Thanksgiving....

Ok, so I'm not American but I live in Alaska (until I manage to escape that is!!) and it has not escaped my notice that tomorrow is Thanksgiving.
I won't bore you with all the historical facts about this tradition; you can ask Google if you really want to know, but I will tell you what I am thankful for, just in case you were curious.
In no particular order:
I am thankful for my two beautiful daughters, who make me so proud and who keep my days entertaining when it is quiet in the office. We talk on facebook, complete random nonsense mostly, we go virtual shopping together, we discuss life in general, we swap photos of Chihuahuas and kittens.
I am thankful for our two little Chihuahuas, so small in size yet so huge in personality, they absolutely make my day. From keeping me warm under the covers at night, to warming my heart with their precious little faces and their funny antics. When they do things on the carpet that they are absolutely FORBIDDEN to do, but do it anyway, I am thankful for the carpet shampooer we bought in a sale two years ago.
I am thankful for Perfect Husband, who rarely annoys me and is mostly a wonderful man who does all the cooking and drives me where I want to go without complaint. (I can drive, but I refuse to in this country on account of everyone being on the wrong side of the road.) He adores most things British (including me) and makes my life here a good one. He gives in to my crazy schemes because he knows it means I owe him a crazy scheme or two of his own.
I am thankful for my job: it's a somewhat quirky little office, filled with somewhat quirky people, (and on the odd occasion their toddlers and puppies) but they let me listen to British radio on my computer, and turn a blind eye to my constant facebooking and ebaying for shiny things.
I am thankful for my health which is in general pretty good, although one never wants to tempt Fate, especially as anything remotely medical here is shockingly expensive.
And finally, I am thankful for the fact that although it often seems that Life is throwing huge amounts of crap at me on an almost daily basis, so far at least, I have managed to stay one step ahead (albeit a very tiny one).
I will be mostly sitting at the counter in the kitchen on Thanksgiving Day, Chihuahuas balanced on my lap and a glass of red in my hand, supervising Perfect Husband while he cooks us a delicious feast. Then I will clear up after, and we will watch the telly and relax, like two semi comatose caterpillars.
Friday is of course Shopping In The Sales If You Are Completely Mad And Without Regard For Your Own Safety day, and I will of course be in The Body Shop filling my basket with enough delicious smelling potions and lotions to last me until next November.
I wish you all a very Happy Thanksgiving wherever you are.

Long time no hear....

Hmmm. I haven't written anything on here for an absolute age, and you know how it is; the longer you leave it, the harder it is to write something. But I will stop putting pressure on myself, I will just write.
Since I last spoke to you we have gained another rescue dog, this one is a chocolate Chihuahua who goes by the name of Jerry. He is approximately two years old and we are the fourth home he's been in, but we will be the last. He is a loveable little rogue who has charmed us completely, even grumpy Bindi plays with him on occasion.
We have also been on holiday; we met Fabulous Daughters One and Two at Phoenix airport back in July (Fabulous Daughter Number Two enquired incredulously "even the wind is hot, what's that all about?") and proceeded to drag them about for the next ten days-Fab.
We clocked up well over a thousand miles, we shopped, we ate, we drank, we explored, we swam, we baked in the heat, we appreciated the air conditioning in the hire car. We shopped more, we hand fed giraffes at the zoo, we toured caves, canyons and dinosaur footprints. We took in the old cowboy town of Tombstone, the fabulous red rocks of Sedona, and the wonderous formations of Antelope Canyon, not to mention the Grand Canyon. In short, we had an amazing time.
Then back to reality sadly, but Perfect Husband and I are planning to move to Arizona as soon as we can, and Fabulous Daughters One and Two can visit as often as they like.
Meanwhile I have spotted another small dog at the rescue place....it's terribly dangerous to go and look into the face of a small dog who has been dumped at the grand old age of one year old.....how can life be so cruel to them, when all they want is a loving home? I may become Mad Chihuahua Lady and talk perfect Husband into us having another small furry doglet in the bed....we shall see. Meanwhile here are the two we currently have.....

I should have known.....

Ok so this is just a short one today, but I thought you might enjoy it.
A work colleague came into the office to pick up some paperwork. She has three small daughters and had brought the youngest two in with her. One of them had a bright pink cast on her arm, so I said "oh no, what did you do to hurt your arm?" and this was the reply:
"I was showing my sisters how I could swing really high without holding on......."
Of course. I should have known.

I have returned...

