Posted in Ramblings

Why I Need to Learn How to Say NO…

Have I mentioned how much I hate the GPS in my car? This is not a new situation, I’ve hated the GPS in my car since… well, since I got the GPS. Perhaps I’m too much of a free spirit (or too stubborn) to listen to a very annoying voice telling me which direction to head in, or perhaps I just cringe every time she mispronounces a street name. (i.e. Pinaster Parade in Ellenbrook somehow becomes ‘Penis-ter’, and for some reason she insists on pronouncing Mirrabooka Drive as though it’s a spell out of a Harry Potter book).
Anyhoo… yesterday, Bonnie picked up an extra shift at Gamesworld – not at Cannington, but over at their other store in Booragoon.
Now all things being equal, the answer to ‘Can I do a shift at Booragoon’ should have been a resounding no. I’ve swung from a manic episode, plunged into a depression, and swung back into manic in the past month – consequently I avoid driving because frankly, I’m probably dangerous behind the wheel and I’m not focused enough to be driving (in my opinion). But years of conditioning to automatically say ‘yes’ to all and everything I’m asked to do (regardless of whether it’s something I want to do, or I’m capable of doing) got in the way.
I said yes.

And immediately began to stress over it, because Bonnie couldn’t get to Booragoon by public transport, and the boys were all at work, and Steve is currently in Sydney working – which meant I had to get her to Booragoon.
Which leads back to the GPS. I kind of know the way to Booragoon, but thought it would be better to use the GPS, because that way, (supposedly), I wouldn’t have to think about where I was going.
We set off (happily, leaving plenty of time at the other end for Bonza to figure out where in Garden City the Gamesworld Store happens to be) and ‘Miss GPS’ automatically shits me to death by insisting that I should turn left at Wharton Road, which I knew would lead me to Armadale Road, and from there, onto the freeway… which is the one road that I do NOT want to drive on. The freeway on the best of days makes my anxiety peak… and trust me, you do not want to suffer a panic attack on a freeway – it’s not good ju-ju.
Consequently, I tell Miss GPS to mind her own business and continue around the roundabout to continue up Nicholson Road. She decides she should ‘recalculate’.
We get along amiably until we get onto South Street, at which point she announces we should turn left onto Roe Highway… which leads us back to the freeway…
I can begin to feel tension rising in the my shoulders, and I’m clutching the steering wheel to the point where my fingernails are digging into the material, a sure sign that I’m heading towards panic. The roads around here are busy, and as I mentioned above… I probably should have said no.
Tell Miss GPS to mind her own business and continue down South Street.
She decides to recalculate.
We reach Murdoch and sure enough, Miss GPS is all ‘turn right, turn right’… onto the freeway.
At this point, I find myself in a turn right only lane, (to go onto the freeway) surrounded by traffic, and my stress levels increase.

Manage to get out of that lane, call Miss GPS a few choice words in my head, and sail on down South Street. We get to the next intersection, and again, Miss GPS insists we should turn right, but by this time, I’m convinced that it’s a plot to get me back to the freeway…so I ignore her and continue.
Which is followed by Miss GPS assuring me, regularly, that now I need to TURN BACK.
Decide I have no choice but to turn back (and South Street is a very busy street too) and find that Miss GPS was actually right and we DID have to turn.
By now, I’m practicing my breathing exercises to avoid having to pull over, my palms are sweating, my heart is racing and I’m not a happy bunny.
Finally get to Garden City and I spend ten minutes in the carpark, punching random buttons on Miss GPS until I come across a ticked box which says ‘Always use freeways where possible’
Unticked the bloody thing and came home, where I proceeded to collapse into a chair and remind myself again why I shouldn’t attempt these things when I know the answer to the request should be ‘No, I’m afraid I can’t do that.’
I live in hope that I’ll learn this lesson.

