The Luck of the Irish

Yesterday was St Patrick's day here in Australia. And while it is not as big of deal here as the USA or Ireland for that matter, Roy and I still enjoyed heading out to an Irish pub for a meal and a drink together. I had the day off and we also wandered out to the local markets and bought some of the farm fresh produce that is so readily available here in Queensland.

It was an uneventful day and despite the worries we've been having over finding permanent work I felt that we were settling in to life here and enjoying some of life's little pleasures again.

Later that evening, I wanted to try out a new recipe for bruchetta that I had made at school with a cooking class. Roy had gone upstairs to watch a movie and Honey was playing around in the kitchen with me. After enjoying my 'meal for one' and observing a mess that Honey had made on the carpet, I decided to do a quick vacuum.

Diana (Roy's mum, who lives next door in our granny flat) had come over to say goodnight and have a chat. I pulled out the vacuum and began attacking the mess on the carpet. It was a rather deep pile rug and I bent down to move the power head a bit further over the worst of the mess. I had both hands on the metal rod of the vacuum.

The next thing I know, I feel a strange tingling in my arms and realize that electricity is pulsing through the rod of the vacuum. My hands were contracted onto the pole and I could not let go. I started to scream hysterically, not even aware that anyone is in the room with me. I lifted my knee to try to push the vacuum out of my hands, but just feel the electricity jolt into my knee. I'm still screaming like a banshee. My mind is spinning. I can't believe this is it. I know I'm going to die. I don't want to die. I picture my body failing, my fingers exploding.

Suddenly, it stops, as unexpectedly it starts. Diana had the presence of mind to pull the cord from the wall. I smelled burnt skin. I looked down at my left and saw my hand has been burned around my wedding ring, but everything else seems to be fine.

Although, I knew I was now ok, I was in shock and cried all the way to the hospital. They all said the same thing, "I'm lucky to be alive."

I guess its a good thing I'm Irish.

Need I say more?

I think this photo might sum up the kind of day I've had today. I don't know if there is a measuring stick long enough to measure how hard it can be to be a relief teacher (substitute teacher).

At the start, the class eye you with suspicion and then there is a quiet calm as they lull you into the belief that this might actually be a 'good class'. What is really happening is they are using their super human child brains to size you up, calculate your weaknesses and ready themselves for the pounce. The pounce is a strange chain reaction sequence that begins its ripple affect slowly at first, and then bam, they all start popping like kernels in a fry pan. One after the other, their true colours show as they begin attacking from all sides. You are thrown off your game. Your cool is going, in fact a nuclear disaster is in the making.

That's when the threats begin. You scramble to remember the names of the naughty ones and forget about the rest. Names go on the board. Bribes are promised for good behaviour which end up being a royal waste of breath. You just pray a sigh of relief that the principal walks past in rare moment of peace and quiet before the bedlam breaks out again.

By the end of the day, you get the out right "you can't tell me what to do!" You find yourself ready to wave the white flag. "Somebody rescue me!" The bell rings. Ahhh, you walk out. Smell the freedom in the air. Promise you will NEVER return to 'this' school, but yet another day and another dollar or so away, it begins again.

The Blogs that never were...

I may be accused of being 'slack' as I'm sure its been well over a year since my last post... I often think of writing, but that's as far as it goes. If I had been writing, maybe some of my post titles would have gone something like this:

Honey arrives!
The Big Boob Fiasco and Projectile Vomit.
Bottle Saves the Day!
The Catholic Experience.
The Never Ending Relief Job.
Rain, Rain Rain, Rain Rain Rain Rain...
The Adelaide Experience.
A Butcher Shop?
Yes, A butcher shop!
Sell, Sell, Sell!
Can't Sell.
Moving on, moving out.
"Just pray it wasn't the head gasket mate!"
Paradise at last.
Strange smells, noises and no towel rails!
Uh oh.
Now What??????????
Rain, Rain, Rain Rain Rain and MORE BLOODY Rain!
Fishing from Home.
Saying Goodbye. :(
Endless tears.
Turning a Corner.
Waiting and Reading.

So, there you have it, all the blogs I might have written.
I'll do better now, write better now, and maybe Roy will join me too. :)

Get ready to share in our crazy adventure.