And Next

Published April 28, 2025 by helentastic67

And Next

So, people are getting the understanding, I’m now a homeowner. A rate payer. Seemingly, when some acknowledge as a fifty-two-year-old single barren spinster, I’m a respectful member of society.

It’s a weird space to be in, because I always hoped and imagined owning my home one day just assumed I’d have a husband that would pay the mortgage and my income would go towards the beautiful tiles to renovate a bathroom.

When my father died, I was able to contemplate having a forever home and weirdly conversations with friends about buying started to feel weird but normal. The basic understanding was shock, because I didn’t work and who was going to give me a mortgage. Trust me, I did all the research and was in all the groups and organisations that build AFFORDABLE AND SUSTAINABLE HOMES FOR LOW INCOME, etc.

I even had to fight to have myself put back on the public house in lists. That right there is a Bag of Farts. You don’t want it. But maybe not in a bag, but you need it and if you get offered it you definitely don’t want it. See the bag of fart analogy works out in the end.

After reaching out to both Local MP’s and Local Federal Members, the first time not much help, the second time never even replied to my call. I changed tactics and just got to house hunting. To be clear I didn’t have house money. I had Apartment Money, I’ve just wanted to make my dad proud.

The research I did leading up to buying, I learnt what you can get for how much. I saved fifty K, okay not having a second bathroom, but also spend an extra fifty K on not having a building with a car stacker. I’m still serious car stackers are a travesty. I hear nothing but horror stories.

Admittedly, the buildings that had those, the apartments felt much more like student digs. International students with lots of food deliveries. I really wanted a much more owner/occupier vibe with friendly neighbours who cook and give a crap about the environment and not having food arrive that they leave at the entrance to only get refunded and they do it all again.

R.I.P. D5

Published March 24, 2025 by helentastic67

R.I.P. D5

I would suggest this is happening too often already. You would think fifty-two years old, would be considered middle age as I don’t know I’m going to make it to one hundred and four years old, nor would I want to. However, people I love are falling off the perch already and it’s too soon. If you don’t know, falling off the perch is the elderly term for dying.

Apart from the passing in late 2022 of my father’s death and the recent departure of a very close friend, she’s not dead just not in my weekly routine anymore. I learnt a week ago a friend from my clubbing days in my twenties had passed. He worked for me back in the day.

I think we bonded because we were from a similar part of the Victorian countryside. While I moved to Melbourne at nineteen to study and work, he moved to Melbourne without the same kind of plan. Not in place anyway. When I asked him why, he responded with “I looked around and just said No!” with a little shake of his head. Like me it was just an instinct to get the fuck outta town.

Around 2000 I had moved back to the country, not born in my hometown but to a more isolated community where my mum and younger sister had moved to. I needed a lift to town and a V-Line bus to go anywhere further. It was hard.

Every few months I’d get back to Melbourne and couch surf for a few days, to go clubbing and catch up with as many people as possible. Going to clubs was the easiest way.

Standing in a goth club I heard this song, looking around at how many people were dancing and not recognizing it, I found D5 close by and he asked that I didn’t know who it was. I was like, “No! I’m living back in the country where you get fuck all exposure to new music” let along anything else. This song will always remind me of him.

I guess a warning might be in order. But the beat is really good.

I’m sure for most it will be a lot, but her wiki page is interesting, if you dare. If you don’t follow my blog for a little different, you are in the wrong place. Teaches of Peaches – Wikipedia

So, around the time of my fiftieth birthday, I sent D5 an invite for my gathering in case he thought to join. My father had passed earlier that month and for years we had drifted, but I always send him a birthday text as he was born on Valentines Day. Bit hard to forget that one.

He came to my birthday and we caught up a few times, I cooked him dinner, my single girl dinner reminiscent from my twenties and that Christmas he gave me a lift to my father’s house in my home town on the way to his hometown. So, we had a three-and-a-half-hour road trip to chat and for me to own the CD Player and have him guess what I’d put on.

Moments after he had left me at my dad’s there was a knock on the door. He was there holding up the black thumb cast for my trigger thumb. “Good luck thumbing a ride without that?” He was rather reserved and shy but when he shared his wit it was a treat for your soul.

