Tiramicasasucasa

I was visiting Bezley today when she suggested we order something for lunch from an Italian cafe near her. After perusing the menu she settled on ravioli and me on pizza. Bezley rang them to place the order. She told them what we wanted and then, after listening a moment to the person on the phone, she turned to me rather hopefully and asked, "Do we want any dessert?"

"No, we do not!"

"Oh. I've been told that we don't."

After a few minutes I whizzed us down to the shops to pick the food up. Bezley seemed gone a fair while and when she got back in the car she had the pizza box and two placky bags with her. I poked in one bag, which contained the ravioli.

"What's in the other one?"

Bezley looked rather shamefaced. "Tiramisu," she confessed.

She tried to make me share some with her but I told her she had to eat every last skerrick herself.

As she enthusiastically took up spoonful after spoonful it didn't look like much of a punishment.

Steeped in Sentiment

Last year Bezley and Cinderella both made sure they called me on the anniversary of Bloody Ern's demise (today). Neither of them mentioned it directly and I didn't even remember so I thought it was just one of those lovely things, that I'd got a phone call from not-quite-mother and not-quite-sister on the same day. It dawned on me about a week later.

This year I decided for Bezley's sake to make a special effort to remember and I gave her a quick call before I came into work. We had a bit of a chat and Ern's name didn't come up so I decided not to mention it.

"You know, I don't think Bezley remembered this year," I told QEII this morning.

QEII then went on to wax lyrical about how she always remembers because Ern died on Mother's Day, so each year she quickly checks the date around Mother's Day to remind herself.

"Also," she said after a bit, "My Foxtel bill is always due on the 14th so that makes it easier."

Old Fashioned Values

"Did I tell you what Bezley told me about her and Ern getting married?"

"Don't think so."

"Apparently she was all for living together, didn't see the need to get married, but he insisted..."

"What - because of Baby Girl?"

"Exactly. [Attempts a deep voice.] 'Oh no, no, no...I couldn't do that to my Baby Girl.'"

[Laughter.] "God, he was nuts, wasn't he?"

"That goes without saying. But I'm spewing - I could have spent all Year 12 wandering around talking about how my dad and his girlfriend were shacked up."

Pray tell, hazelblackberry, why 'twelve hours of country driving'?

I say unto you that, yea verily, I did look upon the careworn and tired countenance of one Bezley von Bezcat and did think unto myself, "Truly, what the old bird needs is some quality, one-on-one, not-quite-mother/not-quite-daughter time."

So I shoved her into the Subi and we tootled down south for the day to wander through some open gardens. We checked out six gardens in Bridgetown, Nannup and Balingup, plus we stopped for a nice spot of morning tea and lunch, and I didn't think that was bad going in twelve hours. Also, lest we forget, Bezley is a 62-year-old woman who whelped several pups in days of yore and her bladder control is not what it used to be, so several pit stops were required there, Penelope.

The Nannup-Balingup trail is a beautiful drive, with many bends that the sign at the start describes as 'dangerous'. I realised that Bezley was maybe not appreciating the sights as much as she could have, was perhaps a little tense at my driving style, when after a period of silence and reflection she said, "I wonder if many people have died on this road?"

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It's a wonderful thing to set off early in the morning for a little trip somewhere; the day is fresh, the road is empty. Unfortunately it also tends to remind Bezley of all the trips she and Ern took over their years together and this makes her teary. [My memory of these trips is Ern ripping the bedcovers off me at 3am, telling me, "Raus, Baby Girl, there's fish to catch," before spending three hours bumping through the darkness and wilderness to some obscure watering hole. That tends to bring tears to mine eye; tears of gratitude that nowadays an early start means nothing more than 6am.] So, I patted the Bez's hand, feeling completely useless, and waited for her to feel better.

As it happens, Nannup is the dreaded Don Mary's ancestral homeland, growing up as she did on a farm at Ellis Creek, and two or three times a year one of her craven minions is expected to take her back there so that she may cast a macularly degenerated eye about and see (somewhat) that It Is Good. This obviously occurred to Bezley and it perked her up no end.

