Surely someone can slap up a fab arthritis support shoe for scrunched feet that are wider and hurtier and swollen and ugly but have a need to be prettified. I swear mine are starting to look like the feet in Roald Dahl's "The Witches" but hurting more. But not like these.
But it seems I will be left with this pair.
I love Minions. With my soon to be mine 'Blue Flash' walker and my Converse Minions I will officially be a designated Crazy Old Woman. Kill me now. And my last word on this vile Government, after watching Question Time this afternoon which nearly had me upchucking over my Minions.
Absolutely nothing to do with this post but I would build a staircase to nowhere just for the mice. I was reading an article by Clem Barstow, a blogger from the good old days when writing a post was an art and comments articulate. She was recalling all the things from her youth that she wanted in her house when she eventually bought one. I looked around my House of Havisham and decided that I had everything I ever wished for when young except for a huge all around the house verandah. My life started in a tackroom/bungalow, moved to a house in Ferntree Gully complete with rats and snakes in the year it snowed close to Melbourne. Then it was back to Mentone to a converted part of a garage complete with rats. In 1950 something we moved to Ma's dream house. Half bush, half swamp with no drainage and a backyard dunnie. These properties are now selling up near the million dollar mark. Now comes the start of my wish list.
Floor coverings. With swampy bits under the house, lino doesn't cut it for warmth and I never was a human that could do without warm. When the first carpet went down, I found mother lying flat on her back just enjoying the feeling. I did the same when I moved into my home.
Heating. Open fires never reach more than two feet in any direction. So we lashed out and bought a briquette heater. My father loved mod. cons. and would have been in heaven these days. But what a pest it was trying to work out how many bricks one would need to get through the midnight spook movie on Fridays. Believe me there was no way I was going out in the dark and up the side of the house to fill the bucket. Then came the gas heater. I was warm in winter.
Cooling. Fans, open windows, sometimes a block of ice in a tub in front of the fan. That was it. As much as I hated the cold, I hated the hot heat of what seemed an unending summer. We did have a swimming pool made of canvas, the Christmas we got it, the rain fell for two weeks. The trouble was the water was too cold and I was forever putting in a jug of hot water to warm it up. Talk about the Princess and the Pea. I only liked the beach in the mornings or night, any other time and I burnt like a sausage on a bbq, had blistering headaches and usually nosebleeds. Now I have indoor air-conditioning, lovely, tick that off the list.
I have an indoor toilet. I feel sorry for every tree cut down for making toilet paper but I so appreciate their sacrifice for my comfort. I still have the memories of banging the toilet seat to scare away the wildlife that lived underneath. The slightest whiff of Phenol opens a Pandora's box of horrors that was an outdoor dunny.
But I do still wish for an all round verandah. I'd still get the north wind up my nose but I'd be in shade, in a swing or a chaise lounge with pillows and maybe a few pot plants that I'd actually water. And out the back, a simple clothes line strung up so I didn't have to stagger down the yard to wrestle with the Hills Hoist.
And could I please win Tattslotto so I can employ a housekeeper.
Clem also wanted chandeliers. I have chandeliers, I love my chandeliers and I'll love them better when the housekeeper is here to polish them.
I would even have loved this cake for my birthday.
Did I get any cake for my birthday, nada, no, zilch, nothing. My sister forgot, went out to lunch and didn't invite me, didn't say Happy Birthday when she dropped into the Home for her usual 10 minutes.
Nephew rang yesterday, very apologetic but then he never remembers his own birthday, I have to do it for him. He sold a car from my driveway so said he would buy me anything I wanted. All I want is him at my door when I need a lift or have an urgent need for fish and chips for tea, like now.
Mother made me a card and even managed to write in it with wibblywobbly writing but the 'take whatever you need and buy something nice' was quite clear.
The Divine O'Dyne sent me a present, the kind that keeps on keeping on. Big black ribbon, check, big strong box to be re-used for jewellery, check, lovely shiny paper which ironed out nicely, check and lots of goodies inside, check. Because this was the only present I received, I'm only looking at one thing a day.
HighRiser did not bring me back a little rock from a glacier or Niagara Falls. Shitty card for Christmas for him.
Nothing from my sister.
Phone call from youngest granddaughter, 21 in November. Knows her own mind, just wish knowing she wants to be a missionary come Minister of some nutjob Christian Church in California where she has been studying for the past year wasn't so high on her agenda. Already she has missionaried in Rio and plans to do it all over the world. She was very careful not to tell me exactly what Church or where it is in California.
Sometimes it's better not to know anything at all about their lives.
Eldest went to India this year. I really loved all the postcards that didn't arrive.
I have picked out a, not a wheelie, they're called Rollators with extra wide seat for extra wide sitting part. Now just to sell the treadmill on ebay. Diabetes educator has not realized I haven't been back and I'm not going back. Walk, she said, you must walk for the good insulin levels. The insulin might have done something but the arthritis in the crumbling foot belted it up a notch. So now I've graduated to a Rollator. I wish these people would see that the 'one size fits all' cure/diet for diabetics doesn't always work and it hasn't worked on me.
So sad to see Bronnie's gone from the Speaker's chair, I was looking forward to another month of LOLs but here we have Darth Ruddock rising from the dead, croaking and groaning but ever willing to take the load on his shoulders. I must be feeling better if Parliament is giving me a laugh.
A word of warning, don't ever buy a Peanut Butter ice cream Magnum. I'm warning you Magnum, don't get all arty with the flavours or I'll leave you in a ditch. I'm still trying to get the noxious flavour out of my mouth. Who ever thought that would be a good idea is not human. There is nothing good about peanut butter ice cream, nothing.