Wordless, mute, dumstruck

I've got writers block. I've lost my muse. My riason d' tere has gone. I bet it's all these writers in town for The Writers Festival sucking up the creative vibe and leaving nothing for me. If that weren't enough there's The Livid Festival grazing greedily on any theatrical or music mana that might be about and The Biennale pumping tankfulls of art inspiration, straight from the harbour I believe. And the worst of it; they all write. Word consumption is at a premium. It's a wonder there are any words left in Sydney. I should just go bush till it's over.

Perhaps that's what writers retreats are about, why Lawrence went to some southern NSW seaside cottage to write Kangaroo. Go somewhere remote where there aren't so many greedy word hogs. I wonder are there word hot spots, the mother lode of words just waiting out there to be combed from the beach or harvested from fields. As many words as grains of sand, imagine that.

Perhaps I should seek investors to finance some word prospecting. I know it sounds a long shot but just imagine the share price if I came back with a 'Davinci Code' or a 'Harry Potter'. I could give family a special deal you know. I've been looking at pension options. The best on offer falls about $149 a week behind Bunnings and that already includes the $71 pension earnings threshold. Imagine trying to find the job which paid no more or no less than $71 per week. Would that be pre or post tax? would it incur tax? Does this cast a light on that old codger who sells the morning papers (words) at Stanmore Station?

So here is the deal. For about two fourty a week, cash in hand of course, I could quit Bunnings and free my time for prospecting. Now I would need some travel expenses, but these could be easily offset against the pension provided indemnity on health, negating costly insurance. The $2.50 a day travel pass has already proved itself a prospectors boon even as far as Goulburn. With accommodation, internet and a few capital outlays on kit including state of the art lap top I could surely get by on under $500 per week.

Cheep you say, but imagine if O'KeefesandCo were to incorporate as the name suggests taking up share offers to distribute the strain and thus have the option when the time comes, as it surely will for some of our senior members, to pass the baton to the next generation. Jamison should be doing ok at Mr. Chicken some fifteen years hence and will be looking for a sound investment. Obviously the cash nature of this undertaking has its pitfalls but properly drawn contracts on acid free paper buried in a tin box would indemnify all participants and could even provide the pearl forming irritant to the Eldorado like mother lode of Stieg Larsson best sellers.

Any of you who have persevered with this drivel to read this need only to comment within the next forty eight hours to receive a 20% discount on full shares in the soon to be released Okeefesandco Word Prospectors.

Blogger login

Hi to those of you who write blogs and comments on the okeefe family blog. The login you now need to use is christopheroke@gmail.com. The password is unchanged. This is as a result of me getting a new computer which resulted in the need for an email change.
Bye for now, Chris.

New Teeth, Same O'Keefe

Yesterday morning I got the wish of the child in Donald Yetter Gardner's song first recorded by Spike Jones & His City Slickers on December 6, 1948 "All I Want For Christmas Is My Two Front Teeth'. (bless you Google and you to Wikipedia) I however was doubly blessed receiving not two but four front teeth. In less than forty minutes that morning I had my four top front teeth removed and a replacement denture which included two previously removed molars, a total of six teeth installed. This miracle of modern dentistry has left me with a mouth full of plastic and wire that my curious tongue like a pre teen child cannot resist licking, sucking and investigating by placing it in its, um mouth.


Now I must; "Avoid hot drinks, alcohol, SMOKING, hard chewy foods, choose cool drinks and minced soft foods".
I should; "Take analgesics 1 to 2 every 4 to 6 hours of preferred analgesic or Nurofen or Paracetamol or Panadeine as needed for relief of pain" (there all Greeks down there at Newtown Dental Care so we must excuse them if something is lost in translation).
I should not rinse and;"After 24 hours return to normal mouth cleaning, using warm salt water mouth washes 4-5 times daily". Is this normal mouth cleaning and if so how have I survived all these years?
I should also "Rest for a few hours, strenuous exercise is best avoided" Ah! Perhaps this explains my survival.

