Karridale68’s Vox

Here he is - the many moods and expressions of Angus - our little braveheart.

And so it begins - I've hit the 30 week mark and I draw ever closer to saying (or probably bellowing) the words to my unborn child whilst in the throes of labour "Come and meet your maker!!!". I've embedded a widget thingy on my blog sidebar that proclaims how long I have to go - I think you have to scroll down a bit to see it (if you're interested that is). I feel so many things about this long awaited pregnancy - I overwhelmingly feel grateful that so far it has been a relatively smooth gestation considering the lumpy, bumpy detour I took to get here. I then embarked on a steep learning curve once I fell pregnant - you see I was all about GETTING pregnant - I didn't dare think beyond that or felt like a fraud if I even peeked at pregnancy sites. And so I have become an eager student of pregnancy and also of the finer points of childbirth. The latter has exposed the interesting dichotomy between the clinical obstetrics profession and the zealous home birthers. I have discovered that middle ground is hard to find and finding an assertive voice for something so mysterious and profound is also elusive. But I'm getting there and amidst the uncertainty and speculation I feel a sense of contentment and peace, and however my birthing story unfolds as long as my baby enters this world hearty & healthy.

I remember this story as a young child - of the plane that crashed into the Andes mountains in the early 70s and how the survivors began to eat those that died in order to stay alive. So it stayed with me as a powerful tale but the details were hazy, and so when I saw that a documentary was programmed last Sunday evening called Stranded I knew I had to watch it. In October 1972 a rugby team boarded a plane in Uruguay which later crashed into the frozen Andes. 16 of the original 45 passengers miraculously survived after 72 days on a frozen glacier - they resorted to eating the meat from their departed friends bodies and grinding bone matter to a fine powder to supplement their calcium, potassium & magnesium levels. It sounds macabre I know but it wasn't, and that is really the essence of the documentary - it is told in such a beautiful way from all the survivors 35 years later - there is no overlying narration or interrogative questions - the story unfolds in each survivor's account of the days that stretched before them. I have seen several documentaries on the extremes of human survival that defy scientific explanation and I'm totally drawn in by the possibility that the human spirit can transcend our mortal selves. How each survivor reconciles the decision to cannibalise is truly poetic and harrowing - invoking the ritual of holy communion. How their sense of self became so diminished that they almost figuratively disappeared and came to see themselves at the mercy of the mountain that became alive to them. These were young, educated men from middle class wealth flung into what they perceived to be some crazed experiment by God. To listen to them and see how the experience shaped them as older men is utterly riveting. I keep these stories close to my heart to rise above when the general ordinariness and often pettiness of our everyday lives invades my psyche - how indeed the impossible can be manifested. If you have a chance to see this film please do - it is both astonishing and inspirational.

