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It was fifth wedding anniversary yesterday (where DID the time go?)

Toby waited till I got home from Paddington Thursday night, and it was officially past midnight, then exploded in a CAN’T WAIT ANY MORE MUST GIVE PRESENT NOW.

He’s built me a new computer (it’s been a while since I had a new one) in a mini-ITX case I’ve been lusting after. Geek love.

Fortunately his present was also well received. Fifth anniversary is ‘supposed’ to be wood, and he loves fountain pens, so…. his eyes lit up when he saw it, it was great.

Friday night we went out for a pretty low key dinner (Flying Burrito Brothers – service a bit meh but delicious). It was a lovely day.

Computer!! Fountain pen!

Originally published at kiwi geek. You can comment here or there.


Feb. 14th, 2013 08:01 pm
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We’re all seeking that special person who is right for us. But if you’ve been through enough relationships, you begin to suspect there’s no right person, just different flavors of wrong. Why is this? Because you yourself are wrong in some way, and you seek out partners who are wrong in some complementary way. But it takes a lot of living to grow fully into your own wrongness. It isn’t until you finally run up against your deepest demons, your unsolvable problems – the ones that make you truly who you are – that you’re ready to find a life-long mate. Only then do you finally know what you’re looking for. You’re looking for the wrong person. But not just any wrong person: the right wrong person – someone you lovingly gaze upon and think, “This is the problem I want to have.”

- From Daily Afflictions, by Andrew Boyd

Tobermory and I don’t do Valentine’s Day. Neither of us are fond of commercialised rituals. But I like this quote, and it’s an appropriate day to trot it out.

After all, Tobes is a problem I love having.

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I got home this afternoon, and ambled into the bathroom where my beloved husband was in the shower.

“It’s OK, love, I’m not watching, you don’t need to sing the little “I’m washing my bollocks” tune.”

“It’s the theme from Super Mario World, world 1, stage 1, on the super Nintendo.”

“.. er, if you say so, but you sing it to yourself every time you wash your bits.”

There was silence.

“I do?”

“Yes, love. It’s your little bollock-washing jingle. Didn’t you know?”

“I had NO IDEA.

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It’s been an interesting year. I spent the last couple of hours of it curled up in the snug, with Tigra and wine, with the other cats periodically checking in to make sure I wasn’t scared of the fireworks. Not a bad way to see in the new year.

I’ve gone for four or five work trips – training users on software, rolling Windows 7, assorted other bits and pieces. I’ve changed roles internally, and moved into a department I’ve wanted to be in ever since I started at this company. So far it’s going well.

I’ve danced, joined a performance group, entered Nationals, gone out socially, started teaching. I am proud of my dance achievements this year.

Operation 2012: Clean/Organise/Tidy All The Things has continued. We’re still not great at keeping the kitchen immaculate, but we’re a lot faster at returning order to the chaos (as the underlying mess isn’t present now). The spare rooms are usable, the garage is mostly free of crap, the usual dumping grounds for junk have remained fairly junk free. It’ll take time, but we’re on the right track.

I haven’t mentioned much of it online – some things just don’t belong on the Internet – but Tobermory’s had ongoing health issues, which created work issues, which he’s dealt with like a champ. It’s a work in progress, but I am damned proud of what he’s achieved personally this year. And I am proud of the way we have worked together as a couple. It’s been hard yards, but we can both be proud of the outcome.

It’s been a complete shit of a year on occasions, and there have been amazing highlights too. I’d like 2013 to be a bit less dramatic; but on balance I’m proud of my 2012. That’s a pretty good way to exit the year.

Originally published at spinneretta

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In the car on the way home, I pulled out a looong white hair. (I have long hair. Everyone knows this. This was a full length, perfect white, hair.)

While ranting about the woes of being an adult, I realised that Tobermory was kind of smiling. This was unacceptable mid-rant, of course, so I demanded an explanation.

“It’s just … it’s kind of nice. We’re actually growing old together.”

Husband points: +18297384739. Rant: deflated.

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I got into bed about an hour after Tobermory had passed out last night. He was lying on top of the duvet, so I snuggled under my bit.

“You have enough duvet? Fine, THEN CAN I HAVE SOME.”

“You’re lying on your bit, you muppet!”

After a bit of a duvet-related dispute, I extracted the duvet from under his person and covered him up.

“‘m awake now. You hit me in head with duvet. Why?”