"Oooh, a Sunday drive to Nannup to look at gardens. We might bump into Don Mary!"

"Yeah, already thought of that. I've packed a club."

And on that much happier note, we were off.

A Bottle of Red, a Bottle of White

"Do you think Bezley will end up with another man?" asked QEII.

"Dunno. I'd like to think she would but she reckons not. She says, and I quote, 'Your father ruined me for any other man.'"

"That is not a nice mental image."

"I know what she meant; it just came out wrong. Still, it is horrific. Try not to think about it."

"Too late. I think I'll pass on dinner."

Out of Tune

Bezley was buzzing around looking for her keys. Cinderella suggested she check the dining room.

"They aren't there, love. I've looked."

"There's a set of keys on the dining room table."

"No there isn't."

"Yes there is!"

"Well, who's are they??.....Oh, they're mine."

I looked at Cinderella. "I'll call you during the week. We'll organise the nursing home."

World To Be Committed

People talk about a world gone mad and I say, "Oh you're crazy!" It's just more people and more noise but everyone basically doing what they've always done.

Then I get a text message from my 62-year-old stepmother that contains the words "kick arse" and I think it might be time to check how many roos are loose in the world's top paddock.

All the Pretty Flowers

Yesterday we went down to Bezley's for a birthday lunch - onion soup, roast turkey with a plethora of veggies and cake (not all on the same plate). Cinderella was there with my rambunctious nephews. U2 , the older boy, was putting on a shy act and pretending he couldn't speak. We tried to entice him by talking about Christmas.

"That's right," said Bezley in her best sing-song voice. "It is nearly Christmas, U2. And who do we see at Christmas time? Santa! Hey, tell Aunty Hazel and Uncle Grumpy about the present you got from Santa in the park."

Unfortunately I caught Cinderella's eye and there was much snorting.

I never claimed to be a grown up.

Time to Start Living Out Some of those Woody Allen Movies

Last year, after a teary breakdown in his office, my GP referred me to a psychologist (an 'ead doctor, as Bloody Ern would say). I went once, got some stuff off my chest and felt immeasurably better. While he said I was welcome back, we agreed that, neither of us being Jacqueline Susann fans, once was probably enough.

I was back in my GP's office this year for my annual check up. He mentioned the letter he had from the 'e.d. confirming that I was unlikely to be irreversibly crushed by some of life's random blows and that he didn't see the need to see me again. Then the GP mentioned this new scheme offered by Medicare, which, apparently, allows you up to twelve visits per year to a psychologist as part of an agreed mental health strategy with your doctor. The old private insurance doesn't cover much of the cost of these appointments and twelve free visits a year could be a real help for some people. I was a bit concerned that he was mentioning this to me as a hint but he assured me he was just throwing it out there.

Shrug.

A couple of days ago Bezley picked me up after work. A while ago she'd told me that she had a bundle of letters Bloody Ern and Dyzie had written to each other when Ern was in the army. Ern had wanted me to have them and Bezley handed them over on Tuesday saying, "You know what your father was like. These could be a bit fruity." I thought I'd leave them for a while, give myself some distance and all that guff, but lying there on the dining table they looked rather tempting. I decided that since my memories of Dyzie are from so long ago it might be safer to read one of hers just to get a feel for the content. I gingerly opened one in her writing and kind of squinted at it through one eye.

I think I'll be talking to my GP a little sooner rather than later about that strategy thing.

But they brought me neither flowers nor breakfast in bed.

Today, for Mother's Day, my step-sister, Cinderella, and I took Bezley out to breakfast. We were sitting at our table when a woman appeared with a basket of chocolates, offering free chocolates to all the mothers*. Cinderella and Bezley took a chocolate.

The woman offered the basket to me. "You're not a mother?"

"No."

"Do you have animals at home? If you have animals, then you're a mum."

As I took a chocolate Bezley laughed and said, "Is she ever a mum to those cats!"



*In the strict, historically-understood sense of the word. Some cranky maldicion man sitting at a table would not have qualified, even though today's callow youths may be inclined to give him this parental moniker.

