To be continued

All posts tagged To be continued

Soulmates

Published February 21, 2020 by helentastic67

Soulmates

Many years ago, when discussing soulmates with a female friend, back in our 20’s when one of us (ME) still believed in soul mates.

I remember throwing the idea around with her, where was this soulmate?

We decided and wholeheartedly agreed. He was lost.

I may have mentioned this?

I suggested, did he need a Melway’s?

  • It’s the thing on paper we used to navigate Melbourne before Google Maps.

Yes, someone pointed out Google Maps said friend replied. My soulmate needed an inter-galactic Melways.

What I have found in recent years is a few old club male friends I never thought to date, I only ever saw them as friends, have reached out and wanted to ‘catch-up’ with me. One of those even had a medical condition all his own he had dealt with. (Now, 10 years in remission).

 

The difference being, he had a partner to support him. He had children he could still work; he could even continue to study. He told me he understood my disability and to call on him anytime I needed something. Have I heard from him again? No don’t be ridiculous.

Apparently, I’ve met my soulmate, he just has yet to work out that, that soulmate is me.

To be continued…

Dress Code

Published November 15, 2019 by helentastic67

Dress Code

I’ve received an invite to an event, I did put my hand up to go, so it’s not like I’m special.

The event is at a place called ‘Government House’ without mentioning what the event was in aid of, the point is it sounds special and impressive, right.

Also, it has a dress code.

Now, I don’t know if any of you realise, but I do not have an exciting wardrobe these days. If unsure, No, I don’t.

The invite states

“Men: Lounge suit.

Women: Accordingly,”

Um? Do I get free reign? I’m taking it to mean I don’t need to wear a suit or dress, but I should dress appropriately.

Not like I’ve got my Hoochie-on or a like a slag. I don’t know where ‘Hoochie’ came from but, a slag is rather 80’s term for a woman with loose morals.

To be continued…

Henry – Part 1

Published August 19, 2019 by helentastic67

Henry Part 1

Once upon a time, many an Australian household had a plant in their bathroom. It was the envy of every person who didn’t have a green thumb. Because, they are notoriously difficult to keep alive and people who have one will love being complimented and they will always respond nonchalantly that ‘Oh, it’s nothing’. Like, whatever.

The plant can purely be in the right environment that has just the right amount of light, moisture, humidity or water or neglect.

Who knows, this is what mine looks like.

Not feeling smug at all. It’s definitely spending the cooler months inside this year, somewhere.  Now this is a picture of a super amazing one. It’s what we all strive for.

I know, I still have not explained why this post is called Henry and that I don’t usually even use someone’s name.

So, I feel a Part 2 coming. That means you must now wait for my next post!

 

Heritage – Part 2

Published May 13, 2019 by helentastic67

Heritage Part 2

The other differences in my grandparents was this. When visiting my Anglo-Saxon grandparents, we would go out to the “Workshop” to visit my granddad in his office where he ran his Construction company, he started it way back in the mid-sixties.

I recall when I was young, going into his office and playing with his letter opener. It was a sword in its own scabbard. (Something he picked up on a holiday overseas) These grandparents were travelers. My father worked for my grandfather.

When we visited them at home, I recall getting out of the car and racing ahead, we would go through the garage, between the two cars there, inside the door that took us inside and walked down into the kitchen. Some days the smell of Linseed oil and Turps would greet us. Going down to the kitchen/dinning room and Nanna would be at the dinning room table with her white china and oils spread out around her. She was a woman of creative habits.

Set days, she would bake, others she would play nine holes of golf, others go to her fine bone china painting group or do her afternoon of painting at home or sewing.

If my grandfathers purple (aubergine) Datsun was in the garage, it meant he was home. We would check for him in his office and he would hug us and let us stand on his feet, while he walked us around some. (until we got too big).

In comparison, my granddad was the affectionate one, my Nanna was very grumpy and she wasn’t even very old. My Nanna was riddled with cancer. On one visit (I might have been six?) I let myself in the garage door and because mum had insisted, we knock, Nanna had, had some surgery to remove lumps of cancer from the inside of her legs (one thigh, one calf). In case she was resting, I knocked, she came down and let us in and as she walked ahead of me towards the living room area down the hallway, light filtered down, her thin cotton skin rather see through with the light coming from the windows down into the hallway. I would clearly see the huge chunks taken out of her legs. They were cut out back to the bone. I recall thinking that if they were both the same part of her legs, you could kick a soccer ball down the hall and it would pass straight through.

There are several things about this memory, 1) I was not into soccer. 2) They really weren’t big enough for a soccer ball and 3) Is this wrong? Or can I be forgiven because I was only a child? Note the preference in those three.

Cancer was a theme with this Nanna. She eventually had a brain tumour and the last time I recall seeing her, mum was in the kitchen doing dishes looking out the window towards the sink and I asked where Nanna was? I was told to go sit with her in the lounge.

She was wearing her dressing gown sitting on the couch. I sat and asked her if I could get her anything? She did want something, but couldn’t think what it was called. I asked her what colour it was? Trying to help her a little, turning it into a game. I don’t know if I knew at the time how serious it was, but I handled her gently, trying to help her.

