Another little ramble in verse


deep in the dark they are gathered
around the flickering light
for now is the time of watching
in the depths of the quiet night

slowly the shapes they gathered
and across their faces they flew
now the ears they were listening
to the song of the old, and the new

quietly I stalk up behind them
and yell, with my face turning red
pick up your clothes – turn off the tv
it’s a school night, and it’s time for bed!

© C Woolley 9/5/2013

Food Rant Diversion to Reality

I was going to have a rant about food – the fact that I’m eating it constantly even though I’m not hungry, how my eating is out of control, how I don’t know what to do, blah, blah, blah. 

Then I thought, SHUT UP! 

 D2 asked me to cut her hair again, so I did, and it turned out quite well. 

ImageI coloured my hair with Indigo, and by tomorrow my silvery grey hair will have turned purple. 

I played games on the computer,

It was a beautiful day, mild & warm, and I pottered a bit in the garden,

ImageI uploaded some photos from yesterday.


I friend messaged me and we made a lunch date for tomorrow.

In short, I enjoyed myself.

So, no whining from me today.

thanks for listening.


The Handless Imps

I’m worried about the Imps.

How do they manage? I know they are here by the evidence, or lack thereof, that they leave behind. Lately, I lay awake in the night and hear their soft pitter patter down the hall, their nightly trek to the danger zone, and their self-satisfied retreat afterwards, but I still just don’t understand how they do it. How do the Imps, who apparently have no hands, manage to feed themselves?

No hands, you ask, how do you come to that conclusion? Well, it’s got something to do with the dirty dishes that mysteriously materialise overnight. Before I go to bed each night I wash and stack the dishes neatly on the sink, and yet each morning I rise to find more, so, therefore, it must be the Handless Imps.  My thinking is thus, dirty dishes not washed or stacked = no hands to do it with, therefore Handless Imps. Pretty straightforward thought process there, I think you will agree.

I know I shouldn’t worry, they are obviously capable of scavenging without hands, maybe they have adapted their feet or teeth or elbows….. but I’m just wondering what will happen when the Handless Imps meet the Itwasntme’s and the Ididntdoit’s … but that’s another story.

My Secret Vice is Neat Freakiness – or why I have to sweep the floor when my Mother phones!

I don’t really know when I became a “neat freak” (to save my fingers I’m just going to type NF).  Perhaps it was at a time that other areas of my life were not “neat”, or maybe it was just something that gradually evolved. All I know is that it brings a deep satisfaction to me if things are “neat”, ordered, organised, tidy, nicely structured, neat,neat,neat.  My NFedness helps me when things are a bit out of control in other areas, it lets me find stress-relief through tidying the pantry, auditing the cupboards, straightening the bookshelf and just generally having a NF moment or two.

I know I didn’t inherit it from my MOAA (mother of advanced age), as my MOAA is a “Clean Freak”, or CF – (I love you Mum!).  This is a woman who cleans all her windows each week, (I only do mine about once a year, and then under protest).  Her house is always spotlessly clean because she vacuums, washes floors, sweeps, a lot, actually I think she does it twice a week, well all the time really, whereas I can go a whole fortnight without vacuuming or dusting, as long as I can stave off the “guilt”.

Guilt catches me when MOAA rings and I find myself not able to just sit down and have a conversation on the phone with her, NO, I have to sweep the house, dust and tidy whilst I do, (I’ve never told her I do this, so it may come as a bit of a surprise to her).  I do feel this compulsion is extremely pavlovian in nature – phone rings = MOAA = must clean everything!

