Tag Archives: humour

Bouncing Around with Bokwa – Zumbalicious Style

Bokwa? You never heard of Bokwa?

Despite the way it reads, it is not the sound of someone choking on a chicken nugget or a new kung-fu move. It is in fact a high impact cardio/dance workout and as they say in the marketing pitch, if you can spell and move, you can do Bokwa. You can read more about Bokwa here.

Keep calm and Bokwa

It’s funny how life always throws things at you in groups. First, there was the A-Z April Blogging Challenge, blogging by the alphabet and now there’s exercise by the alphabet. That’s right, dance steps in the shape of letters or rather your feet move to make letters of the alphabet. I suppose you could Bokwa the alphabet song, but the letters are actually chosen at random to fit in with the routine, rather than danced in alphabetical order. This is a very good thing, because concentrating on the dance steps, coordinating arms and legs whilst reciting the alphabet would probably be a little too much multitasking. All of that and you want grace as well? Ha!

So, I had my first full Bokwa class today after having had an introductory taste of it last week for there comes a time in every mother’s life when being self-consciousness is yesterday’s news. I mean, if you have ever given birth, you would know that you check your dignity at the hospital door. There is just no room for self-consciousness when some nurse is elbow deep inside your birth canal. And that REALLY prepares you for what comes next, namely, when your 5-year-old bright spark of a child boldly announces to the world at large that “Mummy has wobbly bits”.

My wobbly bits look just like hers!Image coutesy of freedigitalphotos.net

My wobbly bits look just like hers!
Image courtesy of freedigitalphotos.net

And so it was that I took my wobbly bits to Bokwa.

I am proud to say that not only did I survive the 45 minute class, but I had great fun along the way. Firstly, the music is fantastic. Latest hits that even on a bad day would get your foot tapping, let alone your whole body moving on a good day. And you can sing along whilst doing it. Secondly, whilst the steps are set, you are encouraged to put your own spin on them. Dip here? Why, thank you I will. A bit of booty shaking there, certainly.

Thirdly, and for me, most importantly, the class is taught by a couple of fantastically patient and energetic people from Zumbalicous Australia. You need motivation? They have it in spades. You need to start with the basics? No problem, they will step it through until you’ve got it. You’ve come along for a bit of fun and to sweat – they deliver. A good exercise instructor is like a good hairdresser, a relationship that’s quite personal and something to hold on to for as long as you can!

Below is a pic that was taken after the class. Two of these lovely ladies are fantastic dancers whilst the other wears really bright sneakers.

IMG_1373

 

Over and above the Bokwa itself, I beseech you all to try something new and often. It’s so easy to come up with multiple excuses for not wanting to do or try something, but more often than not if you can overcome the resistance of your old and familiar thought patterns, you’ll be glad you did.

Today I mastered L, O and C. Can’t wait to see what’s in store for next week.

And one day soon, I’ll be able to dance the following letters for my wonderful instructors:

T, H, A, N, K, Y, O and U!!

Legal fine print: Bokwa is a registered trademark and so every time you read Bokwa in the above post, please notionally put a little “R” with a circle after it and remember that you can’t steal it.

A Schlocky Rhyming Christmas

It had to happen sooner or later, so it might well be at Christmas when goodwill to fellow man and blogger is supposedly at its highest.

warning symbol

SCHLOCKY POEM AHEAD

This would be a good time to eject if you hate cheese, schlock or have inadverantly landed here only for mental stimulation.

‘Twas the day of Christmas
And all through the house
All creatures were stirring
Even the spouse
 
The tree was adorned
And the presents destined to fate
For the family members knew
That unwrapping must wait
 
For Christmas is about people
And they would come first
A feast to celebrate
More than one birth
 
Yes it’s true that Jesus was born
On this very day
But as luck would have it
So too was the spouse, it’s always been that way
 
A birthday cake and card
Must also be had
Happy birthday sung
Because he is dad (and can perfom a miracle or two when pressed)
 
It is a day to come together
And celebrate what matters
A day for laughter
And cross-generational chatter
 
And after lunch
With stomachs replete
The teens distribute the presents
With much stomping of feet
 
