Op-portunity

Many of you suggested Op Shops - or as you quaint foreigners call them "Thrift" Shops - and if you knew the younger, spritelier version of Jeanie you would all have nodded sagely and whistled under your breath at how audacious she was at using such vendors.

I had a high-flying career (once upon a time) built around home-made suits and bargains from such stores. In fact, once upon a time there was a fantastic shop in Newtown, Sydney, where I made a weekly pilgramage, paid homage to the rather obese unmoving patronness and her rotating crop of Asian assistants and spent hours among the racks (that ran two tiers around the whole store and double depth in the middle) finding bargains just made - or about to be remade - for me.

I still have dreams about some of those garments - heck, I even have remnants of some of them in my "mending" box.

When I did my hippy stint, it was dressed in threads provided by Lifeline, St Vinnies, the Blind Society and Saint Veronicas.

And then I had a child - and my clothing vision became one of clothing her. Again, I turned to my shops of choice and she was a run(a)way model for hand-me-downs and bargain bins of charity.

But I forgot about me - I couldn't justify spending on myself, it seems, and has been the song for nigh on 10 years.

I have tried - since moving to Paradise, the one shop that offers such and the few (I have found six) in nearby big town have all been scoured for my style - but it is so sad, not only do they not have me, it seems that 'Salina no longer has cute and gorgeous wardrobe choices waiting to be snaffled.

Today, op-portunity knocked - hard.

I had to get to work. I had left early to pay bills and thought I would grab some lunch on the way.

My food outlet availability was a bakery. It is a good bakery - but there is something about bakery products + work clothes that just doesn't gel.

I opted out of the curried egg & lettuce sandwiches - I like egg & lettuce with mayo, but powdered curry powder added to egg brings out the snob in me.

Therefore my options were - pies or sausage rolls.

Obviously the sausage rolls = crumbly pastry = crumbs all over the shirt = not the choice for the occasion.

I discussed the pie options with the shopkeeper. He recommended the pork or lamb and vegetable options, as the filling was not too liquid and therefore would lessen the drip factor. I went with the lamb.

The first few bites went okay - good thing I like mint, as it had a fair whop of that also in the mix, but otherwise edible and filling.

Then the moment dreaded arrived - one bite and I swear half a lamb fell out with contents onto my pristine shirt.

I quickly did some mental arithmetic - I was 10 minutes ahead of my schedule, and therefore could blow 10 minutes on clothes shopping.

The "Clothesline" was on the road in - Lifeline's barn of clothes where I had never found anything worth salvation, but perhaps this was providence's call.

I entered. The racks are set up in long avenues.

Of course, they rearrange every other week, so there is no automatic going to one corner, you have to read the helpful placards.

Ladies - sleeveless - I didn't even bother, because frankly, I know my assets and my upper-arms need the offer of allure.

Ladies - short sleeved - that was what I wanted, although 75% were automatically out as t-shirts do not make the front-office job make.

I sifted through - unfortunately, the few options left were all "S" or "8" and while I have an active imagination, my bosom overcomes. I did find one rather beautiful one - but the sheer black would not have worked with the white bra I was wearing.

Ladies - long sleeved - didn't merit a glance. It may be the last day of March here, but I live in the sub-sub-tropics and daytime hours are partial to the upper end of the thermostat.

I had already wasted 4 minutes of my 10 minute breathing room and then glanced over to the forbidden territory - Ladies Oversize Shirts.

Luckily for me, I verge on the upper end of the non-oversize ladies, and so the lower end of the oversize could still work.

Within minutes I found a shirt that would do - I won't go into ecstacies, but it filled a gap - or rather, covered an expanse of skin that my lamb-stained business shirt couldn't do without shame.

The good news - well there were three. I got a shirt that was workable, I only spent $4 (I put 50c into the tin because I thought it was worth more than $3.50) AND I have discovered that they now open on Sundays for 4 hours - 4 hours more opportunity to go through racks and racks of clothes to find not quite the right garments - but for a whole lot less than retail!!!

Who the hell am I?

I was going through old papers the other day - the endless war against holding on to everything for posterity Vs functionality - and I came across some old journals.

Some were from when I was at school - endlessly outside the loop and dreaming of how many I was going to invite to my first million party. The plan was I would blow all of that on the party and horde the next million.

Some were from when I was on the cusp of one life and entering another - throwing away the chance of that million and the party but dreaming of the life-long party my life was set to become.

Then there were those from when I first had 'Salina and life with P. was unravelling. Certainly no party nor millions in store.

I have moved a long way from the schoolgirl, the hippie and the newly solo mum floundering around.

But I still look at the girl/woman that I was at those times and the girl/woman I am now, and I know those versions of me and understand far more of the creature that existed in those static snapshots than I do now.

I know a lot more of the who I want to be (more like little bits of those snapshots - but cropped!) and the who I DON'T want to be.

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Of course, this introspection is brought to you by the sentence "shopping".

