Posts by wendyf
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Thank you for that, David.
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I know this doesn't belong here. Forgive me. Please. But I *have* to tell someone this.
I googled for a biography of Amos Bronson (yes yes, father of Louisa May and an interesting character) I found this:
http://www.biography-center.com/biographies/6352-Alcott_Amos_Bronson.htmlwith John Key's bloody IQ on it!! What's it doing there? Is nothing bloody secret any more?
I'm feeling enraged, invaded and faintly afraid.
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Brilliant! I shall now set about the rest of the day with that happy tune bouncing through my head.
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A veeeery long time ago I took my son to the zoo in Auckland and his main delight was finding drains. "Look at the giraffe!" I would burble. "Look at the drain" he would respond as he found yet another grating over yet another drain.
The zoo had lots of drains.
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Russell wrote:
When my Dad died, his body was embalmed and brought home. I appreciated being able to sit with (and talk to) what was at least a symbol for who he'd been.I did that when my lovely husband died. I recall writing to you, Russell, about what a comfort it was, being able to read him jokes from the internet,stuff from Hard News. My kids worried that I was home by myself for those couple of days - I was never alone.
His ashes lived in the wardrobe for a couple of years then we drove him up to Whangarei Heads where we'd sometimes anchored for the night and where we'd had our honeymoon. Mount Manaia looking on and the sun colouring the rocks and the sea. We scattered him with the last of the Glenfiddich.
As for me - I don't much care - it'll be up to the kids really. I'm leaving info about the bamboo idea in my funeral file.
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I'd be pretty pleased to have any word replace 'denier'. I'm old enough to think "nylon stockings" when I see the word 'denier'.
From memory I think the lower the number denier (pronounced to kind of rhyme with 'derriere'), the more sheer the stocking.
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I'm only now managing not to splutter with delight at Craig's post.
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If we had been able to afford a divorce I would have sought one, naming our cat as co-respondent. My darling had a beard and it was the cat's delight to curl himself around my darling's neck, licking lasciviously at his hairless head, eyes half-shut, purring with undisguised delight.
Once, long ago, I was away for a couple of weeks. My husband picked me up from the train ( I said it was a long time ago ) and when we got home there was Cat, curled up on my pillow on the marital bed. Insolent is the word for how he looked at me, before standing, arching his back in a slow stretch and then removing himself from the bed and the room.
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As will I. Again, more than you can know.
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Damn! I've just watched/ heard that song posted by Rob Hosking. I watched the whole damn song, waiting for the punch-line. And now my head is infected with syrup sound AND images.
Thanks.