I might have had more sympathy if I’d actually hit him, or indeed if he’d actually woken up at any point in this conversation. Instead, I got the giggles, which elicited a protracted set of complaints about my laughing at him. THis didn’t help me not have the giggles. Particularly when he started poking me in the side, with the stated intent of stopping me from shaking the bed.

I eventually calmed down enough to start reading the internet on my phone for a bit. Then his hand shot out, grabbed me by the wrist, and dragged me over to his side of the bed for headpats.

After a few minutes, headpats weren’t good enough, so he launched himself over the bed to me – literally, there was air between the husband and the mattress – snuggled in, and went back to what I assumed was sleep.

Five minutes later – “where Boomer? Boomer OK? want Boomer. You go check he OK.”

I knew as a fact that the cat crying outdoors was Gingerbum being beaten up by over-the-road’s tabby. Neither cat is ours, but apparently our section is the nominated arena for neighbourhood feline disputes. Still, it was easier to get out of bed than explain all that, so I did. Confirmed that Boomer was indeed sacked in his chair in the living room, Tigra was in the snug, and Chicken was in the bedroom with us. I hopped back into bed again, and resumed internet on my phone.

A few minutes later: thump. I reached out and attempted to locate my husband. I did not locate my husband. I located an absence of my husband.

I turned on the light.

There are very few things more amusing than discovering your husband has fallen out of bed, cuddling his pillow like a teddybear, having landed on his back on the carpet, with his head in the cats’ empty water bowl.

One of the few things that IS more amusing is said husband arguing with you that he is actually STILL IN BED, and using the location of his feet – still tucked up on the mattress under the duvet – as evidence in his favour.

I attempted to take his pillow away.

“You no take blanket!”

“It’s not a blanket, it’s your pillow!”

“Not a pillow! I in bed, is duvet!”


He wiggled around a bit and stretched out a hand.

“Why am I on the floor?”

“You fell out of bed.”

“Can’t have. You must have pushed me.”

Helplessly giggling, I did eventually convince him to get back into bed, and we settled down for the night.

“I like hearing you laugh. Worth falling out of bed for a proper Mahal laugh.”


Oct. 16th, 2012 03:52 pm
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This morning sometime, o’dark hundred, I woke up hearing a bonk bonk bonk noise. Tobermory was punching the headboard.

“Oi! Stop punching the bed!”

“Wrrgle mrohle n bbbbbd FENCE.”

“It’s not a fence, you’re in BED.”

There was silence for a minute as he processed this surprising fact.

“I have a pillow!!!”

emsk: (Default)

My friend Tekkie passed away earlier this week – a severe allergic reaction to wasp stings that she never woke up from. She was younger than my mum.

She had a wonderful sense of humour. She was a grandma who was a soundman for ten years. To borrow her own words, “I don’t know how to knit and I don’t say “Oh, dearie me.” But I *do* solder and say “Aw, f*ck.” And bake cookies.” She collected ninjas, and loved her cats.

To me, she was my honorary auntie. She was a friend, a dear one, a wise and sympathetic ear, and she introduced me to my husband.

I will really, really miss her.

emsk: (Default)

I love my husband. He brings joy to my life in so many ways.

I asked him, today, to shake baking soda over the carpet in the living room, as it needed a really good vacuum and I wanted a bit of a de-smell as well.

Apparently there was some confusion over the correct substance, because when I got home, he was carefully vacuuming the cornflour out…

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Our second wedding anniversary passed quietly, but pleasantly. The year has had several ups and downs – but I am proud of us. Instead of letting problems overwhelm us, we’ve closed ranks and worked together.

Tobes was outside work a couple weeks ago, and saw something he liked. Old man on a mobility scooter, his wife with a walker. Wife presumably got tired going uphill; sat on her little walker seat, and husband pushed her up the hill with his mobility scooter. He came home and told me that that’s the kind of marriage he wants to have.

I’ve had a photo printed for my desk at work. It’s from L&V’s wedding last December – Tobermory looks most handsome in his usher’s suit, and I’d chosen a nice dress. It’s a pleasant picture, a pleasant memory, and I like having things like that around in my workspace.

Anniversaries and things always get me thinking. In this case, it was realising that I’m not all that far from thirty, so why on earth am I still using a facewash marketed at acne-ridden teenagers? I’ve switched, and after a fortnight my face is much happier.

