don't put that on me! And besides, you can always tell when the girlfriend has influenced the present buying decision - don't you want something that your son bought you because he thought of you and thought about the things you liked and put all of that information together to find you a very thoughtful gift?

The other part of this is guys who do it to themselves. I know guys who are perfectly self-sufficient, who always remember birthdays and always buy thoughtful gifts. But it seems that along with the addition of a girlfriend into their lives, a 'don't think for yourself' switch is also installed in their brains and they unload all of that wonderful information onto her, and she's often more than willing to accept (actually sometimes she's the force behind the unloading). All of a sudden they're asking their partners when their mother's birthday is, what they've got planned for the weekend and where they left their shoes! It's like when you go out somewhere together and he asks you to carry his phone, his sunglasses and his wallet in your handbag. Why carry it himself or make unsightly bulges in his pockets, when you have a much bigger and more effective handbag in which you can carry it for him. That makes sense doesn't it, and you're usually more than happy to carry them in your wonderful bag until such time as he needs them back again. Are women just handbags for men's personal information? Hanging on their shoulders everywhere they go just always at the ready for him to dip his hands in and find whatever he needs? Are we a substitute for the male memory? Or are we the martyrs? Are we just control freaks feeding our controlling desires by being the driving force behind every decision he ever makes?

*Snippets*

Look good in leather
Last night my loving boyfriend coaxed me into going with him to look for a new motorbike jacket. Now as thrilling as it might sound, it wasn't my ideal Thursday night plan, however, he was really excited about it and I had noticed his current jacket appeared to be a little tattered; not exactly conducive to a safe riding experience. Walking into the store, I'd never felt so much like 'a skirt' as I looked around at the multitude of Power Ranger-esque outfits, molded with interior protection plates, simulating human body casts hanging from big metal racks. Matt was weak at the knees at the sight of a wall of leather jackets; I was worried I might have to get him a mop and a bucket if he reached out and touched one! I don't think I've seen more leather in a cow paddock than I did in that store and we're not talking rough tough, Harley-mounting-bikie leather, we're talking Speed racer.

Matt fought back his urge and worked his way around the more breathable fabric jackets first. He found a couple around the $250 mark, tried them on and made comments about how they were too small for his 'masculine frame' before finally tiptoeing over to the wall of mounted leather. He was instantly inlove with one particular jacket not unlike that worn by the white Power Ranger. I've got to admit, it was a pretty nice jacket, as far as motorbike jackets go - and for $650 it would want to be, although when you're braving the road on an SV1000 you probably want to be wearing the best of the best (if not for posing then for protection). As he puts it on he 'ooo's about how good it feels. 'So does it look good?' He asks rhetorically. 'Yeah, I suppose, If you like that kind of thing,' I say in jest. 'You wouldn't be able to keep your hands off me if I bought this jacket,' he says big-noting himself (for a change). 'Honey if you bought that jacket, you wouldn't be able to keep your hands off yourself,' I joke. He goes back and forth between the $250 jacket and the $650 'piece de resistance'. Eventually, his rationality gets the better of him; $650 is a lot to spend on a jacket and there is no point paying $250 for a jacket he didn't really want. He carefully, yet reluctantly, put the much coveted jacket back on the rack and slowly did up the zip as if he were preparing his first-born for his first day at school. As we walked out of the shop, I swear I saw a tear in his eye and it was then I knew, he'd be coming home a white Power Ranger before the week was out!

*Snippets*

Book in the dirt
Having recently had kerb-side collection, it's not unusual to see discarded scraps of rubbish still loitering around various front yards, but whilst walking the dog last night I came across something truly humorous; a book - spread out, page down, cover up and half buried in the dirt.

Being the book lover/hoarder that I am, I was quite taken aback by what seemed to be someone's desperate attempt to rid themselves of that particular book. The rational part of my brain tells me that there are several great and dignified options non-book-hoarders could employ in the effort to get rid of an old, unwanted book; one might trade it in at a second-hand book shop, give it to a charity/school book drive or maybe you might donate it to the Salvos in the hope it could enrich the soul of someone less fortunate. Of course if you really must just 'get rid' of a book you could always throw it into your recycle bin where it may be turned into another far more useful book, or last (but definitely not recommended) you could simply just put it into the rubbish bin to become landfill. However, the state of this discarded book, suggested that its owner had deemed it to be so useless it was not even worthy of the bin and had been thrown from the house to the side of the road, maybe alongside an old broken 30cm television and a 'never-been-used' ab-rocker irrationally purchased late one night from Danoz Direct! On rubbish collection day it had been overlooked by the kerb-side collectors, who would have considered it unworthy of their rubbish truck and by the scavengers creeping by with their wheelbarrows the weekend before, looking for treasure in other peoples' trash.

As we got closer I became more and more intrigued as to just what this worthless excuse for a book could possibly be and for a split second I pondered whether maybe it might like to come and live on my bookcase... and then I saw the title: 'How to solve your child's sleeping problems'... enough said!

I'm finally here!

Well it's taken a while for my technologically-challenged self to get a blog started but with the help of some fabulously motivating colleagues, I'm finally here and ready and raring to 'blog for my life'! Yes, I know, I can hear you all saying 'but starting a blog is easy' - and I agree! My laggard approach to starting a blog was more ingrained in SPS 'Severe Procrastination Syndrome' - a dilapidating disease passed down through the generations that inhibits your ability to ever getting anything done. Well not anymore - I'm here now and look at me; I'm blogging!