Compostable Kate

I took Dexter to the vet today, to have his sore ear checked out. I knew it was hurting Dexter, and expected that he would need some drops or something for it, but I wasn't prepared for how bad it was. When the vet looked in his ear (his left ear, not his "special" ear) he told me it was clogged with wax, debris and pus (bleurgh). Dexter would need to have the ear washed out before we could start treatment. While we were there, I also asked the vet to check out Dexter's back, as he'd had an unusually strong reaction to being humped by a dog in the park. Dexter usually completely ignores anything except someone trying to take his tennis ball, so I wondered if the dog had hurt him. The vet checked out his back, which is fine, but thought there was some tenderness in his sacral joint. So while Dexter was under anaesthetic having his ear cleaned out, they would also take x-rays of his back and hips. As a little post-script, the vet said he's also squeeze

I'm considering having some sort of party for my next birthday. It's a significant one, so I ought to do something to mark the occasion - or at least get some presents to cheer me up from turning 30-ten. I'm hesitating, though, as my last two attempts to have a party got overshadowed by catastrophe, and were cancelled. I was going to have a 5th (approximately) birthday party for Freddy-cat last January, but the preceding December saw me getting dumped by two friends, and caused me to question my worth as a human being and a friend. I certainly wasn't in the mood for entertaining, even though I'd already downloaded lots of cat-themed music from iTunes. I was going to have an 8th birthday party for Dexter at the end of October, but just a week beforehand I ended up resigning from a job I loved. I was heartbroken and stressed to my limit, so in no frame of mind for partying. Even for Dexter. I'm concerned that it will happen again - although surely I

I've not been unemployed for at least 10 years. There were a couple of weeks when I moved back to Australia in 1999 when I didn't have a job, and a few weeks when I had to withdraw from university in my first year, back in 1995, but other than that, I've always had a job (I haven't always been paid , but I've always had a job). I certainly didn't plan to be unemployed at this stage in my life, and as I had only been getting paid for my last job for 6 weeks, after two and a half years as a full-time volunteer, I am definitely not in any financial state to be jobless. I had already planned to take a week's break after finishing up at CH, which is just as well, considering what else has been happening, so I've only been jobseeking for a week so far. I had been hoping to find some casual, straightforward work, to fill my time and pay my rent, but without any stress or sleepless nights as a result. However, many options are closed to me now: bartendin

Dad was witty and warm and very loving. He had a wonderful sense of humour, and a great sense of the ridiculous. Our Dad wasn't a conventional Dad. He was an artist, musician, hippy-type of Dad. This means that he didn't do the archetypal “Dad” stuff with us, but being incredibly inventive and creative, found other ways to influence, nurture and entertain us. Most of our memories of Dad revolve around his creativity and artistry. There was a flour tin which Dad had labelled with a cartoon of a daisy hauling itself up with a block and tackle—a self-raising flower. It might have taken a few of us a while to grasp the concept of puns, but we liked the picture. We always had the best fancy dress costumes, hand-made by Mum and Dad, with Dad coming up with innovative ways of adding minute details, such as olde-fashioned shoe buckles on our sensible lace-up shoes. Our birthday parties always featured make-your-own party hats, where we and our friends would get to cut out our h

I missed out on having my group interview at Coles today, due to the fact that the back of Coles is apparently strewn with meat carcasses, and Dexter's presence would be a health hazard. Besides that, their staff amenities are upstairs, with no lift. I did get a one-on-one interview with the Store Manager, who was greatly interested in Dexter and his role in my working life. He also pointed out that I was wildly over-qualified, but I assured him that it was just what I was looking for, as I just wanted a job that I could do well but not have to dream about. So it seems that I won't be able to work at the New Farm store, but they have two stores in the City that are meat carcass-free, and have accessible amenities. I might also find myself at Lutwych or Toombul. I'd prefer the City, so I can commute by ferry, but I'll just have to wait and see. As a by-the-way, I explained to the Store Manager about JobAccess, and suggested that Coles should be seen to be employi

Ian Cugley: A Tribute Peter Sculthorpe Ian was one of the most gifted students that I’ve ever had the privilege of teaching. Actually, I didn’t regard him as a student: he was a friend. When I was in the United States in the mid 1960’s, he and Jenny even looked after my house. Ian and I remained in close contact until the time that he left for England. I last saw him in Hobart, with his young and boisterous family. Many years later, Ian wrote to me from England and we then corresponded from time to time. While I was deeply concerned about his health problems, his letters, always quirkily-expressed, were remarkably cheerful. He kept me abreast of the music that he was writing and the physical difficulties involved with it. Ian’s orchestral work Pan, the Lake was recorded by the Sydney Symphony Orchestra, conducted by Joseph Post, in 1968. A meditative work, Ian dedicated it to Donald Peart, founding Professor of Music at the University of Sydney. He chose to base it upon a theme

