My Brillo(TM) Career

In this latest recreation of myself I am, as you know, a cleaner of holiday accommodation. Ironically, when I applied for a job as a cleaner in Sydney about 35 years ago, armed only with  my HSC, I was turned away with a “Sorry, but you’re overqualified.” Nowadays, with university quals and careers as a high school teacher and a public servant under my belt, I am somehow no longer overqualified, and have been let into a secret that I’m now going to let you into as well – cleaning is a great job!

Far from feeling menial or insignificant in my ‘humble’ new career, I proudly shoulder my broom and strike out to meet whatever stains and challenges the day holds – with a song, a laugh and a car full of cleaning products.

It’s a job of contrasts. One minute my gaze is firmly fixed down a loo at unspeakable things, and the next, I’m enjoying some of the most spectacular water views in Mallacoota. This “chicken soup for the eyeballs” is a powerful remedy for the vilest visuals in the bathrooms and on the balconies around town. The greasiest stalactites sprouting from the underside of BBQ grills cannot dampen my enthusiasm, when all I need to do is raise my eyes from the gruesomeness and feast upon a silver-sequinned expanse of clear blue water; on squadrons of pelicans wheeling overhead, and on many-pointed stars of sunlight bouncing off boats bobbling or chugging about on the inlet. Pure magic.

Perhaps cleaning’s not for everybody. There are certain universals in holiday accommodation that can be a bit confronting at first:

• Toenails – I don’t know why, but every holiday flat has them, clipped or ripped. Yuk.
• The pubic hairs of strangers. Yuk again.
• Toothpaste spatter on the mirrors. Ditto.

Notice I haven’t mentioned poo or spew – that’s because they are fairly rare! Most people have enough pride to leave their accommodation in pretty good shape.

So – how does cleaning compare with teaching? Here are some things I’ve realised.

Cleaning	Teaching
Instant results	(Very) delayed gratification – it’s usually weeks, often months or even YEARS till you realise you’ve done an amazing job!
No homework	More homework than schoolwork *sigh*
Flexibility	An institutionalised life dictated by bells
Brain is free to indulge in flights of fancy	Brain explodes - frequently

I saved the best thing about this job till last – it’s right here in Mallacoota! I may be cleaning up the toenails and left-behind pubes of holidaymakers, but at the end of the day, those poor suckers have had to go back to their stressful lives elsewhere, while I’m already Hone Sweet Home! Wheeeeeee!

Dateline Mallacoota.

Oh so busy!!! Here are the headlines from my life over the past few weeks – and some photos.

Reformed Writers’ Group meets at Lucy’s Noodles! 

(I love the ambiguity of this “Reformed” label!) Had a fab time – met some great people and felt totally energised! Had to come home afterwards and sit outside in the dark with Basil, stargazing over a glass of red. Outcome – I have a writing buddy – we’re going to take ourselves out somewhere regularly and just sit and write, then talk about what we’ve done – now THAT is a way to get productive!

Night-Moves with the Fruit Bat Colony. 

Local cat, Basil and Crazy Cat-Lady Betty watch waves of fruit bats just on nightfall every day. There must be thousands upon thousands of them – an awesome spectacle.

‘There are so many of them,’ says Basil. ‘It must be chaos at Bat Central every night as they all fire up their wings and jostle for take-off rights’

According to local, Peter Kurz, fruit bats can poop in-flight. It is therefore advisable, while watching the waves of fruit bats overhead, to keep your mouth closed, no matter how awed and overwhelmed you are.

Betty Cleans Up - Job Prospects Sparkling! 

In what must be this century’s greatest irony, Betty cleans for 3 different ‘bosses’ now, and is hopeful of adding a fourth to the list.

‘I’ve always hated housework’, said Betty, 53, ‘but there’s something so very satisfying about a clean toilet.’

Betty can often be heard singing as she cleans – looking for an echo in those motel bathrooms, perhaps, or just singing for the sheer joy of it all?

Basil Growth Spurt Fails to Diminish his Cuteness. (Photo article)

Yes, I would like to go for a walk, but I'm in charge. I have the lead. Follow me.

This way please...

Ssshhhhh! He doesn't know I'm here.

I can see the top of your head from up here!

Watching the sun creeping across the farmland behind, and hoping for a horsey visitor.

Lounge-lizard Basil - it's been a big day. I can barely keep my eyes open.... oops, too late!

Wonder-Drug Increases Artistic Output. 

Amazingly, a short but intense burst of Prednisolone took away the crippling aches and pains that had stopped local woman, Betty, in her tracks. Once again able to wield a broom/chisel/shovel, Betty gets out of bed with ease and performs tasks with the painlessness that she used to take for granted over a decade ago.

A recent project was the revamping of the vegie cage. The chook-wire has been peeled back and the roof dismantled. The vegies have been liberated, a new raised vegie bed and herb bed have been constructed over a floor of weed-matting, and the cubic metre of garden soil has been shifted by Betty’s own fair hand. Silverbeet, broccoli, cabbage and potato will be on the menu this winter – so far.

