Wednesday, December 12, 2012

On being held to ransom . . . .

Mike is a worrier.  For 22 years, he has run his little accountancy practice, doing tax returns for people in the most careful manner.  No 'creative' accountancy gets done in Mike's office, it's all to the letter of the law and strictly by the book.  Still he worries about whether he's getting everything done okay.

He's not a whiz with technology but over the years has managed to acquire a computer system which, whilst not at all sophisticated, serves his needs.  He has a server on which his programs and data are stored, and PCs on his desks at the office connected to the server.  The system is protected by a firewall and virus protection.  He also has a laptop, which he uses at home to connect to the server so that he can continue doing tax returns for people when he gets home.

Approximately two and a half weeks ago, on a Sunday night, he tried to log on to the server from home here.  Once he was connected to the server, he got a strange looking screen which seemed to indicate that there was a problem with the server.  Not to worry, he thought, I'll save it for tomorrow when I get to the office.

His worst nightmare had just begun.

On the following morning, he sat at his desk and watched the program icons on his desktop disappear one by one.  Nothing worked.  His IT guy was called.  The server is not usually connected to a monitor but once this was done, the messages started arriving.

'Your computer has been locked.  Unless you do as instructed, authorities will be informed that we have discovered child pornography on your computer.

Every file on your computer has been encrypted using AES software.  You need a key to decrypt the files.  Don't bother trying to work out the key, it will take you more than a trillion years.

I, of course, have the key that will decrypt your files as I indeed wrote the program that has rendered your computer useless and your files scrambled.  Don't you trust me?  Send me a file, pick any file on your system and email it to me and I guarantee that I will send it straight back to you decrypted.  Because I am such a decent chap.

See, I told you so!  Now, let's talk about the rest of your files.  That key is going to cost you $4000US. It must be sent to me in a totally untraceable method, via Western Union and the criminal's choice, Liberty Reserve.  Email me when you have deposited the money and I will send further instructions so you can watch your money vanish.  By the way, the cost of the key is going to go up by $1000US per week if you dilly-dally.

Okay, I have your money, now here is the key.  (a jumble of approximately 50 letters, numbers, symbols).  Here are a few instructions about how to use the key, but if you have any difficulties, please email me and I will give you lots of assistance'.

That is by no means the exact wording of the ransom request.  Mike has now been effectively out of business for the last two and a half weeks, with 22 years worth of honest work completely jeopardised and no solution offered by anyone except to pay the money.

He has heard that approximately 500,000 computers worldwide have been similarly held to ransom, and that the whole sordid business is expected to get much worse before the charming perpetrator(s) are caught.  Every computer is at risk.

Merry Christmas to us.

Friday, November 16, 2012

And so it continues . . . . .

Two weeks ago today, my sister dropped her little doggie here for a holiday while she and her husband and kids flew to the US of A for the vacation of a lifetime.

This is Buster -

enjoying the sunshine on the back verandah with our Merlin.  He's a little Australian Silky Terrier with a whole load of attitude.  He came feeling very unsociable toward our dogs, as you can tell by the photo, he's greatly improved in that regard.

On the Sunday after Buster arrived, I woke in the morning not feeling great.  Still had my breakfast and tried to ignore my painful belly.  By late morning, I was nauseous.  By early afternoon, no amount of fingers down the throat could make me throw anything up except yucky foamy looking clear stuff.  I had a pain in my chest that went straight through to my back.  Mike kept saying 'I'll take you down to the medical centre' and I kept saying 'no, no, it'll go away, I'm sure'.  By about half three in the afternoon, I was flat on my back in my bed with the electric blanket full bore on my back and a hot wheat bag on my chest.  It was becoming quite difficult to breathe - the time had arrived for action to be taken.  Once in the car on the way to the hospital, the pain really took hold.  We arrived at Accident and Emergency at Windsor and because I had chest pains, I was taken in quite quickly, but not before I had another session of retching in the loo with all the other customers in the waiting room watching on. I was taken in and an ECG quickly ordered.  This action coincided with a young guy who had fallen from his motor bike and knocked himself out arriving in the bed across the room.  As they tried to subdue him, his screamed obscenities deafened out my moans of pain, I could not lie still on the bed but even in the commotion, I could hear my heart beating inside my head and I knew I wasn't having the heart attack they were testing me for.

An injection of morphine was ordered, then another.  I have no idea how long it took but the pain kind of eased.  The same doctor who poked my broken leg and said 'does that hurt?' last time I was there now poked my belly and once again asked the same question.  He could tell by my face what the answer was.  Off I went to the x-ray machine and once back in A&E, I could watch as my pictures were displayed on the light box amid much pointing and discussion.

At about 1.30am I was transferred to the ward, given more painkillers and told that an ultrasound in the morning would probably confirm their suspicions that my gall bladder was playing up.  Surprisingly, I slept quite well.