I had no problem with hot drinks or SMOKIMG. I'm perfectly in tune with the taking analgesics clause which I read as take plenty of pain killers. No problem either with the salt water part of the rinse clause but I'd already rinsed a few times before reading the first part of that clause and I'm grateful to you for drawing my attention to it. The big stumbling block has proved to be the minced food. No problem for those with Greek mothers ever ready to produce a Moussaka or two I'm sure but try for yourself to find a take away, or reasonably priced, minced dish to satisfy an extremely numb upper lip and a plastic palate.

Maybe the most difficult part of these instructions was the one that said avoid alcohol. Mercifully the verb avoid is a passive one and the word alcohol was not highlighted as SMOKING was. I took great care not to go near any industries that use alcohol in their production and I avoided mentholated spirits. That said it's hard for a bloke like me to avoid altogether especially such not really sickie days as this. My mouth felt weird though and I was sure a glass of wine would make that feel better. Wines not really alcohol is it, I mean not like Scotch or Gin. I could get a glass at the pub but for less than double that I could get a bottle, lucky I don't even consider casks...yet. So I resisted the passive verb and bought a bottle of 'Los Molinos' Tempranillo Valdepenas (cheap but lovely Spanish plonk) reminisced on Seville and Grenada, and found inspiration to write to lucky you.

Now after a not very restful night and in the cold light of dawn when the alarm sounded I tried to imagine how this day at work would go. I admit that my imagination is not at its best at that time of day when even practised mechanical tasks can go wrong. I tried reading the instructions and at "no hot drinks" recognised the fruitlessness of having just put the coffee on. Today I would, after ten, be allowed to remove the new teeth examine and clean them for the first time. How many times should I rinse with salt water? Where at Bunnings would I find the appropriate environment for such undertakings? Not in the pigsty staff room, not in the cesspool toilets, in the car? Mmm no wash basin. What would I eat? Where would I get enough mince? I was starving already. How long would it take the soaking muesli to turn mince like? Far too many questions to be answered before seven AM start. Instead I blessed the foresight of the dental receptionist who suggested I have a two day certificate that could be used as one rather than a one day that would never stretch to two and after a cup of extremely diluted cold coffee I went for a head clearing walk.

Indeed my head did clear. Enough to note that there was no stand out irritation. That the tongue though still going about its investigations was becoming more accommodating of its new roommate. That there seemed to be no more bleeding as there had been late last night. Back home I made my way around the muesli avoiding the large hard cubes of that whatever red stuff and after a little reading and dosing decided that rather than waste the day I would see the Chiropractor about my shoulder and the Optometrist about that floater often cruising my right eye. Now I began to see that I might need some speech therapy also. Though I told the Chiropractor the problem was with my left shoulder he went on to treat my right till I was too embarrassed to point out the mistake. When I suggested to the optometrist and the spectacle maker that I might wait a while before lashing out on new specs and made a inquiry about pensioners and specks they both became sidetracked by destitutes with no more than $500 to their name and CES form filling, patently not applicable to I who have more than twice that.

I have noticed a tendency to whistle especially with words starting with a 't' and even more so if a following syllable starts with an 's' as in trousers. Sort of Peter Cundall like and it's so obvious to me now that a Pom of his vintage with teeth like a plank was faking something. Now able to study them better than in other people's mouths where to stare is rude, they are intriguing. My front four are not four separate entities but one continuous slab. They are actually unhealthy pink in colour the white tooth like shapes with their shadows and grain are just an artistic laminate. I'm sure there are better quality versions out there and my operation coming in at only $1,500 is budget stuff, good enough for me though, and I assure you Kell that if I do win that lottery I will be coming to your wedding and doing as much world travel as possible before even considering anything flashier.

I could go on as you know but I see that I lost your interest about a paragraph in so I'll leave you now with some snaps.


Enough of that

And That

What is there not to love

Does this drinkers flush look good next to new teeth

Housemates getting to know one another

Genealogical Edits (probibly a profitable business)

A few corrections have cropped up regarding my recent assessment of our Boyle Heritage. John, who takes an interest in these things, has raised his hand to object to the naming of my step great grandmother, Edwards second wife, as Lucy Akers, a silly comic strip name that I never liked anyway. Her real name was Lucy Simpson and even more importantly, she and Edward went on to produce not six but ten more children, easily topping Michaels NRL team with a genuine Rugby horde. Of course it should not be overlooked that he wore out two wives to achieve this end.