A whole lot of ripping
Of paper ensues
What’s that odd looking moving gift?
We all haven’t a clue
 
It seems at the moment
That my idea is not so jolly
Of choosing that Adam and Eve mug
For old Aunt Molly
 
It’s a little bit naughty
But could cause some grief
When the hot water dissolves
Good ole’ Adam’s fig leaf
 

Image courtesy of freedigitalphotos.net

 
The food’s a cooking
And all is in place
For the family to descend
And leave more than a trace
 
So far so good
The situation’s not overly curly
For my mother in law
Has not turned up too early
 
 
 
She usually comes
Two hours before
The critical path time
It’s part of our familty folklore
 
So, I’m thankful
For small mercies
And look forward to the repast
The time is almost here, it’s coming up fast
 
So nothing is left
Other than to say
I wish you all a Merry Christmas
[And Happy Birthday, if it’s relevant to you]
And peace and sanity for the day!
 
Addendum
 
The curtain will be raised
Even more tonight
When I blog at Company for Christmas
To make someone’s day seem more bright
 
c4c-glyph
 
 
 
 
 

A Pre Apocolyptic Public Service Anouncement To All But The Kiwis

I have always been proud to be an Australian. Being an Aussie is seriously cool, people swoon at our accent, they love our laid back attitude and envy our natural surroundings.

Australia timezoneWhat they don’t envy though is our time zone. Our time zone is seriously unforgiving, particularly if you want to do business or socialize with Europe or the East Coast of the United States. Even more so if you want to be awake, astute and passably witty whilst carrying out your obligation to your employer to turn up during local business hours. And by that I mean turn up not only in body, but also in soul and mind.

We are also slightly confused because at present there are four timezones operating in our wonderful nation. The refusal to operate under daylight savings times by some States introduces a fourth time zone for the summer months. Don’t worry Queenslanders, your curtains and cows are still safe, experiencing less daylight hours than everyone else. Don’t forget the SPF 55 sunblock!

However, there are also a few advantages that come with that timezone.

We are amongst the leaders of the pack when it comes to experiencing worldwide events that are tied to a fixed universal time. New Year’s Eve, we’re one of the first to click over. Christmas, we’ve unwrapped, stuffed ourselves and ho, ho hoed long before most of you guys have even gone to bed for your Christmas Eve slumber.

We are at the forefront of time zonage to pretty much all other countries other than New Zealand and a few Pacific island nations.

tomorrow in australia pic

So to all my international readers who are still in yesterday this is my pre apoclyptic public service announcement to you.

It is now roughly 9am, 21 December 2012, eastern daylight saving time. There are no Mayans or Mayan spirits to be seen. The second last page of the Mayan calendar has been ripped off its hinges and discarded, actually no, hang on… that was a 2-year-old Oreo cookie that just rolled out from behind the maple syrup (yes, we have them here – Vanilla, Chocolate and Strawberry in fact).

So far, the only evidence of an apocalypse are:

    • the state of my closet – what does one actually wear to an apocalypse?
    • our Government  finally admitting that there will be no budget surplus this year;
    • the current state of Australian cricket;
    • the number of Baked Beans tins in my pantry (one can never be over prepared);
    • the state of Australian reality TV; and
    • the state of my kids’ rooms.

There are however 15 hours to go.

Just wondering if the Mayans were timezone sensitive. Maybe for us Aussies it all ends on the 22nd and we have been lulled into a false sense of security.

D’ang, I will now have to return all the end of the world on the 21st Mayan merchandise

The good thing is that we have the New Zealanders Kiwis, who are two hours ahead, to stand in the way of us and the apocalypse. New Zealand, we will be watching, whilst the rest of the world watches us.

apocolypse

Fear not, we Australians will sacrifice ourselves and the Kiwis for the greater international cause. We will be your apocalyptic guinea pigs!!

And the Mayans better get cracking on continuing the calendar. My desktop flip calendar is just crying out for some forward thinking Mayan wisdom and witticism. A suggestion though, the next version should be in the shape of a carrot… the world is now far more health conscious about its calendars.

