Dear Susan,

 Oh my God it's Christmas again. Seems like only yesterday we were unwrapping our Pedigree bride dolls and racing down to the shop to show uncle Tom and auntie Joyce. Those times never come again really do they?

 We killed the chook that looked the tenderest and it was the only chicken we had all year, and as for ham, dad was never fast enough to catch the pig.

Anyway, time flies when you're having no fun at all. So, the other day, I had a nip of Christmas spirit and went to see what was happening in the big realm of retail.

 

I needed some extra baubles for the tree. But when I went into Meyer- Jones I couldn't find any. The lady in black with the clipboard told me the decorating items were in the ‘home stylist department’.

 What a sight met my eyes. The entire home stylist room was dressed in blue and white! “Oooh” I ventured to the young man with one hand on his hip and his other one on his chin “Where are the red and gold Christmas baubles?”

 

Stanley turned to me aghast and said “Oh my dear, gold and red are so 1980s; 2015 is all about Turquoise and Pearl”.

I looked around and yes, he was right, blue and white. I realized I'd been doing Christmas all wrong for years. Apparently last year was all about purple and white. Purple plates, baubles, streamers, earrings and white serviettes and wrapping paper. In 2013 green and orange were all the go, sort of glad I missed that year.

 

 

 I looked around at the table settings in Meyer- Jones and wondered at how beautiful they looked, plates in place, water and wine glasses in the right corner all the cutlery lined up according to courses. Three table decorations in Turquoise and Pearl centred perfectly and everything matched. I guarantee if I'd gone into the home stylist toilet department, I would have found the loo roll with alternate Turquoise and Pearl sheets, with towels, soaps, and toothbrush holders all mirroring the theme for 2015.

 

I looked at Stanley and said to him “Look Stanley I can only just afford to replace each year, the baubles that went to God the year before. This year I had two red and one gold. My Christmas table is known lovingly by my family as the St Vinnies Mad Hatters Christmas party. If two plates match the quickest person has to yell ‘snap’ to get a candy cane.

 The glasses range from the one I stole from the 1956 milk run at school to the wineglass I stole from a function I went to at a Government House reception which I infiltrated. The table is set with paper tablecloths, strewn with plastic rubbish out of the 12 for $2 bonbon packets I got at the $2 shop. There are platters of ham and chicken and pork and bowls of salad and lots of people chewing laughing and talking. I don't even think anyone notices that the halls aren't decked with Turquoise and Pearl. In fact, everyone is having too much fun to notice.”

The only things missing from the table are a few people that we loved very much.

 

 

I hope that up there wherever you all are, you are celebrating too and remembering Christmases past.

 Oh, and please let Herbie stir the custard.

Merry Christmas

And

Love Janet

 

  

Dear Susan,

Well the Covid-19 virus is still rampant-ing wildly across the world, which by the way we've just discovered doesn't really have borders
 The big issue of this week is the shortage of flour. I can't fathom it. I bought flour once and it grew moths before it grew anything baked.

I asked Auntie Jan about the flour thing and she said:
'Well you need it to make cakes!' .. Hello!!! Cake Mixes!!!
'Well, you need it to make pancakes!... Hello, Shaker packs? Just add water!!
'Well,, you need it to coat fish before frying it' ...Hello...Fish n Chip Shops!!!
 Make pasta?  Hello, 50 different pasta shapes already packed in the supermarket.
To make bread? Hello, people get up at 3am to bake it. I don't want to put them out of a job.
I don't look for flour any more. I figure if I've lived without it for 73 years I don't knead' it now.
See what I did there?

In other news, David Beckham's son Brooklyn has moved in with his girlfriend.
I think I saw a plane fly overhead the other day, although it could have been a UFO
The King of Thailand has booked out an entire Alpine Hotel for the quarantine period. He is isolating with 20 concubines 4 wives and 600 staff. Don't know if the kids are with him.
Doctors are pleading with hospital visitors not to steal face masks hand sanitiser or toilet paper from their loved one's rooms unless of course... they are no longer.
I cleaned out my fridge because I am buying two weeks supply of food at a time and I thought I could have found the cure for Covid -19 in the crisper, but it was just a squishy hairy zucchini.


