Reading me to sleep.

Almost every night, I ask/hassle/manipulate Hell Boy into reading to me as I fall asleep.

And I'm wicked enough to expect him to read to me from books of my choosing rather than his.
Not that I don't like his material, but my final thought at night is better off not being Charles Bukowski practising to be a bum.
That's a day time thought.

I suspect that I fall asleep during the 2nd or 3rd paragraph, but he tells me that he reads 2 pages, no matter what.
I have woken up and roused on him before for not reading to me, just as he's turning his light out after completing the task. TWSS

In just the last few months, poor ole Hell Boy has read to me from the following texts:

• 20,000Leagues Under the Sea - Jules Verne ( he liked that)
  
• Mary Poppins - P.L. Travers (he hated it)
  
• Secret Lives of Great Authors - Robert Schnakenberg
  
• Around the World in Eighty days - Jules Verne
  
• Howl's Moving Castle -Dianna Wynne Jones ( he liked that)
  
• The Lucy Family Alphabet - Judith Lucy (he liked that but won't admit it - he read more than 2 pages and I suspect he finished the chapter silently)
  
• In His Own Write - John Lennon (he liked that)
  
• The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett
• The Wise Woman - Phillippa Gregory
• What Katy Did - Susan Coolidge ( he hated it)
  
• Rebecca - Daphne Du Maurier
• A Life - Woody Guthrie - Jow Klein
• Slaughter-House Five - Kurt Vonnegut ( one of his faves - no problem there)
  
• Rosemary's Baby - Ira Levin ( he liked that)
  
• Romulus My Father - Raimond Gaiter
• When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit - Judith Kerr
  
• any number of John Marsden books (hated them)
  
• and most recently, Snugglepot and Cuddlepie - May Gibbs (he's really hating it)
  

Additionally, we listened to 6 CD's of Jane Austen novels whilst driving down and then up the south coast on our holiday recently.
His idea.
Sense and Sensibilty and then Persuasion.

Poor, poor man.

For someone who hates anything without the gritty immediacy of Bukowski or the quirkiness of Vonnegut, I have really been punishing him.

This is made far worse when you consider that he reads aloud to classes during the day - usually having to project his voice to kids who haven't read anything since Little Golden books and who never have any intention of doing so.
Having spent the last 13 years of my own work constantly speaking, I know that there are some days you just don't want to utter another syllable.

The other night as I plonked my book on his chest, he groaned and told me that he didn't think he could because that Year 10 class had taken it out of him - he'd read aloud to them for 2 sessions.
Naturally I suggested that he go back and tell this Year 10 that they were to have 2 pages less per session so that he would be OK to deal with me in the evenings. TWSS

I will be doing a nice afternoon tea for them at the end of the term if they comply with my wishes....

I'm thinking orange poppy seed cake, maybe lemon and sour cream cake and perhaps fairy cakes, just so I can see how many of these tough guys will eat them. That's what...ahh you know.

Exposing ourselves.

The concept of a common experience is self-deluded rubbish.

Kinda like, well, you know, even playing fields, religion and the promotion of dairy as a health alternative.

And I know all this because, once again I spent the day out and about with my boys.

First up, I had to drop in on the quilting lady and organise Clair's sampler quilt to be done for her birthday.

Plus I had to ask her all about the quilting of Dad's yellow circley prick quilt.
Fantastic news there, she can quilt the first verse of Wordsworth's daffodil poem onto it, thus saving me from a thousand expletives and perhaps 4 weeks of grief.
I hate stitcheries, and I don't care who knows it.

I also have the green light to go ahead and make my Aboriginal hexagon quilt as big as I please as it doesn't need to be custom quilted at all and therefore won't cost me $400. Phew.
So, maybe I will go on to make it the shape of Australia after all.
Creative extravagance or lunacy?

And, as my uncle had safely delivered her babies some years ago, and because I was kind enough to drop her daughter's shoes at a friend's place on the way home, she even booked Dad's quilt in before I've actually finished it.
Unheard of.
And she gave me a break on the price too.

So, it seems that I am now officially a member of the quilting community.

Anyway, I was inside with Quilting Lady (and rushing) but also talking sewing and cuddling her cat, and the boys were outside dying from heat exposure, cursing my nimble fingers.

Poor Hell Boy is sick again, which is extremely unusual for him.
The heat did him no good at all.
He looked kinda frayed and wilted when I came out, which I'm sorry for, but I emerged with the weight of the world off my shoulders.

Anyway, common activity, widely varying experience.

Next stop, Rouse Hill shopping centre food hall.

Food halls are pretty close to the way I picture Hell.
Hell would have more Roosters jerseys.
There was only one there today, but it was stinking up the joint anyways.