I decided that I’m going to start wearing some makeup regularly. I spend a lot more time in user-view than I used to, and I feel a bit more confident if I have some war paint on. I don’t wear too much – eyeshadow, mascara, lipstick which is a shade or two darker than my natural lip color. I can put it on correctly without needing a mirror, even, which is nice. I’ve also ditched all the old or unused makeup. The remainder is corralled in a train case, and I invested a little bit of money in buying some new things in nice grownup brands – eyeliner, foundation, some new shadows, that kind of thing.

The dance performance fell through. Insufficient men.

Operation 2012 hit a roadbump, but has resumed progress. My mother visited for a few days, and with her help the Piles of Crap in the spare room were vanquished. She also springcleaned for me, so things like the skirting boards were washed. It’s lovely, the house is actually maintainably clean now.

With Psycho’s help, we got into the garden over the last few weekends. Four trees are demolished, in piles pending hiring a skip / pending transportation of firewood to his house, and their stumps have been drilled and poisoned. (Then covered so the cats couldn’t get into it.) Thaqui’s side of the house is now accessible, having had all the over hanging branches / plants / bits of tree removed. We really need to get a skip in, so that the section can be cleared of miscellaneous tree, but at least it’s tidily piled now. I even mowed (half) the lawn.

T and I rejuggled the chore allocations, which is helping. He’s now master in charge of laundry – provided it’s pre-sorted into lights and darks (which is a no-brainer with three laundry hampers – light, dark, and delicates, which remain my responsibility), he stays well on top of the laundry, unlike yours truly. In return, vacuuming has become my problem. I wouldn’t say I’m thrilled about the exchange, but it does result in more cleaning being done more often, which is the idea.

As well as the misc gardening, I sewed a new duvet cover, hemmed a too-long pair of jeans, got a lead on replacement bobbins for my long-suffering Bernina – it’s older than I am – and made muffins and mini-crustless-quiches for the workweek.

It was quite a productive weekend, really.

emsk: (Default)

Today’s our first wedding anniversary. Looking back on the year, I’m honestly a bit astonished – where did the time go? Life carries on, and it’s only on milestone days you stop to think about where it’s taking you.

We got married on May first. And we privately joked that it seemed appropriate to get married on Mayday – help, help, I’m getting married!

I read through our wedding service again this morning – although I/we wrote it, I also got the vicar to send us a copy of the ceremony after he rewrote it to his own words, so I had a record of the final product – and had a browse through the photo album. And gave Tobermory his present – a book and some UK chocolate I found in the import section at the supermarket yesterday. He’s curled up in bed reading it and eating Cadbury Fingers, which is a sensible decision – the weather today is utterly foul.

We both bought wedding rings, but Tobes wasn’t sure he’d want to wear one. That was fair enough – I wanted him to own one, but I don’t think I have any right to insist someone else wears a piece of jewellery they’re not comfortable in. And yet, they’re a powerful symbol.

Here we often think about the wedding rings being perfect circles, going on and on with no end. But the rings also have a beginning. Ore is melted in a furnace at a over a thousand degrees. Metal is alloyed, poured into a mold, cooled and painstakingly polished. Something beautiful is made from raw elements.

Love can follow a similar process. It may be hard work. It comes from humble beginnings, made by imperfect beings. It’s the process of making something beautiful where there was once unrefined separation.

So as you wear these rings, don’t think of them simply as a material tie, a lock that binds you together, but as symbols of the work you have put in and will continue to put into your marriage, being worn as a sign of love and faithfulness.

Tobermory wears his ring, just about all the time. He takes it off for things like dishes, or if he’s working on a computer. Things like that. He’s gone out without it a few times, and complained that his hands feel naked. I think that might just be my happiest discovery this year.

Originally published at spinneretta.com
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Tobermory’s been in hospital this week. While I was out of town for work, he was in hospital with a gallbladder attack; this week he had his gallbladder out. Apparently I cook more when I’m stressed. Thursday was roast chicken and potatoes with orange sauce, and a loaf of bread. Friday I made sushi, and mac’n'crack for dinner. Saturday I hurt my back in my sleep, and we ate the sushi. Today I made basil rosemary parmesan bread, double chocolate chip cookies, more sushi (for lunch in the next couple of days) and whatever dinner will end up being will be made by me. Plus I need to soak some beans overnight so Ahze can make chilli tomorrow.