I did it yesterday - and came our poorer and not much wiser.

Yes, I actually bought some (1 shirt, 1 pants) clothes, but I tried on far more than I bought and lost a lot more than just self-esteem.

Truly - I can recommend one fitting-room where a market-savvy hairdresser should discretely place cards, because it made each grey root glow!

And then there was the advice I could give one t-shirt designer - putting a print of a girl pouring tea on a shirt - nice. Putting the teapot spout right on a nipple? Not wise!

Finally, if you see a size (insert relevant number here) shirt at a certain chain store, they meant it for all measurements except that where they saved material and increased profits - between the shoulder and where the bust should sit. Really - the band should go UNDER the boob.

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Oh for the days of uniforms or hip business suits or tie-died cheesecloth or not giving a damn.

Clothes may make the (wo)man - but I sure as heck can't find the ones to make me!!!

Responsibility

(or "watch out for those curve balls")

I am a worker bee. If someone needs a job done, I will do it.

That being said, I am not one who seeks the titles or wants the responsibility.

About a month before the end of season, the step-father of one of 'Salina's team-mates (and a seasoned softball parent and player) asked me if anyone was organising gifts for the coaches and assistants. I had not heard of this happening and wondered along with him.

As the weeks passed, I realised the answer was "no-one" and eventually I got sucked into that vacuum, and so on my list this Saturday is get gifts and cards for the coaches, wrap them, track down all the team on the Sunday break-up to sign the cards and present them.

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But that is small fry responsibility, and I realised that we can't all always hide behind poles when these tasks are handed out.

Last night was the School P&C AGM.

I have always tried to be an active member of the P&C because theoretically a good P&C means you have some recourse in having a good school body. Unfortunately I am very much in the minority with this - even though we had a great turn out for the meeting last night, the 12 families represented there was a tiny decimal of a percentage of the 270 families at the school!

We left 'Salina in the capable hands of our 84 year old neighbour (who has an unfortunate habit of tidying my house for me when we get her to cat sit on occasional weekends) and V & I went along. ('Salina, reading over my shoulder, tells me I shouldn't have "and V & I" because too many ands...)

On the very short drive to the school, V asked that I hold myself back from taking on too much work as I have the new job and my old clients and am getting a little busy. I agreed.

So as I was saying, last night I was willing to put my hand up for a position - if there were no other hands. I would have done secretary or (if pushed) treasurer because someone has to do those jobs.

I didn't get either - because by the time nominations for those roles came up, I already had a hat to wear.

And so did V!!

Hence Jeanie - the woman who only a short time ago wondered about being apart a bit from the local community - well, now I am a responsible member of it.

(My new job is a role in a community organisation also)

Just call me "President" - and V is my first man!

Eeek!!! I will need to go clothes shopping.

Finally....

good news on the work front.

Enough hours to meet the minimum income to keep the household running, few enough that I can keep working for my own clients, interesting enough to keep me learning and with people who say things like "family is the most important thing, so we can be flexible".

Yay, hey?

Last Night

It was Sunday night, we were all exhausted from jobs well done and the child had been read with and put to bed. Within 10 minutes, she was asleep.

V and I turned to adult discussions - which channel of mind-numb to set as background noise, what hour we had to sleep to ensure a good Monday morning, what our options were regarding entertainment until that hour.

'Salina emerged from her bedroom for a toilet stop. She does that - just gets up and goes in the middle of the night - so no drama, but a certain relief that some entertainment options had not been taken early.

'Salina then emerged from the toilet and went straight in to our room. Now we were greatly relieved - but perplexed. I went to investigage.

"Honey" I shook her awake, "'Salina darling, you need to sleep in your own bed."

She looked around and half sat up. I moved to take her into her own bed, and she rolled and snuggled in to the other side of the bed.

"'Salina" I shook her awake again, "Darling, you're in the wrong bed. Come on, into your own bed."

Again it was as if she woke - and gave me half a smile before rolling back away from me and cuddling up to the pillows.

"Come on 'Sa, stop playing games."

Again - I had woken her, she looked around in seeming surprise and moved as if to get out of bed - only to turn back our sheets and nestle down.

"'Salina Gina, out of our bed RIGHT NOW!! Stop messing with my mind." I said quite sternly.

Eventually (and believe me, the above conversation took a few more entries) I half-dragged her (she is too big for me to carry these days - sob) towards the door. As we passed the living room opening, apparently she pulled a rather clownish face at V before going straight towards the bathroom before I manhandled her into her room and bed. She was asleep before I tucked her in.

Of course, the sheer terror whether she was awake or asleep kyboshed any entertainment options that involved our bedroom, so we spent the time reconstructing and wondering what was she doing.

When I asked her this morning if she had gotten up during the night, 'Salina remembered nothing - and laughed uproariously at my rendition of the evening.

This is not the first incident where she has appeared awake in the middle of the night, but it was the most involved.

Should I freak out now, or just keep the video camera handy?