Yes, I'm back folks. Older, wiser, sadder. How do I write this blog appropriately? Well, I suppose I will just write simple facts, and you can read them if you wish.
  I received an email from my father on 1st February simply saying that my step-mother had cancer and that tests were being done. I broke the news to my daughters, telling them to prepare themselves. The next weekend I asked my father for an update, and was told that they would be seeing a specialist the following Tuesday to see what treatment options there were. Tuesday came and went, and what with not wanting to bug my father, plus the time difference, I was anxious for news. I always have Facebook on at work in case my daughters are about and want a quick chat, and suddenly a new page caught my eye. It was a tribute page for my stepmother, and it hit me like a punch to my stomach. Shocking though this was; unfeeling you may think...it seems that everyone's life is there for all to see on social media these days, but this was in fact the quickest way to let everyone know that my stepmother had been given only weeks to live, and while she was cognizant enough this was everyone's chance to share their photos, memories and love while she could still see and enjoy them. This was February 12th, and by Valentine's Day I was on a hastily booked flight (one of three, there is no direct route) to the UK. Strangely enough, despite the horrific reason for travelling, I found the journey a fairly pleasant one- I always enjoy a spot of people watching, and overhearing a conversation a man was having on his mobile phone with his wife reminded me why: Man "let me talk to her" then "so your Mom tells me you have a bit of an attitude this morning? You did? No, well, I don't think that getting snow in your shoe was a good enough reason to play Mom up; now I want you to be good and help your Mom look after your little brother until I get home".....cute.
Although Fate obviously cares not a fig about inflicting cancer on whomever she so desires, at least she saw to it that my journey went smoothly; no delays, no bad weather, no cancellations- I even arrived 30 minutes early.
I spoke to my father on the phone, then my stepmother. She sounded loud and vibrant as always, saying she'd see me on Wednesday as arranged, and was looking forward to it. I couldn't reconcile the cheerful voice on the other end of the phone with the horror of the prognosis.
On Wednesday I drove my two fabulous but apprehensive daughters to my father's house in my little shiny hire car. When we arrived my father burst out of the doorway and threw himself at me saying that he was so glad we were there and he felt she had been hanging on until I arrived, then he simply burst into tears. I had never seen my father cry, like many I suppose, and this raw moment of grief and helplessness almost undid me.
We went in to a changed house to the one I remembered, a one where my stepmother was huddled under a child's quilt decorated with teddy bears; ironically the same quilt she had lovingly tucked my youngest brother under, some 25 years before. She lay in the sitting room in a hospital bed provided by a local hospice, her weight loss all too obvious despite the thick quilt. She was on constant medication which made her sleep for most of the time, hallucinate a little in her dreams, and she could only speak in an exhausted whisper. My two brothers and their wives and children were there, and the hours passed with us all taking turns to sit by the bed and have small whispered conversations with the lady who was usually flitting about, preparing food, handing out wedges of her famous home made chocolate fudge cake, having a little gossip and playing with the children.
My father had met her when he was 31, divorced and staying in a motel. There was a Valentine's Day dinner dance and he had asked his cousin and her husband to bring someone along to make up the numbers so he didn't feel awkward. No romance he stressed, just making up the numbers. And then he saw her and forgot what he had said. He danced with her all evening, barely remembering to say hello to the other two in their party, and drove her home once the evening was over. She said she was free the next day if he wanted to meet her again, and he did. Not only did they meet up again the next day, but he carved their names in a heart on a tree and asked her to marry him. She accepted. He was 31 and divorced with two small girls, and she was 19- I often wonder what her parents must have thought when they found out, but they must have seen the same thing their youngest daughter had seen in my father. Six months later they were married, and this August would have been their Ruby Wedding Anniversary; my brothers had been busily collecting embarrassing old photos (those clothes and hairstyles!!) to display at their anniversary party, but they ended up being posted on the tribute page on facebook instead.
When we left the house, late in the evening, my daughters and I were very careful with our words; each trying to say the right words for what we knew would be our final conversations with my stepmother; their Grandma. The girls cried all the way home; I called into a petrol station for two large bottles of wine and several packets of tissues. When we got back to my friend's house where I was staying, we each had a huge glass of wine and talked and cried together; we had woken my friend up and he joined us, for the wine, the memories, the tears and the occasional laughs.
My stepmother did not die that night as my father had feared. She lasted another 17 days, by which time I had returned "home" and was back at work and in my usual routine. I was over 4000 miles away, and 9 hours behind the UK. When my brother messaged me to call my father, who told me she was gone and we both struggled to maintain our composure, I remember thinking that although in the UK she had died in the early hours of Saturday morning, for me it was still Friday night and therefore she was still alive......
I couldn't afford to fly back for the funeral; if I had known it would be so quick I probably would have just stayed in the UK for a few more weeks, but hindsight is a wonderful thing, as they say.
I struggled with my grief, my worries for my father, my anger over my stepmother dying when she was only 59, not even seeing Mother's Day at the end of that month. A painful, awful death inflicted on a woman who had spent her whole life giving to others. She had been a childminder and the walls of their home were covered in photos of her with her extended family; but she was so much more than that....she looked after everyone she met and everybody loved her. This is not a cliché ridden tribute, this is an honest account of what a warm, generous and amazing lady she was, and my father adored her.
Naturally the crematorium was packed with tearful people in brightly coloured clothes, no black she said. Although she could not have any choice in the timing and manner of her death, she could at least say what she wanted afterwards. NO black, NO lilies, all were welcome especially children, and there MUST be toys put out at the village hall afterwards for the children to play with. If anyone wished to make a donation, she chose a children's cancer charity, her reasoning being that she would hate to think of a child suffering what she herself had gone through. They were hoping for a few donations at the funeral; they got ten times more than that.
My two daughters have decided to do a parachute jump to raise even more, and I will put the link on here if anybody wishes to make a donation. I appreciate that although none of you knew my stepmother, there is a very good chance that you will have either gone through something similar yourself, or someone close to you has. There will sadly be many of us who feel angry and helpless; I remember the disbelief, brushing my teeth one evening and thinking my father was thousands of miles away doing the same thing, and probably looking at the toothpaste in the cupboard with the sickening realization that it would most likely outlast his beloved wife of almost 40 years. How the next time their favourite tv series returned, he would be watching it alone. http://www.justgiving.com/Heather-Baker4?utm_source=facebook&utm_medium=socspondesktop&utm_content=Heather-Baker4&utm_campaign=post-sponsorship-donation-desktop
If you click on this link and make a donation, I thank you.
If you read this blog, I thank you.
If you are going through a similar experience, I send you my love.

Star-Gazing and Dog Poo......

Well, we all try and be romantic don't we? I mean we try and have adventures, and spend quality time together, and make memories...... and sure enough, there's usually something to remember, even if it's not quite the Hollywood moment you hoped for.
Perfect Husband decided a couple of weeks ago that we should take a drive out of the city and watch the sunset. We had the two dogs (Whiney Dog and Rescue Dog) with us in the car, and we set off in good spirits. In Anchorage you only have to drive for a few minutes and you are speeding along the scenic Seward Highway. At any time of year the scenery is beautiful; the inlet, the mountains, glaciers, and if you're lucky enough, the chance to spot some wildlife; Dall Sheep, Moose and even Bears and Beluga Whales. Perfect Husband's job means that he does this journey twice a week, whereas I don't get along that way very often, so I always enjoy it.
Bindi the rescue Chihuahua also enjoys the view when I hold her up so she can see out of the window, trembling with a mixture of excitement and fear (are we taking her back to the rescue place???) and Casey the whiney Dog paces about in the back of the car and whines, uncertain whether to be pleased to be out of the house and possibly about to have the opportunity to poo somewhere other than our garden for a pleasant change, or distraught as we drive further and further away from the house and therefore the food cupboard.
We stopped and enjoyed the sunset, stepping out of the car into the wind and taking some beautiful photos. I snapped a selfie with Bindi, enjoying very much the way her ears blow backwards and forwards in the wind, although I probably wouldn't be nearly as pleased if my own ears did the same thing......
After driving on for a while we stopped at Girdwood which is where everybody stops as there is a petrol station, complete with public toilets (inside toilets with soft paper-joy!!!). We took the dogs for a quick forage and peeing session- they were besides themselves with excitement over all the strange smells and scurried about, noses to the ground and necks straining theirs leads- surprising how strong an enthusiastic 6 pound Chihuahua can be!!
There are numerous shops selling souvenirs, pizza, ice cream etc, but we bought some glorious petrol station snacks including crisps and ginger ale and continued on up into the mountains a little way. Now that the sun had set and we were away from the city we figured it would be nice to do a little star gazing.
Of course Perfect Husband had his eyes on the road so he missed it, but I saw it and it was Amazing. It was a shooting star which scorched brightly along in the sky, then as I watched it broke into three parts which all raced along beside each other for a second or two like nature's finest firework- now I was the one beside myself with excitement-wow!!
We pulled into a rest area along the pass and parked the car; the sky was dark and the stars were appearing. We let the dogs out for a few minutes to sniff and explore some more- they were awfully keen to examine some dog poo a previous canine had left some 6 feet or so from the car.
We all got back into the car and warmed up a little , waiting for more stars to appear. After a while Perfect Husband and myself decided to get out by ourselves and look at the stars for a few last moments before we headed home.
As we breathed in the cold clear night air and gazed at the star filled Alaskan night sky, I was overcome with emotion and decided it would be a good thing to kiss my lovely husband under the stars and tell him I loved him; what a perfect memory this would be.
I crept closer and tipped my face up to his, feeling all romantic and after I had given him the most magnificent and perfect of all kisses, I opened my mouth to tell him how much I loved him, certain that this would be a memory we would still talk about when we were old and feeble. However, as I took a step back to keep my balance (I have to stand on tiptoe to kiss him, unless it's in our kitchen where there is a small plastic stool) my foot made contact with something much softer than the ice and I found myself  not declaring my undying love, but instead saying "Ah. I think I've found that dog poo."
Memories come in all shapes and sizes.

