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| Moderated by: 24HourNut | Page:   1 2 3 |
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Pussycat Forum-Blogger© Pioneer100© Member  Angel of Mischief!
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Crumbs! My world is revolving like a tazmanian devil on speed at the moment. My head is so full of impending tasks all fighting for priority, that I have just stopped, so take stock and catch up with my frazzled brain. This seemed like a good place to do it! Stop the world, I need to get off springs to mind, so here it is, the next stop! Whenever I get feverish with fraught stress and overload, I remember back to the days when my kids were all toddlers. (Heck, that makes me feel pretty damned useless now, as THEN, I had 3 under 5, was running a business, treasurer for the local playgroup, clerk to the Governors of the local school, and on the village social committee and the village hall committee as well as running monthly quizzes for the local villages. So WHY is it so hard now. What has changed? Well, the kids for one. One has left home, and the other 2 are reasonable self sufficient teenagers who are now more of a help than a hindrance when it comes to getting things done. OK, so THAT should be easier, no? The truth is, with kids, (well, in my experience, anyway), that the stress levels with bringing up kids isn't really something that changes in degress, but just changes. You don't have to have eyes in the back of your head any more in case they trip, or decide to insert interesting objects into electrical appliances or toilet cysterns, but instead, have to answer uncomfortable questions, and let them realise that you don't REALLY have ALL the answers they need any more, and the hardest one to accomplish is the quality time you so want to spend with them and always feel like you are failing miserably at! All in all, I would slap anyone who says that teenagers are grim. I think they are just so terrific now. I can talk to them. I can be honest with them. I can be myself with them. I love to listen to them, and feel honoured when they listen to me. OK, so I smart a little when they are with me in town and I decide to sing as we saunter down the street, and they nudge me to shut up, but hey, I can live with that. And I love to watch their faces when local shopkeepers ask if they are my brothers. THAT really makes me grin to see their faces! Poor sods! I love that they now call me 'Little Mom', just because they tower over me. All in all I am so proud of them. But I still reserve the right to make them shudder when they really piss me off, like losing ther scooter because they left it in the middle of town for 3 days. (He's NEVER going to live THAT one down!) Oh, well, I never really said what I was meaning to say, but you know what? I just feel so much better suddenly realising that my family is my life and not all the other crap that is happening. So I am going to just shut up and be happy that I have such a great ground crew, and SOD the planes that buzz around me!! Na night! 
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Pussycat Forum-Blogger© Pioneer100© Member Angel of Mischief!
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I just spent a coon's age writing about the mammoth bike ride we had to undertake to get our cruisers from the UK to the South of Spain (our new home). I really should have put it here as it is almost a blog, as nobody has posted on it other than me to date. Anyway. Here it is... http://www.24hourforums.com/view_topic.php?id=11601&forum_id=114 Hope you enjoy reading it, as much as I enjoyed loking forward to the trip. (When you've read it, you'll understand why I didn't say, "As much as I enjoyed the trip!"
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Pussycat Forum-Blogger© Pioneer100© Member Angel of Mischief!
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As some of you may know, I managed to get talked into producing a magazine (online and street version) for the foreigners living in Spain, and this takes most of my time these days. But after just finishing putting our September edition together I had an article left over that I wrote in a fit of depression last week, and now don't have room for in the mag. Thought you might find it funny...I certainly didn't at the time, but can laugh about it now! - Pussycat CHALLENGING THE GODS! Let me start by saying, I would love to hear from anyone else who feels constantly and unfairly challenged by doom & disaster. Email your stories to: editor@costalivingmagazine.com So, how much can go wrong at once? Well, the answer to that is 'Only Everything you really need to work to survive here in Spain!' It wasn't enough, that no matter how much fore-thought and planning had gone into a print run, and all possible consumable items had been purchased in case of there being need of them. That mattered Not a bit! As it happened, we did end up needing one of the worst case scenario items. But that was ok, as we had a spare, sitting among boxes of ink supplies. (In retrospect, at this point, making rude gestures at the sky defiantly, was probably not a good move!) But I did, and then had to pay the price for daring to try to even up the odds, by attempting to outwit the destiny bar stewards obsessed with plaguing me with every conceivable trick- in- the- ' Book of Doom' ! We had a spare one all right, but never dreamed of opening the box before we needed it, only to discover that some jive-turkey must have thought it would be extremely funny to drop it from a 23storey building, jump on it a few times, then stuff it inconspicuously into it's packaging. Only to be discovered by yours truly, at the beginning of the summer week that practically every Spanish company that is not involved with tourism, has shut-down for the entire week as there was an official bank holiday in there! I can almost find solace knowing that the guilty party must have been covered in yellow stain whilst packing the trashed unit! Production of the completed magazine subsequently skidded to a depressing halt, The printer is sitting in the corner smirking at me, whilst doing a grand impression of 'Bone Idle'' as it participates in the August holiday week spirit! No amount of infuriatingly frustrating phone calls can seemingly locate a replacement part for it this side of August! As my resolve dwindled to an all time low, only to be proven that worse was possible, by then sinking lower than a dachhunds donger, as the Landrover gets 200 yards down the road, and blows the liquid