Posted in D.S. Williams Worlds, Ramblings

So, it started with a desk…

The start of 2017 has seen me ‘prepping’ for a whole lot of book writing, with plans (in concrete, and written in blood, I swear) to publish six books by December.  I’ve organized, prepared, reorganized my whole approach to social media and cut back on how many ‘things’ I need to keep updated. (Hence why this blog page is now the home of me, my alter ego Leah Dempster, and my editing counterpart The Pedantic Punctuator – one blog is much easier to focus on than three.)

I got a weekly diary, planned out my writing/editing/publishing timetable, gave myself strict instructions on how many words a day would be written, and this week was set aside for ‘prepping’, before ‘writing’.

Hence why it started with a desk.

We have a little study in our new house, which I share with the Darling Husband.  When I say the study is little, I mean tiny.  Minuscule. And it is filled with computer equipment,  bookshelves, printers and all my crafting supplies.  (I used to do craft, until I started editing for a living, and writing books in between edits, so now I have a lot of craft supplies, which take up a lot of space, which require regular dusting, but otherwise don’t come out much.)  And my Darling Husband, although he’s the love of my life, is the antithesis to my OCD Bipolar nuttiness in that he keeps all his stuff EVERYWHERE… He is a lover of flat surfaces and covers them all.

Which leads to that desk issue.

Part of the ‘getting ready for my big 2017 writing projects’ is that I wanted a little space to do my writing.  I had it in our old house, because I had my little desk in our bedroom, with a potted plant, a cute little lantern, a candle and it was… my space.  In the new house, we made the decision to share the study, because there wasn’t quite enough room in the bedroom.  But the prospect of trying to write in the study, with all that… stuff…

I knew it would never work.  I’d be more inclined to start tidying up than do any productive writing.  So I woke up yesterday morning and decided to move the desk.

But first, I needed to rearrange some of the kitchen.

Why I hear you ask?  Well, it began with a need to make some space in the linen cupboard, because I decided that to get the desk out of the study and into our bedroom, I needed to get some of the stuff out of the study.  And while I was at it, I might as well begin organizing the study a little better because you know how it is when you move into a house, and you get to that point where you’re sick of unpacking and things just start getting shoved into the rooms willy-nilly?  The study kind of ended up like that.

So I wanted to reorganize some stuff in the kitchen, to fit the extra kitchen stuff which had collected in half of the linen cupboard, so that I could move some stuff into the linen cupboard from the study, and then I could get the desk out and into our bedroom



But then while I was at it, I had a brainwave.  We recently inherited a wonderful display cabinet from BIL & SIL, and we were considering getting rid of our old cabinet, but then I had a thought.  I could use the old cabinet in the study for better organization!  And get the desk out of the room, and while I was at it, completely rearrange all the shelves!


So consequently, to get my little desk out of the study and seven feet down the hallway and into our bedroom, I moved kitchen stuff around, got kitchen stuff out of the linen cupboard and got it into kitchen cupboards, moved blankets and things out of the laundry cupboards and into the linen cupboard, moved crafty stuff out of the study and into the laundry cupboards… and got the desk out of the study and set up in our bedroom.  Where it looks beautiful, and it’s my own little space and I’m going to be very happy writing in there with the morning sun streaming in through the window.

Which left me with a study which looks like a bomb had hit, shelves half-filled, other shelves empty, a filing cabinet which didn’t look right where it was, and numerous stuffed toys (I’m an addict) which needed to be organized.

So it turns out, moving my little ‘writing space’ into the other room constituted an all day marathon, ‘voluntolding’ the help of Son # 2 and Son #3 to help lift the really heavy stuff, and completely rearranging the kitchen, the linen cupboard, the laundry cupboards, the study and our bedroom to make it all ‘work’.

Mission accomplished!  And now, I’m ready for Monday to roll around because I’m all ready to write!