However, MOAA is not a NF, tidy – yes, CF – definitely, NF – no.  Point of illustration:  MOAA cupboards are little treasure troves of STUFF, a million jugs (I really do love you Mum), plates, bowls, glasses, etc, etc. (well, I guess she has had a lot of years to collect!), and I just can’t bear to look at her computer desk drawers because my hands start to itch like crazy with the need to ditch STUFF.  In my house every cupboard is regularly cleaned out in a frenzy of NF mode, and just about anything that is not nailed down is likely to get tossed into the Op Shop bin. I really struggle sometimes, and I mean this literally and truthfully,  to not throw out the furniture because I want to neaten things up!  To pander to my NF angst, I have to re-arrange my furniture quite regularly, or else I just get really NF looney.  I’ve always had this idea that there is a “right” place for things, so I just have to move everything until I find it.

Hanging the washing on the line is another NF test.  Items must be strung on the line so that they fit nicely on each section – I know, I know – none of this hang a bit here, turn the line, hang another bit.  If they don’t fit I have to re-arrange them until they do, very bad to have those gaps, gosh, the world might fall to it’s knees in shock!  (At least I don’t colour code the pegs, yet!)

Groceries are another example, although this just may be commonsense, I stack them on the checkout counter in a certain way, so that when they get packed like items are together.  I hate it when they just shove things in any which way, who taught these kids how to pack?  No-one me thinks.  When I get home I can’t have lunch or coffee until everything is put away, because NF demands that the kitchen bench be neat and clutter free.

Doors – the toilet doors must be shut at all times, loo lids down (this is because I read somewhere that it is good Feng Shui, and keeps money in your house), have to say it seems to be working.  plus, it’s good for keeping the germs away. 🙂

Now, from reading all this you might think I have some OCD issues, but it is not so, it is just pure NF.  As I have got older it has actually got much, much better.  For example, I can now leave a small piece of paper on the floor and walk past it without having to “pick it up this instant”, there has been a wrench sitting on my cupboard (that I need to fix the treadmill), and it has been sitting there for 4 days, THIS IS A MAJOR BREAKTHROUGH.  A few years ago, not only would I have fixed the treadmill immediately it had a problem, but I would have had to clean everything up, put everything away, etc, etc, before I could do anything else.

Funny thing is, I am a bit perplexed as to why my NF tendencies are abating.  Will I turn into a shambolic slob, will my house be overrun with stuff, will some dormant hoarding gene engulf me with the urge to stockpile useless bits of paper, a dozen towels, or rubber frogs?  It’s worrying times!

thanks for listening

Weekend Sleep-In

I love a weekend sleep-in
there’s no sound of an alarm
to shatter pleasant dreams
and so I wake in peaceful calm.

I love a weekend sleep-in
when I’m snuggled in my bed
all wrapped up in the doona
with no worries in my head.

I love a weekend sleep-in
to wake up all refreshed
with time to sip my coffee
and no rushing to get dressed.

I love a weekend sleep-in
when you can hear the sounds
of nature as it wakens up
in this valley, echoing around.

at 5am the sound of trucks
that rumble down the road
the next door neighbours’ rooster
as it crows and crows and crows
the yowling of the fighting cats
and all the dogs that bark and yap
the revving of a car somewhere
and then a slam as they shut the door.

I’d love a weekend sleep-in
it’s my dearest fantasy
I’d love a weekend sleep-in
but alas, it’s not for me.

© C Woolley 22/3/2014

The Ginger Jar

It wasn’t where I left it,
I’d looked on every shelf,
“I would swear, I left it there”
I muttered to myself.

It wasn’t in the cupboard,
I only found a sock,
it wasn’t in the garden
buried underneath the rocks.

I looked under the table,
but I couldn’t see it there,
I even took the cushions off
each and every chair.

“Where could you be?”, I said to me
– it didn’t answer back,
and just “because”, I had a look
inside the old spice rack.

It was nestled at the bottom
of the musty ginger jar,
I tipped it out, then dropped it,
but it didn’t roll too far.

I picked it up and held it,
and told it what I thought,
that I’d be lost without it
and my day be without worth.

I twisted it and pushed it,
put it back where it belonged,
for a day without some humour
just makes my day too long.

© C Woolley 9/5/2013