The Logic of the Homeless Dude...

So this homeless dude got on the bus yesterday.
I knew he was homeless because he smelled of alcohol and seemed to have difficulty keeping his eyes open.
Normally the bus drivers don't let people on if they're really smashed, but this guy was borderline and had his pass ready so he got away with it. He started talking to the man sitting behind him; they were both Eskimos and most of them are cousins here so they are always pretty pally with each other.
Anyway, Homeless Dude was telling his "cousin" about how he was nice and warm the previous night because he was dressed in lots of layers. I particularly enjoyed his observation that went like this "You have to dress for Winter; well I do- I'm homeless!"
He also made the profound comment "I'm almost 50 now; I can't work any more..."
Going on that logic I only have 5 more years of slaving away at the office before I can retire, but if my retirement home is to be the Great Alaskan Outdoors I'd rather continue with my career such as it is, thank you.......
Also going on that logic, it sounds very much like Homeless Dude actually CHOSE to be homeless???!!!!
I mean I really DO like my home comforts, and although it is true that alcohol always seems to be in plentiful supply for the homeless people I've seen, there does seem to be a serious lack of hot water, soap, internet and nice hot cups of tea, so I think I'll stick with my job....

I am now 20% more eccentric.......

I am British and therefore eccentric, if the stereotype is anything to go by.
Actually, maybe I am a little eccentric, but that's good as far as I'm concerned; we all know how boring our little blue planet would be if we were all the same.
The dictionary definition of eccentric is "unconventional and slightly strange" and I'm completely ok with that. I feel that life is just too damn short to worry too much about conforming to society and what a bunch of complete strangers think of me. As long as my loved ones love me back and are not overly disappointed with me, that's all I could wish for.
To this end, I wear brightly coloured tights, flowers in my hair  and FAR too much colourful makeup for a woman my age (if you are to pay any attention to "fashionistas and style experts"- which I don't). I wear these things on a daily basis, be it to work in my little office, or to the local supermarket, or just at home when nobody is looking except the dogs.
I read that dogs cannot see the same colours as people anyway, and they do not judge anyone unless there are no biscuits forthcoming, whereupon they judge very harshly.
Last weekend I outdid myself. I had seen a lovely Pony dress in Hot Topic and was instantly attracted to the pretty colours and style, and was just waiting for the "Hot Cash" promotion. I knew that if my size dress was still in stock on that date, then it was indeed waiting patiently for me and I should buy it immediately or risk the wrath of the Shopping Gods, and you NEVER want to risk that. Ignore these signs at your peril, for if you do, you will never find a bargain again, simple as that.
So upon entering the shop and not seeing MY Pony dress you can imagine how I felt; those tiny stirrings of panic that maybe I waited too long and my bluff had indeed been called. I asked in a plaintive voice where the Pony dresses were, only to have the assistant find them hidden behind something else that wasn't half as pretty. Maybe they hid them so as not to blind customers with their beauty, or maybe it was just another of those constant stock rotations that shops do all the time to try and force you into buying stuff the very moment you first lay eyes on it, so as not to lose it.
I almost thought I had lost this particular dress; my relief was short lived when the assistant informed me that the only sizes left were large and extra small; I had been banking on a small, but decided to take the chance of experiencing the poorly lit changing room with the VERY unkind mirror and try my luck with the extra small. To my joy I got into it and even got the zip up without having to do emergency rib removal, and the sun shone down on me and my dress, and all was right with the world........
I wore my Pony dress to work yesterday, but the hideous Alaskan weather meant that it was more of a Pony skirt as I had to wear thick black woolly tights and black cardigan with it, but the addition of some glitter and a pink hair flower more than made up for that. I was invincible and most definitely 20% cooler all day. I honestly felt like nothing bad could happen to me in my beautiful Pony dress; ie if I crossed paths with a moose on the way to the bus stop I would simply have undone my enormous Parka and showed my dress, and the moose would have bowed its great head and simply walked away without trying to stomp on me even a tiny bit.
And that's the great thing about being free to express yourself; it gives you confidence, and the more confidence you have, the more free you are. So go to it, people, and wear whatever YOU like, not whatever society tells you to like. Go on, try it, you'll feel at least 20% better I guarantee it. And if you are wondering why I keep writing 20%; it's a Pony thing.
I am 45 years old, and I am making the best of it.
The tragedy is that the upload thingy isn't cooperating for some reason; maybe it doesn't feel the same way about the pony dress as I do. I'll try and upload a photo later......

Maternal Rage...and Other Things...