Posted in Ramblings

A Random Update…

Oh goodness, it’s been a huge month for my family, with a move from one end of the city to the other, after ten months of my DH and I living apart while he works on the Naval Base and the Gang of Four and I continued to live in Ellenbrook. With the beautiful daughter finishing up her secondary education in Ellenbrook, it was a strategic decision as a family to stay there and allow her to complete her final year.
Now though, with her last few weeks nearly finished we’ve made the big move which has been both wonderful, and as anyone who has moved house knows, extremely stressful.
We are, if I may say so, reasonably professional at moving house.  During our thirty years of marriage (and with twenty six years of those having a DH who is a serving member of the Air Force), we’ve moved quite a bit.  In fact, I think the count is up around sixteen or seventeen moves, in five different Australia states.
Despite this regularity of making moves, it never seems to get that much easier.  Sure, we’ve got the prepping and organising sections down to a fine art, but that final get-everything-packed/get-everything-moved/settle-into-the-new-house section of the agenda is always tricky, and always sheer hard work.
Since we moved in a couple of weeks ago, we have been dealing with trying to get our internet up and running – started organizing it a week or two before we moved, and now, here we are, two and a half weeks into the new house and still we don’t have internet available.  Honestly, you would think we were living in a third world country, but no, this is Australia, we are supposed to be a first world country, and yet, getting internet is probably one of the most difficult things to manage 🙂  Consequently, the DH and I have been providing internet to the Gang of Four (and ourselves) on a very limited trickle system.  While the DH has one of those teeny tiny internet boxy things, which provide wireless internet (he needed it when he was living on the naval base) – it costs a lot to use (we’re talking 50 bucks for 50 gigs, which doesn’t sound bad, but when you have a family of tech-savvy teenagers and young adults, 50 gigs lasts about 50 seconds!).
Consequently, everyone has been on a drought of internet access.  In desperation, I’ve been using my mobile phone as an internet hotspot to gain access to ‘the rest of the world’, but it runs at an internet equivalent speed of using a chisel on a block of stone.
We live in hope however, and after having two internet providers telling us they could provide ADSL2, only to turn around at the eleventh hour and say no, in fact, they couldn’t… this week, we’re hoping to at least get ADSL1.
It won’t be fast, but at this stage, we’ll settle for anything which actually works, is reliable, and is available on a full-time basis rather than our current erratic program.  And now folks, I’m going to sign of from my ‘hotspot’, and get back to writing.
Posted in Ramblings

Belated New Year Resolutions

I’m late.  How unusual.  But as with everything in life, my head wasn’t cooperating with the rest of me over the New Year section of the year, and having discovered a few months back that my diagnosis is, in fact, that I’m bipolar… let’s just say that the period around New Years saw me having a particularly ‘bipolar’ session.

New Year isn’t my favorite time of the year, something I might have mentioned in the past.  This year – so much so – that I didn’t make any resolutions on New Year’s Eve, instead spending both New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day in a funk.  While so many people consider New Year’s Eve a time of celebration, a time to grab a couple of drinks and celebrate the forthcoming year as a time of optimism and new beginnings, I tend to be the ‘glass is half empty’ kinda gal.

New Year is when I consider the passing of one year and the possibilities for the next with the same, entirely pessimistic view.  I berate myself over what I failed – and worry myself to death over what might happen in the following year.  Kinda tragic, but there you are.  And I don’t think I’m the only person on the planet to do this, but sometimes… sometimes I suspect I’m the only person in this particular boat.

Consequently, I didn’t make any resolutions last Thursday night.  I’ve done all the obvious ones… given up smoking… worked on and successfully self-published some books… heck, this past year, I even found the courage to sign up with a publisher (which is proving to be the best decision I’ve ever made)… and set up a small editing business.

But I couldn’t think of anything ‘big enough’ or ‘important enough’ to consider as resolutions for 2016.  And given the ‘bipolar funk’ I’m just now emerging from, I didn’t think I had anything which fit the bill.

Fast forward to the fourth of January… and I realize I do, in fact, have a couple of very important resolutions to be made for the upcoming year – things that will better my own situation, and hopefully, teach me something new about myself.

Consequently, here is my list. (Drumroll, Please.)