John also informs me that Edward married Ms. Simpson in Jamberoo where she was from, not Bangalow as reported and that she already had some of her ten before she and Edward set out on the epic trip to Bangalow. I should say when Lucy and at least seven, possibly as many as ten children, the oldest of whom Emily (yes no seconds about Emily) would become my Grandmother, embarked on this trip by boat and dray to join with their father and husband who had preceded them. I would be surprised if such a group could have travelled safely in England or Ireland in this same period where dangerous wild humans ranged.

That about covers the corrections though John has also shone more light on our connections to the fascinating house on the hill overlooking Byron at Bangalow. Lucille Boyle, yes I'm sure the same who Little Richard eulogised, was the daughter of one of the sons of Edward and Lucy who went on to marry (?) Cornford. These were the same Cornfords who sometimes on a Sunday would visit Aintree (our farm) where Des their son about my age, would trap finches for his Lismore Heights aviary. When in 1960? dad sold our farm and moved to Sydney Des along with his mum, dad sister Raelene, and at least two younger sisters returned this hospitality by billeting me for the last half of my intermediate certificate year.

My Cousin Peter Blewitt, second son of Mac and Pauline, nee Byrne one of my mother's older sisters, would marry Patricia Boyle, Lucille's sister. The closest our family ever came to incestuous scandal though if you have the brain surgeons skill in connecting loose ends that you need to understand relationships you will see that this was a far cry.

Re-reading now I see why most of you don't even attempt one of Robert's epistles and why those who do soon lose track and would not pass the examination.

New Zealand trip

Kia Ora,
Sue and I had a nice but short week in NZ Nth Island last week, visiting the Coromandel Peninsular, Bay of Plenty, Rotorua and Taupo and the Waikato area. here are some pics of the scenery and Sue enjoying the first night in NZ.

My Day

This was sent to me and it describes Sue and me so well.

Something Substantial

Well I've just got through major, I'll have to call it Autumn, cleaning so you should expect a good post. In common with the greats like Kesey, Burrows, Keats and Browning, I find a bit of washing and vacuuming inspirational to the literary muse.

Finally I've seen the line in the sand. It's always been hard to find anything to chew let alone nourishing in the waffle Bunnings feeds us. Dressed as 'soup of training' and garnished with 'team meetings' it all seems to evaporate like Fairy Floss or Sherbet. Now at last I see that which always eluded me and I know where the buck stops. The holy grail is foosball or to be more specific the foosball.

Wednesday evening , Sixish, came this announcement on the PA from none other than the Operations manager, yes 2IC himself " Attention team members, would the team member who took the Foosball please return it to the operations managers office immediately, that's the team member who took the Foosball, please return it to the Ops, Managers office immediately." The same message was repeated some four or so minutes later though in a more hostile and peeved tone.

Some background I see is necessary. About a year ago at a marketers exhibition in the showground pavilion at Homebush, team member 'M' had lady luck look favourably on him when his ticket reporting participation in one of the marketers presentations was drawn from the hat to prise* him with the beautiful Foosball table on show. Now perhaps the ladies' shine was not as warm as it seemed for 'M' soon learned that said table was not to be his personal accoutrement but rather the team acquisition of the store he represented. A mixed blessing it would seem as while on the one hand M was spared the social upheaval of a personal Foosball table (some of you might remember the 'Friends' Foosball episodes) and missed commercial advantage of the E-Bay auction. On the other he launched into the teams already crowded staff room a divisive and outrageously noisy device.

Foosball is not everyone's wicket but some of our multi cultural team take too it with a passion. Many , maybe most, of those who don't indulge hate it with a passion. The staff room furnished with four small tables pushed together into one to accommodate Mr. Foose, some chairs, fridges, dispensing machines, a sink, boiler, microwave and toaster, is small. With adjacent lounge (Eecch) furnished with large flat screen TV and two three seater lounges that started life less than a year ago as maroon suede velour and are now black crusty and always damp make one grateful for Bunnings uniform and apron. Relaxing in this environment even without the ruckus and noise of Foose is an active not passive endeavour. It's comes as no wonder then that one active minority might feel inclined to sabotage the pleasures of another Foose active minority.

