whybother?

ANZAC Day has always been meaningful to me for a variety of reasons. I won’t bore you with the details, suffice to say that family members have served our country in both World Wars. As I do every ANZAC day, I watch the services and marches on tv whilst I browse various websites for information on different battles. I dig out my great-grandfather’s war diary and read it with awe. Today, I’m going to share some information I have discovered.

My Great-Grandfather, Herbert Simington, enlisted with the Army on the 29th April, 1916. On 17th October that year, he boarded the HMT Borda and embarked on a journey I can’t even begin to imagine.

He journeyed to France, where he joined his artillery unit as a Gunner. He spent the following 9 months fighting on the Western Front.

He was one of the lucky ones. He survived, and returned to Australia. Some 20 years later, he farewelled his sons, including my Grandfather, William Douglas Simington, as they departed for service in World War II. 

Pa enlisted on 25th June, 1940, and spent the next 5 years serving our country. Unfortunately, I don’t know many details. I know he trained in Egypt. I know he was a driver. I believe he served in New Guinea. He was not a Prisoner of War, although his brother-in-law was imprisoned at Changi. For some reason, he was always reluctant to discuss this period. Can’t imagine why!

Anyway, one of these days I’ll get around to doing some more thorough research.

Lest we forget.

Never one to be original,I have lifted this idea from Widdleshamrock.

Hot hunk #1: Patrick Dempsey.

Those eyes, those dimples, that slightly-dishevelled, just-got-out-of-bed look. Mmmmmm, yum…

#2: Jon Stevens.

That voice, that body. Need I say more?

And last, but never least, my very own HH.

Feel free to join in the HHT fun! Check out Hot Hunk Thursday to find out how. 

The other day, Darren casually mentioned that there is a work function on tonight that he is involved in. He briefly, and I believe, evasively, outlined what it was all about and I filed it away under the ‘does not affect me’ category. He mentioned it again in a bit more detail over the weekend. It appears that there is some sort of presentation to be made to him. It was still all very casual and vague, but some part of me picked up that possibly this had some importance to him. So I asked a question: ‘Do you want me to come?’ I was answered with a sort of grunt, followed by what could have been: ‘if you want’.

This morning, he was up and about rather early. Showered, pressed and smelling lovely. It occurred to me to ask what he was up to. There were more vague references to this evening’s festivities, and a promise to be back soon. Several hours later, I rang him to see if he would be coming home for lunch. He replied that he would be home very shortly, and yes please, he would like something to eat. About an hour and a half later he rocked up. So far, no fuming. This is all fine. I am on holidays. I have child-minding responsibilities to fulfil and he is free to fart about ad infinitum.

Around 4pm, he started making noises about ‘getting ready’ for whatever is happening. He showered (again), painstakingly ironed his clothes and polished his shoes, and was about ready to go. I asked if he still wanted me to attend, and if so, what time? He replied that he would ring me. I asked what I should wear, and he replied: ‘not jeans’ (jeans are my standard, non-work uniform). Off he went.

It is now 6:15pm. He is not here. I have not had a phone call. I am dressed up to the nines (well, for me, anyway) and it would appear that I have nowhere to go. Meanwhile, a friend who I expected would be at this do rang me. Naturally, I asked her why she wasn’t at the gig. She replied that she is not going. After some questioning, it was revealed that her partner (my husband’s colleague) has pissed her off no end, and she is no longer attending said function. It is her way of protesting against his treatment of her. ‘Besides,’ she continued, ‘partners are not invited’.

Interesting.

Do I care about this function? No. Is it important to Darren? Apparently to some extent. Does he want me to be there? WHO THE FUCK KNOWS? That, friends, is why I am fuming. 

Well, almost!

It was decided that we needed a weekend away. Together. The three of us. As opposed to us all doing our separate thing. Our beloved 4WD is off the road at the moment, having a heart transplant, so the whole outback adventure thing seemed out of reach. As a child, my parents once took me to Jenolan Caves, and I vaguely remembered it being a nice spot. We haven’t visited that region as a family, so off we trotted.

Saturday morning dawned wet and miserable- perfect weather for driving nearly 300km. We decided to take the scenic route, so naturally, instead of taking 3 hours, it took closer to 5. By the time we arrived, we were a bit manic. The guesthouse was undergoing renovations (naturally), so there was some confusion as to where we were meant to park/check in. Darren parked where he could, and I hiked 500m down a vertical incline in the sleet  drizzle, to see if I could get my bearings.