I realize I have not written an entry for a while....nothing major has happened, just random stuff.
There have been no scary moose encounters, no mad people on the bus, no homeless people admiring my clothes, although to be fair my clothes are currently very hard to spot on my daily commute, hidden as they are under the Biggest Parka In The World.
We had a small Christmas Brunch at work, which was very pleasant. There was delicious food, presents and lots of hugs from two small girls who belong to a co-worker. These two are small, smiley, pretty, and were bedecked in pretty party dresses with flowers in their curly hair; they remind me of my own two when they were that age. Ours was a very girly household, and Husband Number One would often come home from work to find us all wearing multiple bows in our hair, or cries of "daddy, can you help me to plait my Barbie's hair?". Sadly he never learned how to.
 I also got introduced to the (giant) family of a co-worker. I mean giant as in they are all over 6 feet tall, husband, wife and five kids; at four feet eleven inches tall myself, I felt like a Borrower throughout the whole conversation. (For those who don't know what Borrowers are, they are tiny people who live secretly in the walls of a house and borrow items from the family that live there, and they first appeared in a book by Mary Norton in the fifties.) Anyway, it turns out that one of these lofty daughters had spent much of the Summer getting the same bus as me, although I had never noticed her as she is perfectly normal and charming, and therefore has no entertainment value as far as me and my Blog goes.
Next was Christmas itself of course. Christmas Eve involved Step-Daughter and her Boyfriend, presents, games, Batman impressions and lots of alcohol. When they had left, Perfect Husband excused himself, stating that he was "going to go upstairs for a while, I may have a little vomiting to do..." so I stayed downstairs with Tiny Dog and watched "A Christmas Movie" which was playing on a loop. They do this every year and I had never managed to watch the whole thing, so I gave it my best shot. Naturally I fell asleep, and when I went upstairs at 1:30am (Christmas Day, woo-hoo!!) Perfect Husband was still lying on the bathroom floor. I enquired as to his health, but he assured me he was perfectly fine and would "just lie here for a little bit longer" so I left him to it and went to bed. Needless to say he did not die of alcohol poisoning or choking on partially digested snacks mixed with wine and shots, although he did indeed have more than a slight headache on Christmas Day, and moved at a noticeably slower pace than normal....
Christmas and New Year was pleasant; food, presents, drink, movies, all those good things, and I even managed to do my fitness dvd so that I could feel all virtuous whilst eating chocolate. ( I have also bought a new one for the sake of a little variety; I am currently fast becoming Queen of Hip-Hop, and I'm pretty sure that nobody can "Dig and Snake" like Yours Truly....) I also managed to work my way through almost the entire series of Harry Potter films, although I have the last two to go, so don't tell me what happens.
I made no New Year's Resolutions, I never do, although I have been very consistent with wearing my Body Shop shimmer sparkle on a daily basis, which is basically very fine sparkly powder, a bit like fairy dust that you spray wherever you wish. I am very pleased to announce that my phone at work is now all sparkly.
Also, it's been pretty quiet at work so I have introduced two of my co-workers to the delights of the zoocam, which are webcams that are set up in various zoos and animal sanctuaries around the world, and they are both now cooing over live footage of baby pandas....well, I had to do something to make up for forcing them to watch the video to Miley Cyrus' "Wrecking Ball".....
So, you may ask, that covers "Other Things" now what of this Maternal Rage? Well I shall tell you, dear Reader.
Fabulous Daughter Number One's Idiot Boyfriend broke up with her two days ago, leaving her sad and hurting. I am currently considering having him Publicly Flogged, or at least Tarred and Feathered, but as either of those things will lead to my arrest I shall have to console myself with random outbursts of outrage, plus seizing the opportunity to call him an Idiot and announce that he has Stupid Hair.
OF COURSE this happens to a lot of people, OF COURSE she will get over him, OF COURSE she will either find someone who deserves to call himself her boyfriend, or at least be happy on her own, but for now she is hurting, and so am I.
I actually live on an entirely different continent to my daughters, through exceptionally poor decision-making on my own part, but that doesn't mean I feel any less of a mother. I monitor their lives through a combination of Social Media, Phone calls, Skyping plus a Network of Spies, and I am most likely just as involved in their day as any other parent, more so than some.
But it doesn't matter what the physical distance is if you love someone. The simple truth is, if they are hurting, then so are you. Just as when we found out that she needed glasses from the age of seven, and I felt terribly guilty for giving her stupid faulty genes that meant she had less than perfect eyesight and implored the teachers to beat without mercy any children they heard teasing her, just as when she got the letter stating that she hadn't got a place at the school of her dreams and I rang the local education authority and harassed them until they checked and double- checked (yup- clerical error; turns out she HAD been given a place after all but some illiterate employee had pressed the wrong button on the computer), just as she missed her offer of accommodation at University through her own silly mistake and I called her and tried my best to give her the confidence and reassurance to find her own accommodation (of course she managed to do so, she's a smart cookie, that one), just as she has had to navigate her way through many other sad and painful situations, I have tried my very best to give her love and reassurance. I may not always be able to fix everything, but at least I can cry with her, drink wine with her, hate the entire world with her (just for a short while) and when she is on an even keel again, smile with her.
That's my job as a Mother, one which I can do from anywhere. I can also think evil thoughts about Idiot Boyfriend from anywhere, but I shall refrain because I am soooo much better than that. Just know this, Idiot: if you are on foot one day and a car races through a puddle and splashes you from head to foot, it may just be because I have wished for it to be so.....

For Eli...

This is a difficult one to write. Difficult for many reasons which will more than likely become apparent, but I will continue.
Perfect Husband has an uncle called Bob- I know, brilliant isn't it? Bob really IS his uncle!! Bob and Perfect Husband are only 3 years apart in age and grew up together like brothers. Although Bob now lives in Arizona and they don't see each other much, they are still close. Me and Perfect Husband had a holiday early this year and went to Las Vegas, then drove to Phoenix to stay with Bob and his partner, Eli. As Perfect Husband had never met Eli and I had never met both of them, we didn't really know what to expect, but we had an amazing holiday.
Eli is from South Africa, and we hit it off straight away; weirdly enough British people seem to have more in common with South Africans than with Americans.....something no doubt to do with the old British Empire etc. So while Perfect Husband and Bob reminisced about the old days, me and Eli sat by the pool and talked long into the night about ex-boyfriends, shoes, sequins, and the merits of being bitchy and a little bit devious and how much fun that could be. Eli told me how in love with his dog he was; as he had no children his dog, a large and incredibly ugly although at the same time very sweet Boxer, was his one love in the world, besides Bob of course, and Eli's mother. Eli was a promising opera singer and upon hearing this I immediately requested that he sing to me which he obligingly did, filling the hot night air with the rich tones of his deep voice, singing to me in Italian and making me clap my hands with delight. During those few short days Eli and myself became BFFs, so much so that Perfect Husband actually began to feel jealous, despite me reminding him that as Eli was in a gay relationship with his own uncle his fears really had no basis in fact!!
At the end of our holiday we all hugged and thanked Bob and Eli for such a fab time and discussed our plans to move to Arizona-oh the shopping trips we would take! The bargains me and Eli could hunt for! The bars he would take us to! The good times we would all have! I had seen a green leather jacket but had not seen the point in buying it because it's always so bloody cold here, so Eli had promised that when we moved there the first thing he would do was to take me straight to that shop so we could buy that jacket "it was MADE for you" he said.

Eli was killed on Tuesday evening, on that very same motorbike he had taken me on for a ride around their neighbourhood.

I don't know the exact circumstances of the accident, nor do I need to; it won't bring him back.

I found out that something was amiss on Wednesday morning when Bob changed his Facebook profile picture to one of him and Eli together in their motorbike gear. I commented that they looked like trouble and thought no more of it. Soon however comments like "so sorry Bob" and "you are in our thoughts" started joining my flippant jokey comment, and I watched with a growing sense of dread. I messaged people, rang and texted; desperately trying to find out what was going on, until finally Bob himself replied and confirmed my fears: that Eli had been killed and Bob was at an utter loss. I looked down at my shaking hands through a veil of tears that dripped on to my desk. I shook my head when a co-worker asked if I was ok, and went to the toilet where I spent the next few minutes crying, looking at texts Eli had sent me, washing my face, crying again, feeling as if I was going to throw up, trying to make sense of the situation, trying so hard to compose myself so I could go back to my desk and get on with my job, but failing miserably.

