Furniture

All posts tagged Furniture

Not Racist

Published October 14, 2019 by helentastic67

Not Racist

You know those moments when you say something totally racist, when your intention is anything but, so says every racist. However, (see what I did there?)

Just like when people say “I don’t mean to be racist, but” and they say something totally racist. Standing outside my apartment complex the day my friend delivered my new couch.

Background about Frank, more Italian than I am. His parents were both older when they came to Australia in a different generation to me. Frank is the same age as me, however married with two fully grown children, whom I met when I worked for him about fifteen years ago and his kids were only little.

Frank arrives with the couch on the back of his van. At the same time, there is a van parked behind his with a woman sitting in the front passenger seat with the door open. Two men and another woman came down carrying things to put in the back of their van. Now, I had noticed their van parked there earlier in the day and some banter between the two men, shoulder slaps and verbal ribbing (teasing).

Did I mention, they were black? I don’t mean that in a racist way. There are plenty of Indian, Asian and African people in this area. However, I mean really black. I should point out now, over twenty years ago my sisters high school friend married a gentleman from Nigeria and so came the term “He’s as black as snow” and he has the most softly spoken voice. They have and assortment of chocolate coloured kids, however these four people were really black.

Frank was there and down the street came his friend to help. Frank and his friend started ribbing each other straight away. I asked how they knew each other, to which Frank quickly replied “Prison”. I’ve known Frank about twenty years now and he has definitely not been to prison.

Unbeknownst to Frank, I caught the eye of the woman sitting in the front seat of the van, at the mention of “Prison” her face showed surprise, shock and concern. I would like to say she paled somewhat, but that’s not true. I caught her eye and shook my head in the negative.

Frank and his friend were continuing their joke with who had the top bunk (while in prison). Anyway, when the two guys started bringing things (couch/fridge) down the steps Frank stepped forward to help because that’s what wogs do (they help) they don’t wait to be asked, they don’t offer, they just step up and help.

Every time Frank stepped up to help and also to help avert disaster, I gave him a little cheek too “You just can’t help yourself, can you?” Frank and I started to racially profile the people moving out, in a non-racist way.

We were guessing what part of Africa they were from (Eretria) and we figured they had been in Australia for less than five years, however the way they communicated with each other and the banter and cheek between the two men meant they were likely, brothers-in-laws or siblings and Frank and I considered where his parents had been like when they arrived here.

I had spoken to the supervisor in the front passenger seat and we agreed you only encounter people when you are moving in or out of the apartment. They had been here three years and it’s the only time I’d seen them. Now they are gone, which is sad because they seemed nice people.

And well, my friends seemed alright despite one (Frank) having been to Prison.

P.S. Prison, apparently a common term for going to church. Too funny.

 

Adapt

Published March 11, 2019 by helentastic67

Adapt

Adapt

Now, for some light and shade. If you just turned ‘twenty-three’ it was pretty dark times. Although this story stems from a purchase from back then.

Improvise

When I finally got a queen-sized bed (my dad made me a sleigh bed) but more about that later. I bought some affordable pine furniture to fill my bedroom, two bedside tables, a tall boy with a large blanket drawer down the bottom and an upright bookcase with nice moulding on the top.

Pine furniture

Now, I said it was affordable, I meant cheap. However, I added some raw amber water-based paint, some patina (antiquing medium) and some polyurethane in a satin finish and more than a single effort with the sandpaper and what can I say? Carpenters daughter, right here.

Painting

Anyway, that’s the background, the tall boy in my current home lives in the ‘return’. File under ‘apartment living’, all new builds must have a window to every bedroom. That means my bedroom has a hallway like space to the window, where I have put my DVD, bookcases and the tall boy (and anything else that didn’t fit anywhere).

Bookcase

So, being one handed and because I don’t stand in front of the tall boy to get the draws open and closed (I did say cheap right? The draws aren’t on runners) making opening one-handed painful and the trials and dilemmas on being one handed and having limited space. I reached down and was hitting the drawer on both ends to get the thing closed.