Monday morning came and the breakfast trolleys went right by my room - I was signposted 'Nil by Mouth'.  The ultrasound was duly done and then I waited for some results.  I was extremely tired, slept on and off all day, then had a visit from a Hospital Doctor who confirmed that, indeed, I had a stone lodged in my gall bladder, and that the surgeon looking after me would be reviewing my ultrasound and a decision would be made.  Some needed to come out quickly, some could be treated with antibiotics until they settled somewhat and an operation performed some time later, usually around 6 weeks after the first attack.  I would have to wait for the decision.

I didn't sleep too well that night, I dreamed of cups of tea, and my mouth was getting drier by the hour. I kept having to donate little tubes of blood which were being extracted from veins which were getting harder and harder to find.

Tuesday morning and the breakfast trolleys went by again.  At about 10am the surgeon came and said that seeing my pain was still quite intense, she thought it best that the offending organ be removed that day.  I was having a great problem with shortness of breath and had developed quite a rattle in my chest.  Coughing was murder.

So they prepped me for the upcoming operation, which entailed giving me a lovely pair of paper undies, a gown which, of course, meant my butt was exposed if I got out of bed and a paper shower cap which I designated as my fascinator seeing that it was Melbourne Cup Day and such things are worn on that day.  Then I waited, and listened as the morning tea trolley went by, and the lunch trolley went by, and the afternoon tea trolley went by, until about 4.30 when I was wheeled out to the operating theatre.  The clock on the wall said one minute to 5 as I was taken in.

I woke in recovery at 6.40.  I was surprisingly in very little pain and felt so much better.  About an hour or two later, the pain relief wore off and I knew I was alive.

Back in the ward, I was offered my long awaited cup of tea, but the gross taste in my mouth didn't let me enjoy it greatly.

Wednesday morning and the breakfast trolley stopped at my door.  Great!  But I could hardly eat a thing.

The surgeon came to see me about 9.30am and said she was very pleased that they hadn't decided to wait as the ultrasound had not shown quite the extent of the problem.  The gall bladder was full of pus, which was leaked out and created a raft of pus sitting under my diaphragm and the gall bladder itself was partially gangrenous.

But I could go home that afternoon, although by the time I got here, I seriously doubted that it was a good idea.  I was just so sore.  My kidneys basically stopped working and over the next three or four days, I swelled up with so much fluid that I could scarcely bend my knees and the skin on my legs was as tight as a drum.  Not a great way to get rid of your cellulite!

Anyway, over the last 6 days or so, I have made much improvement.  Still a little sore.

The surgeon told me the day after the operation that the long term effects of gall bladder removal can be many and varied.  Best case scenario, there may be very little change in what I can eat, worst case scenario, there could be chronic diarrhoea for the rest of life.  I guess even chronic diarrhoea has some semblance of predictability, better than the surprise diarrhoea that I'm suffering from at the minute!

So since June this year, I have had a dose of pneumonia, a broken leg and now removal of my gall bladder.  That'll just about do me for this year, thanks all the same.

Thursday, November 1, 2012

Frustration Friday . . .

Okay, so it's only Thursday, but it doesn't go quite as well with 'frustration'.

I am struggling with my mending ankle.  I had my first big day in the garden on Monday, clearing weeds that should have been dealt with weeks and weeks ago.  In the space of 25 minutes or so, I managed to twist over on my ankle twice.  I broke a blood vessel in my finger that is still purple today. So I came back inside and promptly walked into the corner of the dishwasher door.  Which I had left open.   My ankle looks almost normal first thing in the morning, but as the day progresses, it becomes more and more swollen.  I bought an elastic type support which comes a few inches up my shin, and by the evening, I have a veritable balloon of swelling over the top.

Put your foot up as much as you can, they said to me.  While I had the cast on, that was basically all I did, sat in my comfy chair with my foot on a leather footstool kindly lent to me by my son and his wife.  I knitted and sat, and sat and knitted, and my foot swelled.  No! no! they said, you have to have the injury higher than your heart!  I challenge anyone to sit with their ankle higher than their heart and remain looking dignified and sane.  Let alone manage to do anything at the same time.  The mind boggles!

Yesterday, I got sick of the feeling of my leg being so swollen, and I started to research ways and means of reducing same.  Compression stockings!  Wow, those suckers are expensive!  Hang on a minute - they ring a distant bell.  A quick search of the right drawer brought to light a pair of somewhat second hand looking compression knee high socks.  They belonged to my dear old mum.  Look, there's the laundry mark the nursing home wrote around the inside of the top - 'Room 41'.  Mum suffered greatly from chronic oedema in the last few years of her life, really much worse than what I'm going through, and as I struggled to roll the sock onto my leg, I apologised to her for not being more sympathetic.  They are a size larger than I would have bought, but the relief they have given me is quite something.

