Funeral

Why is it that the only time you get to see some members of the family is when someone dies? Sometimes I think we don't get together enough to celebrate the living. Today, we've been to the funeral of my husband's grandma, or Nan as she is to all of us. My husband was very close to Nan because after his parents split up, and he and his brother went with his father, Nan moved in to look after them. And he's been close to her ever since.

It's something to ponder a life that stretched ninety years. I interviewed Nan a few years ago for an oral history project on the affect of war on women, and she revealed a family secret that my husband didn't know -- something quite shocking, but which ultimately was good that he does know.

It's also fascinating pondering the many relationships (and I'm not talking sexual here, I'm thinking in the same way that I do about my character relationships in my novel) a person can have and how complex these can be. Nan had a falling out with her daughter years ago, and this relationship has been both tortuous and torturous at times. Of course this can make things difficult for everyone -- even now that Nan has gone. That brings all its own sorts of considerations -- about wills and all types of things. I think the months ahead may be a bit messy, but in the meantime we mourn someone who did live a remarkable life -- as, really, we all do. It just doesn't always feel like it at the time.

Congruence

Why is it that dates always coincide? My father's birthday was decided years ago, and this year is going to be a nice, fat round number. Months ago, my mother decided my father would spend his birthday in Sydney. This year is a big celebration, and my brother couldn't come down because his daughter is in the Australian Girls Choir, and they have also chosen that date for a concert at the Opera House. Mum wanted us to go up. Trouble is my daughter is in the Victorian State Singers, and they've chosen this day for a concert too. (And I've just been to see them on Sunday at a German Festival, with another choir (German) and an opera singer, and a piano-accordian ensemble.) So I'd said to my mother that Princess Sleepyhead couldn't go, but we all decided that they would go up and take Sir Talkalot with them. Now Sir Talkalot was pretty happy about this, especially because our budget never leads itself to big holidays and he's never, consequently, been on an aeroplan. So he was busy planning a long weekend, thinking that maybe we'd let him have a few days off from school. My mum was pushing for this too, whereas I was leaning against it. Anyway, that was solved when his school also decided this would be a great date (or the following Monday, anyway) to start school exams, so there went his long weekend. He was devastated, because he thought he couldn't go -- he rang my mum, apologised, got off the phone and broke down into tears. I told him that if he planned his studying well, there was no reason why he couldn't go. After all, it's only Year 7 -- the marks don't count; it's the experience that does. And he is diligent. He will work.

In the meantime, our esteemed Prime Minister also decided my dad's birthday would be a very good day to hold an election. And the good people at AMEB decided that this would be an even better day to hold their piano exams. Suddenly, about to book tickets, we were in a quandary. We didn't actually know the dates of the piano exams -- but the piano teacher suspected it might be this weekend. (And at this point I do have to say that I think it's a bit unfair that you have to pay upfront for an exam that you have no clue on the date of, and if you can't make it -- too bad. You lose your money. Sometimes, I don't think people in these places realise how hard it can be to rustle up the money!) But, the piano teacher did some sleuthing and found out that yes this was the day of the exam. And really that's the end of the story. Mum and Dad are away, so I can't let them know, but the bottom line is that longed-for aeroplane trip (courtesy of my parents) is just going to have to wait for another day.

Good news

The camera has been found. Although I spent much of yesterday spring cleaning, did this contribute? No, it did not. The missing camera turned up outside in an upturned bicycle helmet. One thing you have to love about recording devices, they have a way of capturing incriminating evidence. Yes, it was the photos of the butcherboys (slaters) that did it. And good ole Sir Talkalot couldn't help himself. When I presented the children with the fact I had evidence, they both denied they were the culprits. Even when I said what that evidence was. But when I said there were some really great slater photos and who wanted to see them, only one child leapt enthusiastically into the air. Ah, well. I'd post a photo of slaters except they were all out of focus. Instead, here's one I took yesterday.

Wild weather

The last few days have been as windy as -- and the swamp has been flooded five days out of six, and still no camera. Most frustrating!

Last night though, my two dogs were lying on their outside bed around midnight because I hadn't realised they weren't yet inside in their proper bed. There was a huge gust of wind and our packed up table-tennis table collapsed across the bed where the two dogs were sleeping. How one wasn't decapitated, I'll never know, but thankfully they weren't. The golden was pretty freaked out and hiding around the corner from the deck, whereas the toller was sitting across from the deck, eyeing the disaster area speculatively, as if to check that thing wasn't going to chase her any further. They came inside, and the toller, as is her wont, promptly wee-ed all over her real bed.

Here's a recent photo with Princess Sleepyhead and the dreaded table in the background, with the bed the dogs were on, folded on top.

Footy

Well, the footy's over for another year, and the Cats have gone home with the gold, and we with the wooden spoon. Not often you can leave with this and having most football fans not think you were the worst club in the league. That little trophy has to belong to the greatest tankers ever: Carlton. How their players and coaching staff hold their heads up, I don't know, but it made the wooden spoon just that little bit sweeter.

I can understand the rationale in tanking to get better draft picks, but another part of me wonders what the point of not trying to win a game is. Why sacrifice one season so you can get better players in another. (Mind you, this from the person who gets seriously frustrated about the barters her club sometimes makes with draft picks.) At least our players went out to win each week. I don't mind a belting (well, like anyone, I don't like it), but to lie down and not try -- that's something else altogether. If I were a Carlton supporter, this would be the point when I'd be seriously questioning whether I wanted to swap clubs. Not that I can swap -- my grandfather played for Richmond, so it's in my blood. But I have to say, I'm glad I'm a Tiger supporter. It's widely acknowledged that we have the best song in the league, and that "yellow and black" refrain sends shivers up your spine. Well, up my spine anyway.

So, congrats to the Cats and all their fans. This year the worst team may not have come last, but the best team certainly won. It's kind of nice when that happens, because it doesn't always, but the Cats deserved their win and, boy, didn't they let us all know it with the final scoreboard!