I cut the wrong end off the front door. Don’t laugh! It’s easier to do than you might think.
I was trying to stop the wooden screen door scraping on the front step.
I tried other remedies first. A couple of months ago, I took the door off its hinges and carefully planed the bottom edge. I felt like a true carpenter.
Unfortunately, I proved the truism that a carpenter is only as good as his tools.
Because my handyman outings are so rare, I refuse to buy expensive tools. The cheap plane I bought was so blunt I might as well have licked the bottom of the door for all the wood it took off.
When I hung the door back up, it still scrapped on the front step.
Having used up my allotted hours for handyman duties that month, the front screen door continued to make a high-pitched ear-piercing scraping sound for the next two months.
Why didn’t I fix the door during the next month’s allotted handyman hours, I hear you ask? I used those to weed the garden and poison the weeds growing through the pavers. A broad definition of handymanning, I admit – one that most would categorise as gardening. But since it uses equipment purchased at a large hardware warehouse, I feel entitled to categorise the activity under ‘handymanning’.
So this week, radical surgery was required.
No, not leaving the screen door off for good. That would stop the scraping noise, but risks filling the house with flies, mosquitos and the family of possums that live in our roof but who I suspect would happily move further indoors.
Instead, I proposed to cut a sliver of wood off the bottom with my trusty $8 saw. What could go wrong?!
For starters, I lay the door on the paved patio, so that as the door vibrated with each saw cut, the lacquer was rubbed off its underside.
When I stood the door against the wall to admire my handywork, it looked like that possum family had spent all night scratching it to try to get inside.
That’s when I noticed that I had cut a fine sliver off the top of the door, instead of the bottom.
I’m nothing it not dogged. So I lay the door on its other side and cut a sliver off the real bottom, instead of the other bottom, which was really the top.
Of course I again forgot to lay the door on any protective sheet. When I was finished the other side was scraped worse than the first. (I may have sawed a little more roughly the second time around. I am dogged but a little ratty when hot and bothered.)
It now looked like the possum family was trying to escape from inside the house. Perhaps they couldn’t stand the high-pitched ear-piercing scraping sound of the front door either?
I again stood the screen door against the wall and admired my handywork.
What was once a beautifully lacquered cedar screen door now stood scratched and leaning sideways on my rough cut, like a refugee from Cyclone Yasi.
I sighed as I trudged towards the garage to fetch the lacquer. I touched it up and hung it back up.
Surprisingly, the screen door no longer scrapes on the front step. It swings silently open. And closed. It’s doing everything a screen door should, including keeping out the possum family.
And from a distance you can barely notice the ragged bottom, both of them.
Thursday, September 20, 2012
Friday, August 31, 2012
I'm not the marrying kind
“J always picks The Complicated One. It’s not fair. She wants to marry him, but I asked him first!”
Of course L didn’t say ‘The Complicated One’, or even TCO – only I call him that. But her meaning was crystal clear – the little boy she’d decided to marry in the first week of kindy was now devoted to another girl.
Fast and furious friendships seem typical of these heady first weeks and months of your first year at school. It’s a bit like speed dating, but with the cheap white wine replaced by juice poppers.
L is right – she definitely had first dibs on him. I clearly remember TCO and L holding hands as they walked back to class from morning assembly in the second week of school. I was so relieved he’d made a friend, after his first few days had been truly horrendous.
(On days 1 and 2 we physically had to push him through the classroom door, crying, and pull it tight behind us to prevent his escape. We then walked quickly away to the fading sound of his screams. First day of school blues.)
Yet it was only a few days until he made friends with L and things began to settle down, and only another few weeks until he really clicked with J. They are now fast friends, each waiting until the other arrives in the morning so they can play handball together.
In 20 years, if they decide to marry, I wonder if J or L will still have to promise to ‘submit to him’, as is currently the rage in some ‘forward-thinking’ Anglican Church parishes. I hope not.
I certainly know the church would not approve of our boys current plans to marry another boy!
The Complicated One and The Big Fella both asked Sherrie the other day if they could marry a boy instead of a girl.