Warning: Slightly Gruesome

I just got an email from Bezley. It arrived with Bloody Ern's name on it because she's decided to keep it that way. So, a mere 3 months on from his demise, I still feel a little sad and sick inside when I see his name pop into my inbox.

But also amused. Because these are the kinds of things our family laughs at.

In the afternoon after poor Ern died, Bezley, Grumpy and I were sitting around his hospital bed when a text message came in to his mobile phone from mates of theirs away on holiday. They knew what was happening and were just sending their best wishes. Knowing that a return message would come up on the mate's phone as being from Bloody Ern, we briefly toyed with the idea of sending one back saying, "Cobber, I'm cactus. But at least it's warm here."

After wiping the tears (of laughter) from our eyes we decided that it was best not to assume the rest of the world saw things exactly the way we did.

Girls Ain't Fakin'

This morning Bezley and my step-sister, Cinderella, came up to celebrate Cinderella's birthday over breakfast.

Even though I'd made grand promises to Grumpy about cooking him up bacon and eggs I decided I couldn't be bothered doing him a separate meal and he ended up eating what the rest of us ate: crepes with lemon and sugar followed by field mushrooms with potato roesti, english spinach and a bit of brie. (Not that I'm trying to brag or nothing.)

To my astonishment, Grumpy gobbled up every last skerrick of his serving. There may yet be hope for the man who once said, "I could be a vegetarian - no worries. As long as I could eat bacon."

Second Line - Pt 1

Last weekend Bezley tagged along with Grumpy and I for a day trip out to Beverley and York. I was in charge of the music selection as we barrelled down the highway and what with Ween and The White Stripes and Original Rappers, there wasn't a whole lot in there that I felt entirely comfortable playing around Bezley. She's an open-minded woman but why abuse people's trust?

On the trip home I was flipping through the CD carrier trying to find something to play and grizzling to Grumpy about how hard it was to make a family-friendly selection and there's only so many times you can switch between Mardi Gras Essentials and bloody, bloody Buddy Holly.

Bezley just laughed and said Grumpy would get his comeuppance when he had to travel anywhere in her car. When I thought about the damage done in the past to my ears, not to mention my psyche, by the mega-decibel, high rotation playing of various Richard Clayderman classics*, I had to agree that he most certainly would.



*Interspersed with Music Box Dancer for, you know, a refreshing change.

Content! At Last!

Grumpy left a comment on this post and, to my mind, he sounded a trifle bitter. Maybe it's just me. No. No, in fact, I think it's him. And me.

Anyway, here's my point: don't be taken in by the implications of in-law abuse. You should see the fawning he cops from Bezley. She loves him. Laughs at all his jokes. This evening he came to pick me up from their house and Bezley, as usual, was into the kitchen like a shot to fetch him a cup of tea while he plonked himself down in a comfortable armchair.

As she hustled the cuppa over to him she called over to her shoulder to me, "Better make sure he has a chocolate bikkie..or two. Make it two."

Once, after a visit at our house, she apologised as she left for not preparing him a hot beverage. He was willing to overlook it, just this once.

What'swrongwiththisjoketiming.

The other night Bloody Ern (who lives on, but only just), Bezley and Abacus came up for dinner. After shepherd's pie, roast vegies and chocolate pud everyone settled in to watch Australian Story, wherein Lizzie Spender related her adventures of taming a brumby and taking it home with her to Sydney.

I got a bit bored and went looking for the cat. I sailed back into the lounge room, furball cradled lovingly in my arms, telling everyone to look at this would you, just as old Lizzie announced:

"I think, for those of us who've not had children, a relationship with an animal is all the more important."

Jerky

One of Bloody Ern's favourite little jokes is to mention the benefits of a classical education. He has never learnt another language, but he will use a phrase, such as "je ne sais quoi", and say, "See? That's the benefit of a classical education." He's been going on in this vein for many a long year.

Last night at the hospital Bezley was reading out the menu options for the next night's dinner. One of the meals was beef chausseur. Bezley, in a rush, pronounced it as chaser. Ern tut tutted and his best high-falutin' voice said, "Bezley, my dear, I think you'll find it's chausseur."