It was all good. Yes, we were in the right place. Yes, we did have a reservation. Where did sir park? Up the 500m vertical incline? Perhaps sir would like to bring the car round to unload the luggage? So, back up the 500m vertical incline we hiked. Undaunted, and determined to enjoy this, our first break for 2008, we carried our shitload of belongings inside. It was agreed that Mollie and I would act as pack horses, whilst Darren returned the vehicle to its parking spot and revisited the hike. This seemed fair.

Until we realised that the lift was out of order and we were on the third floor. 

After allowing a few moments to calm down, we decided perhaps an alcoholic beverage would be in order. Fortunately, we came prepared. Have esky, will travel. Unfortunately, there was no bar fridge in the room. We guzzled what we could had a couple of refreshing, rejuvenating bevvies, then ventured outside for a walk.

The scenery was amazing. It was eerily silent. Just on dusk, the tourists were leaving and the overnight guests were settling in by the fire. We had the place to ourself, and it was….hard to describe. It was like we were the only people on earth. The only sounds were from the waterfall and the slight drizzle. We walked towards the magnificent archway that dwarfed us, heads thrown back, looking up, mouths hanging open in awe. It was so worth the trip and all the hassles.

Here are a few glimpses of our first few moments.

The time of day made it difficult to capture what we were after with our camera. I’ll say here that any photos that Mollie is not appearing in have been taken by her. In my opinion, she has quite a good eye!

The next morning, we set off to book our tour. We chose the Imperial Cave.  It was absolutely awe-inspiring. Here are a few of the more spectacular shots the kid captured.

She took hundreds, and they are fascinating to us, but probably not to anyone else!

The rest of our time was spent poking around in the bush, climbing up and down stairs, and straining our necks as we looked up and around at the different formations.

Did I mention the food? Always of particular interest to me. Dinner was served in the formal dining room of the guesthouse. Lah-di-dah! There were real, linen tablecloths and napkins! No Pizza Hut for us, no sir-ree!  The first night I dined on Atlantic salmon. Very nice. Darren enjoyed a chicken breast stuffed with some kind of sundried tomato/cream cheese concoction, wrapped in prosciutto and served on mashed potato. The kid selected from the kids buffet: nothing much to report there! The second night, I went the chook, and Daz had the soup, followed by the spinach ravioli. All lipsmackingly good, and not one bit of room for dessert Naturally, the alcohol flowed quite freely and a good time was had by all.

After dinner on the second night, we decided to go for a bushwalk in the dark. Despite the fact that all the paths are well lit and signposted, we were the only buggers out and about. I can’t understand it: it was a fantastic time to have a look around. We walked through the spine-chillingly named Devil’s Coachhouse, and took a seat. We gazed in fascination at the many and varied formations. We sang, yip-yapped and yahooed to hear our echoes, and generally acted like a bunch of gooses! We headed off around the aptly named Blue Lake, where we enjoyed a close encounter with a foraging wombat. He’s either never been disturbed before, or is disturbed so often that he doesn’t care! He glanced briefly at us and continued going about his business. We must have watched him for 15 minutes!

It was a really pleasant way to spend a couple of days. Due to the location, we had no mobile reception. There were no televisions. We walked, we chatted, we sat by the fire reading our books. After the kid went to bed, Daz and I sat and talked our hearts out. I think we had more conversation this weekend than we’ve had in the past 3 months! We thoroughly enjoyed it, and it was totally worthwhile.

To finish off, here are a few more photos. I’m sure the kid will put some on her blog as well. Eventually. When I let her get near the ‘puter! Happy days!

Yes, folks. It’s official. I am finally, after many years of travail, a University Graduate. Round of applause please!

The graduation ceremony took place last Wednesday. Where was I? Sydney. Working. Yes, I could have taken time off work to attend my grad ceremony, but it would have required two days. My uni is a good 9 hour drive away! And because it’s not in a capital city, a flight would have cost an absolute fortune. Then, I would have had to make up those two days by going back to Sydney, joining another training group, and possibly not finishing my training for another month or two. For what? To sit in an auditorium with 1000 other people, waiting my turn to shake hands with the knob on stage? NO THANK YOU.

So tonight, when I got home from work, I checked the mail: there was my degree. I confess to being disappointed. It is an A4 sized sheet of slightly thicker than normal paper. No parchment. No ink. No wax seal. It isn’t even written in calligraphy. I think it may be typed in Arial.

You know what? I’m pleased I didn’t drive to Wagga Wagga. The tightarse in me is thrilled to bits that I didn’t go through a million litres of petrol at $2 a litre. I’m ecstatic that I didn’t fork out $150 for a night’s accommodation. I’m overjoyed that I wasn’t required to pay to hire a gown. And there will never, ever, be a photo of me wearing that ridiculous black hat. So it’s all good!

Where’s that bottle of champagne? 