I debated with myself about even writing this but a wrong-doing has been perpetrated and I need to vent so here goes. I'm a big fan of Etsy - I am constantly amazed at people's talent and I love the idea of purchasing unique, hand made pieces. All my dealings have been positive so I was a little taken aback to discover that I had become a victim of the 'Buyer Beware' syndrome. I bought 5 maternity T-shirts which came to USD$75 including shipping to Australia - I was pretty excited as T-shirts here are the equivalent of USD$40. So I waited, and waited and then I waited some more. I checked the seller's profile and she claimed that all orders prior to June 10 had been made & shipped and that there had been shipping delays so please be patient. So I waited some more and started to suspect that my maternity Tees had been misappropriated by pygmies in a remote tribe. So I decided to convo the seller and lo and behold her shop had disappeared from Etsy! Now that's a sure fire way of upping the paranoia stakes! I had a couple of choices at this point - I could adopt a zen like attitude and accept that this was just one of those things, and that with all my internet purchases over the years this is the first time anything remotely dodgy has occurred and so I've actually been quite lucky, and therefore just LET IT GO. The other choice was to NOT LET IT GO and try and recover my money. I opted for the latter and I have to tell you I am quite resourceful, and have a bit of a terrier-like attitude when I set my mind upon something. So with the power of google I found this seller who had spots on blogspot, myspace, flickr and other networking sites - note to online fraudsters - don't spread your ID around like the local town bike - you are a sitting duck. I read her blog and it appeared that she was plagued by USPS shipping problems and also admitted to erroneously switching two orders. I also gleaned that other people were reporting non deliveries and she was in a quandry because she had earnestly shipped these items and should she refund the money when it wasn't really her fault. I don't know much about pathological lying, con artists or living in denial simply because I am hardwired to see the world in all its vagaries - good and bad. So I wondered after reading her blog - how could someone be that unlucky with shipping and was this just a way of assuaging her own guilt by fabricating a plausible excuse?? The other element thrown in the mix was that her life had recently been turned upside down by a mysterious, unknown crisis....I don't know - it all seemed like a smokescreen to me. And so I decided to write a comment on her blog - nothing offensive. I just wrote that I had tried to contact her via Etsy but her profile no longer existed and that I was concerned about my order. I received a reply almost immediately which blew me away - she told me she had been out of town and didn't know why her Etsy account had been suspended and could I remind her of the details of her order as her life had been 'turned upside down'. And so I did and then...................'sweet' nothing. In PayPal space no one can hear you scream. I had had enough - at the end of the day selling your stuff online even as a little cottage industry is still a business and I'm not interested in what's going on behind the scenes personal or otherwise. You have a responsibility to the customer particularly when they have to pay upfront in good faith. So I decided to blow the whistle on her in Etsy & PayPal. Since then it appears she has been carrying out some online 'cleaning' like Winston Wolf in Pulp Fiction - her blogspot has been pulled as has her myspace page. There are still some vestiges of her online identity that she has yet to clean.....It's a shame - she really has something to offer the world as an artist but her integrity is not on an even par. She's only 23 - maybe too young to face the angry mob and her responsibilities - far easier to retreat and run away. Still I'm glad I applied a bit of pressure and heat - I hope she has learned something - your actions do have consequences no matter how far you run and how much smoke you leave behind. Anyway it's in the hands of the PayPal gods - if nothing comes of it I can LET IT GO but at least I gave it a good poke and a prod. Ahhh I feel better for sharing and I've decided not to post her actual name and online moniker/handle but I'm happy to do so if you want to avoid coming across her in another form. In finishing I do have to tell you that I did have a telling intuition about her that I chose to ignore. It was something so innocuous - it was just a simple word she used during a convo when we were communicating about the purchase, prior to the actual deed. I simply added 2 extra Tees to my original order of 3 and her reply convo opened with the word 'Sweet!'. When I read it for some reason it oozed 'Sweeeeet' not in a happy, tra-la-la way but in a sleazy Cartman from South Park way - and so I was 'had' from that point. I learned a lesson too. 

That’s how I feel sometimes and that’s how I’m feeling at the moment. I’m not trying to say I’m the life of the party but come on people where is your joie de vivre, your zip, your verve, your snap, crackle pop??!! It’s as if your personality stole away like a thief in the night and joined the French Foreign Legion never to return and who could blame it? Ah I could shift the responsibility to the ‘pregnancy hormones’ but I go through these patches where I feel like I’m the loquacious village idiot surrounded by the mute throng. Whether it be at yoga class or the corner deli, my attempts at witty repartee or insightful social commentary seem to be falling short of the mark lately with gormless, slope-shouldered individuals looking at me as if I’m some kind of demented succubus draining their life energy. The more the chasm of silence widens the more I attempt to fill it in with talk until even I have to shake my head at myself.

Example Numero Uno (Le Corner Deli)

Mise-en-scene: Paisley is inside her favourite gourmet delicatessen waiting for her pumpkin & basil ravioli to be heated to be whisked away for fast and furious eating. Whilst waiting, Paisley decides to sample the chilli-infused olive oil with communion-sized woodfired bread that is beckoning her at the front counter. Paisley being no stranger to the chilli brethren finds herself invaded by a chilli from a Guatemelan insane asylum cultivar. Across the counter a flicker of registration flits across Beige’s face, clearly nonplussed she has to break from her vertical corpse impression.

Beige (remains expressionless): Do you want some water?

Paisley (the fire has descended to her clavicle area): I’m OK, I’m quite surprised I’ve had this reaction, I normally have no problem with chilli – I mean I even eat them for breakfast! (Although still breathing fire Paisley still manages to lighten the mood with some irony )

Beige (remains expressionless): Really?

Paisley (Uncut version): No you silly twat it’s just a saying to imply that on a normal day chilli presents no problem

Paisley (Edited version) decides not to say anything because Beige is indeed a silly twat

Example Numero Deux (Pregnancy Yoga Class)

Mise-en-scene: Yoga class has just finished and Paisley is speaking with a Shade of Beige(SOB) that she has met before and is new to the class. Smug Blow-In Beige (SBIB) breezes in from left of camera.

Paisley to SOB: How did you go?

SOB (Gormless tone): Not too bad – I found the stretches quite easy

SBIB (flounces in from left-field: Hi I’m SBIB – what are your names? (Paisley & Beige respond appropriately, although Paisley is already not grooving to the interruption)

SBIB: So how many weeks are you I’m 17 weeks (Paisley & Beige respond appropriately, although Paisley is starting to despise SBIB who at 17 weeks appears to have a washboard stomach)

SBIB to SOB: And what do you do? (By now Paisley has had a gutful of SBIB and attempts to direct the conversation to something other than the banal version of the Spanish Inquisition)

Paisley to SOB: So it must be great that you and your girlfriends are all having babies around the same time – you can start your own Mother’s group! (SOB nods but declines to comment, SBIB appears to be developing a subtle snarl)

Paisley continues: When one of my friends had her baby a while back she had some pretty interesting observations about the new mother sub-culture – particularly in the well-to-do demographic where she lived. There seemed to be an inherent hierarchy around baby paraphernalia – you know what kind of pram you had and the various attachments. She also remarked about how well put together the women were in her mother’s group and how she was always looking like a slob. I was quite intrigued because these aspects never occurred to me and I found it fascinating.

Both SOB & SBIB are looking at Paisley as if she is the creature from the black lagoon.

Paisley (uncut version): Oh I’m sorry is this conversation a bit too high brow for you? I suppose you also object to watching films with subtitles because it challenges your level of reading comprehension and requires a modicum of effort. No problem let’s go back to talking about what you do, where you live, what your partner does and ironically invoke another subtle hierarchical structure.

Paisley (edited version): Anyway I have to fly – nice to meet you SBIB (Paisley nearly chokes on that one)

This story does have a happy ending – SBIB  has never been seen again and Paisley is most pleased.

When I was trying to create life I applied my scientific & analytic skills to spur on my fertility. And now that I am with child I can argue that it really was medical science that facilitated this condition. BUT I've always maintained there is an element of mysticism to conception and that metaphysical timing is key. Just prior to conceiving I was participating in a team-building exercise which took place at a familiar part of the university foreshore. Whilst sitting there listening to the instructor under the dappled light of a large Moreton Bay Fig tree cradling us in its sprawling roots, I saw quite clearly myself & my brother in early childhood on our foam surfboards splashing about carefree on the river. My mother looking fetching as always in her white bikini and golden brown skin, watching over us. I felt a warm sensation wash over me and at the time I thought perhaps it was my dear departed mum's presence coming to me but now on reflection, I realise it was the beginnings of implantation. And since then I keep having intermittent emotional flashblacks of halcyon childhood days. And yet my childhood did have its fair share of dark moments - my mother & father constantly engaged in verbally abusive stoushes and on the odd occasion descended to violence. The inconsistency of love apportioned from my often absent father who would disappear for days on end pursuing gambling and women. The older brother-little sister connection that I never experienced - only bullying & jealousy. And though these are merely trifles compared to other people's childhood experiences, it is enough to know that now in pregnancy I am reminded of all the good and none of the bad - to know that my inner child has finally healed and I can focus on raising my child without any ghosts from the past.

I have to get my hands on this T-shirt.....

DumbPeople

I've been tagged by HurricaneHetta to list 8 random things about myself. Now I should tag 8 other people but ahem I don't think I even have that many in my vox neighbourhood! Ha ha - that can be the first random thing about myself - I only have a small vox corral....OK getting serious now here goes.....

1. I used to own and ride a 600cc motorcycle also know as a Kawasaki Ninja. It was tres sexy and very powerful and at the time I knew a motorbike mechanic who took great pleasure in 'fruiting' up the bike with things like polished wheel rims and a go-fast loud exhaust pipe. For a while there I was Queen of the road and no 4 wheels could touch me! *Sigh* those were the days but I became older and alas more sensible and sold 'Pouncer' - named thusly because I always felt the bike was always ready to pounce like a puma. This is not my bike below but the same model and colour;

Ninja

2. I used to play bass guitar in a band called Black Moon. What - you havent heard of this seminal stoner rock icon??!! Well we did only play 7 gigs in our home town including a 40th lesbian birthday party in which the crowd stood about 20m away from us the whole time, and I think were hoping against hope that we would morph into a KD Lang or Patsy Kline tribute band. Nothing doing I'm afraid ladies. The band self-combusted when the singing drummer (yes I know not a good look), went clinically insane and his brother hocked my guitar & amplifier during one or our hiatuses. It was quite disappointing because when we got our act together and played in the groove, I would have to say that I felt some sort of blissful zen collective consciousness that I have failed to replicate to this day;

BlackMoon

3. I have a weakness for all types of cheese and often think about becoming an artisan cheese maker;

Wheel-o-cheese

1 comment

4. I love road trips and taking off on the open road. We relocated to the country a few years ago and so driving long distances is part and parcel of our lifestyle. I used to have a penchant for older cars and owned a Spanish Olive Rover 3500 V8 for 10 years. I loved that car and still hope in vain it will be reintroduced with the same body but a not so thirsty engine;

Sherman

5. I become quite engrossed in documentaries particularly those that retell a story of someone's trial, tribulation and triumph;

6. I notice, admire and respect large trees and have been known to hug them;

7. I think my husband & I knew each other in several past lives - I'm a geologist and he is a stonemason and we have started a stone business together;

DB6

8. I am just over 12 weeks pregnant after trying for nearly 4 years, and I think that maybe just maybe I can recapture that euphoric collective consciousness when I gaze upon my child for the very first time

CollectiveC

OhDear

Well it makes sense doesn't it? I mean there are children's books now to explain to children that their "Daddy" is a wiggly donor sperm, so why not a book to explain why suddenly Mommy is swaddled in bandages, bruised and then when she makes a full recovery somehow looks like Pamela Anderson? Uh huh yeah it's a book to explain that Mommy has had plastic surgery. I love this concept so much - young sponge-like minds being exposed to the shallow wielding of the knife - "Hey Mommy - for my 6th birthday can I get liposuction & rhinoplasty pretty please??" or "Mommy when can I have my breast augmentation? I'm the only 7yr old in our neighbourhood with a flat chest" Here are some literary gems extracted from the book below: -

"As I got older, my body stretched and I couldn't fit into my clothes anymore. Dr Michael is going to help fix that and make me feel better," the mother tells her daughter.

Her nose surgery, she explains, will make her look "not just different, my dear -- prettier".

 When I look at that retro book cover it seems to be channeling an episode of Bewitched - all Samantha had to do was twitch her cute button-nose & hey presto by the power of magic.......I find this concept of the shifting line of normalcy so fascinating. Like the woman who was teaching pole-dancing to young girls and justifying it by saying "It's really just a form of gymnastics except that the pole is vertical and not horizontal". Wow that woman should be in politics - what a great spin! You can dress it up, fix its hair, apply makeup to it all you want but it still says to me "This is what is wrong with society". Speaking of what is wrong with society I'm having an unusually low tolerance to SPAM email lately: -

SPAM

It is just so relentless - the cheap viagra, the Nigerian money scams, the inheritance scams, the fake rolexes, the live Russian dolls who just want to be my friend, the certificates guaranteeing entrance to heaven. Sure I just delete it and carry on my merry way, but lately it comes to me as the instigator for the insisidious erosion of society's soul. This dedicated pursuit for consumerism, to cheat, lie & scam unsuspecting folk, sickens me. I was first exposed to the animal form of SPAM on one of my first school camps. Having grown up in a Greek household my standard lunchtime fare was fetta, provolone cheese, melanzane, pickled peppers, Kalamata olives and Italian felino salami. So I was quite aghast at my first Australian school camp lunch as I trotted up to the serving area to see nothing that resembled fine Meditteranean fare, but strange looking meats encased in wobbly gelatinous aspic and white flattened brecciated meat masquerading as a form of compressed chicken. So I resigned myself to kraft cheese & iceberg lettuce sandwiches whilst being questioned for my 'fussy' palate. I didn't stick around long enough to respond in kind because of the repugnant stench of their spam sandwich overpowering my sensibilities. Hence it is only fitting that the moniker for such a ghastly meat should be applied to this most ghastly of modern day past-times - SPAM.

This is an initiative introduced by the police force Australia-wide called "Operation Road Safe". Methods are yet to be perfected - here's a trial method in the state of New South Wales for random testing of ecstasy......