25 February 2010

End of (Tennant's) Time

The other night I sadly watched the last David Tennant Dr Who episode.

No, I don't mean sad in the sense of it being sad that I actually watch Dr Who (hubby's opinion!). It was sad because I absolutely think David Tennant has been the best Dr I've seen and I'm sad to see him go.

I used to watch repeats of the old series of the show as a kid and have always been a bit of a closet Dr Who nerd. That closet door became ajar when the new series began and was flung open when the Doctor regenerated into David Tennant. Now the Doctor had remained his usual intelligent self, but had also become quirky and extremely easy on the eye! In the all series that followed, I watched every episode, happily losing myself in the fantasy.

Then, sometime last year (not sure when - I've blocked it out of my mind), the terrible news was announced: David Tennant was leaving the show. A communal pained cry swept the world (well, the Dr Who and David Tennant Facebook fan pages at least), as devoted fans contemplated a Davidless Dr Who.

It was the end of an era: no more stripy suits (sounds like pyjamas when described that way, but he managed to pull it off); no more thick-framed glasses when he was thinking which still looked sexy; no more "I make being a genius cool"; no more pining for his Rose; no more pretty-boy hair...

The next thought which immediately came to mind was, who would the next Doctor be? Who would be brave (or stupid) enough to attempt to fill the running shoes of the Doctor we had grown to love?

The final episode was, I think, as good an ending as we could have expected. It gave the Doctor the dignity of dying to save another. It let us visit our favourite Tennant companions one last time. It also briefly introduced us to the new Doctor: young, chatty and not nearly as good-looking.

I will watch the next series, perhaps more out of curiosity than anything else. How the new guy measures up will be revealed in "time". You never know, I might like him ... or I might just step back into that closet.

22 February 2010

Time, Home, Stuff

I honestly (naively) thought that with MissyMoo1 (3) at pre-school one day each week, I would have some extra time to play with MissyMoo2 (8 months), do housework and have some me-time for writing.

Cut to her fourth week at pre-school and I'm noticing a pattern emerging. Well, it is not so much a pattern as a realisation of the fluid nature of "time" (and no, this is not because I watched Dr Who last night. If I have 'time' I"ll devote an entire blog post to that one.)

What I have noticed is that the more free time I think I'll have, the more I try to fit into it and the more frazzled I become.

Take this morning for example. Pre-school day is now grocery shopping day, as it's much easier with just one of the MissyMoos. After doing that, I didn't get home until after 11. Then, after putting it all away, doing more washing, eating, general tidying up, I find myself here, finally, at the computer at 1.47pm. And this is only possible because MissyMoo2 has been asleep since we got home from the supermarket. So much for one-on-one time there. I might have to wake her up if she doesn't wake soon so she can have some "lunch" before we have to head out again. In about an hour we'll go and get MissyMoo1 from pre-school and that's the end of my "break".

Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining. At least these days I have "me time" occasionally. It was a luxury I couldn't afford when I worked full-time when MissyMoo1 was little. Mind you, I could afford cool stuff instead, like fancy shoes!

No, seriously, I'd much prefer my 'me time' and my kiddy time to fancy shoes. I guess I just pictured more 'sitting around with a cuppa' scenes on pre-school days. But then, nobody ever fantasises about vacuuming ... well, I certainly don't.

Maybe it just all comes back to the ironing thing. I'd have heaps less to do if I returned to being a folder/hanger person. But then, I would deprive myself of the pleasure of making the clothes so smoooooooth.

Time to go and stack the dishwasher before MissyMoo2 wakes up!

Cheers,
bye bye.
F.

10 February 2010

Front Yard Gum

Tall gum tree I see, your gangly limbs stretch on up to the sky.
You just exist, no need to think or ponder how and why.
From time to time you shed your bark; on my front lawn it lands.
Your leaves sway 'round and sometimes fall, just as the wind commands.
The hole in your trunk is where rainbow lorikeets live and lay their eggs.
Your sturdy branches are a welcome place for galahs to rest their legs.
One day I will leave this place behind but here you will remain,
Bringing that bit of bush to another suburban family's life again.

03 February 2010

Remembering Pat

An elderly friend of mine recently passed away and today was her funeral.

She was a lovely person. She was in charge of the church choir I sang in as a uni student. She was warm and welcoming, and always made me feel comfortable even though I was the youngest in the group by almost 40 years. I moved away after finishing uni and so left the choir. She and the rest of the choir sang at my wedding but in the past five years I only saw her a few times when I went back to visit. She always greeted me with a hug, a kiss and a big smile.

This morning was her funeral and the choir got back together to sing for her one last time.

The first thing I noticed when I arrived this morning was the number of people there: the church was full. It was as I had expected. She had so many friends as well as children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren all there.

When I got there the others had saved me my old spot up the front near the microphone. It felt so familiar but two things were very different: Pat wasn't there and my MissyMoos were.

I didn't really have a chance to take things in and reflect at the time because I was too preoccupied with keeping the girls from acting up in the hot church. Adding to my anxiousness was the thought that the mic might pick up every little whinge or grizzle. There were a few of those and, of course, MissyMoo1 just had to go to the toilet in the middle of the service.

A bit later on in the day, I got a chance to sit and remember. I read the order of ceremonies booklet (which has seen better days, as MissyMoo2 adopted it as her new toy during the service and slobbered all over it - the teething rings I brought with us weren't nearly as interesting) and got a bit sad.

It might sound a little morbid, but then I got to thinking about how I want to be remembered. I figure, if at the end of my time here I'm loved by family and friends, remembered fondly and can come close to filling a church, I'll have done well.

I'll miss you, Pat, but I know you're in a better place.

xx
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