Women's Literature - Marian Keyes

I do love getting my nose stuck in a book, and the Kindle has allowed me to be ridiculously lazy about it all. I can be lounging in the bath amid the coconut oil slick and oatmeal sludge and finish a book and go straight into shopping mode and before I can reach to top up the hot water, there's a lovely new book all ready to jump into.

Now I will admit that I sometimes miss that 'new book' smell, but I don't miss the weight of 'em or the pages falling out of 'em cos I've folded 'em in half too many times too roughly, and I really don't miss trying to find space on the crammed shelves to house 'em, or the extra packing boxes required to move 'em all from one places to another or just to lug 'em to the Op shops.

And I read all sorts of stuff - autobiographies, crime -who dunits, legal stuff, love stories, period dramas, political satires. Well anything really, and once I start a book I am loath to call it a day before I get to the end. If it starts out badly I just keep reading in the sometimes vain hope that it will improve. Sometimes the wait is LONG.

But the thing about the Kindle store is that it offers you titles it thinks you might like and if like me you have read a couple by the same author, then it's hard for the wee computer to let you forget about 'em, and so book lists grow like topsy.

I have read a good few  books by Marian Keyes, so when 'The Charming Man' was recommended by the little person in my machine, I stumped up the cash and am now mid way through it.

I like the diversity of Ms Keyes women, well, I think mostly they are white middle class Irish Lassies, but they have different personalities and their predicaments are relatable, to me at least, and the stories are wound around female relationships and their usual modern day urban dramas, sometimes involving men, and sometimes pondering where to go for a good hair cut.

Her books have been very easy reads, but this one I am struggling with for a couple of reasons.

The chapters roll along directed by different characters and I guess Ms Keyes was having a little experiment with using different writing styles, cos one of the character's ramblings appear in broken sentences, with so many words missing that I am spending a great deal of my time with my imaginary teacher's red pen, filling in all the blanks, and I don't enjoy this sort of reading. Yeh I left all that marking crap behind me some years ago. If I hadn't found that the next character spoke in full grammatically correct sentences I was gonna have to give the book a miss, but as luck would have it, only one of the women are driving me mad - I know - it's not a long road.

But the biggest problem for me is that the driving force behind the story is that these women have been flung together because of their shared misadventures with some bloke. Yep he is the driving force behind the whole damn thing. Is this Women's Literature?

Up until now I have enjoyed the female-centric nature of Ms Keyes' books. I have enjoyed the unravelling of their relationships and the knitting of new ones. Now I'd just like this fella to face smash a bus so the women can get on with other stuff, but as I am only a third of the way through it, I suppose he is gonna continue to lord it over 'em all for a good while yet. SHIT.

What are you reading at the moment?

Cartoons

Strange piccie but it might make sense as you read along.

I am pretty sure that My Girl has quite the number of whinges about her teenage years and maybe even some from before that, and maybe the complaints about her baby years are the ones that even today she has not been able to reconcile. Yeh I was one of those mothers who rang the other parents to make sure arrangements were all above board and I was the mother who'd tear arse around and honk loudly on the horn and then storm in and drag her out of places she was not supposed to be, and I was the mother who unashamedly manipulated to ensure the tiniest bit of modesty in an era when less was definitely the preferred way to go, and I was the mother giving all the girls a lift to wherever and all the way there, there'd be a lyrical barking of the rules about drinks and drugs and watching out for each other.

I was quite the embarrassment. Oh Well.

But the home rules were not always rational and reasoned.

You see, lean in cos I have to whisper cos it seems that it is almost akin to child abuse, yeh that's right, I was THE royal pain in the arse mum, cos there was a NO CARTOONS rule in our place. The remote made very short work of even the briefest ad for some moving drawing shit. I was quite obsessed about NOT seeing any of it.  It is quite possible that she has never got over it. But I just fucking hated 'em so they were a no-no, not in the house and certainly not at the pictures.

However Grandma is more pliable - ok I admit it, she's just a bloody push over. Anything My Darling Boy wants he can have.

So the holidays movie selection was entirely in his hands, and we trotted off today to see 'Despicable Me 3'. This was his choice. I thought he might like sit next to a snoring old gal while she slept through 'Transformers' or 'Spiderman', but the cartoon was his call.