Tobes is home now, and not feeling great but on the mend. I am grateful.

Originally published at spinneretta.com
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One of Tobermory’s favourite songs is “Who Needs Sleep?”, by the Barenaked Ladies. It’s Monday night. It’s two or three a.m. Well, Tuesday morning more than Monday night. I am shaken awake.





“Am I asleep?!”

I blink. Twenty seconds ago, I was probably snoring.

“I don’t know. Probably.”

I go back to sleep.

It’s… later. Still dark. I am shaken awake again.

“Mahal!! Mahal!!”



I was shaken quite hard this time. It kinda hurt. Plus, I was asleep, and this was the third time I’d been woken up. The first time was an announcement of PILLOW!, which I accurately interpreted as a demand to know where his pillow had gone*. Anyway. “AM I ASLEEP???”

Yeah, probably. And until thirty seconds ago, I was also asleep, so, my dear Tobermory, kindly bog off and let me get back to it?

“Yes, love. You’re asleep.”


Who needs sleep? Well you’re never gonna get it

Who needs sleep? Tell me what’s that for…

* resolved by a rummage on the floor on my side of the bed for a spare pillow which I applied to the approximate location of his head. A fairly cheerful Thankyou! resulted, and the next morning he had no recollection of the Pillow! incident. Oh, and his own pillow showed up under the bed.

Originally published at spinneretta.com
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Tobermory and I don’t really do valentines. The day was punctuated with work, the dishwasher breaking down, and me going to an (excellent) dance class. Ran into a coworker from OldJob, too, and had a catchup – he was waiting outside the studio for a friend, so I stopped and said hi.

And, in proof that romance isn’t dead and that the universe has a sense of humour? I woke up at 3am with a hand crawling over my face. Said hand patted around a bit, found my nose, then punched me square in the conk.

Me: “brzw..mrrr what the hell was that for??”

T (sleepily, mumbling, tones of great indignation): “What’s your problem? it’s not you I’m punching!”

I stared at the ceiling for a bit, while T snuggled down and went back to sleep, reflecting that it was probably only fair. After all, my sleep flailing has so far sent my poor husband to work with concussions twice that we know of, plus sundry other bruised areas where I’ve punched or kicked him*. And also giggling, because for some reason I cannot adequately explain, it was hilarious.

Tobes rolled back over after about five minutes. The hand came sneaking back out, but this time it just wanted to cuddle.

In other news, the feline integration project is going well. Both sets of cats have been allowed to sniff at each other through a cracked doorway to Candy’s room. Candy keeps trying to escape, so I thought I’d better alert all three parties to each other, in case of any successful Houdini-style maneuvers. Boo couldn’t have cared less, provided that the provision of chicken jerky treats continued; I’m not sure if it was Tigra or Candy who hissed when they eyeballed, but subsequent interactions have only involved cautious nose-sniffings. Tigra also keeps trying to play, via the fine old-fashioned art of stuffing a paw under the door and waggling it furiously.

I think this might actually work.

* This morning my nose was a bit bloody and Tobermory was both astonished and apologetic. I am still finding it immensely amusing.

Originally published at spinneretta.com
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I'm certainly not above being a memesheep here - and, really, the last ten years have been full of changes. As you'd expect when you transition from your teens to your twenties, I suppose.

Finished high school. Spent a fairly miserable year as all my school friends were no longer at school (either being a year ahead or having chosen not to do seventh form). Graduated high school with pretty damn good grades, all things considered. Started going out with Cyclenut.

First year of university, studying business. Mum had surgery to remove an ovary. Stressed out about money. Survived.

Made the decision to switch into computing, having realised that I'd stab someone with a letter opener if I stayed in accounting. Started teaching computing.

First year of the computing degree. It was a good choice! Was mostly miserable in my home town, had no local friends (although there were one or two people who I periodically went to movies and such with, they tended to be less than wonderful). Lived for the chances I got to leave and visit Cyclenut, mostly.

Uni uni uni, work work work. Started making Internetfriends, beginning with Colitis I think. Started cycling and swimming, and running more seriously. Originally mostly due to Cyclenut's influence, I enjoyed it. Eventually ended up swimming with a tri training squad, although that may have been in 2005 now I think about it. Started working at my first helldesk role. I enjoyed that job.