While I didn’t see or hear from him often and there had been years in between when he had been married and doing his thing it was always a comfort to know he was out there walking the earth. He is survived by his twin and his cat.

He told me his marriage had ended like many during the Covid 19 lockdowns when couples were confronted with being around each other in close confines 24/7 apparently, they looked at each other and just both said No.

Now, alas, the world is bereft from his passing. He had chosen to fight his battle with cancer with only a small few aware this was his fate. He had told me he was dealing with something but not what. He was about seven years younger than me and the younger brother I never knew I needed. But our world forever better for the time he had been amongst us.

R.I.P. D5.

I am too young to be saying goodbye to friends

* D and the number there after referring to the number of Dave’s in the club days, I’ll cover that another day. D5 was a longstanding Dave and not to be undervalued despite not being D1- D6+ ceased to exist. Obviously, finishing today’s post without my regular cheer.

Circle Back to 2024 – Part 2

Published February 24, 2025 by helentastic67

Circle Back to 2024 Part 2

So, 2024 was weird also cause money became a huge topic and while I’ve always had an income from somewhere and five cents to my name it’s a weird space to find yourself in to have some actual money and options.

I wanted to blog about it last year but was up to my eyeballs in all the things, so had to let things play out and play catch up. This ergo-case-in-point is the catch up.

I guess, women of my generation, didn’t get educated about how to manage money. I’m Gen X remember. I did grow up with coins and handling money. My first paid job I picked up a yellow envelope with cash and coins in it. I had a paid job from around fifteen years old.

As an adult when you have household expenses you learn you need to have more coming in than going out. Sure, but on bigger expenses women my age was taught that we would marry and our husband would take care of it. Do you see me writing about a Husband? I have an Italian surname so it was largely assumed I would get a husband. Not bitter. Just making a point.

Some of the groups I’m in, some women will see and ask a friend who seems to manage her finances well and when asked she will be told “Oh, my husband does all of that!” So, it is to say I did consult a financial advisor. He’s in his late thirty’s, lovely man who I have not made proud. Yet. He wanted me to continue renting forever.

But as my next post will context women like myself when I reach sixty, are more than likely find themselves homeless. I’ve had to educate younger men on this topic.

I mean, C’mon! Do I have to do everything?

Problem Solving

Published August 19, 2024 by helentastic67

Problem Solving

Sometimes, family that don’t spend time together, having to work on a problem together helps form bonds.

Once upon a time, the first time I moved house after my disability and after my removalist cancelled five hours after he was to have started the job, by which time when he rang me to tell me he’d had to go to hospital and I would have preferred to have heard from his next of kin to tell me he had DIED.

My Mum, then early sixties and me one-handed, arrived at my new home to find my bed had not been put together by my removalists. To their credit, it wasn’t actually their job to put things together and I had been warned because when I was contacted for payment, they told me they had eventually given up and left because they didn’t want to waste my money. In both of our defence mum and I were both exhausted. Mum with upper back problems, me with recent lower back disc bulge surgery, we walked in the door and mum had already decided I would sleep on my mattress on the floor.

Not far from the front door I went to my bedroom door, took about two seconds to assess and problem solve what the men had not managed to work out. “The base is the wrong way around!” Mum literally dismissed this and told me I could sleep on the floor. I, however, was not going to make this bed twice, nor make her. I should probably mention, my bed was made by my dad, a builder, or a carpenter (a Chippy!) back when I was twenty-four-ish. It’s a timber Sleigh Bed. Although wisely at the time he convinced me to not shave the foot of the bed as tall as the bed head. Half the bedrooms that bed has been in, I’ve not been able to move around even three sides of the bed. Even the bedroom I have now, getting down the end of the bed to my ensuite, I hover to go sideways and my bedroom door does NOT close. So, the base of my bed is a slat base, I’ve recently described it as glued and screwed and built into a sturdy box, so it doesn’t move. Even twenty-five plus years later.