And it must be said that 2017 animation is a far cry from all that 60's crap which may well have not been as shit as I remember. In any case, we enjoyed the movie.

It didn't take long to work out what might have happened in the first 2 instalments,

And I will admit that I even enjoyed the art work and the story rocked along at a pace. Yep it was good, far better than I thought it was gonna be.

Of course there were kids talking and kicking the back of my chair and some dick woman who was so engrossed with the movie, or maybe she had earplugs in? but incredibly she failed to hear her Mob going nuts, the first time and the second time and it wasn't until I turned around and stared daggers at her that she cottoned on to it and reached into her bag to turn the damn thing off, on the third ring a ding.

It was a lovely date day and if I can now just forget that in the pocket of his coat he has a tooth wrapped in the cinema ticket, the tooth that fell out midway through the movie....oooh yuk! then I can sit back and smile.

Winter gardening

Whew!, Where did those 24 little hours go ?

Kids arrived early, yippee.

Coffees and then lunch and Dog play and then into the garden.

My wee Fit Bit has been counting steps since my birthday and no I have not managed the recommended 10000. Usually I wander about 4000 to 6000 on a very busy day, and sometimes if I am buggered I am lucky to stretch to 2000, but yesterday I clocked up 8400 steps - 25% more than my best days. Well good on me huh? Except that I was rooooooted, and truth be told I did very little in the garden cos my Green Fingered Girl, took charge and lugged shit and re-potted shit and lugged it all back and then tidied up. She worked like a dog, while Dog kept well clear cos she feared getting in the way of the master.

Today we are gonna go at it again. I hope I survive.

Then we all took 2 hours to make Chicken Parmigiana. What a marathon! Special cheesy potatoes just in case there wasn't enough grease and calories in the slabs of crumbed delight, and we even made the tomato sauce from scratch too, bloody delicious. I reckon we all learnt a thing or 2. Did you know that when you crumb something it's best to leave it rest before you cook it so the crumbs have time to stick together? I have not ever crumbed anything so that was quite the revelation. It was all delicious although if I am honest, I might save the Parmi joy for trips to the pub, cos it's a messy time consuming exercise and whilst what we made was very much tastier than any I have eaten out, I don't think it's worth the trouble or the anxiety.

And then to bed. Ahhh Blessed relief.

My Fit Bit if also monitoring my sleep patterns.

It's quite interesting.

Yes I already knew I dragged my tired arse up to pee during the night. And I am sometimes awake and restless even when not peeing, I mean there's all those woes of the world that need solving isn't there?

But last night the awake restless time hit an all time high. 9 times so says the Fitty Bitty. Fucking hell! How many woes can there possibly be? What can cause that sort of disruption and consequent eyes on stalks fatigue this morning? What could it possibly be?

Yep it was more fucking road works, all fucking night and I reckon the timing of my wakefulness would correspond neatly with the noisiest bits of the work.

The Holidays are romping towards the Big House.

Here's some of the box of plants that My Girl is gonna transform ..... 

It's been a whalloper of a week! Not like in times past, with the speed and madness of single motherhood, teen rearing, school marm, householder, cos that was a kind of busy that I can now, barely even contemplate. Nah my NOW busy ain't like it used to be.

I remember limping across the end of term finishing line, where if I was lucky there'd be no marking and maybe a bit of money to shout My Girl and me a bit of a blow out at the beach or the shops or something else fun fun fun. The madness would grind to an instant halt and PJ days vegging on movies and pancakes, were not out of the question

But back to this week. I did battle with the all too often mongrel whalloper truck relays up and back to Brisvegas, twice, once on my usual Tuesday to see the kids and again on Thursday so I could be very proud Ma at my Darling Boy's Tae Kwondo Grading. Just as an aside, am I the only one to notice the increased aggression from the truckies now that there are signs going up about how, come August, they will need to stay left, so there will be no more boy racers on 32 wheels, in the fast lane, but in the mean time, they are all over the road? Really am I the only one to notice?