Since then I have written a post on Facebook which was a nod to Eli and the impact he had on me in the short time we spent together during that holiday. It got several "likes" and oddly enough, some were from friends of mine who had no idea who Eli was, and I find this strangely comforting. I believe people are basically good, despite the odd monster here and there, and people DO care about each other. When they see something sad, they will reach out to each other, either physically or virtually, and offer comfort, love and understanding. People that know me but didn't know Eli still share a sadness that he died suddenly and tragically, leaving many with a sense of loss and hurt that they can't see past, and everyone can understand that, because everyone has lost someone at some point in their lives, and we all know how raw and painful and confusing that feels.

So I thought I would share this with you. We all have that connection; love and loss, and that searing pain that goes alongside it. We all feel for each other, we all share, and this is where our comfort and our peace is to be found.

This is me and Eli on a scorching hot day in June, and this is how I remember him. This large man with huge muscles, tight t shirts and a booming voice, a man who knew a bargain when he saw one, who loved his man, who was looking forward to taking his mother shopping when she came over for Christmas, who made such hilarious bitchy comments about people who had crossed him, and who told me that to his ears the sweetest sound in the world was the sound of his dog snoring.

So goodbye Eli, thank you for those few days, and the next time I see a green leather jacket, I'm just going to buy it anyway, even if I have to wear it under my parka until the Summer.

Murderers at the bus stop! It must be Monday again....

Ok so it's Monday again...after a weekend where it snowed constantly, to the point that every time the dogs needed to be let out for a pee we had to clear a space for them in which to do it!! Whiny dog's pretty much ok in the snow; she's taller and has plenty of body fat and a thicker coat, but poor Bindi the rescue Chihuahua does NOT cope well in freezing temperatures and snow up to her shoulders. She has a large wardrobe of padded coats of assorted thickness (mostly pink) but even with one of these on she has learnt to do her business as fast as possible and head back into the warmth of the house.
Needless to say I was not looking forward to this morning's journey into work, and sure enough it was -17c and pretty bracing. The snow on the roads had been cleared which makes life a little easier, but elsewhere the show was at the top of my snow boots.
As I approached the bus stop I could hear loud voices and see that there were 3 men standing there. Something about their manner and the way they were swaying ever so slightly told me they were all drunk, so I turned down my music so I could hear their conversation. I figured it would be pretty interesting, and it was.
The main speaker was telling the other two how he was going to go to Bear View that night and cause some trouble. Here's how that conversation went:
Drunk Number 1: Yep, tonight I'm going to Bear View and I'm gonna cause mayhem, oh yeah I'm gonna cause some trouble. I'm gonna whack someone. Somebody's gonna get whacked.
Drunk Number 2: Can I help?
Drunk Number 1: No. You just watch and laugh. If someone says to you "Hey what are you laughing at?" and then I whack him, you can say "That's what I was laughing at"
Comedy genius, there.
Then Drunk Number 1 proceeded to say how he was the nicest man in the room and how we're all on this planet and in this life together, but if you get on his blacklist that's it-you're gonna get whacked.
You might think I was a bit scared and intimidated by this, especially as this is America where people shoot each other randomly on a regular basis, but the truth is, I wasn't.
I'm four feet eleven inches tall and with my pink children-sized snow boots and my full length parka with the hood up so only my eyes were showing, they probably thought I was waiting for a school bus and therefore not worth bothering with. Actually, the state they were in, drunk and all, they probably thought I was twins or even a small group of school children.....
I figured the bus driver wouldn't let them on the bus anyway, but didn't get the chance to find out as they ambled off together, still talking about their plans for the evening.
I have to say I personally wouldn't plan on drinking so early in the day (except Christmas Day when it's perfectly acceptable to start on the alcohol as soon as you're awake) but in view of the fact that the sun doesn't rise here until after 10am in the middle of Winter I can understand it; the dark and cold can really get to you. I usually cure my Winter Blues by purchasing something incredibly sparkly off the internet; it's amazing how a bit of glitter and glamour can perk oneself up.....
So, back to what Drunk Number 1 was saying: I actually agree with the "We're all in it together part" we're all sharing the same planet, we're all part of the same Earth family and should respect each other and treat each other, and our fab little planet with care and love; however, I don't agree with the whacking people part.
So I would say that you have to be fairly careful which parts of a drunk's philosophy on life you choose to follow.
All in all it was an interesting start to my week, and I also sat near someone on the bus who I think may be actual Santa......

The Elephant Man is back........!!

Yays!! The Elephant Man is back on the bus!
Actually to be more precise, Elephant Man is actually Elephant Man Lady. I know this because I have actually seen under that voluminous hood, one day in the Summer when she was only wearing two coats instead of her usual four, and the hood was down.
Elephant Man Lady is another regular on the bus, although I hadn't seen her for a while, so I was pleased to see her again. It's reassuring to see the usual characters; you could say we are like a sort of large dysfunctional family now. A family of mutants and oddbods who mutter to ourselves and sometimes each other, and shuffle onto and off the bus in our giant snowboots and thick coats, trying not to knock each other over on the way.
Elephant Man Lady sits on the bus in her four coats, pulls that voluminous hood right over her entire face and shoves her phone underneath it. Maybe she is secretly reading saucy texts or 50 Shades of Grey or something and doesn't want any of her fellow commuters to see. She normally spreads herself and her bags across two seats, probably in a "keep away" kind of fashion, but I sat next to her the other day just to see if anything would happen. It didn't, although I got the feeling there was a certain amount of bristling annoyance under the hood caused by me invading her personal space.
Today there was a new person on the bus whom I shall call Yoga Man. Yoga Man looks a bit like Robert Carlyle the Scottish actor, and was dressed in the way of the person who would like to cycle to work but remembers that this is Alaska and therefore Freezing At All Times (except for about 9 days in the Summer when the snow finally disappears and the mosquitoes appear in herds) and so they put their bicycle onto the front of the bus, ride most of the way to work on the bus, then cycle the last 100 yards or so, arriving at work pink cheeked and out of breath, to the admiration of their coworkers who presumably think they have cycled the entire way.
Yoga Man had trousers with lots of zips on, drawn in at the bottom with shiny, light-reflective cycle clips. He had the usual huge backpack with drink bottle attached, which seems to be the norm here- although not for me of course, I carry my Harrods Union Jack bag to work proudly.
Several minutes into this morning's bus journey, Yoga Man earned his new name by suddenly beginning a series of increasingly strenuous arm exercises. He started off by clenching and unclenching his fists, looking very much like a baby trying to wave. He then moved on to clasping his hands together and making a lot of weird undulating arm movements which I'm sure I've seen in the video to Madonna's Vogue. Just when I felt he was going to hit someone, he stopped, piled on a few extra items of warm clothing and got off the bus with his bike. Ah, I thought, so he was merely warming up his muscles for the bike ride, although I couldn't understand why he'd only warmed up his arm muscles and not his legs. I soon found out.
As I got off the bus at the next stop and was waiting on the corner for the lights to change he almost ran me down as he whizzed past me on what looked like a push bike but sounded like a moped- no leg muscles needed!! Kinda reminds me of the time I was in the bike shop in Anchorage getting a new tyre for the pink child's bike Eskimo husband had bought me at a garage sale (size was perfect and colour matched my nail polish!) and I overheard a man asking the sales assistant how much it would cost to have an engine fitted on to a bicycle because "my wife doesn't like to pedal"........!! Way to go, America!! However, as that sounds like I'm being a bit negative I will finish with a quote from the original Elephant Man himself: "I sometimes think my head is so large because it is so full of dreams....."