Seriously, the very sight of those rags makes me start spitting.
Hell Boy's somewhat worse than me, but today I noticed that even calm, loping Yoga Boy was heard to mutter "cunt" or similar, under his breath.
It certainy wasn't "ohm", I'm sure of that.

Has he finally seen the light? Or have we worn him down to a nub and conditioned him like Pavlov's dog?

We split up to select our lunch and when we met back at the table, I had to laugh at the highly illuminating selections we had each made.

Mine was brown bread with avocado, turkey, cranberry, spinach leaves and cucumber. No butter.
And water.
No nonsense, make it snappy.

Hell Boy opted for piping hot Asian prawn soup in a bid to really get his fever happening, and Yoga Boy returned with a Quarter Pounder.
He immediately proceeded to scrape off the pickles and the onions, rather like a flavour-phobic 4 year old, or an average Australian adult. Same diff.

Then he remembered that he doesn't like McDonald's chips, threw them away and purchased another burger, again without asking them to leave out either of the dreaded flavoursome items.

Our final stop was Border's of course.
And coffee.

We each purchased a book, and I believe that the titles could easily be used to sum each of us up successfully.

I'm not shy, I'll go first.

Mine was the very first book I grabbed off the bargain table for $9.95.
A fine display of my inclination (and talent) for making a snap decision and sticking to it.
I like that about me.

Simone's choice = Toilets of the World.
256 pages.

I like it because it has a picture of a female urinal device that allows you to pee standing up like a man.
I would like to pee like a man.
Squatting places you at such a disadvantage.
Besides, it would be handy for road trips and doctor's visits.

Yoga Boy's choice = The Compass of Zen.

Looks sensible, seems to be about spiritual paths, yet promises, "an often hilarious presentation" of Buddhist traditions and teachings.
I confess I've never married Buddhism and hilarity in a sentence before today.
Hmm, I don't think I'll borrow that one.

Hell Boy's choice = The Grizzly Maze.

An in depth account of Timothy Treadwell's fatal obsession with Alaskan bears, and his descent into madness as he lived (and died) with them.

Oh, and Jeff also purchased a copy of Juxtapoz magazine because he liked the picture of the tattooed goat.
Fair enough too.

So, there you have it.
Three closely connected people with similar values, identical voting preferences and exactly the same address, exposing themselves through choices as simple as literature and lunch.

No butter.







PS I think this may be my fourth blog in a row featuring urine.
Go figure.

Lunch mit Bonnie.

I had the best mid-week lunch I've had in years on Tuesday.
And it wasn't because of the cabbage, brown rice or that "naturopathically measured" splash of flaxseed oil either.
Probably it was despite all that, if I'm truthful.

Also it was despite that table of swearing old bigots sitting not quite far enough away.

Isn't it incredible how much shorter than usual half an hour is when you're in good company?
I know I've endured bad company before and I've honestly considered which limb I would sacrifice as a trade if it would speed up the passage of time.

Theirs.

No brainer.
And don't judge that comment too harshly... it would give them something semi-interesting to discuss for a while.
Win win.

So, lunch with Bonnie was a delightful break from the norm.
Not that Merrylands has a norm as such.

Incidentally, I've never met anyone as naturally talented as Bonnie at matching a book to a person. Or is it the other way around?
I'll have to remember to ask her that.
Perhaps she's unaware of her talent in this area, thus making it all the more zen.

When I think back, I believe her first words to me may have been something like, "You would like this..." as she handed me a book I'd just completed a day earlier.
I'd loved it. Geraldine Brooks, I think. Something about the plague.
I like the plague.

So, as we headed out into the sunshine, she told me about a book she'd just started called Still Waters, and that she wasn't particularly enjoying it. It's about a woman who dislikes the experience of motherhood and her loss of identity so much that she kills her children.
Sounds out of bounds.
Why not? She's always been right before.
Yes, I'll put it on my pile.
Right under Reading Lolita in Tehran and Factotum.

Well, I opened it on Tuesday night, planning to judge the entire contents not by the cover, but by the first sentence. I'll even give some books until the end of the first paragraph if I'm feeling reasonable.
Well, I finished it instead of watching State of Origin football tonight. Which is pretty good considering that today is only Wednesday.
So, it's not under the Lolita or Bukowski pile at all. It's back in my handbag so that I can return it tomorrow.

I don't know what I liked about it so much.
Just that the concept of honesty fascinates me, especially the idea of a person being honest with themselves. To be able to identify with someone in such a warped state of mind is an unpleasantly strange feeling.
It wasn't a nice book. It wasn't even a great book. But it was certainly compelling.

Nice one Bon. Hope you like Evelina. ;O)

BTW, my two favourite first sentences are from:-

1) Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
2) Confessions of a Dangerous Mind - Chuck Barris

But I'll blog about them later.