I complain a lot about my disastrous domestic state, but constantly struggle to do anything about it. I'm hampered by a few things, namely excessive levels of fatigue and having inherited a clutter gene from both of my parents. Mum is currently managing her clutter habit by living on a boat, where it's physically impossible to accumulate too much stuff. My Dad managed his by building an awesome wall of shelves in his living room. It's just what I need here! I can't ever hope to have one of those homes you see in magazines, where it's all gorgeously neat and tidy, and you wonder where the books and magazines are hidden, not to mention any signs that someone lives there. No, my place will always have a 'lived in' feel, but I would be happier if it was a bit less chaotic. Perhaps quite a bit, although without actually getting rid of any of my stuff. I know that I can't fit all my books on the shelves available, but I can't possibly get rid of

I got a letter from my electricity company the other day, warning me that my power bill was going to go up, and advising me on simple steps I can take to reduce my power usage. I don't have air conditioning, or heaters, so I can't save there. I've already replaced 90% of my light globes with the "green" ones, so all that we left (of the three suggestions) is turning off my electrical appliances at the switch when I'm not using them. This is all well and good, and should save me something , but it might cost me in other ways. In frustration, for instance, when I find that the oven hasn't pre-heated, or my water boiled because I forgot to switch the stupid oven on at the wall. And not being able to tell the time from wherever I'm sitting, as the microwave and VCR clocks unset themselves when they're switched off at the wall. I'm also trying not to use as many lights (I've only got a few to start with, but I can always be more diligent

The day after my surgery, the mass of doctors came around again, and I was told that my appendix was probably not to blame for my belly pain. However, I won't know for sure until I go back in 6 weeks for the follow-up and the pathology results. They told me that I had mesenteric adenitis (I had to get the head doctor to write this down), which is when an infection causes the lymph nodes at the edge of the lining of the gut to swell. Nothing can be done about it, except wait it out. It's usually caused by a viral infection, so anti-biotics aren't any use. When I googled it later on, I discovered that it's usually found in children and young teens. A bit embarrassing, as I am a very long way off being a teenager. However, today it's almost 2 weeks since this started, and I'm still in some considerable pain (especially tonight). I looked it up again, and it can last from a couple of days to "some weeks", which is not what I want at all. I want

While I was given morphine, I was able to sleep a little and take myself to the toilet.  The next morning (this was Tuesday 11th May, my brother Damian's birthday) I needed help to shower and dress in a new gown (their gowns have buttons and ties and are very complicated!), and to put on my super-sexy pressure stockings.  I got to speak to my Mum (she's excellent at tracking down people in hospital, having been a hospital doctor (anaesthetist) most of her working life), and talking to Mum always makes me feel better. I did manage to send a Happy Birthday text message to Damian, too. I ended up going down for surgery at about 2pm, having been visited briefly by a crowd of doctors, and told I was having a laparoscopy, and no matter what state my appendix was found to be in, it was being taken out. I woke up in Recovery in a huge panic, as I knew I shouldn't be treated in a Muggle hospital, as I was a Wizard, and it was really important that I let them know...      I

I live really close to the Royal Brisbane and Women's Hospital, so it didn't take long to get there. The driver was trying to minimise the bumpiness of the ride, but I was sucking on that "green whistle" and it was making me woozy, so I wasn't really aware of much else. The ambulance guy in the back with me said that after a bit I could try covering the hole to get a stronger blast, but I nearly choked when I tried it, so settle for the regular dose. It tasted and smelled like anaesthetic (I would know, as I've a had a few over the years). I hung about in the ambulance entry for a bit, admiring how good looking all the ambulance guys were - and sucking on the green whistle - and confirming my details with a receptionist. I was eventually moved into the emergency department itself, and actually taken into a cubicle. When I was in there last year, after my crash, I had to stay in the corridor. So, I was set up with a drip, put into a fetching lilac-coloured

I've been away from home for over a week now, and although I'm keen to get back, daily life is still a bit of a stuggle.... Today is Tuesday, and last Sunday night - a week ago last Sunday, that is - I was experiencing the worst belly pain I'd ever had.  Now, that is saying something, as I frequently have severe belly pain.  However, I try not to exaggerate the level of my pain, just in case it really could get worse, and this time it really had.  Adjectives such as "agonising" and "excruciating" came to mind, and as I was writhing in excruciating agony, not to mention the intense nausea accompanying it, I was exacerbating the pain in my hips, and messing up my back, just for good measure. It's another measure of my new levels of pain and desperation that I actually asked friends for help.  I'm less rigidly independent than I was even just a year ago, but I have still stopped short of calling someone up to drop what they're doing to come