The first log-sculpture has also been completed now that Betty can hold tools again. More will follow. Watch this space.

The next project is in bits on the shed floor. It’s a bunch of big sticks that were just on the side of the road, and when finished, will be a beautiful cat-tree for Basil to climb in his Cat Palace. There may also be enough sticks left over to create a bird-feeder stand (and if not, there are still plenty of sticks by the side of the road!

The Return of Biker Betty and the Rogue Nose-Hair

 Betty actually took the Harley out of the shed, where the poor thing had been languishing, as Harleys are wont to do.  On a fabulously sunny day, the intrepid pair beetled along the twisty road from Mallacoota to the highway, then fanged it up to Merimbula, with a stop at Eden on the way home. Big smiles all round, except for the times that the rogue nose-hair wiffled about inside Betty's helmet, driving her mental on the road (note to self: exterminate, annihilate, defoliate!) Basil's alarm when leather-clad, big-booted Betty stomped through the back door, helmet in hand may have been attributable to the shock of her ghastly helmet-hair, which has been as neglected as Piglet of late..

Proof that Piglet came out of the shed! Enjoying the view at Eden, NSW

Life is fabulous! Bleep bleep, over and out from beautiful Mallacoota.

Life: a multi-Betty perspective

Biker Betty, that international woman of mystery and adventure, has reinvented herself a few times over the years. Housewife, mum, student, gay divorcee, author, biker, teacher, blogger… The latest incarnation is Sadie the Cleaning Lady by the Seaside.

The local school has had no need of my services so far. My innards, however, have had a continued need to ingest nutritious food, and my BANK has continued to require mortgage payments (how rude!) Then there are all the other bits and bobs and incidentals – utilities, fuel, the occasional bottle of wine *grin*. So – I find myself with three, yes three, casual cleaning gigs at the moment, and what a time I’m having!

Gig #1 is at the wonderful Adobe Mudbrick Holiday Flats where I used to stay as a guest. #2 is at a local motel and #3 is occasional errands and cleaning of holiday houses for a local real estate agent. How very different the routines are (so I will never get bored!) – and I’m probably too busy now to be teaching!

People who have known me for a while will know that housework has never been my strong suit, and will find a certain irony in my current situation. I have a bit of a laugh about it myself. (and you know what? I get quite a kick out of seeing the spic-and-span-ness when I’ve finished a house/flat/room).  Also, as a Pommie by birth, and knowing what England is like these days – where cleaners are almost always foreign – I’m also loving the ironic role-reversal of cleaning the occasional place after Indian or Eastern European guests have departed. I love this country!

So – how are the various Betties finding life? Well…

Author Betty is revelling in the minutiae of lives spent in motel rooms and the pieces of themselves that people leave behind. Such rich material (and so many toenails *cringe*)

Teacher Betty, far from feeling bewildered or bereft, is tired and sweaty at the end of every cleaning shift, but somehow invigorated. She goes home to Basil knowing that work is actually OVER for the day – and that’s something that no teacher can ever say at the end of a school day!

Biker Betty is wondering when the hell she will be able to get Piglet out of the shed and go for a ride.

Gardener Betty is having a ball. I dismantled most of the vegie cage (take note, Andrew M!) The vegies can now run free (well, they will when I’ve planted them in the lovely raised vegie bed I haven’t finished putting together yet), and I’ve preserved a couple of horse-whispering platforms for Basil and his horsey buddies. I’ve pruned, dead-headed, weeded…. There’s still so much to do in my garden. It’s a bit like painting the Sydney Harbour Bridge, I suspect: when you get to the end, you go back to the beginning and start over.

Hedonist Betty is very, very happy. I have the time to do the stuff I want to do! Never in my life have I been able to get a 20-minute beach, lake or bush 'fix' - but now I can! Oh, how wonderful it is to live on the coast!

Bill-payer Betty is sometimes a little twitchy, but I’m sure it’s a temporary thing. It takes a while to adjust to the 70-80% pay-cut, and to have to really think about every cent I spend. Still, in my years as divorced-mother Betty, that was a given – it’s not like I haven’t had to watch the pennies before!

Blogger Betty is gathering material. Watch this space J

Life is beautiful!

Betty and Basil: a story of soulmates ;-)

 
You know I’m a kitteh tragic, right? I’ve always been this way, but my cat-craziness increased exponentially when I acquired my little bestie, (that's bestie, not beastie!) Basil, who has captured my heart and imagination utterly, totally, truly madly deeply. He’s a little cat with a giant personality. He grabs life by the balls (he has none of his own these days) and absolutely loves the ride. Indoors or out, Basil knows how to have fun, and he's made me his very own partner in crime. He even pats me on the head, coz that's apparently what besties do. I'm flattered, and pat him on the head as well.