In the meantime, dear readers…

KEEP CALM

and

BLOG ON

If you could predict it, how would you spend your last day on earth? Are you changing your routine for the 21st? Do you have any Mayan relatives?

Forget The Camel Toe… Introducing The Incredible Shooting Clown Toe

Ever have one of those weeks when truly random events seem to abound? Ever worked your way around things that were truly beyond the scope of your reckoning and imagination?

Your Curtain Raiser has had one of those weeks.

It all started last Monday with a scheduled toe operation. Ok, I had been putting it off with some self-help remedies, but ultimately conceded I had to go under the scalpel. Brushing off the fear of the unknown I headed off to the “Treatment Room”.

Installed in the “Treatment Bed” I eagerly listened to the discourse between the doctor and the nurse, hoping to catch any clue as to what was in store for me:

Dr: “I need a couple of scalpels XX mm thick and a syringe and needle xxx wide, the widest [or was that longest?] one you have.” Big needle

Did I hear correctly? Was that really my doctor asking for the biggest freaking needle in medical history? Surely this was happening in some sort of parallel universe?

A mere ninety minutes later with the biggest needle in medical history having been used on my person, I was limping back home with instructions and pain killers in hand. Pain killers, hah! For wimps, hah! Throbbing? Pain? I have those for breakfast!

By 9pm that night, my inner wimp showed her true colours and was ultimately sated with the meds. My inner wimp thanked me for a good night’s sleep.

The next morning, with my inner wimp firmly back under control, I headed back to the Torture Treatment Room for a dressing change.

Nurse Ratched“Why good morning”, Nurse Ratchet, I didn’t expect you here!”

“Yoo vill sit on the bed, da. You had a toe operation yesterday, da?

“Da, I mean, yes”

“Ok ve vill take a look, da”

Nurse Ratched begins to unbind the bandages, with a great deal of speed and movement. Unfortunately the speed and movement translated to movement and pressure on my toe and I let out a yelp.

“Doz dis hurt?

[No I yelped because I actually wanted to test your hearing range, sheesh!] “Yes”

A nod of the head then ensued but no slowing of the unwrapping motion. Did she not just ask a very pertinent question and did I just not answer in the affirmative? Am I missing something here?

Without delving into the gory details of the dressing change, I can safely say the stars I saw that morning were not the twinkling ones in the sky, given that it was broad daylight and I was indoors. However, I am happy to report that my inner wimp managed to stay silent throughout and with newly pressed calluses on my hands after bearing down on the bed my toe was freshly and professionally “dressed” by Nurse Ratched.

The next day I went to work with my freshly and professionally dressed toe. I wore open toed shoes so as not to squeeze the wound. This is something that I never do, wear open toed shoes in a professional context, so I was self-conscious about my footwear. No-one needs to see toes in an office… well, certainly those of us who are not orthopedic surgeons, pedicurists or podiatrists. But the show had to go on despite my footwear prejudices.

I made it to the bus stop feeling fairly upbeat. My toe didn’t hurt, the toe dressing was still attached and fellow commuters walking towards me didn’t faint at the site of my exposed toes. This was good, I was on the down hill run……. to foot malfunction.

The bus pulled up to the stop and I stepped up onto it, saying hello to the bus driver. As an aside, I always say hello to bus drivers as an acknowledgment of my appreciation for the job that they do, hoping to make their day just that little bit brighter.

No sooner had I turned to my right to make my way to a seat, when the professionally applied dressing, which had grown in size since last time I had looked, flew off my toe and under some elderly gentlemen’s seat. There it was, the amazing shooting clown toe striking a fellow bus passenger! After excusing myself, I bent down to gingerly retrieve my professionally applied toe dressing from between this guy’s legs and as soon as Operation Retrieval was complete, I quickly took my seat.

As luck would have it, the only seat available was one behind a knee-high plastic partition with very little leg room between the seat and said partition. As luck would doubly have it, some young guy with earphones and a laptop came and sat next to me and there was no room for me to bend down and reapply the professionally applied dressing. So, I spent the entire 20 minute journey, clutching my once professionally applied dressing and trying not to look at my toe and the sutures that were in it. Thankfully, my fellow passengers were spared the spectacle of my technicoloured and bloodied toe due to the presence of the partition.