She got more and more grumpy and frustrated, eventually she got up and I followed her to the fridge in the kitchen. She opened the door, then her crisper and pulled out an orange. Grrr.

You can appreciate her frustration, right?

She passed away at only fifty-eight.

More to write, just hit pause.

Career – Part 1

Published April 26, 2019 by helentastic67

 

Career

It’s such a weird word isn’t it? Today, I thought I’d cover a little of my work history, sort of.

I grew up living in the country, I didn’t grow up on a farm, I was considered a “Townie”.

By the time I was sixteen, I was a full-time student, a part time check-out chick and a “when ever babysitter” I’m not complaining. It was what it was. But I had NO SOCIAL LIFE. None, Zero.

Over Christmas, I picked up seasonal work on a blueberry farm. So, don’t talk to me about blueberries. I don’t get it. You are on your own.

I only picked when there was no work in the shed packing. Let me tell you the difference. While picking, my older sister would give a decent rendition of “I found my thrills on Blueberry Hills”. Good times. But it was hard going.

Packing, while arduous, we started at 6am and went hard until 4pm.There were no guys in the packing shed. It was considered that men distracted the women in the sorting shed. So the “no”is important? Sounds so 1950’s, or is it just me? There was the constant smell of bleach from the cleaning products. It paid better, but was stressful. The best berries went to export somewhere like Germany and at the end of the season we sorted all the berries that was deemed too small, mangled or mouldy out so, it could go to be made into pies or jam. You’re welcome.

Even when I did that job from 6am until 4pm, I would go home, shower, eat something and go to my supermarket job from 5pm to 9pm.

Good thing I was planning to be a poor art student. My two days of cherry picking marred by heatstroke and sleeping under the tree on a bull-ant nest, just because I picked the wrong side of the tree first. What? You heard. There is a right and wrong side of a tree. Yes! You pick the side first that doesn’t get the morning sun, then in the afternoon you pick the side that had the morning sun.

So, while I stayed living in the country another year after completing high school because I didn’t get into what I wanted to go on and do, I got into TAFE art course for a year. It was fairly stock standard course to go do and build on a folio if you didn’t get a course in the city.

I was still doing the full-time study, part-time work and xyz babysitter. Still no social life.

When I moved to Melbourne, it took a little while, but I was eventually introduced to really cool night clubs. Night clubs became my social life.

The first clubs I was introduced to were full on “WOG” clubs (again, don’t take offense, my father is Italian, so I can use that term) Lebanese, Turks, mention of history of guns blazing and drive by’s at the first club I went to Brunswick back in the early 90’s. Also, where I heard the fantastic piece by O’Fortuna in Apotheosis. I think I went out and bought the last twelve-inch vinyl copy to come into the country. Because it heavily sampled them from a well-known classical piece of music, it was banned.

The vibe in the clubs was electric, but then there was some really shifty stuff about wog clubs. The continuous stream of standing around the outside of the dance floor and girls dragging their boyfriends behind them, who would seem, lean in for a cheeky snog.

What! Yes! Outrage!

A guy that was with the people I was with pinched me on the backside so I turned and delivered him a slap. His sister and two friends came up to me all gangster-bitch like to take a piece of me. “I know he’s an asshole, but he’s my brother” so much for sisterhood.

The following week, a friend of his came up to me and told me the “pincher” wanted to buy me a drink, maybe he should have started with that.

I don’t know why I’m still single, but I don’t think it’s because I’m prepared to slap men if they deserve it. My ass was offended.

But that is to say, I digress.

While I studied to be a Visual Merchandiser, that being shop front window displays, shop layouts etc. I didn’t get into that, I didn’t have a folio, I couldn’t drive (to do freelancing) and I wasn’t a guy and gay. So, I couldn’t get a job with Myers.

I know, What? Those gay bitches get everything, so, I had started giving out some passes for the first club I worked for.

When I finished my course and disillusioned about what I really wanted to be doing for the rest of my life. Yeah, like that’s realistic to imagine someone of my age staying in the same job/company/industry for all of my working career.

To be continued…

When Disability Becomes Embarrassing – Part 1

Published September 17, 2018 by helentastic67

When Disability Becomes Embarrassing

When Disability Becomes Embarrassing – Part 1

There are many times my disability has been embarrassing or humiliating. However, this is one of those occasions where I was standing in front of a large room of people with a microphone shoved into my hand and all I could think was – “FARRRRKKKK” (you will forgive me for that shortly)

Microphone in hand

Then I was thinking, rather swiftly I might add. “What just happened? Who did that? Where did they go? Help! Now what? How do I get myself out of this situation?”

What just happened

Now, to back up a second, I will put this situation into perspective. I was in Bendigo a few years ago at the ABIAW (Again: Acquired Brain Injury Awareness) week event. I had travelled to Bendigo from Melbourne with my mum, who had driven three and half hours to get to Melbourne, so she could carpool others around also from the ABI Group in Melbourne, I was part of.