We play chasey in the house, running and hiding around corners, and jumping out at each other. It’s just as well we live alone, or the Funny Farm would probably be sending a van around to collect me right now – and then who would feed the cat?

Outdoors, we are more sedate (ok, outdoors I am more sedate.) Basil goes nuts, leaping more than a metre in the air and executing mid-air twists and turns worthy of an Olympic gymnast. He forces me to undertake obstacle courses (oh my aching back!), ducking and weaving and bending to untangle his lead from the more jungular bits of the garden. He runs up and down trees and flies through the air with the grace of, er, something extremely graceful. He bounces and pounces, digs holes that a dog would be proud of, poops in the strawberry pot and eyes off birds, bees, beetles and butterflies. And lizards. He loves the lizards that love the rockery.

 He likes to sit atop the vegie cage watching kangaroos, 

and has made friends with the horses that wander the back paddock. I kid you not – they touched noses and he actually patted a horse on the nose. Truly. Then the horse did that snorty thing that horses do, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. Basil, however, barely twitched a whisker. If I were to let him off the lead, I swear he’d be off, clinging to the mane of his horsey buddy and galloping across the field, tail streaming pennant-like behind him (why oh why won’t he get on the Harley with me?)

 He’s desperate to be better friends with the amazing variety of visiting birds, too. 

So near yet so faaaaaaar!

 Clearly that’s why he hopped onto the bird-table this morning and started nibbling at the birdseed while he waited for the birds to join him. The birds, less gullible than I, didn’t fall for his “look, I’m just another bird” cat-in-bird’s-clothing subterfuge, though, and stayed away in droves. Birds aren’t so birdbrained after all!

I'm just an innocent little birdie, heh heh. Hmmm, this birdseed's quite tasty!

He’s wanting to spend more and more time outdoors. This business of ‘walking the cat’ is going to get pretty old pretty quickly, so I’m thinking I shall build him an outdoor cat-palace. My internet research is about to begin, and my lovely neighbour has already offered me some timber. Watch this space for progress on that Grand Design. In the meantime I have ingeniously installed several strategically-placed anchor-points, and I can weed/dig/potter to my heart’s content, knowing that my Basil is having safe, bird-friendly fun, leaping on lizards, sniffing at snails and digging kitty-latrines.

Eventually, though, I always risk the Wrath of Khat by making him come back indoors when he doesn’t actually want to. He’s devised a brilliant win-win strategy. Yes, he thought this one up all by himself (not only is my cat Chuck Norris – he’s Einstein/Dr Spock as well!) He protests a bit, just for form's sake, then picks up his lead in his mouth, holds his head high and “walks himself” where I want him to go, as if it was his idea in the first place. So so SO unbelievably cute!

Oh Basil, how ever did I live without you?

P*be Face

If you have only been reading my blog for a little while, may I refer you to a post from quite some time (i.e., 4 years) ago, entitled 'Nose Hair' and one called 'Attack of the Killer Eyebrows'?

OK, got the picture? Let's move on - this one, I think, will have to be called 'Pube Face'.

OMG OMG OMG! Menopause is such a wonderfully liberating time for an old chook now that the hot flushes have stopped - not only am I liberated from praying my 'cycle' (how coy and euphemistic is that?) doesn't coincide with the ride to Phillip Island and the annual PI motoGP, I'm also liberated from (blokey types may tune out now if you like!) cramps, PMS bloating & mood-swings and ghastly & expensive 'feminine hygiene products'. But wait, there's more! I've also noticed my hair (on my head) doesn't get as oily and I don't need to shave my legs very often. OK, I didn't ever shave them very often anyway, it's true - but now I don't look like I'm wearing ugg-boots, ha ha (too much information? Only the menopausal/perimenopausal or menopause-curious need continue reading). Same with my armpits - wow, it's great!

Of course, the downside is that I'm growing pubes on my face.

Whoooooa! What did you say, ol' girl?

Ok, it seems that the hormonal maelstrom that is menopause somehow causes your pubes to lose their sense of direction, and they start sprouting from your face. All that desperate and endangered oestrogen gets into a bit of a menopausal tizz and has an uber-girly "Eeeeek, I-can't-read-a-map" moment, and your pubes take a wrong turn somehow. I've done the same thing myself when faced with a left- or right-hand turn, or, god-forbid, a roundabout with more than two exits. So anyway, that's the only explanation I can come up with for the appearance of wiry, crinkly hairs sprouting from my eyebrows and (eek) my chin!

I guess there's always a trade-off, right?  Many famous people have been known to say 'There's no such thing as a free lunch.' Interestingly, from my 3-minute google search, they've all been men. So in the interests of gender equality I'd like to give an older woman's perspective on that, and say 'There's no such thing as a hair-free menopause'.

My mother used to tell me horror stories about 'The Change' but they always involved going mad or unexpectedly getting pregnant. She didn't say anything about growing pubes from your eyebrows.  Or weight gain.

Still, I think I can cope. Pass the tweezers please. Oh, and Jenny Craig? I'll be in touch.