Open draw

That’s all background you need so next is the punchline so I hope you stayed with me.

So, recently late one night, putting my clothes away, thinking I might even make it to be by 1am. (Yeah, it’s a realistic goal, even if it’s not one that makes my shrink happy) I obviously hit the tall boy draw one too many times, rather vigorously and the candle stick on top fell off and connected with the top of my head. Yes, it really hurt and yes, I used my favourite word. AND rather than slow it down, it seemed to gather speed as it hurtled towards my foot.

Kicking furniture

Which foot? I hear you ask. For those who don’t know or don’t remember, my left foot has been affected by my ‘stroke, not stroke’ as I like to call it.

Stroke no stroke

So, of course it landed on my right foot, because I can fucking feel that one. Sweet Jesus, it hurt so much. Lots of swearing as I hobbled to bed and even days later, here is a photo of my bruised toes.

Bruised toes 1Bruised toes 3

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Solution? Need to update the tall boy to open with drawers on coasters for easy sliding and good OH&S. Adapt! Adapt! Adapt!

Adapt and learn

Family – Part 1

Published February 18, 2019 by helentastic67

Family Part 1a

Family – Part 1

As you may well imagine, I have a network of people I know with brain injuries and the simple thing about brain injuries that there are no two alike. No diagnosis is the same, the same treatment, recovery etc. Finding? Don’t get me started on the finding. However, suffice to say I recently heard one in my network say her settlement date was looming. I’m sorry WTF?

Settlement looming

They still live at home, while my age they haven’t lived out of home and when they visited my home some years ago, she wandered around asking if each bit of furniture was mine. Everything in my home is mine. I don’t rent furnished homes.

Still living at home

So, I wasn’t sure how she could afford her own place in such a great location, however when discussing this conversation with another her reasoning was simple.

Great location

“She said, her family are assholes.”

For all sense and reason, I think she wouldn’t argue with me when I say for what she has told me, her family is the same.

Family Part 1

I know she recently told me her family and cousins all went away for a weekend of a week and didn’t invite her. Huh? What?

Family weekend

When she asked why, she had been overlooked? She was told, because of her chronic pain, they thought she wouldn’t want to come.

Chronic Pain

Now, let me just suggest, when you suffer chronic pain, it’s never ending, no matter what you do or how often you can be guaranteed it will return and be with you forever. No matter where you are.

Chronic Pain 2

So, if you swim, do yoga, take pills, sleep a lot, you will find a way to do whatever you need to, to cope and sometimes a change of location makes all the difference.

Change of Scenery

Etiquette

Published August 25, 2017 by helentastic67

Etiquette

Etiquette

Are our parents rich or something? Um, remember those days of yester-year, where social etiquette dictated at a dinner party one didn’t discuss certain topics? I recall, many politics and religion. Or as I prefer sex, drugs and rock’n’roll.

sex drugs rock n roll

But it’s all much of a muchness. There is a huge misconception from people who meet me or see my home that prompt people to ask “Are your parents Rich?”

Are your parents rich

Um, define rich? And in any way, shape or form. No, my parents were not rich.

I was raised in a single income family and when I was about thirteen my mum also returned to work for a few years before having my youngest sibling. Mum would say that income she had clothed us. I recalled being fifteen and having one pair of jeans, one shirt and I don’t recall what I wore the rest of the time.

Parents not paying

Anyway, again people visit my home and they assume someone has given me all the nice things in my home. I don’t have expensive furniture, some of my furniture is even second-hand. I just have an eye for “things” and I like to collect things. I have pine furniture (so cheap) that for my bookcases and when you enter my front door, you are greeted by my Artbook collection and my Vogue Living collection, which I’ve been building on both for 20+ years. It didn’t happen overnight, but consistency is the key.

Second hand furniture

Not only is it that they see I’m doing better than they are, however, they see that they want what I have.

Can't have it

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