“Not at the moment, but it’s currently under investigation,” she replied.
TBF wants to marry his male cousin J. TCO thinks it might be best marry a boy as well but is leaving his options open (a wise move, given how keen those little girls J and L are to marry him).
Who knows how or why people will be getting hitched in 20 or 30 years? The smart money is probably on the boys, not the Anglicans.
Of course L didn’t say ‘The Complicated One’, or even TCO – only I call him that. But her meaning was crystal clear – the little boy she’d decided to marry in the first week of kindy was now devoted to another girl.
Fast and furious friendships seem typical of these heady first weeks and months of your first year at school. It’s a bit like speed dating, but with the cheap white wine replaced by juice poppers.
L is right – she definitely had first dibs on him. I clearly remember TCO and L holding hands as they walked back to class from morning assembly in the second week of school. I was so relieved he’d made a friend, after his first few days had been truly horrendous.
(On days 1 and 2 we physically had to push him through the classroom door, crying, and pull it tight behind us to prevent his escape. We then walked quickly away to the fading sound of his screams. First day of school blues.)
Yet it was only a few days until he made friends with L and things began to settle down, and only another few weeks until he really clicked with J. They are now fast friends, each waiting until the other arrives in the morning so they can play handball together.
In 20 years, if they decide to marry, I wonder if J or L will still have to promise to ‘submit to him’, as is currently the rage in some ‘forward-thinking’ Anglican Church parishes. I hope not.
I certainly know the church would not approve of our boys current plans to marry another boy!
The Complicated One and The Big Fella both asked Sherrie the other day if they could marry a boy instead of a girl.
“Not at the moment, but it’s currently under investigation,” she replied.
TBF wants to marry his male cousin J. TCO thinks it might be best marry a boy as well but is leaving his options open (a wise move, given how keen those little girls J and L are to marry him).
Who knows how or why people will be getting hitched in 20 or 30 years? The smart money is probably on the boys, not the Anglicans.
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
Clothes and circuses
"Can we look at the clothes section after we look at the toys?"
Not words often uttered by 4-year-old boys. Unless they're The Big Fella continuing his quest to look fashionably cool this spring.
He certainly dressed to impress for our first family visit to the circus last weekend. His Angry Birds t-shirt and scruffy blue jeans blended nicely with the circus roadies.
It was an old school circus with lions, monkeys, ponies, clowns and trapeze artists.
Admittedly the lions looked rather tired, the monkeys riding the ponies looked alarmingly manic, and the clowns made rather tired risque jokes. But the trapeze artists were rather good, and the atmosphere was quite jolly.
At 4 and 6, the boys were just the right age to be delighted by all the silliness and the pantomime atmosphere. Particularly the physical humour of the clowns. The look on their faces was priceless.
I know it's probably quite politically incorrect to like a circus. And for those like me with allergies, there was dust. And animal hair. In an enclosed space.
But if take your best antihistamine and adjust your other medication before heading off, adults may have an acceptable time as well.
"What was your favourite part of the circus?" we asked the boys afterwards.
"The clowns," replied The Complicated One.
"The part where they bumped each other off the table, or the bit where they crashed the clown car?"
"No, the clowns we put the balls in. I love my pig." (He won a stuffed pig, which is rather cute.)
Seems they liked the sideshow alley at the entrance more than what happened under the big top.
So perhaps it's an old-fashioned carnival with sideshow alley they prefer, more than an old-fashioned circus.
Provided The Big Fella can dress to impress, he probably doesn't care where he goes - as long as he's looking goooood!
Not words often uttered by 4-year-old boys. Unless they're The Big Fella continuing his quest to look fashionably cool this spring.
He certainly dressed to impress for our first family visit to the circus last weekend. His Angry Birds t-shirt and scruffy blue jeans blended nicely with the circus roadies.
It was an old school circus with lions, monkeys, ponies, clowns and trapeze artists.
Admittedly the lions looked rather tired, the monkeys riding the ponies looked alarmingly manic, and the clowns made rather tired risque jokes. But the trapeze artists were rather good, and the atmosphere was quite jolly.