I encouraged mum to push boxes with heavy art books in them across the floor to put under the timber mattress. I helped and using only four or five, it took the weight of the base. I wriggled the foot of the bed and leaned it against the wall. We both pulled just a fraction on the base to detach it from the bed head, leaning that also against the other wall. We then carefully replaced the base, reattached the bed head then perfectly slotting the foot back onto the base. All the bolt holes matched. I recall we were both spent but I was determined. I think mum left me to sort the bolts. Fair, wriggling on the carpet to each corner then two bolts into the middle of the centre of the base into the bed head. With the shifter to tighten and it was done.

Jokes and Things

Published June 3, 2024 by helentastic67

Jokes and Things

My family, two sisters, their partners and I have a group chat like many families do, currently the chat is thick and fast due to the process and impending deadline of emptying our father’s home to sell. Yeah, it’s that’s time already.

I’ve obviously not been there much at all and it’s a few hours away plus I don’t drive, if anyone was wondering? I knew my older sister was going to be there this week to arrange real estate, etc for selling, styling, emptying. Etc.

Just want to remind people, I found a home for the weird and prolific meerkats that were hidden around the living spaces. That was a feat, but I actually rehomed them to a young carer I had while I’d been there. OMG they made her so happy, well pleased.

Now that I think about it, I should have hidden one behind a bush in the garden as a momento to see if anyone noticed.

So, I digress, my sister’s long road trip and imminent arrival, she messaged that she could pick up coffees for my younger sister’s partner, then by extension, my younger sister as they have been living there and my sister was working from home this particular day as the internet and phones were down at her work. It’s context and necessary. Coffee orders settled, and there’s nothing like being excluded by not being included. I know I wasn’t there, but thought I’d humorously add my presence, I wrote “I’ll get my coffee!” You know when you know they won’t appreciate your humour. I added, “My carer just laughed!” Nothing! Just dead air!

It’s always worth a try right.

Baby Shower and the Job of the Weird Aunt

Published March 4, 2024 by helentastic67

Baby Shower and the Job of the Weird Aunt Present

Went to a baby toy shop today. I know, didn’t think you would ever read about this in hellonwheels did you? Didn’t think I would write about it either. I’m 51 years old, a single barren spinster. Not all of these things by choice but here we are. Just in case you are new here.

I’ve never been invited to a baby shower before now, so it’s nice to be included, my younger cousin is due in March and I’ve been included so its lovely. So, alas, I visited a cute baby toy shop in Carlton today. My girl Wednesday (25) is into dinosaurs and found the six dinosaurs in moments, but I spotted to fake tattoo’s. I win that one, I think. A previous Girl-Friday had recommended the shop as her friend owns it. I’d seen it over the years but never had a reason to go. Until now.

The first step inside, a young child in a pusher blocked the way, said child having been strategically placed there to watch the turtle in the tank. I mean it. Its name was Guppy. I asked.

My ovaries hurt, I mean the toys, all the cuter teddies, soft toys I’ve seen young children with when out and about. Now I know where they come from. What? My ovaries still mourn not having babies, but then I hear a young baby scream in a supermarket because they have discovered how loud they can be and how much attention they can get from strangers in public and my ovaries dry right up again.

I’ve been saying for some years when asked if I would have a baby, I refer to my abdomen in general with a sweeping motion and state, “She’s suffered enough!” Let alone that I’m on the edge of the Pause so that’s not an incentive to throw caution to the wind and smash one out to Complete Me.

It’s still a case of, meet the right guy, have enough time to get to know if they are mentally unhinged or not, then have enough time just being “Us”. Then the baby stuff. And I’ve failed to mention before now, the diagnosis I received during the Covid crazy days of I’ve got Endometriosis. So, would I likely struggle to get pregnant even if I was trying too? Don’t answer that. She’s still suffered enough.

So, I bought a few very cute things today, and I even got a 1st birthday gift because I couldn’t leave it behind. It’s also going to be for grandad, my uncle to put together because it’s one of those see but don’t touch gifts. What? If you have been in one of those places, you will understand.

I’m hoping to sharpen my skills as the weird Aunty Helen. Why is she always pinching my cheeks and talking about the war?

Just an FYI, officially this baby will be my second cousin. Of which I have even some third cousins, but they have grown up and live interstate to me. So, here we are Weird Aunt ready for duty.

