Talk is cheap

 The cost of living crisis is kicking butt in Paradise as it is no doubt in your neck of the woods.

I make an assumption, of course, about who you are, where you are NOT - and indeed through what period of time you are reading this.

Although it would be very weird if you were here from the past.

I digress.

(Then remember that the mythical Yous are only figments of my imagination and I am calmed)

What I was starting to say?

 As I was saying before I so rudely interrupted, the cost of living crisis is kicking butt in Paradise.  Sure there's all the rest of the world $#!+= but also the more localised dollar dramas of the medical costs of becoming crocks in our fifties and the ageing affect of busying myself in genealogy.

But then I am reminded of a time when V and I scoured mobile deals to enact daily communication at a distance and I remember (a) to what lengths we took to make that contact, (b) how truly exciting we were to spend that time together, (c) how exorbitantly expensive it was if we missed a term or condition and (d) how, these days I will lay upon the couch in one room and fall sound asleep for a 40 minute snooze while purporting to watch 20 year old television shows with the teenager and he will be only a wall away.

Costs nothing.

And he can now talk to his Mum, face to face, for free as often as both - or either - feels the need.

I talk to my Mum and Dad every morning - they can see my face and hear my voice.

For free.

I even took my sister shopping with me today. Well, I tried. She needed to mow.  There are seasons when needing to mow is both a hallelujah and a groan,  which is better than an air of resignation and a sigh.

My Mum used to save her 50c pieces to pay for her weekly phone calls to her mother so her husband and her mother-in-law would not have any ammunition in snide commentary about the expense of a city girl. Which was apparently not just accepted, but expected behaviour towards a city girl in certain parts of the country. Consider it a term of endearment.

Her mother's mother-in-law would get an annual card from her son - her OTHER son, the one who moved all the way to the other side of the country - and she revelled in the receipt of that card and then looked forward to the next happy occasion for the next 10. All the while the family that she could talk to for free felt the loving hand of gentle criticism.

My daughters and I chat on messenger. From the next room. Or in a break at work. Sometimes.

We used to get up to 3 stamps at school per week, and one of those letters was to be to our parents.

I was a shocking correspondent. Believe me when I say that online communication has certainly improved my legibility. Even I can't read my writing sometimes.

We were allowed to call our parents - reverse charge - from the school payphone.

Dial 0-1-7-6 - speak to an Operator - "can I please place a reverse charge phone call to" and then spell our number - and after going through two telephone exchanges - barring "the line is busy" or "no answer" - you would hear her ask "will you please accept a reverse charge phone call from" and you would always hope that they would say yes.

Sometimes the boys school would get a phone call through to this phone, and there would be much drama in the relay of who's friend fancied who's friend and who wanted to go out with who and - as was the case the one time someone came to get me to join the conversation - what torrid affair d'Year 8 would come to a shuddering halt when someone dropped someone else (sometimes via an intermediary, as this chancer had hoped to happen - unfortunately a mortified me got to hear this missive in front of a phalanx of popular girls). 

I am over it now.

You have to hear this wind to believe it

 There is indeed one drawback to Paradise,  and that is it's ability to send you mad with the wind.

Oh you may scoff and think "meh, this is nothing, when we were tramping in the West of Scotland where the North Sea is taking a shortcut to Ireland" ((a) possibly terrible geographic reference as I can imagine that it would be but am too lazy to verify it and so I am using the "if I say this with enough oomph they will believe it to be the truth" technique on you, who may well (b) be figments of that same imagination) (and (c) I now doubt whether those from the West of Scotland use the term "meh" so apologies for the poetic mugging) (also (d) I actually don't think that I know anyone that uses the term"tramping" with a straight face) (not that there is anything wrong with it, I just probably don't know you) but had you lived here through these last few days, perhaps you would nod and say "not just ability, finesse".

It was calm enough this morning for me to get out of the house on my walk. I always have a better day when that happens, and yet every morning is a battle fought between good and the thousand excuses as to why it might not be.

I went on Wednesday as well. Then we had a most romantic wedding anniversary. I took the day off work - Lush - and dropped Paris to school, went to the dentist, the plastic surgeon, the park with a packed lunch, the Dr, the butcher, picked Paris up from school, had a cuppa with V, had a lovely anniversary stroll along the avenues of the local Woolies - until it was rudely interrupted by the realisation that we had left the sofa stream cylinder at home and I got to enjoy the last few rows alone - and demanded that dinner be something that ticked the below items off:

• Not prepared by me,
• Not requiring clean up by me,
• Not requiring me to dress up in any way from "at home" attire,
• and
• Not requiring me to drive any great distance to procure.

Another of Paradise's imperfections is there are very few options that tick those boxes on a Wednesday (or most) nights.

Luckily the few that there are weren't so few that the plan was abandoned.

Paris had a kebab from the decent little kebab joint recently arrived - recommended - and we had take away from the Thai joint.

But the plans to walk yesterday were blown away.

It blew all day.

I work in an office and so only get to experience the wind on the way to and from the car to and from work and at lunchtime, and swirly winds and a heatwave in the middle of the day should I venture forth.

Today also worked up quite a head after the lull mentioned above (way up near the top).

At night, however, when safely within the walls of home, it is sneaking all around the house seeking every chance,

 rattling at the louvres and whistling a windows dance.

Then it threw in a little pitter-patter ping ping ping percussion of raindrops -  developing a roll and a flourish enough to make Paris and I exclaim.  

This is a tune not heard enough this year.

(I have taken so long to edit this post that it's doing it again - must have been my cries of "encore")

Apart from that, right now, it just blows.

Still: It beats fighting fires.

Evening Rituals

In our house I have discovered how prone I (we) are to creating patterns of behaviour.

Is that also other people's lived experience?

16 years ago I enrolled 'Salina into guides (Proof) and the quick and easy dinner that I KNEW she would eat was Mexican, and Guides was Tuesdays and next thing is that we have had Taco Tuesday for at least 48 weeks every year (a conservative estimate) and over 770 TTs later.

Among Paris's many unique and unblogged traits is one that shapes another of my nightly routines.

She is somewhat reluctant to sleep.

My life has alarms and reminders set throughout the day.

• Call Mum and Dad.
• Five minutes to in the car for school/work. 
• Get in the car NOW. 
• Teams meetings and deadlines. 

You get the picture.

After the 6 alarms between dinner and Uno and lights out, you might think that I had an unstructured period of time.

But you would be wrong.

Thanks to our unwelcome visitors Anxiety and Insomnia, my domain is somewhat limited to the immediate region of the living room couch.

Resultantly I browse, I play sexaginta quattuordle and I investigate a bit more family history. Sometimes I nap.

And occasionally I blog.

And then she is asleep and so I can go get some sleep. For a few hours. If I am lucky.

What do you do?

Eddie-cat etiquette

This was a post in my drafts folder.

I had started it a few years before he died, and obviously opened it again last year just days after.

Was missing him tonight when contemplating my clockwise routine to bed.

Without further ado and with minimal editing:

Eddie-cat etiquette

1. I need food. 

2. Now. 

3. If you fail to comprehend the first two points, I will become insistent. 

4. You don't want to feel the insistent. 

5. Just because you give me food doesn't mean I will eat it. 

6. Just because you give me food you know I liked yesterday doesn't mean I will eat it. 

7. Give me some OTHER food. 

8. I can sulk, you know. Right here. Under your feet. 

9. That BONK you just heard was me escaping from the house AFTER DUSK!!! 

10. That bonk is me headbutting the door to request that you open it again for me. 

11. I need food.

Good thing he was cute.