Procrastination Pays

Nice and alliterative, hey?

And for my current situation - exactly right.

Well, okay, so procrastination doesn't get blog posts written. Believe me, I've got a good one brewing for the weekend before last when we went to the coast to catch up with my little brother and Giggles. But I have been busy with that slightly over-rated thing called "real life" and haven't taken the time to do more than scurry through a few of my favourite blogs to see what they've been doing. Not sufficient time to say what I've been doing. But I've been enjoying it.

However, for the last couple of evenings I've had a little mental list of things I should have been doing. Dusting and vacuuming the house, for example. I was also going to hang out a load of washing last night so that it would be dry to take in at lunchtime today. And the interior of my car certainly needs some cleaning.

I couldn't be bothered.

Surely 'can't be bothered' is not a good state to be in?

Well, it turns out that a significant part of the eastern part of Australia is undergoing a doozy of a dust storm today.

The chance that I would have felt that warm glow of acheivement if I had got all my work done?

... APPROXIMATELY NONE!!!

A Letter From Grandma (The Archaeological Edition)

A little slow this week, so here's another letter from my Grandma.

Because she died when I was only in grade 6 it is interesting to use these letters to get to know her - who was she?

Well, one thing I know is that a very busy lady used to write individual picture-letters to 6 of her grandchildren who didn't happen to live very close to them. Although when this first started there were probably only 2 or 3 of us. It worked up from there as new grandkids came on the scene and were old enough to say "why don't I get a letter from Grandma?" So grandchildren were special, and she didn't want us to forget her.

We can also see from today's letter that sometimes she used to cheat -


No, she did not draw this image. It's a printed one. Clever lady.

The written part says

For Jenny,
I hope you can see our Church at Graceville soon.
Love from Grandad and Grandma. XXX

I don't know precisely when these letters started, but I presume they were a weekly inclusion into the family goings on letter that Grandma used to write to all her kids. I know we lived in Barcaldine from 1976 to 1980.

But this letter may have some specific dating evidence and I feel like I should be on Time Team, because I'm getting all excited.

You see, the Methodist Church joined with other churches to become the Uniting Church in July 1977. So this must have been printed before then. Unless, of course, they were trying to get rid of all the old printed material that was now out of date. Hmmm.

However, the fact that we hadn't seen the church must also put this early in our stay in Barky, because we would have visited them from time to time. In fact, my aunt was married there, but I can't remember when that was.

The chance that we'll ever know a date for certain?

... Approximately None!

Okay, so this makes me an accessory after the fact?

Desperately needed to go grocery shopping last week. A couple of weeks of just getting what was essential will eventually empty the pantry, so I toddled off to the shops to restock.

Just had enough cloth bags to carry the piles of stuff from Bi-Lo, and spent a small fortune at the butcher to restock the freezer as well.

Was not terribly happy upon returning to the car to find myself stymied by my Beloved. The boot* was pretty full of husband-junk, namely a huge blue tarp and a shovel. So I had to load the groceries into the back seat.

And at this point I began to wonder what it was my Beloved had been doing that required a blue tarp and a shovel.

Now, maybe I've been watching too much TV while I've been recuperating, but the only activity I could think of was burying a body.

I don't think my Beloved is one of the types of blokes who goes around disposing of dead bodies, but they do say the wife is the last to know. There was always that time not long after we were married when the police rang up asking if my Beloved (who has a fairly common series of names) had ever lived in Mackay.

But the chances that I'm off to chat to the police about this?

... Approximately None - because I might be the next one wrapped up in the blue tarp in the boot!

UPDATE: My Beloved informs me that he used the tarp to cover a trailer load of green waste that he took to the dump** last weekend, and the shovel was to scrape out the last of the grass clippings. Likely story!

*boot = trunk
** dump = waste transfer station at the local land fill

O Lord, set a watch over my mouth...

Well, there is probably more than one problem. My brain is mostly here, but sometimes I am still doing dumb stuff. On Tuesday I signed my name on a very important, official business document and signed the wrong name.

Oh no, not my maiden name - I made up an entirely different surname by exchanging the final letter with a totally different letter. A letter that has never existed in my name in the lower case.

What's more I didn't find it until the next day, which was saved by the fact that my dodgy brain forgot to take it around to Dad's office to fax it off. I discovered the error before anyone else saw it. (Then blogged about it. For everyone to see. Hmmm. Maybe I have more problems than I thought)

The main problem I'm confronting is that my jaw hasn't yet let go. I can actually get my index finger between my teeth, but I can't open my mouth any more than that.


So while there are many things that I'd be game to eat, unless they are thinner than my index finger it's just not going to work for me.