There are new rules for gatherings as well.
I write them on whiteboards because they change every day.
For example, you are only allowed to have 5 people at a wedding, which could really piss off one set of parents. I'm ok with mine. So far I only have four people and I'm just missing a groom.

You are permitted to have 10 people at a funeral not including the deceased. This could be a problem if I cark it.
3 daughters, 9 grandchildren 1 brother, 2 sons-in-law,  1 wasband and maybe 1 friend. =17
Can you imagine the arguments:
"So you should go. You're the oldest"
"I saw her last week so I'm good"
" I'm not really a blood relative. You should go"
" God we've been divorced for 25 years. Why the hell should I go?"
" Well, I didn't really know her that well. You can have my spot"
"Oh, mum do I have to go? Ozzie and I have a conference call about an important school assignment this afternoon"
It will probably be just me, the box and the cremator. just realised the only difference between the creator and the cremator is an 'm'

Most people here are living in leisurewear (pyjamas) or activewear. You can guess my preference. I can only wear pyjamas because after 2 weeks in isolation nothing else fits me. I've never been a comfort eater before but now I'm eating so comfortably I can't move.
That's the thing about being locked up; my facial hair is forming dreadlocks. My toenails are longer than my toes. Slob is too elegant a word to describe my appearance right now. but I DON'T CARE. Well, actually I do care sometimes. Like, occasionally I put on makeup to go to the shower.
Some people are dressing up in ball gowns just to take the garbage out. I tell you, it's NUTS down here

Because all the restaurants and cafes are in lockdown, people have had to cook for themselves, except me. Eloise threw two lasagnes at me on a drive by the other day, Josie made me two servings of pumpkin soup on Sunday and brother Ben brought me some leftover green chicken curry yesterday. The chicken wasn't green thank goodness, in fact, it was delicious Any way  I have so much food here I'm thinking of opening my own dinner delivery service
 .

It's not fun being on your own 24/7 I do try to get out for a walk every couple of months but even then I have to walk 1.5 metres apart from the person I might be walking with. which makes conversation difficult because we are all deaf.

I was beginning to feel very alone. Then in my spam box there appeared an advertisement for a singles dating site, very reputable, very discrete, very safe and specifically for the elderly, vulnerable demographic. Yes I know I haven't had much luck with these experiments before (see earlier letters) but this would be different. I would seduce some old guy online, keep the relationship going with lies being issued from both sides. We would never be able to meet because of social distancing. It would be a sort of remote Fantasy Affair that turns out virtually happily ever after. There it is  " Love in the Time of Corona" My next book!!!

Now the Muse has hit I must put quill to parchment and get on with it. Apparently, great works of art have been produced in times of pandemics. This could be my time to shine.

Give everyone up there a hug for me, please. Hugs are a luxury here at the moment.

Miss you so much

Love Janet
xxxxx

pandemic1

Dear Susan,

Don't know if the news has reached Heaven yet but the Earth is undergoing a Pandemic of  Toilet Paper shortage. It began when a virus started spreading through China and finally reached Coles and Woolworths in Australia.

Everyone is Pan(dem)ic buying and the supermarket shelves are as empty as my social calendar.
It has become so serious that most of the world has gone into lockdown so everything is closed, except for hairdressing salons and schools, which count as essential services.

Doctors and nurses and those on the frontline have no way of protecting themselves in their dangerous workplaces because they don't have enough masks, latex gloves,  hand sanitiser,  ventilating machines for their patients. or sleep. They are keeping the world running on compassion and adrenalin.