One of my worst years, and yet I achieved a hell of a lot. Got Internet access at the maternal abode for the first time. The final project at uni, which was a horrible series of ups and downs and disappointments. I eventually passed, though. Spent my final semester getting burned out and doing too much. Miserable in my home town, was officially Nellie No Friends. Cyclenut and I parted ways. Met Internet friends in real life. Finally sucked it up, went to GP, diagnosed with depression. Did a Special K triathlon. Met Tobermory. Graduated. Made decision to leave childhood faith while planning to leave home. Went out with my workmates for drinks. Went to the Christmas party. Spent time with friends in Auckland and Hamilton. Rhonda the Honda died, and I was obliged to rely on shanks pony or my bike for transport.

Graduation ceremony, did the walk in the silly hats. Worked for the web-dev company, worked for EDS (worst. decision. ever.) Bought my first car. Moved to Auckland, on April Fool's day which I still think is hilarious. Officially left childhood faith. Tobermory moved to New Zealand. Purchased Spinneretta. Dyed my hair (went through a rainbow of atrocious colours, in fact). Purchased various stupidly cheap appliances off Trademe until we could afford non-shitty ones. Had first birthday. The couch attempted to eat Reiver.

Left EDS. Discovered how truly psychologically destructive that place was. Started working for my current workplace. Reconnected with Pstyken. Tobermory was hospitalised for the first time with stomach issues. Candycat moved in from the neighbour's place. Played World of Warcraft. Cooked a lot, had various work / money dramas with Tobermory's revolving contracts. Got continually sick with various lung-infection type bugs owing to shitty damp horrible flat. Survived.

My beloved Sharkie-car died. Bought the Scoobaru and Buzby. Tobermory bought a house! Moved into said house. Lots of drama related to house buying and so on. Tobermory got residency! and much rejoicing was done. Moved into house, bought furniture and various necessaries. Spent several months wondering how the hell we'd survived in the tiny flat of hell. Unoffically promoted internally as trainer of new staff, etc. Parked Buzby under an SUV in an attempt to avoid another accident. HOUSE! Had our first Christmas and New Year's parties here.

Made a lot of jam. Attempted cake decorating. We bought a lawnmower and I became the de facto lawnmower of the family. Met the Tobermory-parents for the first time. Was proposed to in front of said parents, burst into tears even though I more or less knew it was coming. Acquired the Tigra and Boomer cats from the SPCA. Thaqui moved in. Bought a piano. Promoted to team leader. Dramas with the Ford, leading to it's eventual return. Attempted gardening. Adjusted to having an entire house available instead of two very small rooms. Mum had dental surgery, during which the family suddenly realised that I was actually a grownup and capable of looking after my mother instead of the other way around.

It's funny how summing up the events doesn't really cover just how much I've changed from age sixteen to age twenty six. Still, here I am. And I'm happy.

Originally published at Spinneretta.
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It's my beloved's birthday. I threw him a surprise party, and I'm really pleased with how it went.

I only had the idea a fortnight, or perhaps three weeks ago. In that time, I managed to organise about fifteen people (admittedly illness intervened so that some couldn't turn up, but that's OK!), plot cake, do a test run of cake decoration; slip up in a hardware store and admit to my beloved that yes, one of his birthday presents was a leatherman; and trick him into cleaning the barbecue.

People had agreed to turn up between three and four yesterday. About 2:45, Psytken and Thaqui took him off to the mall to ogle, I don't know, video games and dvd's and so on. When they arrived back, nearly everyone was here; the look on his face was perfect. He'd had no idea I was arranging a proper party.

And then there was cake. Which also elicited the stunned reaction.

It really was an excellent night. A bit of a merge of friends, including one of my workmates and a friend that I've long been wanting my beloved to meet - they appeared to get along nicely, which pleased me greatly - and it was good company, good food, good friends. A wonderful night.

Happy birthday, love.

Originally published at Spinneretta.
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It is Queen's Birthday weekend, and I have managed to get all three days of it off work. Hooray!

I gave the kittens a hunk of raw beef this morning. It was absolutely adorable. There were little spats of YOU ARE EATING FOOD IN MY PERSONAL SPACE and killing Rrrrrrrrr!! noises. Tigra killed hers before eating it - the full-on toss meat in air to break it's neck, bat it about the floor, bite down HARD - all while making adorable little GROWLY noises, before she eventually ate it.