I can have a sandwich - as long as I take it apart and eat all the components separately. I ate a sausage at the sausage sizzle last night - but had to cut it in half lengthways. I could eat a pie or hamburger - as long as I cut them up with a knife and fork. My meals are taking ages to eat because I've got to bash down each forkful to be thin enough to go through the 'letterbox'.

And what's worst is that I've had this much opening for about a week now and it's not changing much.

So yesterday I went shopping and decided that I deserved a little treat:-

But I forgot one very important thing:-

Close. Very, very close.

But possible. Just.

The chance that I didn't get just a fraction more room by sheer effort of will and a little discomfort?

... Approximately None!

Getting there

My Dear friend Givinya asked me how I've been going since my original post-op picture (complete with ice-packs). You remember this?


Well, a couple of days later I could stop applying ice-packs and I looked like this - I've never had a square jaw before!

Nevermind, it seems that my cheekbones have returned, the extensive double chin is gone (or at least back to normal) and my chin is now just part of my jawline, rather that stuck on a puffer fish. And I hope I no longer look like I'm spaced out on drugs.

Back to driving and doing some work and the surgeon seemed pleased with my progress last week when I went for my day 7 check-up.

Feeling is starting to return to the half of my lower lip and chin that has been numb, which is a bit of a relief, given that there was no change up until yesterday.

At least one of the stitches has dissolved itself, although some of the others seem to be going strong.

The one thing that remains a frustration for me I will talk about tomorrow, and that will be appreciated by my loyal audience...

... Approximately Not at All - but hey, it's called delayed gratification and there should be more of it in the world.

Dear Don and Cathy...

I've actually had a pretty good week and am feeling quite rested. I seem to have moved beyond needing the heavy drugs and last night didn't wake up needing something in the middle of the night.

In preparation for this last week I had gone to the library and borrowed a stack of books, few of which I have read because last week (and probably up to Tuesday) reading just didn't work for me concentration-wise.

Three of the books, though, were from that Australian Classic girls series by Mary Grant Bruce about the inhabitants of Billabong Station* in Victoria, and I hadn't read them since my early high school years. It was great getting reacquainted with their early history, because I have books 4 through to 15, but never found the first three to purchase.

Having read the first three I decided to detour from my library books to enjoy the rest of the series while I'm in the mood for their little world, and it is very strange to think that these particular young people were contemporaries of my great-grandparents** - and just now the boys are heading off to The Great War.

It is really odd to go back through a series of books that you knew really well many years ago. Even stranger when you consider a particular habit of mine.

I grab any stray piece of paper to use as a book mark. Certainly some of my books have purpose-built bookmarks given to me by friends, but often when I read my own books I find old receipts, post cards, scraps torn from old church notices or envelopes. It's almost like the thrill of an archaelogical dig to find what book mark is in an old book.

And in Book 4 of the Billabong series I found a scrap of paper, obviously torn from the bottom corner of a diary with handwriting I don't recognise spelling out "Don and Cathy" and a phone number. It's an eight digit phone number, so must post-date my high school years, but the chance of me remembering who Don and Cathy are and why I have their phone number is...

... Approximately None.

*"Ranch" for my occasional guest from the US of A.
** or at least would have been contemporaries, if they had not been fictional characters

Romance and Reality

I seem to be approaching human. No stamina and I certainly can tell when the drugs are wearing off, but I'm approaching human.

Unlike last week when I'm not certain what I did (good drugs!).

Friday I decided that entertainment should be all five hours of the BBC production of Pride and Prejudice. It's a story I know well so it doesn't matter if I doze through parts of it, it was long enough to fill the day and required no effort on my part.

I was at Mum and Dad's, so Mum sat down and made lace as we watched - and organised food at regular intervals.

I was glad when she decided it was lunchtime. It was coming up to Elizabeth's refusal of Darcy's proposal scene and I had been a bit dozy. This was one part I didn't want to miss, so food should keep me awake for a bit.

I've been describing my ingestion of food as 'eating', but that's a fairly loose interpretation of the term. It's closer to a careful slurp from the end of a teaspoon, followed by swallowing with very little attempt at any form of chewing. At the time I could hardly open my teeth and couldn't control my tongue terribly effectively. It was also necessary to have a tissue handy for the inevitable spills across my numbed lip.

So my favourite scene in P&P ended up going something like this:-

Darcy (striding across the sitting room): In vain I have struggled...
Me: Schhleeck
Darcy: ... it will not do...
Me: Schhleeeck
Darcy:... you must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire...
Me: Schhleeeckk
Darcy: ... and love you.

By this time I'd twigged to the interesting sound effects and went off into the giggles, thereby ruining the scene for me forever. (Have I mentioned that laughing, smiling, giggling are none of them terribly comfortable?) Hopefully the chances of splitting the stitches are...

... Approximately None!