  1. Learn to like myself.  Something I struggle with, every day.  I am truly my own worst enemy, and can’t see that I might have something positive to contribute to friends and family.  Why would anyone like me – when I don’t like myself?  To improve in this regard, I’m going to try and think of one thing each day that I like about myself and write it down.   When I’m at my lowest, perhaps those written reminders will help.
  2.  Don’t be so hard on myself.  This is a biggie, and one which I struggle with daily.  I’m a massive ‘responsibility taker’.  If anything goes wrong, it’s entirely my fault.  If a bill doesn’t get paid on time – I’ll immediately berate myself for missing it, even though I live in a house with five other people who could all take responsibility for the situation.  If we run out of toilet paper – that’s on me, and I should have better control of things.  If the Gang of Four are late for school/work – somehow, even though they are mostly adults – I can find a way of bringing it back to my fault.  My mantra for 2016 will be ‘I’m not in charge of everything.  The people surrounding me need to take responsibility for their own lives, and I can’t micro-manage everyone’s lives and keep them from making mistakes.’
  3. I don’t have to please everyone. I think I may have tried this one in previous years, but I’m yet to learn it.  I’m in charge of my own happiness – but I’m not responsible for anybody else’s happiness.  And if people don’t like the way I lead my life or think I should be doing something differently… that’s on them, not me.  I need, very much, to learn this one and get it to stick.  I’m so very tired of feeling a sense of overwhelming responsibility to please other people.  And I spend so much time anxiously worrying over pleasing those other people, that I forget to enjoy my own life with the people who matter.

So there you are.  Nothing particularly life-changing to the majority of the planet – but for me – three things which would make a huge difference to my own self-esteem and belief in myself.  So I begin 2016 with the best of intentions, and we’ll see how it pans out in due course.

And to those who read my blog – I wish you the very best of luck in following through with your own resolutions in 2016.

Posted in Ramblings

It’s Been A While…

I’ve been missing in action for quite a few weeks now, with one thing and another, blogging has been on the backburner.
One of those reasons has been having surgery, for a hernia which has been hanging around for a while, but hadn’t caused me too much trouble until recently.
Another thing, has been a heck of a lot of procrastination.
There should be a self-help group for procrastinators. Somewhere we could go to meet other procrastinators and admit our addictions.

Hi, my name is D.S. and I procrastinate.  I’m addicted to Facebook, and have been known to lurk around Pinterest and when I’m really trying to avoid my work-in-progress, I’ll pfaff about playing Candy Crush Soda Saga and Mirrors of Albion to avoid actually opening the word file I should be concentrating on. I have a problem.

My new week’s resolution is to be tougher on myself and give myself a firm talking to if I’m procrastinating. I’ll let my readers know later on how that’s going.
Probably in a Facebook post 🙂

Posted in Ramblings

The Definition of Normal

Some thoughts from my latest diary entry, while I recover from hernia surgery.

Not feeling too bad today, got one sore spot on the side of the wound, and still dealing with the itchies. Steve used some new dressings last night after my shower, but still not certain they are doing the job and stopping the eczema from flaring up. Funny how I used to not be allergic to anything, and now I’m more and more allergic to things which never bothered me before. I’m wondering if the all-over itchiness is a reaction to the antibiotics – even though they aren’t penicillin, maybe other forms of antibiotics are going to cause me issues from now on. Oh, to be normal.
Mood wise, I’m a bit better today, but still not ‘right’. Of course, I’m not even sure now what ‘right’ might be, it seems so long since I’ve been what I would classify as ‘normal’.