Ladies Day

Published January 8, 2024 by helentastic67

Ladies Day

Yesterday, I had to decide about whether to bother putting on a bra or not. This is generally half the part of Adulting, bra and shoes means I’m going out. As you well know, yesterday was a Sunday and I don’t do Adulting on Sundays, I didn’t even go out. I’m not talking about Out-Out. I just mean leave my apartment.

As you might have gathered my birthday last October set the tone for both Christmas and New Year. So, I planned a Ladies High Tea.

Lunch thing with my Real Family and that’s my carers. All my carers bring me a little something different. They bring me stories, family, friends, and treats. And I share their stories between each of them. Yet they rarely encounter each other. I share their stories as I am the water fountain in the office tearoom and I’m the holder of the peer support opportunities. So, it was finally a chance to hold a Ladies Lunch.

I even pulled out the Fine Bone China and the French Gourmet Side Plates. We started with the savoury. Homemade sausage rolls, triple cheese croquettes, arancini balls, even cheese and spinach and some other pastry things. The sweets included the ginger Christmas pudding I had yet to get to, the chocolate and orange Christmas pudding, the scones one of the ladies bought to go with the hot jam donut a friend hand delivered before Christmas, with whipped cream. Ginger kisses and the brandy snaps I didn’t get to over Christmas. (These are still uneaten in the fridge) I have been chipping away at the contents of the fridge for weeks and alas, still not getting anywhere.

One lovely lady dug around in my fridge for something, I had to direct her to the crisper. FYI. That’s the section or drawer at the bottom designed for fruits and vegetables, or in my home the containers of things that don’t fit anywhere else. Then when the girls were all departing the mother-load Brownies were still in the crisper. Guess we know what I’ll be sharing out for the next few weeks.

Finally, I should mention my carer in the morning did point out, I didn’t need to bother with the bra since they had all seen it before. Great to be roasted by people that know me the best.

I did wear a coloured T-shirt the girls wouldn’t normally see me in. I bought a few cheap T’s this early and I wouldn’t go past an aqua/teal tee that was everywhere in the men’s section of Big W. I don’t go there often, but it’s where I get my standard black summer pants.

It’s after midnight as I’m tapping this out on my iPad and not long ago, I realised some gifts remain under my tree. A particular carer had been working her other job and it had been too busy to get away. I had suggested I could call in a bomb threat, but we all know I was kidding. There are plenty of treats saved for all the others that could not make it. Note, the gingerbread house one carer delivered before Christmas She said it took five people to make it. It’s going to take more than that to eat it.

So, however you spend your time with family sometimes the people that love, respect and take the time to understand you are not the ones related to you by blood and as a few of my invited guests had not been able to attend I would say, I definitely want to make this a more regular event.

Being One-Handed

Published January 9, 2023 by helentastic67

Being One Handed

I must confess, I sometimes really love it when people take a moment to realise, I’m ONE-HANDED. Over Christmas I was at a small family gathering, which is to say, they have not spent much time around me since my disability/or disabilities.

We were doing a BBQ dinner and cutlery was scares. I confess, the knife is lost on me these days, I asked my cousin to my left to hold the skewer while I used my fork to pull the meat off the skewer. I tried, after a moment, she offered to do both. On my left, my younger sister reached over with her knife and fork to cut up a snag on my plate.

SNAG! Not just a Sensitive New Age GUY! But another name for a sausage.

A great Aussie line is “a BBQ isn’t a BBQ without a sausage!” and when my cousin came back sit down, cutlery was in very short supply. I offered my knife, still clean and untouched. I had to insist, holding my fork in my right hand and suggesting she had a few seconds to work out as to why I didn’t need the knife.

I explained who had helped me and how. When they got it, they got it pretty quickly and I gave them a smile as if to express, ‘It is what it is’. What can I do? Which made it ok that they hadn’t realised these are the simple things.

It has been strange spending time with family who in the last fifteen years haven’t been around me to know all the day to day things about my disabilities.

I know, despite the multi-layered name of my blog I haven’t covered it much. Mostly because, I’m one-handed and thankfully naturally right-handed, so I’ve just gotten on with stuff.

Often, even immediate family I need to remind them of things I just don’t do and this makes me pretty fucking grumpy.

Who thought I’d wrap this blog post up without uttering a swear word?
Not I!