As it turns out Ops. Manager, henceforth to be known as 2IC, the same person who apologised to me in private, but not in the public where I had addressed the question, to his bewilderment that waterless urinals were not just a matter of turning off the water and putting a sticker explaining waterlessness on the now redundant cistern, has become a passionate foosball fanatic. Forty something and close to 200 KG, his weight beginning at top of ear on the back of his neck and proceeding egg like from there he has the form of the inspiration for Humpty Dumpty or in a more modern sense and complemented by his goatee, of the devil in 'South Park the Movie' who fell so madly in love with Sadam Hussein.

It's difficult to imagine what other 'sporting' pursuits short of Sumo, whose almost religious dedication would probably preclude practitioners from executive roles in Bunnings, that one such as he could excel at. Yes I agree that 'sporting' stretches concepts but Foose requires more movement than Pinball and we all know how inspirational that has been.

Back then to Wednesday evening when indulging my second tea break I witnessed 2IC and his major Foose partner turn over the staff room in a manner that would have had MI5 applauding and the CIA issuing The Kissinger Medal of excellence. I fully expected to have to bend over and spread'em for a finger wave but was spared. Later, passing the Ops. Office I noted 2IC had drawn his chair up to the multi screen security camera monitor and was studying it intently with Coordinator 'V' who looks like the love child of all three Macbeth witches, standing behind him, her claw gouging into his shoulder, silently mouthing curses to be delivered by VHS cable.

Later still, maybe twenty minutes, came another announcement via the PA from 2IC "Attention team members, any team member with information about the whereabouts of the Foosball come to the Ops. Managers office where a reward of $50 worth of shopper dockets is on offer that's... (mandatory repeat)". Now ignoring the obvious what happened to the Gallipoli/John Howard/Kevin Rudd 'wouldn't dob on a mate' Aussie tradition being challenged here, at greater issue is how little needs to be offered in this low paid environment and in corporate currency. Bunnings gift vouchers as a bribe for what seems like an internal spat. Aren't Melbourne Storm in a lot of trouble for just such.

I later heard that this was the third day running that the ball had disappeared and whilst this could have contributed to the vehemence of 2IC's response I would think that it equally indicates a strong emotive reaction from the anti Foose camp that might be better dealt with in, um, mediation. At the end of the week the ball, or a ball, was back and I witnessed 2IC seriously into a game with Major Foose Partner when coordinator 'D' came and asked a question of 2IC. Before 'D' was answered 2IC protested to 'Major' as he obviously lost the point "you can't count that, she was talking to me" Mmmm

* As sports commentators verb medal I will verb prise. No appologies, this is Australia and sport rules.

Now with Cat in mind I pass on a few facts gleaned from this weekend's Sydney Morning Herald which I know she so misses.

Yesterday, Saturday, the World Expo opened in Shanghai ( I don't understand why the spelling of this city has not changed like Beijing and many others. Is it the only one those cock head English got right? sorry Kell.) Well blow me down with a Tiger Woods #9. I was well informed of Melbourne Storms disgraceful rorting of the salary cap, along with incidental volcanic ash clouds over Europe and oily disasters in the Gulf of Mexico. How was this kept so secret?

With someone's $48 billion spent, even more than the remake of Beijing for the 2008 Olympics and their own pavilion capable of hosting more than 26 soccer games in an upside down pyramid that could get the world cup over and done with in a couple of days and avoid the carnage of turning Darling Harbour into a 'Booze Fest' but that's another story. The monumental 2.6 square kilometre cleared (of 18000 families and 270 factories including the Jiang Nan Shipyards employing 10,000 workers) site alongside the Huangpu River, twice the size of Monaco, houses a giant baby outside the Spanish exhibit and an aerial view of the British Pavilion that looks suspiciously like an artist's photo shop bang up. Chinese have been urged to Queue better, spit less and not wear pyjamas in public

With 25 million tickets sold and city officials projecting more than 70 million what chance do I stand at this late date. Bugger you Herald. Who cares about some Melbourne crim getting his comeuppance in maximum 'security' at the wrong end of a piece of exercise bike? keep your mind on the main game. China. Bunnings does, as indeed do their parent company of global polluters.