Is coming home from work to find that the Man of the House (MOTH) is cooking a lamb roast. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure? I bought a  winning lotto ticket. We didn’t win the $20 million, but he was so happy with the $40 that he went out and splurged on dinner! I love that man!

I have survived another week in the Big Smoke. Just. It was a pretty quiet week. Two key members of the group were missing, which affected the group dynamic. Hopefully they’ll be back next time, because they were missed.

Unlike previous weeks, I actually learned a few things this time around. Some of it was very confronting, particularly the Thursday session. I won’t go into details. Suffice to say I had a few beliefs challenged and a few assumptions shot down in flames.

That night, tails between our legs, the majority of us retreated to the safety of the local pub to drown our sorrows.  A few turned into a few more, then a few more, and before I knew it, I was smashed. Bonds between group members which had been tentatively forming were cemented that night. I was quite unwell on Friday morning, but managed to overcome by lunchtime.

We are coming towards the end of our time together, and a kind of melancholy has settled over us. We all agree that our time has been challenging, confronting and tiresome, but we all really value each other and we will miss having regular contact. There are still three weeks to go, but we are already discussing our first ‘reunion’! I’m a bit sceptical. It sounds good now, but in reality, how likely is it that we’ll still feel the same way in six months time? 

When I left school, I had no intentions of keeping up with my former cellmates classmates. True to form, I let all bar one of them go. I’m enjoying the company of these colleagues, and there are a few whose friendship I have come to value, but will it survive separation? Do I want it to? We’ve been plucked from obscurity and forced into a classroom-type situation. We’ve gone through some very intense training together. We don’t really know each other that well. We only think we do. It’s almost like a hostage situation, where the hostages begin to identify with the captors. It’s quite surreal.

In my last job, the group had a very similar experience, except that we lost more than half of our members along the way. Those of us who were left felt like a family. I have stayed in touch with a couple of them, but if I’m honest, it’s because they have been very good about contacting me.

Whilst this is all very deep and meaningful, at the end of the day, these are not people I would normally have connected with. I guess I’m wondering whether or not I will be committed enough to keep the relationships going. Do I care enough? If I stay in this organisation, I may well be working closely with some of these people in the future. Some of them could become my managers! In that sense, it would be prudent to keep the network alive. I would prefer to keep in touch for more altruistic reasons. I have never, ever been a user, and don’t think I ever could. I can’t stomach the idea of keeping these people on the backburner until I one day need them for something. 

I now have two weeks at home. From the 27th of April, it’s week on, week off again until it’s all over. I can’t wait until I no longer have to go through this process. I will be as fully qualified as I am going to be in this position, and my ‘real’ working life can begin. I will have my own clients, my own cases. That will be when I find out whether or not I can cut it. I think I can. After all this, I certainly hope I can. Stay tuned.

Brought to you, as always, by the lovely Lightening.

It’s been an…..interesting week. Challenging? Stressful? So it’s even more important than usual to find some things to smile about. As always, a few are related to the kid. My ever-growing, ever-changing, not-quite-a-teenager.

For a number of years she’s had a bit of stuff going on around ‘I don’t want to’, or ‘I can’t be bothered’. Things that she previously enjoyed, such as swimming club, netball, soccer, fell by the wayside. They were simply too much effort for the little lazybones darling. So nobody could have been more surprised than I was when she told me she had tried out for the school netball team. And made it!

The whole school is participating in some kind of spelling crackdown, which is fantastic, because kidz theese dais jus cant speel. For shit. So she came home with a list of 50 words. They did them cold, and she got about 20 of them right. They then had a couple of weeks in which to practice spelling them. The final test was held during the week and she got 50/50! You go, girl!

She also visited some elderly residents with the school choir and performed for them. 

Personally, I can smile because I survived the week without a major meltdown. There were a couple of minor ones, but overall, I’m still here, and I’m pretty much ok. And it’s always a pleasure to consume that much chocolate.

So I’m off to Sydney again tomorrow. Just for something different. I only have 4 more weeks to go. If you say it fast…well, anyway, it’s better than when I started and had 8!

Have a nice week, and try not to miss me too much!!  

The other night Mollie thought she could hear a mozzie buzzing around in her room. She turned the light on and sprayed that fucker. It didn’t die from the poison: it drowned.  Tonight, she located the deceased and brought it out to show me. Check it out.

It’s lucky she killed it. It may have carried her off! 

Something beginning with ‘f’: for FUCKED UP.

Guess what arrived in the mail today? A birthday present for Mollie. Her birthday was last Thursday. Guess who sent said birthday present? Go on, guess! 

If you said EMIL, give yourself a gold star. What is her problem?