We are eating the rest of the meat in a mystery stew - I knew the age of the contents of the freezer, but not exactly what cut all the dead cow in there was. Stew seemed to be the answer.

We have been busy, the last two days. Friday night, we emptied the spa pool and took out the filter for a clean. Tobermory managed to bash his head on the framing of the crawlspace door, and gave himself a concussion so bad I insisted we go to A&E. He turned out to be fine, but the doctor did say that I was right to bring him in. So, that was Friday.

Saturday, with Pstyken and Thaqui (well, fairly obviously Thaqui owing to the fact he lives here), we scrubbed the hell out of the spa with meths, then refilled it. It's actually quite hard work, not to mention that all those alcohol fumes floating around the air aren't much fun.

Tobermory and I also managed to have a rather vicious spat (during which I was a horrible harpy, and subsequently managed to cry so hard that I've burst blood vessels under my eyes, d'oh). I should note we were both in various different ways wrong, and frankly it boils down to the usual couply issue of communication-fail. Such is life.

Today, I committed acts of violence against the front gardens. I had kitten assistance! They were shut inside while we cleaned the spa, so that they didn't decide to drink the chemicals, so of course today they went absolutely bananas outside. Boomer kept standing in the middle of the plants that I was trying to hack, leading to a couple of moments where it was chop, chop, cho-AUGH KITTEN TAIL. He is a lovely affectionate cat, which is wonderful except when he insists on Helping with Everything.

Tigra and Boomer also had several wonderful games of ... you know, I have no idea what it actually was, except it appeared to involve chasing each other up and down trees at opposite sides of the section. Presumably it made sense to them.

It has been a pleasant couple of days, either despite of because of working hard. And I intend to spend the holiday Monday sitting on my backside, doing as little as possible.

Originally published at spinneretta.com.
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It's been a weird week. Tobermory's parents got to the airport and then home to the UK safely, which is good. He and I have been wandering around vaguely putting the house to rights. I have about a billion loads of laundry to do, so of course it's been pissing down with rain.

Both of the in-laws cried as they left. I'm glad they've enjoyed their stay, and... well, I feel guilty on occasion that I'm the reason Tobermory is over here, thousands of miles away from his family and his old friends. Seeing how upset they all were at the airport... I love Tobermory. And he's happy here, more or less, but I know he hasn't really had the chance to make friends that weren't originally mine, and finding work up until he became resident was an absolute bitch. He and I are happy together, but I do sometimes wonder, with that little hateful voice from the hindbrain, if ... friends, family, all the life he had there - might not be too high a price to pay for us. He'll miss his family. Probably his father, moreso than his mother; despite, or perhaps because, they don't always get on terribly well.

It's not just his parents, I'm feeling a bit weird generally.

About a hundred women at work are pregnant, I swear I can't walk through the building without seeing yet another belly walk round corners before the body carrying it. I have, in the last year or two, discovered that I have a biological clock. And it's frankly extremely disconcerting to have your ovaries grab your brain by the stem and shake it violently going "OI, YOU. REPRODUCE, PLEASE." While I do (eventually?) want kids with Tobermory, I am sufficiently old-fashioned enough to want to share a surname first.

When I returned to work from my "meeting the inlaws" holiday, I discovered that my female colleague had finally talked her boyfriend into proposing; they're getting married in April, while they're on the trip to India so he can meet her parents. And another friend has also announced her engagement. I am sufficiently childish to carry a strain of "Wah, I got engaged first!! why are you getting married first???" (Not that I'm not pleased for them, I am! But the hindbrain is stupid and childish at times, as well as hateful.)

The whole topic of weddings is such a minefield that I am highly tempted to elope* simply to escape drama. I know, as a fact, that Tobermory's dad and my Mum in the same room would be cause for large scale drama, and ... I just don't want to go there. It's not purely a selfish desire to escape, either, I don't want to expose my mother to that if I can avoid it. And, well, Mum's been dropping hints that she wouldn't mind me eloping for as long as Tobermory and I have been living together, so I doubt she'd mind overmuch.

The answer seems to be a registrar's office, then a party in each country**, but, well, I'm girly enough to kind of want the pretty dress and some nice photos for memorabilia purposes.