Oh no, now what do I do?

Oh no, it happened.
After surviving Thanksgiving; four scrumptious days off work, eating and drinking nice things that Perfect Husband concocted and put in front of me, a spot of shopping in the sales (Body Shop you complete me...) and a trip to the cinema to see the second in the series of the Hunger Games films (v.excellent, although it almost undid me for a while; first I felt tearful, then I felt sick, then back to tears again, and also most envious of her fabulous dresses- who knew Lenny Kravitz was so adept at designing clothes?) then alas, it was all over and work beckoned.
I don't mind being at work; it's a pleasant little office and the one colleague who really does my head in is on holiday until tomorrow so even better, I just hate the getting out of my nice cosy bed part.
The temperature was a ferocious -15c this morning, and my walk to the bus stop in the dark was not made any better by the fact that I saw that moose and her two (now huge) babies again yesterday, just around the corner from our house.
Thankfully this morning they were nowhere to be seen so I yet live, which is always a good thing.
So there's me getting on the bus feeling all smug that I hadn't got frostbite or a hoofprint on my forehead, when a voice said "Oh I still haven't given you that shirt"....... and there she was, buried under several layers of hats, coats, gloves and carrying a huge stick. One of my crazy lady acquaintances, whom I now know goes by the name of Shirley.
Shirley befriended me on the bus one day, and I chatted back out of politeness, because I don't like to be rude, although really that just encouraged her more. She was telling me about her earrings and I remarked that they were nice (I once had an English teacher who was so old and lined she resembled a used teabag; she was tiny but ferocious, a bit like an old version of myself, and she loathed the word 'nice' because of its mediocrity in the face of so many better and more descriptive words-I still feel a sense of guilt when I describe something as merely "nice") and before I could stop her, she pulled them out of her ears and gave them to me! Sweet and generous gesture though this was....ick! No thanks. Previously she had mentioned that she had a shirt for me and she just knew it was perfect and I'd love it because it had my flag on, and she made me take her phone number so I could call her and we could meet up so she could give me the shirt. Needless to say I didn't quite get around to making that call, so today she wrote down her name and number on a piece of paper and gave it to me.
Now what do I do? It's too bloody cold to walk to work so I am on that bus regardless, and it's only a matter of time before I see her again.
Maybe I should just take my chance with that moose........

Thanksgiving...

Just a brief word about Thanksgiving.
If you were not already aware, here are some facts:
I am British.
I currently live in Alaska.
Alaska is part of the United States.
The United States celebrate Thanksgiving each year.
The British do not.
This does not mean the British are not thankful for what we have, I just mean that this is an American holiday and not a British one, although the original pilgrims who started off this whole thing were people who had left the UK to start a new life in America.....so I suppose in a weird way this is a British holiday? The pilgrims were in a new land, but they had brought their old ways and traditions with them, in much the same way that I have introduced Perfect Husband (who is American) to some of my British ways, ie mint sauce with roast lamb, wearing a poppy on Armistice Day, enjoying a lovely cup of tea with milk and two sugars, learning the finer points of Dr Who, watching the rugby and so on.
Anyway, in Britain Thanksgiving is not celebrated; so if American people would stop asking me that at work, that would be cool.
Even though this is not one of "my" holidays, I still get the day off work, so I'm jolly pleased about that. I shall spend the next four days at home with Perfect Husband, eating, drinking, watching tv and maybe a spot of sale shopping. I shall have Tiny Dog on my lap for as much of these four days as possible, and I shall be very Thankful.
I hope everybody who has something to be thankful for (and that is most of us in the "developed" world, let's face it, despite our constant whingeing about our Iphones not updating properly, and that thing we really wanted being snapped up on Ebay by somebody who beat our highest bid etc) will stop and think about how truly lucky they are this holiday. I hope everyone will donate more, recycle more, want less, and love and look after each other more.
I hope my hopes spread and multiply like the flame from a torch that is picked up and shared around the world.
I also hope Tiny Dog will never be sick in our bed again, like she was last Friday night. She did appear a tiny bit sorry, so I shall be Thankful for that.
However, the thing I am most Thankful for in this life is the two amazing young women that I gave birth to. They light up my life in a way that nobody else can. They are beautiful, kind, funny, fiery young women who make me proud every single day. I would like to say that neither one of them has ever been sick in my bed, unlike Tiny Dog, but this would be a lie. However, as I am busy being Thankful, I won't hold it against them.

A very Happy Anniversary...

Today is the 66th Wedding Anniversary of the Queen and the Duke of Edinburgh. 66 years is no mean feat for any couple, although it does seem that people of the older generation stay married a lot longer than today's crowd, and there are probably many reasons for that. Maybe people today rush to get married because it seems like a good excuse for a new piece of jewellery and a party? Or maybe a lot of the older generation would have got divorced if it had been more accepted back in the day, instead of the "you've made your bed now you must lie in it" attitude that was more prevalent.
Either way, the Queen and her husband are an inspiration to us all in many ways. Yes they have staff to cook and clean for them and more besides, and they certainly don't have the financial worries that most of the rest of us do, but they also have the world watching them, so they have had more pressures than many. Despite this, and despite the ups and downs of their life together, they appear a happy and strong couple. The Queen has done her best to ensure that her husband didn't feel like just an appendage, and he in turn has been a constant support and source of strength to her.
They are both remarkably down to earth people, and don't buy each other extravagant gifts (what could you buy someone who already has a crown anyway?) although I remember when I used to work at Buckingham Palace and my then boyfriend who was a footman had gone to the side door of the palace to collect a bouquet of flowers that had been delivered there. The bouquet was a gift from the Duke of Edinburgh to the Queen and consisted of 100 perfect, beautiful, white roses, and the entire bouquet was about 4 feet in length! I cannot remember now if this was a gift for the Queen's birthday or their Wedding Anniversary, but no matter-How utterly romantic......
They remind me of my own grandparents-they met when my Grandad was 13 and my Gran was 14 and they lived next door to each other. They married during the Second World War and after the war ended, they were only parted when my Grandad died, after 69 years together. "Indian Summer" was their song, and every year on their Wedding Anniversary my Grandad would make my Gran breakfast and bring it to her in bed, and play this beautiful song. For their Golden Anniversary he bought her a beautiful gold bangle and had "Indian Summer" engraved in it.
After he died, I and my mother had gone to stay with my Gran and help her with the arrangements for his funeral. She was choosing music she wanted to be played at the funeral, and of course this song was a must. We found her cd and played it to make sure it worked, and I will never forget hearing this song play for the first time in the cosy flat they had shared together. I was prepared for my Gran's tears, but none came. I looked at her to make sure she was ok, but she was no longer in that room with me. Her physical self was of course, tiny and familiar, the buttons on her blouse done up askew because her vision and her hands are not what they were, but her eyes had a faraway look in them, and I know that in her mind she was in another time and place, in the arms of the man who had loved and looked after her for so many years. Some people never, ever get to experience this kind of love, companionship and support, so those that do should be envied and admired.