On a Happier Note

Published November 21, 2022 by helentastic67

On a Happier Note

Had such miserable posts of late, but here’s a little something amusing that comes from family spending time together even for the shittiest reasons.

Five ladies taking up residents in my father’s home. We all do our coffee a different way. My sister’s partner on the percolator to make sure everyone had their “Medicine” (as I call it) when they needed it. One morning, well around 10am, I walked past my older sister throwing her a simple question that required little thought to answer. She stood holding her coffee cup asking if I had dared to ask her a question before her morning coffee. My younger sister looked empathetic towards her plight, even though she only has one coffee every day. I told her fair enough and she could get back to me after her coffee.

I later explained to the marker of coffee, “I like to start the day with my natural enthusiasm for life! But I need to have medicine towards the end of the afternoon to get through the rest of the day!”

I think it’s a bit ironic considering I spend every morning looking stoned and I’ve never even smoked a cigarette. Definitely not getting into the Mary Jane.

The bringer of coffee and I got a coffee the day after my father’s funeral at a fantastic cafe/coffee roaster in my hometown and while there we bought a supply of roasted beans. The worker in the café were really good at the customer service, that such roles require, offering us all the different kinds of beans available. I really wanted to suggest, “give us the one for, I’ve had too much Sake last night Asking for a friend.” It wasn’t me driving the porcelain bus at 7am the day after, but enough said.

Hope you get the Up’s and Downs in life right now and can hang in there for me to return to normal programming. Must I remind followers. Please hit Like.

Noelle will be impressed she can post on the Monday, so things are getting back on track, I aim to please.

The Other Worst Week Ever

Published October 26, 2022 by helentastic67

The Other Worst Week Ever

So, this is the last post with the subliminal message, has anyone picked it yet or even noticed? Please comment.

So, last week was the dreaded week of my father’s funeral, worst day ever. First piece of advice, someone offers you tissues. TAKE THEM!!!

Even though I had a friend, who saw my support person handing me a tissue every other minute, it wasn’t enough.

All the talks-talks, song, light candle stuff for which you think takes forever, it’s over before you know it and I was almost left behind. I did the walk out metres behind his coffin and tried badly to not rush, while desperate not to do the ugly cry. You know the cry where you at least want to bury your face in a hand, so no one witnesses it. You know I use a walking stick in my one good hand right? Yeah, not helpful.

The Funeral Home director asked if I could walk over to the cemetery or if I would need to go over in a car. Wisely, I said yes, car please. He had not been offering me a lift but if I had not been helped into the front passenger seat of the hearse, I would have been left behind. Lovely driver Phil made small talk to take my mind off things. I tried to sell him Dad’s car. But alas, dad no longer has the Valiant Charger in Vitamin C orange. So, that was a fail.

With all the love and respect in the world, if I ever hear the song by Bette Midler, The Rose it will be TOO FUCKING SOON! Jesus Wept!

Second piece of advice, when trying not to do ugly cry, try breathing in and out of your mouth. Not saying it worked, but it felt like it helped. Lastly, my family gave me the awards Best Worst Ugly Cry and Best Worst Timed Ugly Nose Blow. Charming, no.

The night of the funeral we had a pool party with our cousins around catching up and playing pool. I have cousins I’ve not seen for 30 years. And the most common memory was dad teaching everyone how to hammer in nails into a small off cut of pine. One cousin who has become a builder wants dads hammer, but I have already laid claim to it. What! I think we made dad proud that night.

His house felt like a home because it previously felt like someone had been merely existing there. We will be there for this upcoming Christmas, so I imagine dad watching over us as he promised. I might convince a carer one day to hold a nail for me while with half the necessary eyesight I smack in the nail in the triple tap technique my dad used. I’ll explain that better another time.

On Sunday, two days later I received the award of 1st Caligiuri Daughter to surface and be reasonably functionable. The household likes to start the day with coffee. I made the statement I prefer to start the day with my own natural energy and you should all be aware I’m NOT A MORNING PERSON. I need to end the day with my Medicine (coffee) so I can get through the rest of the day.

I guess all the family dysfunction we put off dealing with for one day in the future comes to the foreground when the passing of a loved one happens. Now we have to deal with all of that too. While grieving.