I filmed just about the whole Grading and he was bloody brilliant - I admit that a couple of times, even though it was against the rules, I lost control and let out a few woop woop woops, especially as he slammed those thick boards, firstly with his hand and then with his foot. Brilliant!and he was so chuffed with himself when he was finished, Ahhh,  but not so euphoric that he forgot to ask me not to post any photos of him here. Yeh he's become shy. So you'll have to take my word for it about just how damn fine he was.

And then in preparation for the Kids' arrival on Monday, cos my Girl has offered her expertise in the garden, Stevie and I wandered around the garden centre - not being even close to expert, we were just guessing what might be ok. We got a bunch of stuff and now I am hoping that my girl will be able to simply transform my fish pond and help me to fix up the rest of the garden.

But this doesn't excite my Darling Boy really. He's not all that keen on yard work. He's got a plan to do some cooking while he's here. And he's been charged with finding a recipe for his very favourite, Chicken Parmigana. I have never cooked it but I reckon I can have a good guess about the ingredient list, so this is also on my prep list.

So the tireds hit like a brick today and my feet have been up and the tellie is working overtime, in preparation for the fabulous onslaught.

The holidays are now a time of noise and activity, and a bit of chaos. Yippee!

I have said it before and I'll say it again, I am so very lucky that I get to be Ma for the hols. I know lots of grand parents sometimes feel that their babysitting duties become a bit of a chore, but I am not ever gonna whinge about it. He's now the tallest in the family and I am just pleased that he's still happy to pay his old Ma a visit.

Bring on Monday.

Winter Solstice

I am sure it has not escaped readers' notice, but I am not a scientist. I hated everything about science at school - Needed to be in your class Ms Jess, and even though there was a strong sciencey bent in university geography studies, I can honestly say that if you want some science info, you'd better ask Google cos mostly I am clueless.

But I knew it was the winter solstice today and that always makes me a little sad, cos it heralds the lengthening of days and so the end of winter. Bugger! and I had only just started to get snuggly under a bit of a cover and even though I have found my woolie slippers I am not ready to file them away for another year just yet.

I know my mates in the UK are sweating up a storm in 30 degree heat and why not, it's summer huh? Except that the fridges there don't like the heat much and pubs have a little trouble keeping the bottles cold, and so even though they will be busy shedding clothes in public parks, they might also be having a little look heavenwards, thankful for the now shortening of their days.

The grass is always greener huh?

But I do love our winter. Nah it's not a Toronto winter, where your nose might fall off if you dare walk out to catch a bus or a streetcar and have to stand for more than a few seconds, and there is no snow to cause havoc on the roads - how I managed to slip slide in my car, through the back streets of London during the rare but wonderful snow storms, without slamming into any other cars is still a mystery to me.

But it's our winter.

It's just lovely, comfortable short days, and if I was given to walking out for exercise, I would be able to work quite a bit harder before sweating happened. There's the wonder about the need for a little coverlette on the bed, instead of searching for an extension lead for the pedestal fan and tossing water spray all over the sheets.

And it's school holidays and so we are getting sorted for a Grandie visit. Yippee! I rather doubt even he will be in the pool so movies and Dog and silly games will be the order of the day.

And then there is the State of Origin,  and that'll be exciting if the Queenslanders get their shit together tonight. Fingers crossed.

So even though the days are now getting longer there is still some winter to be enjoyed.

Pass me the blanket please.

Dreaming

Stevie, at my request, cos you know it would take a ridiculously brave individual to suggest loudly that I am lazy arse and that I should move it or lose it, got me a fit bit for my birthday, So I am keeping a bit of a look at just how little or much I walk every day. And here's where the Big House comes into it's own cos even on the most sedentary of days I manage to walk a kilometre or 2 just popping to the loo or the fridge.

Now you're supposed to aim for 10000 steps a day and so I put my target in at 2000. After all I didn't want to be kicking myself everyday for being a slacker, and bugger me most days the wee thing on my wrist goes off to tell me I have made the target. I mean good on me right?

The other thing it does, well I am sure there are lots of things but I just don't know what they are, cos counting steps and looking pink and cute is mostly what I care about, is it tracks sleep patterns.