The true question is, have I ever been normal? I find myself thinking back over the past, and realizing that there were many instances in which I was displaying the type of anxiety that I suffer from now, but I kept bulldozing myself into overcoming it, kept trying to be ‘normal’. What I’ve begun to realize, is that this is my normal. This is the reality of how my life is. While other people are taking themselves out there, having new adventures, experiencing new situations – I am safer, calmer and more in control of myself if I don’t attempt these things. In some ways, I find the concept very sad. Will I always be this way? Will I ever have the opportunity to travel, to experience new things? Or will the fear continually hold me back from embracing life in the outside world.
And the bigger question this poses. Does that make the way I choose to live my life ‘wrong’ in some way. Who chooses what is the right way to live, and what is the wrong way? Where is the line drawn, which says the way a life can be acceptably lived and passes whatever the test for such things is. Is there even a test? Is it wrong to be happy in my own environment, to only travel through my imagination, to seek out knowledge through the pages of a book, or the screen of a laptop?
Who makes the rules? Who is to say what is the right way, or wrong way, of living this life?
I often feel the guilt is being placed upon me, by me, to be something I’m not certain I’m capable of being. I like the way my life is now. I don’t pander for travelling to other exotic destinations. I am comfortable within my enclosed environment. Does that make me wrong – and everyone else right? Are there other people out there, who feel the way I do?

Posted in Ramblings

The Horrors of Birthdays Ending with Zero.


The last birthday which ended in ‘0’ that I actually recall enjoying  was when I turned twenty.

Lots of people love them.  Lots of people have huge parties, and see a zero birthday as a wonderful and special landmark in their lives.

Me?  Not so much.  My 30th, 40th and now, 50th Birthdays have been a time of self-reflection, inner turmoil and anxiety.  Perhaps because I have always seen them as milestones where I take a long hard look at what I’ve accomplished in the previous decade.

And I have to admit, I always find myself coming up short.

In truth, my expectations are set incredibly high, and consequently, most of the goals I set are out of the ballpark in terms of possibilities and realism.  Being the girl who  wants to do and have everything done in a set way under strictly established rules and guidelines means that I don’t always set reasonable life expectations for myself (or others).

Consequently,  when I hit those ‘0’ birthdays, I generally have a mini meltdown because I haven’t done what I thought I should do.  I’m not in the position I think I should be.  I spend a lot of time, analyzing and fretting over the many, many things I think I’ve done wrong, could have done better, and wish I’d had the courage to do.

HIndsight is a wonderful thing, and hindsight involving the life of an introverted woman who suffers from a major depressive disorder, OCD, panic and anxiety attacks means my hindsight tends to tail me, overwhelm me, have me questioning everything I say or do.

This year however, I’ve found it somewhat less difficult to cope with – (turning ’49 + 1′ as my beloved brother and sister-in-law had iced on my cake) – surprisingly.

No, I haven’t accepted birthdays ending with ‘0’ any better than I had before.  No, I haven’t reached an epiphany and said to hell with worrying about things.  I haven’t decided I’ve missed out on so many opportunities to have a humdinger of a party and consequently invited every single person I know to celebrate with me.

But I have accepted myself – who I am – more so in the past eleven months since the ‘incident’ (I still think ‘nervous breakdown’ encompasses what happened far better than a ‘severe depressive incident’, but that might just be me).

This year, I didn’t worry that people would ‘expect’ me to have a big party.  I accepted that I’m not the partying kind, and I didn’t drive myself crazy worrying about everyone else’s expectations of what I should (or shouldn’t) do to celebrate turning 49 + 1.  A huge milestone for someone who is brilliant at worrying about stuff like that.

I spoke to a very small amount of people via phone on the day.  My mum, and my sister to be exact.  Both asked if I intended on going out to lunch with the darling husband to celebrate, and both got the same answer – but for the first time in as long as I can remember, I told them the truth and didn’t feel the need to apologize for my weirdness, or explain my decision.  “No.  I much prefer to have a quiet day at home.”

And I did.  I had an enjoyable day at home with the people I love the most.  I had a couple of texts from other family, and that was okay, and something I was comfortable with.  The day was perfect for me.  And it ended with cheesecake!

Because I’ve finally, finally begun to come to terms with who I am, and how I operate.  I’ve finally discovered the power that comes from acceptance of myself.  I am who I am, I’m strange, quirky, introverted, have weird thoughts and feelings, and don’t communicate or cope well with the outside world.  I struggle with friendships, I don’t do well when playing with others.