At 4 and 6, the boys were just the right age to be delighted by all the silliness and the pantomime atmosphere. Particularly the physical humour of the clowns. The look on their faces was priceless.
I know it's probably quite politically incorrect to like a circus. And for those like me with allergies, there was dust. And animal hair. In an enclosed space.
But if take your best antihistamine and adjust your other medication before heading off, adults may have an acceptable time as well.
"What was your favourite part of the circus?" we asked the boys afterwards.
"The clowns," replied The Complicated One.
"The part where they bumped each other off the table, or the bit where they crashed the clown car?"
"No, the clowns we put the balls in. I love my pig." (He won a stuffed pig, which is rather cute.)
Seems they liked the sideshow alley at the entrance more than what happened under the big top.
So perhaps it's an old-fashioned carnival with sideshow alley they prefer, more than an old-fashioned circus.
Provided The Big Fella can dress to impress, he probably doesn't care where he goes - as long as he's looking goooood!
Sunday, June 3, 2012
Eurovision is over - but let's hope Abba reunite!
The lights have dimmed on Eurovision for another year. But out of darkness rises hope. Hope that as the song contest heads to Sweden next year, Abba may reunite to mark the 39th anniversary of winning Eurovision.
The year was 1974, and Waterloo won the song contest in Brighton, England - launching Abba to worldwide fame. These days, you've a better chance of launching a global singing career on a North Korean rocket than the Eurovision song contest.
But Sweden's Loreen was a deserving winner of Eurovision 2012 in Baku, Azerbaijan. Euphoria is a great song, and her performance was compelling. With her flowing dark hair and jerky choreography, Loreen was Kate Bush reincarnated (Wuthering Heights Kate Bush, not sexed-up Babushka Kate Bush - sigh).
Of course, babushkas did make an appearance at Eurovision this year. The Russian entry featured six grannies in traditional babushka costumes, bopping along to a tricked-up folk tune. It was good enough to finish runner-up - and win special mention for best use of a pizza oven as a stage prop.
Best use of a Chesterfield armchair went to Denmark. In this rarely awarded category, Soluna Samay sang perhaps the catchiest tune of the night, Should've Known Better - and didn't she look a treat in her jaunty captain's hat. Finishing 22nd says more about the vagaries of the Eurovision voting system than the quality of Denmark's song.
Ireland's Jedward had another rarely awarded category all to themselves - best use of a water feature. Who cares if they barely sang a word. It was a damn catchy tune, and Australians voted them 3rd on the SBS TV poll even though they finished 19th officially.
Otherwise, there was a rare alignment of looks and talent at this year's Eurovision.
The cutest boys sang some decent songs - think Ott Lepland, Estonia's answer to Ronan Keating, the brooding good looks of Norway's Toopi, even the swarthy Serbian Zelijke Joksimovic who finished 3rd.
And the cutest girls definitely sang some of the best songs - apart from Sweden and Denmark, think Italy's Nina Zilli, who channeled the look and sound of a clean and sober Amy Winehouse, and Cypriot bombshell Ivi Adamou singing La La Love (OK, the song is not great, but gee...)
Voice of the night was definitely Spain's Pastora Soler, who will blow you away!
Quote of the night went to Bulgaria. "Let me escalate your spirits" said the Bulgarian presenter as she introduced the results of her country's vote.
My spirits will be escalated if Abba reunite for Eurovision 2013 in Sweden. Until then, I have the CD of this year's songs to keep me going, and better still the recording of the two semis and the final. Eurovision is a treat for all the senses.
The year was 1974, and Waterloo won the song contest in Brighton, England - launching Abba to worldwide fame. These days, you've a better chance of launching a global singing career on a North Korean rocket than the Eurovision song contest.
But Sweden's Loreen was a deserving winner of Eurovision 2012 in Baku, Azerbaijan. Euphoria is a great song, and her performance was compelling. With her flowing dark hair and jerky choreography, Loreen was Kate Bush reincarnated (Wuthering Heights Kate Bush, not sexed-up Babushka Kate Bush - sigh).
