My husband has a strange obsession with the weather. Not the actual outdoor weather but the weather online, he loves to check the weather on the computer – I think the Bureau of Meteorology is his firm favourite but it is certainly not his only source.  He has also  tuned our Foxtel Weather Channel (yes there is such a thing) to our suburb so that we get accurate weather report for the conditions just above our heads.

This obsession with weather watching has caused a fair few minor arguments for instance there was the time that he was going to sand the deck.  In order to sand the deck you need pristine weather conditions. Every day I would look up at the very blue sky and suggest today might be a good day. Mr Pencil would retreat indoors check the weather online and say “sorry no can do today, there is rain forecast”

“But it is 32 degreees and there is not a single cloud in the sky” I would protest.

“NO, the Bureau of Meteorology says that it may rain”

And on this went for weeks until it did eventually rain because if you wait long enough it will always rain.

Our deck remained unsanded.

He has cancelled outings, rearranged holidays and planned parties according to  conditions that he has read on some weather chart. I often laugh at him while pointing to the sky or the fact that we can go outside and actually FEEL the temperature.

And then last week I woke up really early. I was getting ready to take the dog for a walk and as I reached for my jumper I thought I would check the weather on my phone. I am still unsure why I felt this urge.  Really, it is not something I have ever done before in the morning and I always wake up early to take the dog for a walk.  Maybe after 20  years of marriage my husband had rubbed off on me as I slept. I checked the weather and it said 27 degrees.
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I was a bit sad that I could not wear the jumper I had planned on and I did think for a second how strange it was that winter was over so quickly and I hadn’t worn that jumper nearly enough.

I went for a walk and froze but reckoned that it was early and we would reach 27 later in the day.

When my son couldn’t locate his jumper I told him not to worry – surely he would not need his jumper on such a warm day.

At lunchtime when I left the office to get some food from across the road I commented on the fact that it was raining and freezing. I felt icy inside and out (the memory of me telling my son not to bother taking a jumper was making even my soul freeze) .

How could this online weather have got it SO wrong? Seriously it was freezing cold and teeming with rain. The phone had clearly said it would be clear and sunny. 27 degrees it had promised.

I checked again. Indeed it was 27 degrees in Los Angeles.  In Sydney however it was 11 and raining both in real life and on my phone.

Pity I had forgotten to check  that tiny detail called location.

There are some people who love the city. I’m not one if then. I’m not sure why I didn’t think about this today when I toddled off to the city for some retail therapy.

I was quite excited to have a morning to myself. Delighted in fact. I thought I would go to the city and suddenly I’d be transformed into the Westfield poster girl. I’d be tall and thin with legs stretched by the most adept photoshopper and I’d stride purposefully through the shops designer bags swinging by my sides. Yes. I am an advertisers wet dream.

I drove there. First mistake. I think that the Westfield poster girl gets dropped at the centre by a driver who actually knows the way there. I, on the other hand, got myself to somewhere in the vicinity of the parking stopped halfway through an intersection and phoned my husband to ask for his help. The conversation was very difficult, not only because he was having his hair cut at the time but also because I was trying to slide down the seat and pretend that my huge 4 wheel drive was not nestled amongst the pedestrians on George street.

Eventually I found the parking and had to spiral down to the centre of the earth to find an actual spot. I retained my cool. If cool means a hand clenched on the steering wheel and rising panic expressed as hiccups.

My second mistake was to go to the city on a very busy Saturday morning when the rest of Sydney had made the same decision. I realised as I battled my through a horde of spectators who were watching a busker play air guitar really badly that I don’t particularly like people en masse. I mean I like my friends and my family (most of them anyway) and I even meet strangers that I don’t recoil from. But in crowds, I do not like them.

My intention was to go to Zara. This was my third mistake. I expected Zara to be an elegant shopping mecca where all the clothes would not only suit me, but fit me perfectly and fall within my budget. I expected to come out of there overflowing with shopping bags a la Westfield model. Instead I came out clutching my chest and looking for air. There was no air – just throngs of people watching buskers.

The simple answer of the query is getting some alternative of the problem viagra cost in canada and it can be a toilet tool which will offer proper way to sit on toilet. They have to be consumed using a soluble – preferably water – and order free viagra once they are consumed by the body they expand the blood vessels in the genitals and provide them with a gush in the direction of the penis safely. In some cases, ejaculation occurs before even donssite.com cheap viagra entering the vagina. They levitra generic usa donssite.com often lack self-confidence (though some may overcompensate by acting egoistically). And if you don’t like crowds let this be my warning to you – Do not go shopping at Zara. At least not yet. They have literally hundreds of people in that store all throwing the clothes into huge piles on the shelves. They seem to have also employed a number of staff members to stand in open spots so that you cannot walk through the store. Not an ideal sales technique but very good for irritating claustrophobic shoppers.

As I walked away from Zara dazed, confused and with not a single dollar spent I made my way to find the Metalicus store only to find that Westfield have come up with a brilliant new shopping directory, they only show you the names of the three most popular shops on their information board. Needless to say Metalicus is not one of their most popular shops. The reason it is not one of the most popular shops may well be because it is hidden very well. But I found it. I also found that the staff in the shop did not want to sell me anything. I think it may be because they like their merchandise so much they don’t want to part with it. But I soldiered on and found myself a tank top that I loved. It looked vaguely familiar but I thought that was just because I had imagined in my mind’s eye the perfect top to wear under almost anything and now I had manifested it in my head.