Carpooling

So, mum was there also and we shared a room in the hotel we all stayed at.

The first day was a long one, lack of sleep and we went to sessions and heard people speak, we mingled, we ate, we collectively drank bad coffee and the first night we gathered at a dinner to mingle and socialize.

Mingle and Socialize

Now, mum and I retired to our room, like many others for a break before we went to the location for the dinner. Needless to say, my mum and I are both on a different page when it comes to tiredness.

Stubborn

I like to be early to be on time. My mum is much more lenient and we are both very stubborn on this.

By the time we arrived, the people we knew there from our group in Melbourne were spread over two big tables and there were NO SPARE SEATS and no one had thought to save us any.

Crowded table

The guy upon entering, suggested we could join another table to make some friends or sit at another empty table on one side and that table would likely fill up soon enough.

Single Girls Table

I dubbed it the single ‘girls table’. Oh, hell why not?

Here’s where mum and I differ. I was completely okay sitting there out in the bitter lonely cold, but mum wanted to join another table. Soon enough a younger ‘normal’ woman joined us and I enquired if she was single or not.

Matchmaker

Sometimes, I can be such a Nona. Nona’s very prone to want to match you up with someone’s son/nephew, whoever.

She claimed to be single (turns out that was a lie), she soon decided to find secure and encourage us to abandon our single girls table and join another table with conveniently three empty seats. This table was front and centre.

Front Row Seats

I had already had a comment about the man facilitating and Master of Ceremonies. While it wasn’t bordering on sexual harassment, it might have been a bit wrong.

Master of Ceremonies

“Let’s give single girl a name, Stacey and let’s call him Fred. Again, Fred gets such a bashing, doesn’t he? So, Stacey spoke to Fred and as she returned to her seat Fred came up to me and…

Deep Breath 2

Wait… Deep breathe,

Deep Breath

He announced to the room there were single ladies at the front table and were there any men looking?

To be continued

To Be Continued

NDIS Rocky Road 3

Published February 29, 2016 by helentastic67

Invisible disability 1

NDIS It’s going to be a rocky road!

I’m giving a shout out to the lovely Monroe who works for my local council in the Aged & Disability service team. And I’m doing so for two reasons.

  1. He has bothered to read my blog!
  2. He is interested in my opinion of the upcoming NDIS.

This is my answer.

Some years ago, I was at a meeting with other leaders and advocates in my sector who were being asked some serious questions about the NDIS. Grassroots stuff.

Questions like, how quickly could people be covered by the NDIS? When they moved to an area/or even came to this country. (Couldn’t fathom they hadn’t worked these ones out without our help, however)

Obviously, they were really concerned people would flock to the pilot regions to get on board early. In Victoria the pilot region has been the Barwon District which is Geelong.

That of course would put more pressure on other services already in place. Service providers, HACC services, public housing, affordable private rental, etc, etc. Service providers have also moved into those area’s to cash-in on the ‘new’ business.

A year and a half later I was at a conference and service providers in attendance were saying the opposite was happening. People were actually relocating out of the area because they had decided “it was too hard!” They did however get to take their “funding” with them.

So I guess, I have many opinions about it already and this is just a start.

I’m going to be bold and say it will succeed and everyone with a disability will be taken care of however I’ll say that it’s been a long time coming and it will take time to perfect.

The changes I’ve noticed over the years leading up to its launch and it’s the level of disability I have now compared to 8 years ago,include the moving around of service providers funding and financial assistance. I suggest that funding I was once able to call on for say, seeing a private dentist of my choice has gone to other areas. And when I get the NDIS I will be choosing to return to those private businesses, rather than going public and wondering about the quality of the services I’m receiving.

I think the government don’t yet know what it will cost to fully implement the NDIS. I think staff, carers, whoever will be the NDIS will end up looking very different to what they think it Is going to look like. It’s going to be, or should be fluid until they get it sorted.

Right now there are many service providers struggling to find and keep their places in the industry because everyone is waiting for the NDIS to “fix all the problems”. No one wants to spend their own money and they expect their clients already in the system to wait for this big bandaid.

I have a great analogy for what this currently looks like on the ground, but it will have to wait. I have been hearing about this miracle the NDIS for about 9 years and it’s been like a white light at the end of the tunnel. And on the downside, I’ve had pretty shitty Case Management who dragged their feet on applying for a Package of Funding from DHS because they said it would never be approved for payment. Therefore, the felt the success rate did not warrant their effort.

You know the answers you get for the questions you never ask? No! So you might as well ask. Is what I say!

Think of all the things you need and just ASK for it! I don’t think they will be advertising all the things that might be covered by the NDIS, because they will be trying to save money.  So I will suggest Networking & sharing information is going to be vital. Listen to what other users/consumers are applying for, you might be surprised. If it’s relevant for you apply for it also. And then tell your friends.

Lastly, I think there will be more control for us to choose who provides our services & sometimes competition is a good thing. It means those providers with bad history of poor case management will not survive.

To be continued for sure…

%d bloggers like this: