Christmas Day 2012

Okay, I know it's three days after Christmas and Maybe this should have been posted earlier, but hey! it's Christmas everybody's busy. So here's the annual Christmas photo (or one of them). Better late than never, eh?


Above: Christmas lunch 2012

Sunday Brunch is Fun

Bella Cosi
Last Sunday I had brunch at a little place called Bella Cosi - that's Italian for beautiful place. In Port Melbourne, you get a lovely view of the beach with the Spirit of Tasmania in dock.

 

Above: Bella Cosi
This is where I had my coffee - see the table on the right? Well it was the other table to the right of that!

 

Above: Cappuccino
Not bad, not bad at all.

 

Above: Sweet and Saucy
I put on weight just looking at it.

 

Above: The BIG Breakfast
This was a hearty brunch, and it comes with either tea or coffee.

 

Above: Le Menu
Such tempting goodies. All in all, this is a nice place to go, the staff are friendly (it's a family run business) and the decor is rather quirky.

I'm Not Me Anymore ...

Wrinkles. Do you have them and how bad are they? When I look in the mirror, the person looking back at me is someone I don't recognise. Who is this old lady with more wrinkles than a bloodhound? This can't be me - I want the old me back, the one with the smooth, unlined face who is still me inside. I don't want to be old - I don't feel old (well not much anyway) I want me face to reflect the me that feels young.
Where did the time go and where has she gone? Once not so very long ago it seems, the world was my oyster and anyone over thirty was over the hill. Each day was a thrill, each minute a moment to be lived and each second a lifetime.
What happened?

I remember reading an interview given by that Blonde Bombshell, that Saucy Sexpot - Mae West, who when asked her age, always answered, "Twenty-eight plus" What a great idea I thought. I'll give the same answer - it seemed so much better than saying, "Twenty-one" My mother was always twenty-one until one day I said, "Mum, you were twenty-one last year" to which she replied, "Oh, well I'm twenty-two now" I always thought it pretty silly for females to always pretend and say "21".
So Mae West's answer was much cleverer, the only problem was, I remember thinking, "Damn! I can't say that, I'm not 28 yet."

Twenty-eight was a long tine ago how I wish I still had the quandary of not having reached 28 yet.
What happened?

I don't remember where the years have gone, but the mirror, like the camera - never lies. Or does it? Looking in the looking glass I see someone who's beginning to sag a bit, gravity having done it's best not to hold back the tide, and everything like the leaning tower of Pisa.
What happened?

When did I suddenly become old?

 

Getting old is not for sissies - Bette Davies.

Happy Easter ~ Have An Eggcellent Day

Happy Easter everybody - I wish one and all an eggcellent day. It was eggstremely cold when I went outside before and I haven't been eggzactly cleaning up the eggstreme mess in the kitchen yet, although I'll make an eggception and try to use today to eggcel.
I eggspect today will be an eggstrodinary chocolatey eggsperience for many children.

 

Hello Dolly

Well now, I might be rather lax in working on this here blog, and shame oh shame, I forget to update "This Weeks' Choice" but...

I've always liked this song (I Will Always Love You) and have chosen if for This Week's Choice. This is the original - sung by Dolly Parton in 1974. Whitney Houston may have made it an international pop hit, but it was Dolly who wrote it and recorded it many years before.

We all think of it as a love song, and it is, but how many people know the reason behind the song? She wrote it when her partnership with Porter Wagoner ended and it is about that professional break the song is about.

 

A great Dolly quote: "I'm quite content with who I am / And if you ain't, well, kiss my ham"

The Men That Don't Fit In

Men That Don't Fit In

There's a race of men that don't fit in,
A race that can't stay still;
So they break the hearts of kith and kin,
And they roam the world at will.
They range the field and they rove the flood,
And they climb the mountain's crest;
Theirs is the curse of the gypsy blood,
And they don't know how to rest.

If they just went straight they might go far;
They are strong and brave and true;
But they're always tired of the things that are,
And they want the strange and new.
They say: "Could I find my proper groove,
What a deep mark I would make!"
So they chop and change, and each fresh move
Is only a fresh mistake.

And each forgets, as he strips and runs
With a brilliant, fitful pace,
It's the steady, quiet, plodding ones
Who win in the lifelong race.
And each forgets that his youth has fled,
Forgets that his prime is past,
Till he stands one day, with a hope that's dead,
In the glare of the truth at last.


by Robert W. Service
(1874 - 1958)