No flights are allowed to leave or arrive in Austalia unless there are important people on them, like Mr Dutton. However, cruise ships are allowed to dock in Sydney and other ports and expose the country to 2000 potential epidemic terrorists at any time. We managed to turn back boats of desperate, displaced asylum seekers but we couldn't stop a cruise ship full of wined, dined and infected passengers.

Anyway the world's 'leaders' are all giving us advice on how to survive this crisis. Each of the 150 countries affected give us 150 different updates every thirty minutes. I guess it will all work out. I only tune into New Zealand's Prime Minister anyway. She speaks like a real person not like a demented self-serving pollie. The American President does say some excellent, very good, sometimes silly, occasionally ridiculous words but he doesn't say them in any sequence so no one knows what he's talking about.

The main message we are all being given is to STAY AT HOME. Which is sensible for those of us who have one but a bit difficult for the 100,000 Australians who don't.

The self-isolating part of this process can be a bit challenging. I started off ok but after 5 hours I was completely over it. I mean it's ok for Eloise, she has a husband and five kids around her every day to keep her company. Maybe I do have the better deal.

I read two books on the first day without feeling guilty!!!  I'm not able to go to the nursing home to visit Beryl because it's in lockdown. Felt a little bit relieved about that but now wondering how she's coping with the isolation.

Before my total imprisonment, Josie and Talullah and Bronwyn came over for dinner a couple of times which was lovely. But in their caring way, they didn't want to put me at risk of exposure because I'm in the 'elderly vulnerable' category. Think they were a little bit relieved about that, as I was about not being able to visit Beryl. There are two thousand and three white tiles on my bathroom floor. and 42 black ones, The black ones are triangular and the white ones are square. I had such high hopes for what I was going to achieve during these three weeks of imposed lockdown.

• Marie Kondo everything
• Sort out the five half-written novels in my desk
• Paint the unit
• Create an exercise circuit in my loungeroom
• Clean the oven.
• Set up a new business venture
• Cook enough meals for winter
• Knit jumpers for all my grandchildren. (They love those)
• Take up a new hobby like fashion design and creation.
• Write letters to people I haven't seen since Tuesday
• Find my perfect match on an online dating site
• Shower
• Read all the books in '1000 Books To Read Before You Die'
• Wash my hair.
• Change the sheets on my bed 
• Clean the lint out of the clothes drier

So far I have Googled 'How to Clean Oven Racks without using Chemicals'. I now know how to do it but haven't actually done it yet.

I've done some extreme colouring-in, checked my emails/ phone messages every five minutes because it's the only contact I have with anyone.

I would take the garbage out but that would mean I'd have to get dressed

Last night I thought I might get a kitten to cuddle but then I snapped myself back to reality to realise I didn't have enough TP to toilet train it.

There are a lot more things I could tell you but this lockdown is going to last for the rest of my life, so I'll leave some until tomorrow, or next year.

We are living through a very surreal time down here and I'm wondering if it's Nature's way of telling us to slow down and take care of the things that matter like each other and the planet.

If you run into some experts up there could you please ask them for some advice? We are all a little confused by it down here and many of us are asking for some help from above.

I hope if there is a pandemic up there it's one of joy, laughter, happiness and harmless practical jokes. We need more of those in our lives and our deaths I guess.

As I sit at home alone I think about all the people I love and have loved, and all I know is that I wish that the last time I saw them, I'd hugged them all longer and much tighter.

Love always, and a longer tighter hug

Janet

At Seventeen

Dear Susan,
 I suppose it all came to a peak or mound just before I turned seventy. There I was. Sunday. Cleaning lint out of the drier. I wondered. Why if I put clothes that are every colour of the spectrum into the drier does the lint always come out grey?

Questions like that fill the windmills of my mind ad nauseam.

As I turned on my electronic device Spotify began to play me 'their' selection of 'my' weekly favourites.  How the f#*k did Spotify know that I wanted to hear Latin American Swing Hits of the Forties, and Tear-Jerking laments on a Sunday morning?