So, a very Happy Wedding Anniversary to the Queen and her Duke, and much, much love and admiration for my lovely beautiful Gran, and her clever and handsome husband, my Grandad, much missed by all.

Summer, you old Indian Summer
you're the tear that comes after June times laughter
You see so many dreams that don't come true
Dreams we fashioned when summertime was new
You are here to watch over
Some heart that is broken
By a word that somebody left unspoken
you're the ghost of a romance in June
Going astray, fading too soon...
that's why I say,
"Farewell to you, Indian Summer!"

Walkies!!

So, if I had somehow neglected to tell you already-Alaska is Bloody Cold!!! The cold is horrid; it bites your skin and tries to persuade you against being out in it for longer than ooooh, shall we say 30 seconds at a time?
However, when the sun shines and the sky is blue it's very hard to stay cooped up indoors for the entire weekend. So, on Sunday I decided to take Bindi for a little walk. She enjoys being outside, however she too hates the cold. We both donned our well padded coats and set off. She was doing very well until we reached the corner of our road, approx. 200 yards from the house, and that was more than enough for her tiny Chihuahua feet. We actually have some tiny dog shoes for her, but they seem a contradiction in point because whenever I try putting them on her she either falls over, sticks her back leg out at a 90 degree angle, or refuses point blank to move anywhere, so barefoot she must stay....
Although it was cold, the sunshine and clear sky was making me feel like it would be nice to walk a little further than 200 yards so I decided to have a compromise with my poor tiny freezing dog. I picked her up and stuffed her gently inside my coat, with my arm across my front to support her weight. This seemed to work for both of us, we kept each other warm and both enjoyed being outside in the fresh air.
We were only going around the block, and I was wandering along thinking about what I would do if a moose decided to attack. I was thinking maybe running into someone's driveway and hiding behind their car would probably be a good idea if this happened. Suddenly I heard a noise to my left, and there standing in the trees a little way up the snowy bank was a moose! Oh sh*t sh*t sh*t!!! What if it was in a murderous stomping mood? Dory was in my head singing "just keep swimming, just keep swimming..." although of course I just kept walking as swimming would not have aided me in any way at that moment.
Luckily Bindi was too busy looking the other way to notice the moose, or we may have had problems; she has the typical "small dog syndrome" in that she thinks she can take anything on, and I know she would have tried her best to cartwheel herself free of my coat and most likely annoy the moose enough with her yapping to provoke a fit of stomping.
We moved on, me casting nervous backward glances at the moose, but it decided it preferred eating trees to people at that particular moment, so all was well. We finished our walk and arrived home rosy cheeked and buzzing. Glorious.

Uncharacteristic soppiness!!

I am British. We don't do soppiness, mushiness, or any other kind of emotion. Apart from complaining. We do rather like that one.
However today I am going to get all soppy for a few minutes, then I'll get over myself and retreat into my shell of cool, aloof Britishness, devoid of emotion once more.
The thing is this; I am on my third husband (I'm not actually on him right now, I'm on my chair at work pretending I am working) and so I am more than a little cynical when it comes down to thinking about the future and if you've picked the right one this time etc. As a matter of fact, Perfect Husband asked me once if I thought we'd still be married and in love when we were both old and I replied that I had no idea. He got hurt, but I just meant that nobody can foresee the future so I couldn't possibly answer that question; it wasn't my intention to hurt his feelings but if someone asks me a question I answer it honestly. So poor old Perfect Husband is saddled with a small, eccentric, opinionated, fiery tempered, often grumpy British wife who wears short skirts and far too much makeup. I don't cook but I do clean, and I torture him mentally on a daily basis because I don't tell him what I'm thinking very much and I probably don't tell him I love him enough either, but I do tell him when he spends too much money.
He in return does all the cooking, carries things which are too heavy, picks up all the dog poo in the garden, makes fabulous cocktails, ensures I can listen to British radio stations and finds British tv programmes on youtube (he's now a massive fan of Celebrity Juice, Never Mind the Buzzcocks, The Inbetweeners etc) and generally does all he can to make sure I am happy, cared for, loved, and not too homesick.
Obviously he annoys me intensely too; but I feel that when two people live together this cannot be avoided. We don't agree on everything, we have some pretty heated debates; we both have been known to do the whole "my country's better than your country" thing, although I generally win this one with the mere phrase "Britain has free healthcare so shut up, I win!".......
But I digress. The point is this: yesterday Perfect Husband told me something that made me love him even more, although I probably won't tell him and he doesn't read this blog so he won't know but....
He was at work delivering beer and wine and he was in a cluttered and messy storeroom. He picked up an empty keg to take it back to the warehouse with him, when he noticed something stuck to it. It was one of those horrible sticky mousetrap things, and stuck firmly to it by the last half inch of his tail was a very tiny, very terrified mouse. Perfect husband managed to dislodge the trap and the mouse from the keg, which he then put in his truck. But he couldn't stop thinking about that poor terrified mouse, stuck fast and doomed to die a long and slow death. He went back and spent the next few minutes trying to free it, wondering if it would be simpler to just cut its tail off and hope it wouldn't miss it. However, after a few minutes he found an old trowel in the storeroom and finally managed to scrape the mouse and his whole tail off the sticky trap. The mouse skittered off without a backward glance at his benefactor.
There's a lovely photo here; it's not mine but I think it's very touching and I hope you like it.
And as for you, Perfect Husband.....you are the sweetest, kindest man and I love you for it. But I'm not going to tell you that out loud.

British Bulldog!!

