Cleaning is the most tedious, frustrating activity.
DD likes it. Weirdo. I hate it. You spend hours doing it, then everything just gets dirty again,
But I felt so ashamed of my grimy kitchen floor that I finally started mopping it at 10pm on Monday night.
When I told DD about my late night slaving, he said he was giving me a new nickname: Cinderella. He’s too late with that one, it’s what they called me when I was 19 and had to be home by midnight.
It wasn’t a curfew, I just hated staying up late.
My other nickname was Operation Noah. Do you remember Operation Noah? It was a dob-in-a-drug-dealer campaign the police launched.
I didn’t dob in drug dealers, but I was very anti drugs. Nothing illicit passed my lips until a very late age, when I thought I’d better see what all the fuss was about … and quickly decided the fuss was sooooooo over-rated.
Give me a glass of wine any day. Much cheaper too. Although I did eat a rather nice cookie in Amsterdam once …
Anyways, speaking of cookies … the kids came home yesterday, decided to mix up a box of dough they found in the pantry and accidentally upended the half-mixed mess all over the floor.
I suppose the clean floor meant they could scoop the mess back into the bowl without worrying too much about contamination …
It’s always a bit Willy Wonka when they get home because I get totally carried away in supermarkets. The weird and wonderful dazzles me every time. This week the pantry is stocked with chilli jam popcorn, hazelnut wafer sandwich thingies called Knuspers, butterscotch mug brownie mix, lunch box sized packets of those stripy straw-shaped wafers called Corinthians, roasted fava beans and choc chip brioche buns.
Actually, I’m a bit Wonka about childhood generally. Hence the youngest having a full-sized play equipment set with swing and trapeze in her room until recently.
And, oh, the kids’ parties I used to throw! The planning was so much fun.
I need a bit of planning in my life right now. I love having something to plot and organise. It doesn’t matter if it’s a reno or a party or a weekend away, the mulling makes me giddy with delight.
Despite being broke as, I’ve been dreaming about holidays. I’m desperate to go to Lady Elliot Island – you must follow them on Instagram and drool. But geez it’s expensive. I want to see the Northern Lights. Also expensive. And I’ve just discovered New Zealand’s South Island has fijords … fijords!
During our family lunch on Sunday, dream destinations came up as a conversation topic. My dad said he wanted to go to Italy. He reckons he’d fit right in, because he looks very Luigi for someone with a pale, redheaded daughter. He wants to sit in a square drinking wine while an old bloke with an accordian plays.
I told him about being in Naples a few years back, licked gelato cones, when a group of old blokes started busking, strumming guitars and singing Italian songs in the most amazing tenor voices. I almost had to pinch myself.
And the main pic is me drinking wine in Florence. Oh, that was such a lovely trip!
I wish Dad had made the trek to Italy years ago, when he was hale and hearty.
Currently, I don’t think his health would handle that loooooooong flight. But I’m thinking about encouraging him to give it a go if his leg gets a bit better.
DD’s mum is a few years older than my parents and she recently had an awesome time touring Ireland, which had always been on her bucket list.
You gotta tick that bucket list stuff off.
What’s the use of a life filled with regret.
OK, you need to pay the mortgage, but fun is important as well.
Bronnie Ware, an Australian palliative nurse, has written a book called “The Top Five Regrets of the Dying” based on what her patients have told her.
They are:
1. I wish I’d had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.
2. I wish I hadn’t worked so hard.
3. I wish I’d had the courage to express my feelings.
4. I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends.
5. I wish that I had let myself be happier.
She says the last one is surprisingly common.
“Many did not realise until the end that happiness is a choice,” she says. “They had stayed stuck in old patterns and habits. The so-called ‘comfort’ of familiarity overflowed into their emotions, as well as their physical lives. Fear of change had them pretending to others, and to their selves, that they were content, when deep within, they longed to laugh properly and have silliness in their life again.”
Bring on the fun, I’m ready!
Well, I will be after I get this endless sore throat sorted out at the ENT tomorrow.
Song of the day: Hall & Oates “You make my dreams come true”
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