Of course, babushkas did make an appearance at Eurovision this year. The Russian entry featured six grannies in traditional babushka costumes, bopping along to a tricked-up folk tune. It was good enough to finish runner-up - and win special mention for best use of a pizza oven as a stage prop.
Best use of a Chesterfield armchair went to Denmark. In this rarely awarded category, Soluna Samay sang perhaps the catchiest tune of the night, Should've Known Better - and didn't she look a treat in her jaunty captain's hat. Finishing 22nd says more about the vagaries of the Eurovision voting system than the quality of Denmark's song.
Ireland's Jedward had another rarely awarded category all to themselves - best use of a water feature. Who cares if they barely sang a word. It was a damn catchy tune, and Australians voted them 3rd on the SBS TV poll even though they finished 19th officially.
Otherwise, there was a rare alignment of looks and talent at this year's Eurovision.
The cutest boys sang some decent songs - think Ott Lepland, Estonia's answer to Ronan Keating, the brooding good looks of Norway's Toopi, even the swarthy Serbian Zelijke Joksimovic who finished 3rd.
And the cutest girls definitely sang some of the best songs - apart from Sweden and Denmark, think Italy's Nina Zilli, who channeled the look and sound of a clean and sober Amy Winehouse, and Cypriot bombshell Ivi Adamou singing La La Love (OK, the song is not great, but gee...)
Voice of the night was definitely Spain's Pastora Soler, who will blow you away!
Quote of the night went to Bulgaria. "Let me escalate your spirits" said the Bulgarian presenter as she introduced the results of her country's vote.
My spirits will be escalated if Abba reunite for Eurovision 2013 in Sweden. Until then, I have the CD of this year's songs to keep me going, and better still the recording of the two semis and the final. Eurovision is a treat for all the senses.
Monday, May 21, 2012
Robin Gibb and the loss of innocence
It's hard to capture in words what the death of Robin Gibb means to me. But look at this simple photo of Barry, Robin and Maurice, before they were the Bee Gees...
(Scroll down the article to find the black-and-white photo where Barry looks about 12 or 13 years old, Robin (centre) and Maurice about 9 or 10. The caption says the photo was taken during their years in Brisbane, which was between about 1958 and 1966.)
With their white Chesty Bonds-style t-shirts and shorts, and big smiles on their wide open faces - it's a picture of innocence, optimism, and brotherly love.
It's also a photo that breaks my heart - as a parent of two young boys who wonders what life will bring for them.
This black-and-white image of the Gibb brothers seems to capture all that was good and sweet and innocent about 1960s Australia. The tennis whites a reminder of how our champions ruled the tennis world. The guitar that hints at artistic talent. Their faces suffused with a healthy youthful radiance that mirrors how we saw ourselves - a young nation, full of talent and dreams, starting to punch above our weight on the world stage.
It's a photo of three brothers whose futures were inextricably linked, and whose lives would unfold with great highs but also many lows.
Only a few years later, as the Bee Gees the brothers would have their first Australian number 1 (Spicks and Specks), and a few years later their first worldwide number 1 (Massachusetts). After a string of hits in the late 1960s and early 1970s featuring the ethereal voice of Robin, in the late 1970s they would define the disco era, with Barry's falsetto their signature sound. They would go on to become Britain's most successful songwriting partnership after Lennon-McCartney.
The lows would come too, with their early split as a band before Robin reunited with his brothers. The periods of drug and alcohol abuse that seemingly came hand-in-hand with their massive chart success. The death of their younger brother Andy at just 30, after years of cocaine use. Later, the deaths of Maurice at 54 and Robin at 62 - both premature by contemporary longevity standards.
And today I think of Barry, now 66, the sole survivor of his three younger brothers. How must he feel? Watch him as an older man sing Immortality, which he dedicates to his brothers. Then look back at this photo of them as boys.
That innocent photo of three boys on the verge of greatness makes me wonder about how life will unfold for our two sons.
I don't wish worldwide fame on them, or anyone else. But you can't help wonder will they be happy? Will they find fulfillment? Will they avoid the pitfalls of drug or alcohol abuse that claims the lives of not just the famous, but ordinary people too - as alcohol helped claim the life of my own father at only 52.