The song playing at that very moment was Janis Ian's 'At Seventeen'. Once upon a time when I'd been seventeen, it was my go to song during my"I'm going to run away and join a circus freakshow' moments or the ever-present 'Guess I'll have to join a nunnery' times Had there been internet dating at that time my profile would have read:
" Plain, introverted, intelligent,  street non-savvy, naive but at least lacking in personality, Call me"

Anyway whilst listening to Janis singing about "inventing lovers on the phone, Who called to say come dance with me"  I thought that the whole song could become revived for the baby boomers.
Sing along with me. Everyone knows the tune.

"I learned the truth at seventy
That aches were meant for those like me,
And senior folk with sunken smiles
Who'd married young and lived through trials.
The children that we all outgrew
Who took our youth and then shot through
Who came to see us now and then
They're women now and grownup men
And those of us with dribbling faces,
Bingo calls in old age spaces
Desperately contained in rooms
And thinking of what future looms
With bones that creak and parts that leak.....
It isn't all it seems at seventy"

I guess as we all related to Janis Ian at seventeen we may still be relating to her now. But She isn't like my picture of the seventy-year-olds who I watch in nursing homes. She is an activist with opinions that are relevant and she speaks them.

Everyone has their own version of what every age looks like I guess.

Like, at fifty I was married, in love, had three beautiful daughters, a job and a future.
At sixty I was divorced, still in love, had three beautiful daughters,  a successful business and a future.
At seventy I was still divorced, still in love, had three beautiful daughters, two fantastic sons in law, nine delightful grandchildren, no business no job. And as I perceived it no future or purpose

I was in a shit space. In a decade I had lost my dad, my sister/best friend/soulmate, (yes YOU) and my mum.
My sister- in law had developed terminal frontal lobe semantic dementia, my brother-in-law was in a nursing home with Lewy Body Disease, the planet was completing its free fall into extinction and the world was living with fear instead of love.

Sometimes I got into a shit space and found it difficult to move. But I  can always move now.

Sometimes I feel like a bright spark at the bottom of a dark hole.

Wow. As Tess would say
 "Gee Nan, That escalated very quickly"

And it certainly did. I needed that though. I'm writing again and all because I visited Aunty Barb in the Aged care unit yesterday. She sends her regards I think she said 'Hello From The Other Side.'

Promise I will be more upbeat next time
I miss you and love you always
Janet

PS Do you think the At Seventy song could be a hit if  I could got Janis Ian to sing it?

Dear Susan
When one gets to a certain age which you didn't hang around long enough to do, the Government sends one out a non-discrete package containing one's annual DIY Bowel Screening test.
Secreted inside the indiscrete parcel are two double ply sheets of tissue-ish paper and two plastic vials containing a toothpick like device which I immediately identified as "Pooh Sticks". There is also a 'destruction' manual and a replied paid padded envelope which when filled with required accoutrements would be delivered to a laboratory by Australia Post sometime in the unforeseeable future.
The thought of so much shit going through the mail cistern made me feel a bit squeamish until I remembered my last electricity bill. Different shit, same squeamish feeling.

So I read the destructions

1. Empty bladder
2. Place double-sided tissue-ish paper in toilet bowl.
3. Deposit stool sample on said tissue-ish paper.
4. Scrape "Pooh Sticks" through various areas of sample.
5. Insert stick into plastic vial and shake up and down three times.
6. Flush tissue-ish paper and excess excretion
7. Place vial in enclosed plastic bag and store in fridge (not freezer) until required
8. Repeat procedure when next bowel evacuation is indicated.
9. Place both specimens in pre-paid padded envelope provided and deposit in nearest Australia Postbox.