IMG_1243Having alighted the bus, I found a patch of footpath out of harm’s way and unprofessionally reapplied the formerly professionally applied dressing. I still had about a seven minute walk to get to the office. One step, two… it was holding!! Three steps, four…incredible shooting clown toe strikes again although missing any human targets this time. There was no way around it, the only way this sucker was going to stay on was if I walked with my toe pointing to the sky.

Once at the office, I reapplied the dressing, this time using fresh supplies that Nurse Ratched had provided. However, peace was not to be had, incredible shooting clown toe struck again at lunchtime this time shooting through a crowded railway concourse. It was clearly time to tie this sucker down with professional first aid tape purchased from the chemist. Which I did and it held for the next three days.

Clown.
Clown. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I suppose having an incredible shooting clown toe is one way of meeting people, but I prefer more conventional means, like possibly bumping into someone or starting a conversation at the supermarket checkout line.

As a postscript, I had the sutures taken out today. Nurse Ratched was nowhere to be seen and I am now longing for the day when I can once again wear closed toe shoes in my professional life. Ah, simple pleasures!

Have you ever had medical services professionally applied, which you have had to later fix? Do you say hello to your daily bus driver? Have you ever wanted to be a bus driver?

Musings From 30,000 Feet

A short and sweet totally random curtain raising post today apropos of nothing.

Having spent a fair bit of time on planes lately, I wonder whether having concluded a job interview for an air cabin crew position, the interviewer points the candidate to the nearest exit. Or maybe the real test is to see if the candidate remembers how many rows between him or her and the exit.

photo from flikr, april-mo’s photostream

The things that go through one’s mind at 30,000 feet!

Actually the best flight I ever had was one from Cairns to Sydney. All the cabin crew were male and I certainly have no complaints about that. But what topped it was then the captain’s voice came over the microphone and introduced herself as “Jane”!! Certainly not  common in this country.

Has this ever happened on a flight that you have taken?

Come fly with me, come fly, lets fly away…

 

Whip Me, Beat Me, Butter You Up….Canadian Style

To all of you who stumbled upon my blog believing you are in for the maple leaf foody version of 50 Shades of Grey you have a wonderfully kinky imagination. If you also experience a sense of disappointment as you read on to find that the playroom is in fact a kitchen and the only implements out of the drawer are a spoon and knife, then to you I say “laters baby, you’re going to have to find your kinky eatery elsewhere.”

image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons – Kelly Sue De Connick

For the rest of you, I would like to introduce you to my latest favourite indulgence, whipped peanut butter. This post was inspired by your comments to my Paying the Blog Love FAward post as it seems that on a quick sampling of my blog readers, whipped peanut butter may not yet have made it to the shores of the US of A. Be prepared to be wowed by this product for it is the rock star of peanut butter. So good in fact, it has its own Facebook fan page and its own dedicated chauffeur driven national tour vehicle (check out the pics on the page).

I am amazed that my American readers have not had the opportunity to experience the guilty pleasure of whipped peanut butter. Not so long ago, we lived in a world where Australia was always 6-12 months behind the US in terms of product, movie, music and television show releases. Take for example, The Bold And the Beautiful, which I will never publicly admit to watching. Until recently we down here were watching Ridge & Brooke get engaged for the first time…. allegedly …..whilst you guys over there were watching their children celebrate coming of age… allegedly. I say allegedly, because I don’t watch it, well not when I’m not bedridden anyway. But here, now, we are experiencing the marvels of whipped peanut butter whilst you apparently are not!

There has only ever been one brand peanut butter that has graced my pantry and that’s Kraft. Never oily, never dry… a whole lot of crunchy….just superb. Imagine my unmitigated delight when I noticed a new Kraft kid on the block on the supermarket shelves, a total no brainer.

[Dear Kraft marketing gurus, if you are reading this then we will be at home all week to take delivery of that case of whipped peanut butter you have lying around at the back of the warehouse…I won’t even tell my blog readers about the 20 cases you have already not sent me… as I reign in my pulsating desire and sensuously lick the excess peanut butter from my fingers and wipe my smeared keyboard].