But I am me.  I have strengths, and I have weaknesses.  And I don’t have to apologize for those weaknesses.  I’m finally coming to terms with the idea that people can accept me for who I am, and I don’t have to be something else to prove anything to anyone.  I can be me, and I’m unusual, and probably a tad freaky, and sometimes I’ll say inappropriate things, and occasionally, I won’t react to situations in the way that is expected.  It’s one of the reasons that so many of my so-called friends have fallen by the wayside over the years.  Because I don’t do well with friendships.  I questions them every single day, wondering why anybody would want to be friends with me, and consequently, I’ve come to a major conclusion.  I sabotage those relationships myself, because I find them too difficult to deal with.  I must admit though, to a few friendships which have lasted for many, many years.  Decades in fact.  Why? I hear you ask?

Because that small group of people accept me exactly the way I am.  And don’t expect me to be constantly in contact, doing the things that ‘friends’ do.  They know my quirks and idiosyncrasies, and accept them.

But I’m getting off track.  Yes, I have turned 49 + 1.  And next year I’ll be 49 + 2.  I still hate the concept of a birthday ending in ‘0’ and I doubt that will change.

But I’m going to work on learning to stop and smell the roses.  To learn to accept the things I can’t change, and try to learn to love myself as I am.  I’m going to be proud of the achievements I’ve made, and try not to dwell on the many, many mistakes I’ve made in my life.  I can’t change them, I have no way of fixing them, and really, the main achievements I’ve made are colossal.

I may not have a fancy house to call my own, but we’ve always had a roof over our heads.  I doubt now we will ever be ‘homeowners’, but we have thoughts and plans for the future.  We have never been rich, but if laughter could be counted in dollars, we’d be millionaires.  I have accepted that I will never hold down a ‘real job’, due to my anxieties and issues, but I’ve carved a little home business for myself through editing, and make a little pocket money from it.  I’ve established a career as an ‘author’ (of course, I’m anxiety ridden, and have no confidence in my writing but I’m still putting it out there) and I have a teeny, tiny little following of people who like what they read, much to my everlasting disbelief.  My Darling Husband and I have been fortunate to share thirty years of our lives together and still love one another deeply, and we have four wonderful, quirky, endearing children who are growing into wonderful, quirky, endearing adults. I used to fret over the fact that they were too much like me – now I’m trying to learn how to let them be themselves and not let outside expectations push them into the situation I found myself in, the situation in which I tried to be something I am not, to please those around me.  I’m hoping (and praying) that I’ve given them the confidence to accept who they are and to know that it is okay to be exactly who they are.  They can no more help who they are, than I can help who I am.  We are given a certain set of cards in life and have to make do with them as we can.

And I’ve just begun to figure out, 49 + 1 years into my life – how to play them properly.  I might not be comfortable with those birthdays ending with ‘0’, but I’m better learning how to manage them.

Posted in Ramblings

A Permanent State of Flux

That’s a good description for how I’ve been feeling lately.

Disheartened by the whole publishing process, I’ve decided now might be a good time to step back, take a break and regroup.

Writing has always been a love of mine, and in many ways, the only thing which has kept me sane.  When I’m struggling with the black dog, or feeling completely and utterly stressed, it is a way of escaping the reality and doing something which takes me into my own space, a space less filled with anxiety and day to day issues, and the many, many worries and strains which fill my thoughts on a daily basis.

It took me years and years to work up the courage to publish, and even then, I took what I consider to be the chicken’s way out and self-published.  I knew that I would not cope with the gut wrenching, soul crushing rounds of seeking a publisher who might consider my work – I’m the poster child for people with self-doubt and to receive a rejection letter would only prove to the voice in my head that I am useless at writing.