content of its steering box further than the 'nearest 'fish 'n' chip shop' in Spain'. And when does it just 'Have' to happen? Only coming up lunch-time on a Saturday afternoon, just as Spain curls up into its weekend hibernation. Monday is going to be the first chance to get ANYTHING as far as spare parts go, and I hold out about as much hope of success locating what we need inside of 3 days, as hosting the next Olympics in Otivar! Serious contemplation set in as we challenged the Gods of Doom for a 'Fair' fight! What is it about us that they just love to torment? Don't they have anyone else to pick on, or have we just become a thorn in their sides by refusing to give in?! Wouldn't have been quite so bad if the car hadn't mashed a main hose the week before, and sat grounded in the yard gathering dust as we tried amongst a million other tasks to locate the right part. Though at the time, with the magazine to print and at least the Landrover as alternative transport, we hadn't become too shredded about the car. After all, in the overall scale of disasters that we have faced in Spain to date, it was merely a drop in the ocean! No problem! A mere flea bite on a dog. A fly in one's tea - easily dealt with, and once forgotten, the tea tastes fine! Simply one more case of burnt pizza - what the heck, we were more than accustomed to that! The final straw today, (same day as the Landrover makes another bid for the pearly gates), was....... after frustration, tears, then bloody-minded determination to conquer all and stay sane had worked their way through my already over-worked emotional cavities, ...... hearing the love of my life whining loudly in the bathroom. (It's not really the love of my life - it's just everyone else that thinks that, as I spend so much time with it - My washing machine that is!) Fine I thought, as I emptied the filter AGAIN to no avail. Fine Fine Fine! You won't beat me, not whilst I still have a sink, water, and soap liquid! I can survive without a vehicle, without an income, and without a bloody washing machine for that matter! You won't beat me you know.. I don't care! I am past caring... (waving another obscene gesticulation at the sky). I still have my laptop. .....................I can still write......'POOF!
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Pussycat Forum-Blogger© Pioneer100© Member Angel of Mischief!
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Heck! Is it really almost a year since I last got a case of motor mouth? (Hubby will deny that one! lol) Anyway, it was interesting reading my last entry, as the bloody washing machine has finally given up the ghost after a few more dismantling and nurturing on sessions. I've been doing the laundry in the bathtub for a few weeks now, and as our finincial status is looking extremely grim at the mo, with the ecomony here taking a nose dive - our business included (marketing and publicity - which unfortaunately is the first thing to drop off customer's budgets when they are forced to pull their belts in a few notches). Anyway, enough of that morbid subject. And read the latest riviting washing update, from when it bit the dust.. After having done nothing more exertive than general housework and keyboard tapping as upper body exercise for several months, the situation has been rectified. The washing machine had threatened to pop its clogs again a while back, (that time refusing to spin) but luckily hubby managed to nuture it on to run for a few more weeks. However, a few days ago it finally gave up the ghost again, refusing now to rotate even for a washing cycle. Another dismantling session later, the prognosis was terminal. Nothing for it, but a bathtime session, which actually turned out to be surprisiingly fun, with Eagleking (teenage son) and I at each end, scrubbing, rinsing, wringing and rinsing again. The bathroom floor has never been so clean, as little rivulets began to emalgumate into raging torrents down the hall. Now I KNOW he will be more careful about how dirty he makes his clothes from here on in. (Made blatently obvious when the scrubbing was immensely prolonged over his particular items of clothing.  24 mts of completely filled washing lines, sagging heavily under the weight of non spun washing has me a little nervous that the lines too may decide to dump on us. But with the sun shining and a warm breeze, it will become lighter very quickly. (She hopes). Can't afford to replace the machine for a while, so my upper arm muscles are in for a tone-up course. (Every cloud has a silver lining)  Obituary to my beloved washing machine, and the start of one for the cat - almost! And looking back at its track record, I suppose 4000 washing cycles from it during its slog in our household wasn’t bad! I was half expecting to find the missing 32 socks stuck somewhere behind the drum, to match the 32 that I have in the ‘odd-sock’ bag. I have accumulated these over the last few years of washing, and ever hopeful to reunite them with their companions after each laundry session. Now I suppose they too will have to join the washing machine in the afterlife. Their only consolation being, that they will enjoy another short life as cleaning rags before they are eventually discarded. It will be strange to open my wardrobe, and not have a carrier bag of socially unacceptable sock combinations fall at my feet. Of course, I could extend their secondary purpose in life by committing them for use only to clean windows, thereby prolonging their existence by several centuries. Our cat still hasn’t forgiven me for the last window cleaning session that I carried out. He had, for months, become quite adept at running across the kitchen, bouncing off the chair nearest to the window, and bounding effortlessy out of the open window onto the outside ledge, where he would sit for hours being taunted by the family of sparrows living in a hole in the wall a few feet below. The afternoon that I had last cleaned the windows, I had watched with disbelief, and despair that I did not have a video camera at the time, as he bounded across the kitchen, onto and off the chair in one deft leap and SPLAT, straight into the 'closed' but cleaned window, before sliding down the wall in a state of quandary. Somehow he knew it was my fault, and shot me a haughty glare as he limped off – thankfully his pride injured more than he was.. Anyway, that's enough for now, as the last load has been soaking in the bath for an hour or two awaiting renewed enthusiasm to stretch my biceps and deal with it.
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