Well I got through stages 1 and 2 with no problems. However, the two plied tissue-ish paper was no match for my dump de jour and it sank slowly to the bottom of the toilet bowl rendering the entire mission impossible

In full knowledge that I only had one more chance and two samples to collect, I had to improvise. Two large paper plates, two pieces of paper towel and two carefully aimed turds did the trick. Twice. The paper plates were disposed of, the paper towel was flushed, and my hands were washed. Mission accomplished.

I filled in the required forms in triplicate put all the ingredients in the padded bag and walked to the post office feeling a bit sorry for the posties who had to deliver these bags of shit. I mean it's not as confronting as a hospital sluice room but postmen are not trained healthcare professionals. So instead of posting my package, I took it to the office of my local federal MP. I'd put up with his shit for such a long time, I figured he could deal with two rice grain size samples of mine.
Besides I thought it would cut out the middle man(Oz Post) and save the taxpayer the cost of a stamp.
By the way, remember I live in the seat of COOK. Do your own research.

Well, the results came back negative so I was very grateful for the service instigated by the then Minister for health Mr Rabbitt. Maybe that's where he went wrong. Ever since he introduced the shit-test -collecting policy he's been full of it.

I will now dislodge my tongue from my cheek and thank this initiative for all the lives it has saved. And urge everyone to take it seriously.

Next time I write I will tell you about the time my Dr wanted a mid-stream urine sample in a small plastic thimble.

Love Janet
xxx

Dear Susan,
What I did in the holidays. I made dinner for Eloise’s 5 kids. First mistake was asking them what they’d like to eat. SCHNITZELS. Yes I know, but I think I have a really easy way to do it. I’ve done it in bullet points so I can patent it later.
• Invite five grandchildren to dinner
• Ask them what they would like to Eat, Pray try to Love
• Stock up on your brand of anti-anxiety medication.
• Count up how many schnitzels you will need for five of them = 37.
• Visit the supermarket to buy chicken, eggs and stale bread (you will not have any stale bread at home because you threw it out yesterday.)
• Supermarket will have no stale bread because of OHS issues.
• Go dump diving for stale bread.
• Carry shopping home and put two of the broken eggs in a bowl after disposing of shells. Save other broken eggs for future use.
• Save empty egg carton in ‘useful box’ for next craft afternoon

Now we are ready to create schnitzels

• Put a plastic drop sheet on the kitchen floor
• Place chicken fillets which resemble breast implants between two sheets of cling wrap and pound the dickens out of the chickens with a wooden mallet.
• Remember you threw the wooden mallet out after you broke it the last time you made schnitzels.
• Make do with the heel of a ‘sensible’ shoe. NB: stilettoes do not work.
• Pour flour into a large tray … think sink.
• Beat eggs and pour into a suitable dipping plate.
• Push all the fallen out Tupperware back into the cupboard.
• Blitz the stale bread from the dump dive.
• Grate some parmesan into the breadcrumbs.
• Find the last band-aid in the bottom of your handbag.
• Now, one by one take a chicken piece and dip it in flour, beaten egg and breadcrumbs. Place on baking paper and wash hands.
• Repeat above procedure 37 times.
• At the 31st piece, pour more flour into large tray.
• At the 35th piece, the beaten egg runs out. Throw out the two un-crumbed chicken pieces
• Place all schnitzels in a storage box.
• Clean out fridge to make room for storage box.
• About three hours before serving start cooking the schnitzels one at a time. (When you live alone you only have an ‘alone’ frying pan)
• As children sit down at the table, place the Everest of schnitzels in the centre.
• Go to the kitchen to get a glass of wine.
• Go straight back to the dining room and try not to cry at the sight of the empty plate ( time elapsed 1.56 minutes)
• Do not remove drop sheet or wipe down benches.
• Ask them what they want for dessert; ice cream or ice cream.
• Get the ice cream and the 100s and 1000s out; you do not have to count them.
• Watch as they each inhale two litres of ice-cream and excuse themselves from the table.
• Take the garlic bread out of the oven.
• Go to bed until the next school holidays.