Whatever we do, the 'typical' shindig is right out. Amongst other things, my extended family would refuse to attend my wedding; in my own country, within travelling distance of all of them, and I'd rather not be reminded of that fact. And, frankly, I don't have a terribly large number of friends, and it just seems stupid to put on a show for all of two dozen people. I suspect that my family would attend a celebration of some sort if we were already married, and celebrating that fact. The distinction is small, but it's there. I miss my family. I'd like them to meet Tobes, I suspect he'd like my maternal uncle in particular.

Any time I think it over, I run up against eloping as the fairest option, not to mention the cheapest and easiest. I have yet to convince Tobermory of this. Yes, people on both sides of the family and in both countries will piss and moan, or be upset they missed out - and I genuinely like Tobermory's mum, and don't want to hurt her - but eloping leaves everyone modestly unhappy, Tobermory and I as happy as possible under the circumstances, and nobody actively offended.

And hey, any excuse for a party, right?

* I suspect I may have inadvertently communicated this desire to Tobermory's mum - she is far too lovely and easy to talk to - and one of her parting instructions at the airport was that I'm allowed to be as sneaky and low-key about getting hitched as I like, but don't DARE to get married without inviting her.
** This would also have the advantage of Tobermory's mum being able to have an Event, which I suspect she would appreciate.

Originally published at spinneretta.com.
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Feb. 21st, 2009 11:07 pm
emsk: (Default)

It is not a new piano. It hails from 1956, in fact, assuming that the information I have on it is correct. It is a lovely piano - it's showing its' age here and there, but it has a warm tone. I found it in a local music store, sat down, felt upset when I realised I could no longer play anything from memory but plonked vaguely a bit, gawked at the price (incredibly reasonable, included free delivery and tuning), rang Tobermory and begged. He agreed that the price was reasonable*, and told me to go for it.

The store were quite surprised. I'd told them I'd have to run the purchase past my beloved; I don't think they expected me to arrive again fifteen minutes later cheerily waving my Eftpos card and demanding the exchange of funds for piano.

It appears that in the nearly three years I've been piano-less, I've not forgotten how to play. I am, somewhat worryingly, finding sight-reading difficult; I don't have my automatic "that written like that means my fingers do This" as thoroughly as I'd wish, particularly when my hands are dropping into the opposite clef. Still, practice will return that skill to me. I'm going to have to go through scales and drills again. Which I'm sure I won't enjoy, but they will be of benefit. There are little weird things I can't do right now, as I've not needed the flexibility in any other application of my hands.

Still, quibbling aside, my fingers remember what playing is like. They are rather sore right now, I suspect I've played for two hours? maybe more? since it arrived about 4.30 today.

I found moving back to a computer keyboard odd. Couldn't touch-type, had to play the old hunt'n'peck game for a couple of minutes until my fingers adjusted brain inputs again.

I knew I'd missed having a piano. But not how much. The ability to turn dry notes, dusty pages, wood and ivory, into coherent sound, into art or noise or emotion... I have missed that so much. For so many years, music was my hobby, my emotive outlet, my stress release, and I poured my soul into it. Reality dictated that living in the tinyflat, I couldn't have a piano, and I accepted that. But I missed it.

I'm heart glad to have a piano again. I can't think of a better way to put it.

* aka: realised that there may be tears if he said no

Originally published at spinneretta.com.
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emsk: (Default)

Last night, boy was sleeping on the couch.

3am, I walked out into the lounge, because a) bed cold b) thirsty.

I was greeted by a bloodcurdling violent roar from Boy, mid-launching himself off the couch to attack, because he woke up convinced I was an intruder. (Or a ghost. He is not entirely sure about this, as he’d been having bad dreams about ghosts as my pale form wandered out…)

Thus, a few frantic seconds of “nonono, T, it’s me, T, it’s OK, it’s OK, it’s me.”

Hooray for being female and thus verbally quick – because otherwise, he and I are both reasonably certain I’d’ve been bodychecked in whichever direction was easiest. This would most likely have been into / out of the lounge window.

This would be sub-optimal.

I have a sneaking suspicion that the neighbours thought I was attempting to kill the lad, but fortunately no-one intervened.

In good news, the Sharkie car failed her warrant of fitness. Not with the over-one-thousand-dollars worth of engine work I’d expected – but with a blown park lightbulb, requiring only that the light fitting be removed for said lightbulb replacement.

I am thus OVERJOYED and THRILLED and HOORAH. The Sharkie is roadworthy and legal once more!

Originally published at kiwi geek. You can comment here or there.


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