I've recently discovered Brisbane's local classical music radio station, 4MBS . I've been listening to more classical music lately, prompted by my Mum sending me her massive classical CD collection last year.  I've been quite comfortable in my own, very small, classical music collection for years, but this was an opportunity to broaden my knowledge a bit.  That, and a growing frustration with commercial radio, its ads and its annoying presenters, got me switching stations lately, and I stumbled across 4MBS. Listening to a lot more classical music, as well as listening to a recent program on 20th century composers, has got me thinking about my Dad , also a 20th century composer.  Sadly for Dad, my appreciation for classical music developed slowly, and as a child I wasn't generally interested, except for the piece with the kettle and the pot having an argument.  Dad will have to supply the name of it!! I would now love to listed to all of Dad's works, especial

I had to throw out my cute purple boom box recently, as it stopped working. Before consigning it to the rubbish bin, I took the batteries out of it. Six (six!) size C batteries are now sitting on my bookshelf, with nothing to do but fall over when Fred jumps on them. Strangely enough, and I can't think why, they make me think of my old Baby Alive doll (the original one from the 70s/80s, not the modern monstrosity). I had a Baby Alive, and Rach had a Baby Thataway (she crawled!). However, tragedy struck Baby Alive and Baby Thataway when Rach and I took them to the park and accidentally left them up in a tree.  By the time Mum took us back to the park to retrieve them, they were gone.  Gone!  Someone had stolen our babies. Rach and I were in-con-solable .  We wanted our dolls!  Boo hoo!  Waaaaah!!! Rach did get another Baby Thataway shortly afterwards (probably the next birthday), but I didn't get another Baby Alive.  I was nearly two years older than Rach, so getting a bit

Dexter, Assistance Dog Extraordinaire, spent the day at the vet, having an x-ray on his back and hips. This was more of a precaution than anything, as his sore back was most likely a result of too much rough play from Mack, but I was happy to have it done, just to be sure. Happily, other than a very small amount of wear on his hip joints (normal for his age), his hips and back are all fine. However, he has a couple of vertebrae in his neck that have a small overgrowth of bone. This is currently unrelated to his back injury, and is probably not causing him any discomfort, but I'm really glad I know about it. The vet thinks it might have been caused by repeated jerks on the neck, although he also said that it could also just be they way he's built. But just in case, I've decided to not put his lead on his collar anymore, just on his harness. So he's home again now, sleeping off the anaesthetic. I still have to rest him for a couple of weeks, and I have some paink

1. I don't call. This is true. Only part of the reason for this is that I am on a very restricted budget, and try not to call when a text or email will suffice, but this hasn't always been the case, and I still didn't call people. So the main reason is that I just don't like making phone calls. I don't exactly know why, but I have to say that at least some of it is because I don't want to intrude into the other person's day. They might have been doing something important , only to have been interrupted by me. This antipathy towards phone-calling runs in my family. Probably not genetic so much as cultural; I don't even remember having a phone when we were kids. We probably did, but it just didn't feature in our lives. The only people I won't hesitate in calling (other than checking what the time is in their time zone) are my Mum and my Dad. I've even called my sister once or twice, but it wouldn't be much more than that. Mind you,

I had some interesting and unexpected reactions (on facebook) to my previous post. A couple of them really upset me: I was called arrogant by a good friend, and negative by another. I do take their point that I only mentioned briefly the good things about the festive season, such as catching up with family and friends, and in my defence I wrote the post when I was sitting here alone, with my family on the other side of the world. With no family around (and we only have two children in our little bit of the family, and one of those we don't get to see), then the downside of it all looms that bit larger. However, my main point was to explain my own, personal , position on Christmas as it manifests itself these days. I was expressing my feelings on the commercialism that has taken over a time that we say is one for family and children, and how I was responding to something that I didn't like - that is, by not partaking in it. Perhaps some people took it as a judgement o

The Christmas season is over for another year, and I managed to get through it without sending any cards, and the only gift I bought was for the RSPCA's wishing tree. I was particularly penniless this year, saving any spare funds I may have for ongoing physio and pilates, but it's not the only reason I opted out of participating in the festive season. To me, Christmas is a Christian celebration, albeit overlaid/confused somewhat with the Pagan Winter Solstice festival. I am not a practicing Christian, although I do appreciate the nativity story, and the carols and all that stuff. It's also a great time of year for people to make time to get together and catch up with each other. Of course, in Australia, the Winter Solstice elements make no sense, so therefore neither do many of the “traditional” Christmas trappings. An Australian Christmas shows up the overlay between the two quite clearly. However that isn't why I don't always send cards or give presents.