Sadly there are no photos to go with this story- I was simply too far away to get a good one. I could try one of my fabulous drawings but I fear it would not do the story justice. It happened like this:
A couple of weeks ago I was walking home from the bus stop, before the recent snowfall. It was before the clocks went back, dry, still light, a pleasant temperature and the thought of a nice warm house and a glass of wine added to my general good mood. About a hundred yards ahead of me a British Bulldog appeared from a house on the right. You know British Bulldogs; they are those really substantial looking dogs that resemble an end table; solidly built with a short leg at each corner. Anyway, despite the fact that this dog must have weighed more than me it was very nimble (must have been the thought of freedom) and it literally skipped across the road looking very happy. Don't worry, this isn't another dog being hit by a car story; there's no through traffic on this road.
A worried looking teenage boy appeared from the same house and caught up with the dog and tried his best to persuade it back across the road and home safe. Unmoved, both physically and mentally, the dog sat and stared at the boy. The boy grasped the dog by the scruff of the neck, gently but firmly, and started to tug, presumably to encourage the dog to move in the direction of the house. The dog's folds of skin now started to move, although the dog did not, giving it the appearance of someone having their hoodie pulled over their head. The dog remained resolute, wishing to enjoy a few more moments of freedom. As I passed by I gave the teenager an encouraging smile- he had the worried look of someone who was looking after a dog that didn't belong to him, and although it was a gloriously funny sight, I did feel sorry for his predicament. At last the dog got up and moved a few steps across the road; it would return home, but it wasn't going to make it easy.
As I got further away I took one final look back up the road to see that the dog and the boy had now crossed the road and reached the slight grassy bank near the gate of the house-almost home! However the dog, in a final fit of pique, had thrown itself dramatically to the ground, and the poor harassed teenager was now dragging him, slowly but surely up the bank and towards the house by one of its back legs. This did not seem to hurt or bother the dog in the slightest, and as I rounded the corner, giggling to myself and wishing for a zoom lens with which to share this moment with you all, I made eye contact with that dog, and I swear it winked at me!
Okay, after Fabulous Daughter Number One's request, I did a drawing......

Poppy Day.

So this is a serious blog. Today, November 11th is Poppy Day. This is what it's commonly known as in the UK, and the Commonwealth, although it's also called Armistice Day, or Remembrance Day. The first Armistice Day was held in Buckingham Palace in 1919. This is a day to remember all those who fell in World War 1, although these days we think about all those who have fallen in any conflict; sadly the list grows, by the minute it seems. Many other countries have their own version; America calls it Veterans' Day.
We wear a paper poppy to symbolize our support; these poppies were the first flowers to bloom across some of the worst battlefields of Flanders in World War 1, and their bright colour adds a poignant note as we think about all the blood spilt during conflict. These poppies are made and distributed by the Royal British Legion who use all funds raised to support current and former British Military personnel.
The poem "In Flanders Fields", written by a Canadian soldier John McCrae, who had witnessed the death of a friend the day before, and after performing the burial himself, noticed how quickly poppies grew over the fresh graves. He says:

In Flanders fields the poppies blow, between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky the larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

So I just want to say that today I am wearing my poppy, and I am thinking with emotion and humility of all those that have given their lives so that others may live free. It feels like this world is constantly at war; there is always a fight going on somewhere, precious money being spent on war while others starve and only know poverty.
I am probably not alone in hoping that one day, perhaps tomorrow, the people of this world will just learn to live together. In the meantime I will continue to wear my poppy.

Open your eyes!!

Ok, this is a fairly short one, but seriously WTF?? For those who read yesterday's blog, you will know that Perfect Husband has the rest of the week off work, so instead of my usual bus journey, I have the luxury of being chauffeured to work.
Yesterday, we were waiting at the traffic lights, and I noticed the car in front had a small screen in the back showing cartoons. You may think this is amazing and fantastic-what a gadget!! But it just made me feel sad. Don't get me wrong, I love a bit of telly, but I feel so sad for these children that get ferried to school and back each day in vehicles equipped with these screens. In my day (back when dinosaurs roamed the Earth) we looked out of the windows, read books, played I Spy, or fought with each other in the back of the car. This was our favourite, because it was one of the rare occasions when me and my sister actually agreed on something and were united in our desire to wind our parents up-such fun.
These kids will never know that joy; cocooned in the back of the car, in the darkness, lit only by a cartoon-no conversation with their parents or each other, and for me what was the saddest thing of all, was that all they had to do was tear their eyes away from the screen and look to their right, and they would have seen the sun creeping over the tops of the snow covered mountains, filling the sky with a soft pink and gold glow.

Feeling the Call of Duty....!!!

So it's that time again. For those unaware of that magical gadget called X Box, there is a game called Call of Duty which, in a thrilling and successful feat of marketing genius, gets released each year on a certain date at midnight. Devotees of all shapes, sizes and genders find themselves irresistibly drawn to their nearest stockiest, like zombies drawn to the bloated carcass of a dead cow. My own Perfect Husband is one such devotee. He gives hours of his life to this game. He swears it is a fabulous hobby, but to hear him swearing in a completely different way on a weekend morning, headphones perched atop his head, sweat on his furrowed brow, frustration evident in every syllable, I fail to see this as a satisfactory and enjoyable pastime. Even the dogs escape to the bedroom when he's playing, fearing that the aggression and frustration could somehow be their fault, and if they stay in the same room another minute they will surely ruin their chances of a biscuit later.
Don't get me wrong, it's good to have a hobby and Perfect Husband surely doesn't understand my obsession with perusing the internet in search of sparkly things any more than I understand his obsession with shooting people in a pretend world online with a load of people he's never met. Anyhoo, he had reserved his copy of the precious game, paid in full and even booked the rest of the week off work in order to devote as much time as possible to his new treat. He sadly couldn't complete his purchase at midnight as he was working out of town and knew better than to ask me to stand in for him (too many jokes here about the rest of the Nerds in the queue not knowing what a woman is because they've never seen one....although I do actually believe women play these games too-weird) but he still recalls with pride that one year when he was actually third in line.......
The following day I was pre-warned of the impending disaster when he posted on Facebook about how the edition he had preordered and paid for hadn't come in, how Best Buy had apologized profusely and had given him a $50 gift card as an apology, and how in return he had sulked for the rest of the morning. Whilst I am sure that Perfect Husband kept his fury under control with the skills honed from many years' gaming in realistic Life or Death situations, I had to stifle a giggle and feel so sorry for the beleaguered shop assistants trying to stem the tide of angry Nerds. Let's face it, frustrating though this is, it's hardly akin to starvation or poverty as something that can REALLY ruin your day.
As luck would have it, Perfect Husband called the shop later to see if any copies had miraculously appeared, AND THEY HAD!! Hooray!! The world as he knew it had been restored, plus (result!) he still had the gift card-methinks he will be purchasing a Call of Duty t shirt in the very near future.......
So, that evening me and the dogs escaped to the bedroom to watch a movie while Rebel (or whatever his gaming moniker is) saved the world, once again.
My poor tired soldier climbed into bed in the early hours of the morning, to grab a few hour's hard earned rest before breakfasting on an energy drink, dropping me off at work and starting the fight anew. I have to admit that he did take breaks in order to do the laundry (unless he somehow trained the dogs to do it, but I'm pretty sure neither one of them could reach the controls on the top of the washing machine) and he did refrain from playing that evening. He was forced to have an early night due to his late one the night before, so yet again I was Queen of the Remote Control (sadly I wasted this rare and golden opportunity by watching crap). This morning's breakfast was another energy drink (I am alarmed to see that there are several cans of this poison in the fridge) and as I type this (when I should actually be working, but it's pretty quiet at the moment) he is no doubt deep in battle with an unseen ten year old somewhere across the world......Ladies and Gentlemen, normal service is resumed.