Now I know I am easily awoken. This explains why Stevie's snoring sends me a mile away and why the night works so readily disturb me, but it's interesting to look at just how many times a night the THING reckons I am RESTLESS. Last night I was awake 2 times - yeh night time peeing is a bitch! and restless 10 times and then there is some sort of calculation about how much sleep I missed cos of all this activity. A lot as it happens. Oh well! I just don't know how the thing decides that I am restless, cos honestly if I had a bed as big as Straddie Island, I would roll around every square inch of in a usual night's slumber so if movement is the restless, well I am surprised it's only 10 times.

But last night was a dreamer's paradise.

The best one was all about a very large group of kids all of whom were prepped by my teaching partner and me for performance in a huge eisteddfod - is that really how you spell it? I could have sworn it had an R in there somewhere, I am trusting Google. It was all pretty frantic and kids came and went and we were trying to corral kids and teachers cos there seemed to be some big finale event where the whole school was to perform some bit of craziness. I reckon my arms and legs and probably my mouth were all going mad, cos I am a demonstrative sleeper - Yeh don't get too close in case I smack you one in the head as I fly about or swim the Channel or applaud like a crazy thing cos my lovely girl was a winner.

Yep towards the end of the dream, she rolled up all red faced and squealing with delight cos her group had won their section and she was  just so bloody excited. And here's the piece de resistence, her grand prize, in fact the prize for all the winners was a crocheted poncho! Yep they were all wearing 'em, bright yellow and cream ponchos! The colours left a great deal to be admired, but they were PONCHOS!

And so now apart from feeling a bit like shit cos of an energetic night's sleep of too few hours, I am left wondering if I should be transforming my long THING into a poncho cos after all the dream might have been giving me a big clue.

Do you remember your dreams?
Would you now be making a Poncho?

Bruising

This is the culprit, the cause of the ache in my everywhere.

About a month ago I thought I'd have a little go at some crochet, I think I have mentioned this already. In any case, I bought up some wool and started and the thing is that as too often happens, the wee project has grown like topsy and now after many hours of stock still except for finger action I have a long long shawl thing that I am still managing to control and design and the most appalling pain across my back and shoulders and neck and into my head.

This all started out slowly enough and in my usual casual, blame it all on the meds manner, I just hoped it would go away, like the occasional skin flare ups or the belly aching or the bone pain or the other shit that goes along with the meds.

But this little unpleasant addition to the usual, well it just didn't go away. And it soo didn't go away, in fact it just got worse and worse, and so finally I figured that a little visit to Dr Jane was in order, but as luck would have it she was away on a holiday and I took that as a sign that the pain would just go away.

But it bloody wouldn't budge. Bloody stubborn shitful thing! Seriously if the mould in the bathroom was this bloody minded you'd have to sell up and move on.

So I popped off to see Sylvia the Therapeutic Massage woman at the physio place I go to.

I have seen her before. I like her cos she doesn't think it's odd that I bring my own coconut oil and just enjoy a lie still and a if I am honest, a little ZZZZZ off while she goes gently about her business. If I spill a little pile of spit onto the floor through the head hole, well she doesn't seem to mind that either.

But on Friday I went there and told her I was in a bit of pain and she had the usual furtile looking at movement restrictions and such like and then she got down to business.

She still used my coconut oil but that's where the similarity of the relaxing visits of yore ended.

She thumbed and elbowed and poked and prodded. I grunted and breathed and panted like I was having a baby, and not wanting to appear too whimpish, I only occasionally let her know that I was in serious pain. She giggled and regaled me with the noises other folk make when they are in pain.

I admit now that I don't give a shit what other noises fill the room from people who are hurting.

Because I was having a little bit of a cry my nose got all blocked up and so my breathing was all in and out of the mouth which was just as well cos otherwise there could have been a very big wet patch indeed on the carpet under the head hole, as it was there might have been just the teeniest little drip of snot involved.

When my hour was up, I was grateful.

I was disorientated and when I got home Stevie reckoned I looked like I had been 10 rounds with Tyson, except that my ears were intact.

We grabbed a burger for dinner and part way through I had to trundle off to find a planter stand cos a wave of nausea hit me like a brick.

And now, after a couple of days, when I thought perhaps all the pain from the massage might have done the trick, I am still just one big ache, and even with Stevie's colour blindness he can see bruising points all over my shoulders and up my neck.

So I am aching on the inside and on the outside. BONUS!