I went to the change room to try it on and it was only there that I realised the top that I was taking off to try on the new one was in fact the exact same garment as the one in my hand! I blushed, thanked my lucky stars that no-one had made eye contact with me and left.

I battled my way through more people, lots of prams, loud people urging me to sign petitions, small children crying, noisy people shopping, messy people eating, lonely people reading, angry people fighting, greedy people shoving.

What felt like 5 long days later (but was in fact only just over an hour) I returned to my car, paid the equivalent of a day’s salary to get out of the parking and drove around the city for ages looking for the way home.

There really is no place like home. Everything is where it’s meant to be, there are only three people there most of the time, the pace is a whole lot more manageable, the air is easier to breathe and while I know that I can’t be the Westfield model I can still shop online.

My husband sometime lovingly refers to me as “his grandfather’s axe”.  The first couple of times that he did this I thought he was rather insane, perhaps a little delusional after all I I know I’m sharp but I always thought I was more pencil than axe.

But the thing is I wasn’t always a pencil and the story of the grandfather’s axe is quite beautiful

There was a man who inherited an axe from his father – he loved the axe dearly (as he had loved his father) and he looked after the axe lovingly and with care but time passed and the blade started to lose its keen edge and then little chinks appeared on the edge of the blade.  So the man had the blade replaced and continued to cherish his father’s beautiful axe.

When this man died he left his prized axe to his son who cared for the axe just as carefully as his father had but the axe was old and the handle  eventually broke, so the son replaced the handle and continued to cherish his father’s beautiful axe.

And when he died he passed on his grandfather’s axe to his son… but was it even the same axe? In essence no – no part of it was the grandfather’s “actual” axe but in spirit is was the very same axe his grandfather had loved.

So I am Mr Pencil’s axe – a rather different person to the one that I was when we married which is understandable really given that we have been married like forever.  But I have really changed and I am lucky enough to see it and appreciate it.

The life I am living now is eons away from the lives I have led previously and I don’t say that in an esoteric, “I have been reincarnated” kind of way I mean simply that the day to day of my life is as completely different from how it was 20 years ago or even 2 years ago.

These lives that I refer to aren’t even the childhood versions of me – it is the adult me who has had her handle chopped off and her blade replaced.  Not just once.

So I am taking this opportunity to write to my old life …just the one before this one

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I know that you come and read my blog from time to time and as I am not sure where else to find you hanging around these days, I though I’d write you a letter. As you do.

You see Old Life, I’ve been dying to tell you what’s been going on although I am sure you wont believe it.  I also want you to know that it got better.  A lot better.  And aside from a few of the lessons that you taught me I don’t miss you a lot.  In fact I don’t think that I miss you at all.

You know I work in the most amazing job don’t you? I get to be creative and I get to write and I work with the most awesome people Every. Single. Day. You remember that girl crush I had on Mia Freedman ? – ha, I get to see her every day and not only do I work with her, but I count her as a good friend.  Bet you never thought that would happen. In fact I can see you screwing up your face in disbelief.

And I laugh at that. In fact I laugh a lot, just in general.

I remember sitting with you and trying to find the perfect job, writing lists of wishes and dreams and pros and cons.  Chasing the very wrong people to try and find validation in work that would never fulfill me.  That ultimately would not validate me.  And I remember you telling  me that I should stick with that job, that it was going to be the only one I could do.

You remember that commitment issue I had and how the thought of having to be somewhere every day would kill me?  I laugh at that too.  In fact until I had to tell you about it, I hadn’t given it any thought. I don’t sit at home so much anymore.

You know how you once tried to make me believe that what we had was as good as it got? That things were infinitely better than the other lives that came before you? You were right – they were way better then they were before, but not nearly as good as they are now.

And I couldn’t be happier

I knew last week was going to be hard

Mamamia 3.0 had just gone live and there was lot of behind the scenes scurrying and hard work involved.  I hadn’t had much sleep because of said site going live and my extreme control freakishness.

It was still school holidays and although I had Little Pencil booked into a camp that he was thrilled about going to there was a lot of juggling required to get him there on time and of course to make sure he got home.

There was going to be two nights of Passover.  While we are not religious at all (and that is a post for another day) we are traditional so we were having two nights of HUGE dinners with insane amounts of people.  I was having the second night at my house, there were more than 20 people coming for dinner and I was working that day. 

So I organized myself.  Lifts were arranged for Little Pencil, work was on track and I was going to spend the whole weekend shopping, cooking and preparing so that I could come home from work on Tuesday and seamlessly entertain 23  people for dinner.

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My mother-in-law’s partner, a gentle and wonderful man who had been partner to my mother in law for ten very happy years died suddenly. He was 89.

Saturday was spent at my mother-in-law, consoling her, preparing tea and cake for the hundreds of people who came through her door to pay their respects.  I  momentarily thought about how I was going to manage catering for 23 people on the Tuesday night but it was not top of mind.  And when it worried me I thought I would cook on Sunday.

On Saturday night the phone rang again.  My friend’s mother had ended a hideous struggle with a devastating disease.

So I never got to cook much, I never got to go to work much either but I spent time with my family. I sat with my friend whose mother had died and I didn’t worry about how I was going to organize everything.

It was a sad week. A hard week.  A week that taught me that at the end of the day it’s not work or dinner parties or school holiday activities that are important.  It’s family and good friends – they make the difference between  life and death.