Bezley fixed him with a beady eye and replied, "I didn't have a classical education, sweetheart. I only learnt Latin."

Food, Glorious Food

Bezley was reminiscing about her aunt & uncle who used to own a dairy farm.

"Aunty Jean," she said, "would make porridge with milk and cream and butter. And then she'd serve it up with extra cream and honey."

She closed her eyes. "It was delicious."

She opened them again. "But Aunty Jean was very chubby."

Possibly Don't Read This

Yesterday Bezley and I went to see Star Wars Episode III, or whatever it's called. After suffering through the first two movies, Grumpy declared he would not - would not, dammit - watch the third. However, unlike William Hurt's character in The Big Chill, I am hung up on the whole completion thing, so off I trooped.

It was much better than Episodes I and II - and Yoda's dignity was blessedly preserved this time - but still fairly ordinary. The most ruinous aspect was all that stinky dialogue between Anakin and old whatserface.

"Don't do this. Don't shut me out. Hold me like you did by the lake on wherever...etc etc"

I felt a bit bad that Bezley didn't get to see the whole movie as I had to be rushed to hospital with major organ failure.

I thought the bit at the end where Anakin was all burnt up with no leg and not much face and groaning in agony and rage and determination was pretty good. You kind of had to admire his evil resilience. I would have just given up and died, like old whatserface mercifully did.

(Oops! Was that a spoiler? Sorry if you haven't seen it.)

But I No Complain

As it happens, I've never cooked for 150 people before. All at once. But my cousin, Covergirl, is having her engagement party this weekend and Bezley & I and my aunt, Raggedy Ann, have all been roped in to help with the catering. I'm doing mini pizzas and chocolates and god knows what else. I'd better check that list of things I shot off my big stupid mouth about.

Grumpy, like most men, is kicking up his heels with delight at the thought of going to an engagement party. "Oh frabjous day!" he cried, when I showed him the invite. "May I buy a new party frock, dear wifey?" And, on top of that, it's on the night of the western derby. However, Covergirl's future mother-in-law is a practical woman, and the garage has been set aside for the blokes for the evening, complete with TV and well-stocked beer fridge. And, here's hoping, salty snacks.

I take it that means I'm the designated driver.

In Other News

(1) Grumpy and I finally got out for dinner to celebrate the anniversary. "It's not that we forgot," says Grumpy, "it's just that we don't care." We even got to drink a bottle of fancy champagne. Then we went home and I went to bed while Grumpy sat up and watched Rage. Crazy times, my friends. Crazy, crazy times.

(2) Bloody Ern's back was playing up after a day tilling the soil at the Ponderosa, so I tootled down there to help Bezley put up some Ikea shelves. Ern stood over us in his sarong - mercy! - to supervise proceedings. There was an increasingly hysterical pitch in his voice as he pointed out all the things we were doing wrong. Luckily, there was a disturbance outside and Bezley managed to distract him by suggesting it might be a bit of wildlife he'd like to shoot.

(3) We had a lovely evening out at a jazz show at Araluen with our friends K. & D. They stopped at our place afterwards for a night cap. At some point we got into a very disturbing discussion about whether Harry Chapin had ever sung 'American Pie'. K. was most insistent. Books were consulted. We even fired up the internet. Is this how people should be spending a Saturday night?

(4) Even more disturbing, Grumpy and I found ourselves on Sunday night glued to My Restaurant Rules. We have decided we're addicted to this show. We only decided this after realising how anxious we were at the introduction of Nathan & Georgia, who are going to take over a restaurant after the current 'owners' are eliminated! Well, they can just bloody well back off from The Mint Leaf in Freo. Then on Monday night we watched some of Today Tonight because they had a story on how The Mint Leaf wasn't being given enough air time. We agreed it was all just a beat up and advertising for the show but also, schyeah, how obvious is it that there is SUCH a bias against them???

(5) On Monday afternoon we had a swim at the beach. Isn't it great that it's March and we can still swim?? Great for us, that is.