So here’s what y’all are missing. Whipped peanut butter is a light, fluffy smooth version of the product. It spreads beautifully and doesn’t stick to the roof of your mouth or to your utensils. Washing the empty jar is a dream and it tastes the same as its heavier siblings, but aerated. I image it makes a fantastic foundation for a dip or satay sauce given its consistency. Fantastic on toast and even better on thin multigrain rice cakes, it’s an all-purpose jar of pleasure. Even better than se…semolina!

So good in fact, we import the whipped product from Canada. Yep, Canada! Canadian air must be really something for Kraft to fly the product all the way down here. Especially when the non whipped product is manufactured here in Australia – take a look at Exhibits A and B below. This well travelled peanut butter can fly half way around the world but somehow can’t make its way immediately south of the Canadian border. I’m sure there’s some logic in this…somewhere. I will figure it out just as soon as I finish my peanut butter and honey delight.

Exhibit A:

Made in Australia

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Exhibit B (hale the rock star):

Complete with Canadian air!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There’s only one thing to do in these circumstances my US friends and that is to storm the Canadian border and insist on your right to a whipping!

In the meantime, well played, Canada, well played…. I will gladly send you all our Vegemite supplies in exchange for your whipped peanut butter cache. Just what you always wanted, Canada – Australian prime quality yeast extract, And yes it really is as hideous as it sounds!

What is your favourite sandwich spread? Have you ever tried Vegemite? Would you want to? What’s your favourite accompaniment to peanut butter?

Paying The Blog Love FAward

I bet you thought there was a typo in my blog heading. No typo dear blog readers but a new blogging term:

FAward – the act of passing on valued blog awards distributed by talented and worthy bloggers to other talented and worthy bloggers.

I have to confess that I feel a bit sheepish accepting these awards as I haven’t been blogging much lately. It’s not for want of desire, just that “stuff” gets in the way and the creative process is always the first to suffer. Isn’t it amazing how our thoughts determine through which pair of glasses we are going to view the world on any given day? Currently, I have my serious glasses on and I am using them to try to locate my humorous pair. Thankfully, I can still shoot out the odd quip or two in comment time, but to sustain an 800 word humorous post is proving a little harder.

Whilst I love the serious wisdom posts and thinking and writing about the bigger philosophical questions in life, I think I like myself better when I’m funny.  I envy those who know the flavour of what they are going to consistantly deliver through their blog on any given day. Me, I’m still hopelessly conflicted, although it is a nice conflict to have.

But, onto business!

A big

THANK YOU

to the following talented and worthy bloggers who have seen fit to bestow upon me the following blog awards:

Bohemianspiritedmom awarded me the Lovely Blog Award. Bohemianspiritedmom blogs at the blog of the same name and is a kindred spirit in the teen parenting journey. Her blog is amusing and full of joie de vivre and a delight to read.

Magnolia Beginnings who blogs at the blog of the same name awarded me the Very Inspiring Blogger Award. Magnolia’s blog conveys a journey, one of discovery and fulfilling your dreams. It is courageous and wise just like its author and also serves as an inspiration to me. Leave your regrets at the door to this blog and hop aboard to share Magnolia’s journey.

My MidLife Mayhem who blogs at My Midlife Mayhem awarded me the Beautiful Blogger Award. Midlife Mayhem’s blog is about the journey through the ages of 35 to 50 and the reprogramming required as we make the adjustment from physical strength to mental beauty. Feeling the solidarity with my fellow Beautiful Blogger. I am floored that Midlife Mayhem chose to include me in a list of recipients for this award which included the Bloggess!