Love you
Janet

PINING FOR HOME

Dear Susan,

Further to my holiday series, I just remembered a wonderful trip I had to Norfolk Island. Our dear friend Sally invited me to be her assistant tour guide to twenty... eighty-plus, hearing, sight, culturally challenged seniors.
Norfolk Island is commonly known as the paradise for the Newly Wed and the Nearly Dead. At the end of the eight-day trip, I belonged to the latter group.

I met some wonderful people in the tour group like beautiful Katrina who had escaped from a home for the terminally 'inane'. She liked to ask endless questions of the local guides.

" Who owns the chickens?"
"No one."
"Someone has to own them."
"No no one owns them; they're feral chickens."
"Where do they lay their eggs?"
"Anywhere they like."
"Who collects the eggs?"
"The feral farmers!!!!"

Tour guides have to have all the answers.
 Beautiful Katrina had had a hip replacement. I know because she showed me her scar.

Norm was the eighty-four-year-old adventurer. He would try anything once. As soon as we reached the hotel Norm stripped down to his budgie smugglers and dived straight into the pool. His hearing aids didn't like swimming so Norm spent the next seven days lip reading and shouting at everyone. His spirit of adventure flagged a little on Italian Night. Having never ever experienced anything more culinary than a lamb chop with carrots, potatoes and peas. He was confused by the choices of three entrees three mains and three desserts, all of which involved an Italian flavour. Finally, he settled on the soup and a small serve of the LA SAG KNEE. In deference to the waiter serving Norm, I suggested he have pears for dessert because I didn't want to hear what Norm would do to the word TIRAMASU. Norm's wife ordered the spaghetti and complained because they served her 'bloody pasta'. She'd expected a tin of  Heinz and a can opener.

Maria was the group's hypochondriac and spent more time in the hospital than she did at the hotel. She came down with Norfolk Island Nervosa which had her excreting liquid from every bodily orifice as she lay on the pristine bathroom floor of Fletcher Christian's great great great very repulsedgranddaughter.Maria put her regurgitation down to the scrambled eggs she'd had for breakfast. Sure the eggs were from feral hens and collected by feral farmers but I had another theory. I think Maria took ill because she'd eaten her eggs, spent three hours hatless in the midday sun, gone for a walk and missed lunch, arrived back at the hotel and thought she'd join Mary for a drink before dinner. Maria didn't like the taste of alcohol so she sampled Mary's  'Sex on the Beach' cocktail and decided that the mixed drinks were quite palatable. Three 'Orgasms' and two 'Bounty Bombs' later Maria staggered out to the bus. It was about thirty minutes later that she wasn't feeling well. Call me cynical but I don't think feral eggs were Maria's problem.

Joy was not, as her name would imply, a bundle of it. She had forgotten to pack her Prozac. She'd got lost in Sydney airport and had to be removed by two armed guards. And that was before Border Force. She was never on time for the shuttle bus and after three days we all chipped in and sent her to the infirmary for a new prescription of mood enhancers. Nothing much changed. She was just more relaxed about being late. After six days the rest of us went to the infirmary for a Prozac prescription so we could endure Joy.

Norfolk Islanders are quaint. Your Christian name can be Antonio or Guido as long as your surname is Christian. They delight in their past to the point where they dress up in period costume every week and re-enact floggings, dysentery, scurvy, keel hauling, and hangings. They love their Norfolk Pines, their cows, their feral chooks, their ancestry, their ruins their funny convict nights and Wednesdays. The town closes at midday on Wednesdays so everyone can go down to the pier and watch the supply ship unload. The merchandise is delivered to the local shops and on Thursday the population can go shopping for anything produced before 1958.

I'm not saying I  wouldn't go back there. It's just that I want to see so many other places like Kabul, North Korea and Rookwood cemetery.

I do have some more stories of my horrordays but I'll send them later. I have some ladies coming over for afternoon tea and I have to whip up a dip

Love Janet