There are plenty of self-help books and gurus to help us understand how to live well. I just hope and wish The Big Fella and The Complicated One may live happy and healthy lives, in times of peace and equality. I hope it's not too much to ask.
It's not fashionable to say so, but the Bee Gees' music has brought me much happiness over many years. Listen to First of May and try not to cry about the loss of childhood innocence. If you're a teenager in love, try How Deep is Your Love. And try not to sway along to Nights on Broadway - it's impossible.
Vale Robin Gibb, brother to Barry, Maurice and Andy.
(Scroll down the article to find the black-and-white photo where Barry looks about 12 or 13 years old, Robin (centre) and Maurice about 9 or 10. The caption says the photo was taken during their years in Brisbane, which was between about 1958 and 1966.)
With their white Chesty Bonds-style t-shirts and shorts, and big smiles on their wide open faces - it's a picture of innocence, optimism, and brotherly love.
It's also a photo that breaks my heart - as a parent of two young boys who wonders what life will bring for them.
This black-and-white image of the Gibb brothers seems to capture all that was good and sweet and innocent about 1960s Australia. The tennis whites a reminder of how our champions ruled the tennis world. The guitar that hints at artistic talent. Their faces suffused with a healthy youthful radiance that mirrors how we saw ourselves - a young nation, full of talent and dreams, starting to punch above our weight on the world stage.
It's a photo of three brothers whose futures were inextricably linked, and whose lives would unfold with great highs but also many lows.
Only a few years later, as the Bee Gees the brothers would have their first Australian number 1 (Spicks and Specks), and a few years later their first worldwide number 1 (Massachusetts). After a string of hits in the late 1960s and early 1970s featuring the ethereal voice of Robin, in the late 1970s they would define the disco era, with Barry's falsetto their signature sound. They would go on to become Britain's most successful songwriting partnership after Lennon-McCartney.
The lows would come too, with their early split as a band before Robin reunited with his brothers. The periods of drug and alcohol abuse that seemingly came hand-in-hand with their massive chart success. The death of their younger brother Andy at just 30, after years of cocaine use. Later, the deaths of Maurice at 54 and Robin at 62 - both premature by contemporary longevity standards.
And today I think of Barry, now 66, the sole survivor of his three younger brothers. How must he feel? Watch him as an older man sing Immortality, which he dedicates to his brothers. Then look back at this photo of them as boys.
That innocent photo of three boys on the verge of greatness makes me wonder about how life will unfold for our two sons.
I don't wish worldwide fame on them, or anyone else. But you can't help wonder will they be happy? Will they find fulfillment? Will they avoid the pitfalls of drug or alcohol abuse that claims the lives of not just the famous, but ordinary people too - as alcohol helped claim the life of my own father at only 52.
There are plenty of self-help books and gurus to help us understand how to live well. I just hope and wish The Big Fella and The Complicated One may live happy and healthy lives, in times of peace and equality. I hope it's not too much to ask.
It's not fashionable to say so, but the Bee Gees' music has brought me much happiness over many years. Listen to First of May and try not to cry about the loss of childhood innocence. If you're a teenager in love, try How Deep is Your Love. And try not to sway along to Nights on Broadway - it's impossible.
Vale Robin Gibb, brother to Barry, Maurice and Andy.
Saturday, May 19, 2012
Slave to fashion at age 4 going on 14
The Big Fella assumed full responsibility for his wardrobe several months ago. He's just turned 4 going on 14.
He's not yet buying his own clothes. Or washing them. But all other clothes-related decisions are his and his alone.
He decides what to wear during the day. And at night.
Spider-Man pyjamas must be matched with Spider-Man undies. Ben 10 pyjamas with Ben 10 undies. Dark blue singlets are preferable to grey. Both are preferable to white.
But it's daywear he's really particular about.
If his Ben 10 t-shirt and hoodie jacket are in the wash, there's hell to pay. Although he's happier now that we have an Angry Birds t-shirt as back-up. And there's always the old standbys of several Spider-Man t-shirts.
We may as well give away all his other clothes, as he only wears the same three outfits in high rotation. Lucky I like washing.
The Big Fella is usually fully dressed and ready to leave the house by 6am or 6.30am at the latest. Complete with shoes and socks, jacket, and Ben 10 cap.
We don't usually leave the house until 8.30am - but he likes to be prepared.
He not only chooses all his own clothes, day and night, he must always dress himself. His brother, nearly 6, would still prefer we dress him and make all clothes-related decisions for him. Quite frankly, The Complicated One couldn't care less what he wears.
It's not hard to work out which teenager will spend all his pocket money on the latest hip outfits - and who won't.
He's not yet buying his own clothes. Or washing them. But all other clothes-related decisions are his and his alone.
He decides what to wear during the day. And at night.
Spider-Man pyjamas must be matched with Spider-Man undies. Ben 10 pyjamas with Ben 10 undies. Dark blue singlets are preferable to grey. Both are preferable to white.
But it's daywear he's really particular about.
If his Ben 10 t-shirt and hoodie jacket are in the wash, there's hell to pay. Although he's happier now that we have an Angry Birds t-shirt as back-up. And there's always the old standbys of several Spider-Man t-shirts.
We may as well give away all his other clothes, as he only wears the same three outfits in high rotation. Lucky I like washing.
The Big Fella is usually fully dressed and ready to leave the house by 6am or 6.30am at the latest. Complete with shoes and socks, jacket, and Ben 10 cap.
We don't usually leave the house until 8.30am - but he likes to be prepared.
He not only chooses all his own clothes, day and night, he must always dress himself. His brother, nearly 6, would still prefer we dress him and make all clothes-related decisions for him. Quite frankly, The Complicated One couldn't care less what he wears.
It's not hard to work out which teenager will spend all his pocket money on the latest hip outfits - and who won't.
Sunday, May 13, 2012
Mother's Day massacre averted
The Big Fella threatened to assassinate his mum on the eve of Mother's Day. Having just turned 4, we hope he was just asserting his newfound sense of independence, rather than trying to recreate the St Valentine's Day massacre.
"What are you doing?" mum asked as he knelt in front of his toybox, throwing its contents on the floor all around him.
"I'm looking for my gun to shoot you."
The Big Fella was upset about an earlier bathtime incident, where he thought his older brother, The Complicated One, had been unjustly dealt with by his parents, in particular his mother.
So he was springing to his brother's defence and threatening to exact revenge on mum.
Several minutes later he emerged from his room. Fortunately, he was gunless.
"I'll shoot you in the morning," he declared, as he stomped off to his bath.
The next day, as the boys were handing over their Mother's Day presents, The Big Fella remembered his threat of the night before.
"I'm not going to shoot you - because it's Mother's Day," he declared.
The lack of a suitable weapon had averted a Mother's Day massacre in suburban Sydney. Were that Al Capone and Bugs Moran had experienced a similar lack of guns in Chicago, a sad chapter in America history may have gone unwritten.
There's a lesson there for all of us. Disarm The Big Fella, and we can all rest easy at night.
"What are you doing?" mum asked as he knelt in front of his toybox, throwing its contents on the floor all around him.
"I'm looking for my gun to shoot you."
The Big Fella was upset about an earlier bathtime incident, where he thought his older brother, The Complicated One, had been unjustly dealt with by his parents, in particular his mother.
So he was springing to his brother's defence and threatening to exact revenge on mum.
Several minutes later he emerged from his room. Fortunately, he was gunless.
"I'll shoot you in the morning," he declared, as he stomped off to his bath.
The next day, as the boys were handing over their Mother's Day presents, The Big Fella remembered his threat of the night before.
"I'm not going to shoot you - because it's Mother's Day," he declared.
The lack of a suitable weapon had averted a Mother's Day massacre in suburban Sydney. Were that Al Capone and Bugs Moran had experienced a similar lack of guns in Chicago, a sad chapter in America history may have gone unwritten.
There's a lesson there for all of us. Disarm The Big Fella, and we can all rest easy at night.
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