There are certain rules to accepting these awards, including outlining a number of facts about myself. Here are seven titillating facts about me that you never really wanted to know:

  1. I think peanut butter is the bomb – especially this new whipped stuff. Light as air and doesn’t stick to the roof of your mouth!
  2. I don’t like cold weather and have a heater grate pattern permanently imprinted on my butt during winter.
  3. I have a really small family. There is a trend of only children throughout my family tree which I was mad keen to break with my own brood. Luckily God blessed me with two wonderful boys.
  4. I’m a tomboy at heart and am totally lost with eyeshadow and foundation. I can manage a daily smear of lipstick and a couple of brushes of blusher, but as for the rest, it’s either nothing or total drag queen.
  5. My motto is when all else fails rely on humour and be sure to make your own everyday. It’s a good day when you have made at least one person laugh.
  6. I have been to all States of Australia except for Tasmania. Tasmania is naturally beautiful and cold and one day maybe…
  7. Wunderlust is my weakness and I always want to go to new places and experience new things beyond my front fence. I can’t help but think the world awaits and I need to capitalise on its beauty before something really prevents me from doing so.

And now for the good stuff, paying these awards FAward. I am aware that some of these blogs may be non award blogs and in those cases please just take this as my way of thanking you for allowing me to enter your world a little every day and for touching me with your words:

Human in Recovery – thanks Kina for sharing your journey

Free Penny Press – Lynne’s pot pourri of interesting projects, concepts and musings

Fifty Four and A Half – if I could just bottle Elyse’s spunk, wit and energy!

The Bucket – GOF’s blog containing humour, poetry and snipets of rural Australian life

Musings of and Old Fart – the blog of a scholar and a gentleman (btg5885) with a clever wit and a big heart

Waiting for the Karma Truck – Mimi’s beautiful blog which is wise, funny, kind and giving and makes me think and smile at the same time

Magsx2’s blog – Mags is a fellow Aussie and blogs about well…. anything!

Buckwheatrisk – Zoe’s courageous and raw blog about dealing with the aftermath of child abuse. My admiration for Zoe in writing about this publicly is immense.

All of these blogs are awarded all three awards. If you take the time to visit some or all of these, you will not be disappointed.

OK now time for the post award speech nosh up. Salute!

image courtesy of freedigitalphotos.net

7 Blue Ribbon Events of the Parenteen Olympics

Here’s the first post from the she shed. I haven’t actually found a she shed, but if I had, this is the post I would write.

We are almost at the start of the closing ceremony of the 2012 London Olympic Games and what a two weeks it has been. Such skill, stamina and athleticism – and that’s just from the spectators – what time is it again? Australia has now managed to scrape together five six gold medals as our swim team went MIA. Hard lesson learned for said swim team, namely that social media, hubris and swimming don’t mix. Ouch!

The Olympics have however inspired me to look around and recognise skill, stamina and athleticism in my everyday life. So, let’s light the cauldron, release the peace doves, sing “Hey Jude” and celebrate the 7 blue ribbon events of the Parenteen Olympics!

Event 1 – Synchronised Finding: parents compete to find their teen’s missing items whilst tackling various obstacle courses such as teen rooms, drawers and wardrobes, dirty clothes piles and pockets. Five points for each item found. Bonus points are awarded for really small items and those which have not seen the light of day for at least two weeks. Triple bonus points are awarded for essential items that are required to be found in the five minutes before the teen rushes out the door.

Event 2 – Rhythmic Gum Snapping: teens compete to scare the living crap out of their parents by loudly popping gum at random times. Bonus points are awarded for pops  sounding like cars backfiring made at critical times during television shows their parents are watching in the same room.

Event 3 – Pantry/Fridge Hockey: teens compete to rearrange their parent’s pantry/fridge in the usually useless quest to find something to eat and in the hope that by staring at the items long enough they might change into something inspiring. Each of the  panel of five international judges gives a score out of 10 for the following categories:

    • most vacant stare and bored stance
    • most number of trips to the pantry/fridge in a sixty minute time span
    • most number of items moved each trip
    • loudest whine of “there is nothing to eat”

Points are awarded for each item of food actually removed from the fridge or pantry and there is an increased degree of difficulty for foods that have to be heated, peeled or spread.

Event 4 – Laundry Hamper Basketball: teens compete to throw dirty laundry into the hamper much like conventional basketball. There is a three-point line and points are deducted if any item from a flying bundle lands next to the hamper or if the laundry hamper is broken after a particularly forceful slam dunk.

Event 5 – Teenage Habitat Hurdles: parents compete to retrieve selected items  such as used drinking glasses and gum wrappers from their teen’s room battling obstacle courses made of piles clothes, paper and general “stuff”. This is a timed event and the quickest out the door wins. Points are deducted for touching any of the piles, cleaning up or for failing to make it out of the room altogether.

Event 6 – Bathroom Use Marathon: teens compete to spend as much time in the bathroom as possible during peak times with the object of causing maximum inconvenience to other family members. Teens will be judged on the length of their shower (the longer the better), the amount of product applied to their body (shampoo deodorant, gel or makeup or preferably all four for maximum degree of difficulty points) and poses/stances made before the mirror. Scores are awarded out of ten by a panel of judges much like gymnastics.

Event 7 – Electronic Gadget Decathlon: teens compete for the ultimate Parenteen Olympics event in which the winner is the athlete who uses  the highest number of electronic gadgets at the same time. Permitted gadgets include televisions, laptops, I-Pads, smart phones and gaming consoles. Simultaneous use must be sustained for at least one continuous minute. Hernia prevention belts  may be worn.

Let’s celebrate our inner athlete and enjoy our pride of place on the winner’s podium. Medals are awarded on the earlier of the teen turning 21 or moving out of home.

Have you been in training for the Parenteen Olympics? Do you have a favourite event? Are you or do you know a champion of any of the events?

Award ribbon image and image of sporting figures courtesy of freedigitalphotos.net.

Have A Personal Olympic Story? Why Yes, I Do…

More than three decades ago, I graduated from primary school. Not sure what the North American equivalent is called, elementary school or middle school perhaps? Here in Australia, primary school is generally schooling between the ages of 8 and 11. In my State, high school starts at the age of 12.

We have only had one primary school reunion in all those years and to be honest, it was a little bit like entering the twilight zone. Not sure what made me feel like this, perhaps it was the amount of time that had passed since graduation, perhaps it was the intervening high school years and the notion that high school generally brings more memories or meaningful experiences. Whatever it was, it felt somewhat bizarre seeing my primary school mates after more than twenty years and talking about marriage, kids, divorce and careers. Perhaps because there were no blunt ended scissors, glue, coloured pencils in the middle of the table or dangerously low hanging projects strung up by pegs hanging from the ceiling.

As part of the festivities we were asked to fill out a questionnaire. Most of the questions were unremarkable, but there was one that I have carried with me. It is a fairly innocuous question, but I felt confronted by it. Coming away from the reunion, I felt under pressure to have an experience where I could answer the question in the affirmative. The question was:

Have You Ever Attended A World Event?

By that stage, I had given birth twice, had career success, was still married to my first and only, was a dutiful daughter and wife who almost brokered world household peace. Was this not enough? Did I have to attend a world event as well?

Well yes, because it would be memorable and fun and newsworthy and something that no-one could take away. It would also put me in good stead for any future school reunions with tricky questionnaires, not to mention future bridge parties with the girls (for when I get old – ha!).

It was therefore wonderfully fortunate that my city won the right to host the 2000 Olympics. I remember awakening at 3.00am to watch the then president of the IOC, Juan Antiono Samaranch utter the immortal words “and the winner is…. Sydernee”. Really, he said “Sydernee” and the expression has gone down in our city folklore. That announcement made sometime prior to 1995 heralded the start of my own personal Olympic story and journey to a world event.

We watched as Sydney Olympic Park was developed, the main stadium, satellite stadiums built and Olympic infrastructure installed. We heard stories about the supposed crowds and traffic and people renting their house for the Olympic period for exorbitant sums. We were inundated with cheap travel offers to exotic destinations to tempt us out of the city. We watched as they painted the blue line for the marathon runners in the next suburb and we watched the torch relay as it swept through. We saved money, entered ballots and queued to obtain tickets. Leave the city during the Olympics? Not this girl! The world coming to our laid-back doorstep and the prospect of watching Olympic events at a reasonable time, rather than in the middle of the night was an opportunity too good to pass up.

I can honestly say, attending the Sydney 2000 Olympics was one of my finest experiences. We ended up attending the opening ceremony, velodrome cycling events and athletics. But more importantly than the events themselves, for the fortnight of the Olympics our city was enveloped in a blanket of goodwill and cheer. The mood was incredible. Locals wanted to put their best face on to the world and exuded friendliness and tolerance. The city was clean and traffic almost non-existent. Public transport ran on time and business took a holiday. Carefree was in the air and the news was positive. The politicians stopped playing politics and everyone just seemed happy. In a word, utopia. And let me tell you, there is absolutely nothing like hearing your national anthem played on the world stage in your home city.

I can well imagine what London, Londoners and indeed all of England must be feeling right now. Five years is a long anticipatory haul, but the fruits of London’s Olympic labours are about to be laid bare for the world to see. And the world will watch and for the first time will Facebook and Tweet at unprecedented levels.

So yes, I have been to a world event, some would say THE world event. I have my sights set on a World Cup Soccer event, World Series Final (although it is debatable whether this is a true world event), a Rio Mardi Gras and perhaps the Tomatina festival in Spain in the future.

In the meantime, I have set my alarm clock for 5.30am tomorrow morning to watch the opening ceremony. I have reread my herding teenagers post and am armed and ready to wake them so we watch it together to continue a family tradition. Here’s to two weeks of this given our unforgiving timezone!

Would you want to go the Olympics? Have you been? Have you attended a world event? What Olympic moments are you looking forward to?

Let’s Phlog Monday: What Do You Call A Group of Bloggers?

Well, another week has passed and another Monday is here to phlog.

You will be relieved that I have no deep and meaningful message for you in my photos today. Rather, I thought we’d play a little matching game.

When most non-Australian natives think of Australian wildlife, they probably think of these (hint: these are NOT my photos):

or these:

or maybe even these:

It doesn’t help that the foreign press seems to only ever write about Aussie wildlife when someone (usually a foreign tourist) dies. Our most recent shark attack/casualty happened only in the last couple of weeks off the coast of Western Australia, but to most of us Aussies that news is relatively ho-hum. We are not unfeeling or uncaring, but swimming in the ocean to us is like crossing the road. It’s an inherently unsafe activity, but experience and the odds tell us that we are highly unlikely to be shark’s dinner any time soon. Millions of people actually swim in Australian’s oceans every year without so much as a toe nibble or even a suck. As for crocs, well we know to feed them the foreign tourists first. Especially those tourists who wear crocs. And as for the spiders, we have a healthy respect for those, because they actually cohabit in our suburbs.

Despite common belief, Australians don’t don flack jackets and machetes when they venture out should they happen to meet wildlife. Most of us merely shoot the wildlife with cameras. Here’s some of the friendly animal-folk that I encountered over the last couple of weeks. No toe sucking or nibbling was involved… well not by the animals anyway and that’s ALL I’m going to say about that!

I therefore proudly present to you a herd of kangaroos, a team of ducks and a mob of cockatoos.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

So, what do you call a group of bloggers?

Is it a flock, a school, a convention, a rhumba or is it murder? Maybe it’s an ascension, implausibility, generation or plump?

All of these are real collective nouns. Who knew?

I’m leaning towards the term “blaggle” to describe a group of bloggers. Not only does it give good alliteration, but twists the old tongue. I’d love to hear any other suggestions you may have.

And whilst you are pondering that let’s see if you can match up the collective nouns in column A to the right animals in column B, consulting Google University if you must. Post your answers in the comments section.  The nearest correct entry or entries will each receive 100 Curtain Credits. If you have read my “Hi There” page you will know that these are pretty much worthless, but think of the glory of being right, people, think of the glory ! Oh, and the judge’s decision will be final.

Winners and Curtain Credit recipients will be announced by Friday 27 July.

Column A 

mumuration
weyr
storytelling
rabble
ascension
fesnyng
convocation
generation
bloat
implausibility
 

Column B

eagles
butterflies
gnus
larks
vipers
starlings
hippopotami
ravens
dragons
ferrets

 

Good luck!