Consequently, I attempted self-publishing, but to be honest, I’m just as filled with self-doubt as I was before, if anything, even more so.  And self-promotion is not my strong point.  Nor is worrying about selling books, because if I don’t, I’m still a failure. And if I do sell books, I might be pressured into writing more and more and conforming to what readers want to read, and then there would be huge amounts of expectations on what I do next…

And I fold, like a pack of playing cards which have been built into a ramshackle house.

The simple fact is – I’m not cut out for so many things in life.  I’ve always suspected I march to the beat of a drum that only I can hear – I can’t conform, I can’t do what so many others do.  I can’t be a success, because I fear success.  I don’t want to be a failure, because that wouldn’t be a happy place to be either.

So here I sit, in my corner of the world, fearing so many things, and filled with so much self-doubt, it seems as if I’m mentally holding back doubts the size of the Hoover Dam.  And wondering how to be comfortable in my own skin.

The fact of the matter right now, is that I can’t publish any longer, because I don’t want to go through the grind.  I find myself now considering every word of everything I attempt to write and thinking that nothing I do is good enough.  What if no-one wants to read it?  What if I get bad reviews?  What if I’m not ‘conforming’ to what the audience wants.  The endless questions have crippled my ability to write, to the point where I just don’t want to write any longer.

And that, for a person like me, who fits so badly into the real world, is almost unbearable.

I want to write.  I want to travel to those far off and magical places.  I want to express my thoughts and dreams and desires through the written word.  And I want to do it in a way that makes me  happy, in a way which allows my creativity to soar and releases me from the bonds which tie me to my insecurities.

So for now, I’m heading back to basics.  I’m going to write for the heck of writing.  I’m going to write the stories which flow from my heart.  And I’m going to write them for myself.

And when I regain belief in myself, I might come back to publishing.  Who knows?  I don’t want to say I’ll never do it again, because my mind is in a constant state of flux, and how I feel today, is different to how I might feel next week, or next month, or next year.

But I am going back to basics.  I will write from my heart, and clear my soul of the gut-wrenching fear of doing it wrong.  I’ll remind myself to write for me and no-one else.  And hopefully, I will regain that love for the written word, the sheer joy of creating something that no-one else has done, the fun of making characters and letting them grow and seeing where their adventures will take them.

Posted in Ramblings

The Entertaining World of D.S. Williams at Home

It’s another situation in which I sit and shake my head at the way my world works.
Last night, son #2 busted the second of two very cheap can openers. Personally, I don’t get disturbed about very cheap can openers – I spend five bucks on a can opener and it works for twelve to eighteen months, and I’m happy. In this case, I’d bought two can openers about eighteen months ago, and even managed to get them on a ‘two for five bucks’ sale, so the fact that they’d gone to the great can opener heaven, didn’t phase me whatsoever. (Well, other than the fact that we needed to open a can, but the husband stepped in with his handy dandy, out in the middle of nowhere, need to open Air Force rations can opener.)
However, the Darling Husband grumbled and said I should spend some money on a ‘good’ can opener which will last… well, forever, I guess.
Consequently, son #2 and I have been out on an emergency trip to the shops this afternoon, to buy a ‘good’ can opener… twenty three bucks, thank you very much. (Looks like any other can-opener to me – but I digress.)
We had to make an emergency trip, this afternoon, because tonight is Hawaiian Meatballs with Brown Rice for dinner (see my ‘organized with great dinners’ post from last week) and we need to open two cans of crushed pineapple.
Consequently, Son #2 and I tootle off down to the shopping centre, contemplate the array of can openers available, bypass my favorite five buck versions, contemplate the middle of the range thirteen to seventeen buck versions, and come home clutching a top of the range, ‘this can opener shouldn’t even need my assistance to open a can’, can opener. That’ll be twenty three bucks, thanks.
Tootle home with said can opener, get the approval of the darling husband, and he and the beloved daughter start to create Hawaiian Meatballs with Brown Rice for dinner.
The catch to this long, rambly tale…
The cans of pineapple have ring-pulls – and consequently do not require the #*$&#* can opener…