So today I went off to my physiotherapy appointment, in my new sock, and came home more sore than when I went.  I was quite grumpy and made my frustration at the whole situation quite obvious.  Poor guy, he didn't cause the issue and he's only doing his job.  I expressed my displeasure at having a cankle which is completely unstable, making it very hard for me to walk on any ground that is uneven as it twists from underneath me so quickly and hurts like mad when it does. I demanded to know how long this situation was going to remain and, indeed, if ever it was going to heal completely!  Could be 12 months and short answer, no.

So I shall endeavour to sit more, with my ankle higher than my heart.

There is an old house on the hill across the valley from us.  It was built in 1834, I think, so is surrounded by an old garden.  It's recently been on the market and was described in the real estate blurb as having a potager, amongst other things.  Sigh . . .   It's now sold, and as I sit, I'm watching two guys (and two dogs which look like they've just been released from a courtyard by their enthusiastic activity) clearing out the old garden.  I can see old fences starting to appear from the undergrowth and new retaining walls going in.  Stuff is constantly being delivered and everyone whizzes around busily.  I'd be scared to do that so soon after moving in, in case I was pulling out old treasures, but by the same token, I'm so envious of their progress.  I wish I had an army of gardeners with all the earthmoving equipment under the sun who would come every day and I'd say 'let's build a retaining wall here, and dig a big pond over there, and create a pergola walk of roses across there . . . . .'

. . . . . all while I sat with my ankle higher than my heart.  That should make 'em work hard!

Friday, October 19, 2012

The colour purple . . . . .

in the garden today.

This is Campanula Glomerata Superba.

Reine des Violettes again.

My Mum's irises.

Not quite purple, but a sweet Alpine Flox.

Not at all purple, and my, haven't the spiders been busy.  One of Mum's zygocactus.

Thursday, October 18, 2012

Can you guess . . . .

what today's garden activity has been?

Those of you who said brain surgery in the kitchen sink do not get the prize!

We have been experiencing very sleepless nights lately.  For some reason, our dear old dog, Merlin, has taken to barking incessantly from under the back verandah and tearing from one side of the backyard to the other.  He has a huge bark and I'm afraid that the neighbours are going to get sick of the noise real fast.  As we have done.  If I do manage to coax him inside, within a very short space of time, he is again out there barking.  He has also been rolling in something unspeakably stinky.  This morning, when I spied that he was again sporting a suit of stink clothing, I took myself off down the back stairs and decided to do a circuit of the yard to find the source of the world's worst smell.  I didn't have to go far - only as far as the mulberry tree!  And there they are, hanging in all their glossy loveliness - the ripe and luscious mulberries.  And all around the tree are the signs of the feast that the flying foxes have been having every night, including the remains of the mulberries they have already eaten and that have made their way through their little flying foxy digestive systems and once again into the environment in which we reside.  In other words, the ground is covered in flying fox crap and Merlin has been rolling in it!

Off to the laundry tub he went!!  Poor sweet old thing, here I was proclaiming loud and long that he has lost his marbles, that he is spending his nights barking at nothing and worst still, keeping me awake and making me grumpy in the day, and he was actually trying to rid the skies over the entire block of the dreaded crapping enemy.

So I resolved to start picking the mulberries with a view to making a batch of jam.  I find it hard to stand for any great length of time on my mending ankle, but in a reasonably shortish period of time this afternoon picked this -

It's over one and a half kilos.  I really only did about three branches.  When I say 'did', I was hardly thorough - I got to the point where I was only picking the ginormous ones - sorry, you're only big, you won't do!

Tomorrow, I will pick more.

A happy footnote - the tradesman turned up and the job is sorted (it was motorising the new garage door) and the quilt that had to be finished by this Friday has been delivered.  Something I made years ago and because it really wasn't my cup of tea, has remained just a pieced quilt top with no real purpose.  I'm not sorry to see it go but happy that I have gained a little space in the sewing room cupboard.  It is being auctioned at a charity fund raising dinner on Friday night - hopefully someone whose cup of tea it is will buy it.

Tuesday, October 16, 2012

Two thoughts for today . . . .

1.  There is nothing more frustrating than waiting for tradesmen that do not arrive.

2.  There is nothing that kills creativity as fast as a deadline.

Not much positive in any of that, I'm sorry to say.

Friday, October 12, 2012

Well, I hate to say it . . . . .


Just such an awful day here - raining (but that's okay), freezing cold (Bells Line of Road is closed at Mount Tomah because of black ice), blowing a gale . . . again.

One positive is that the clematis growing up Leander On The Verandah is flowering.  I had to hold the bloom still to take the photo, the wind was blowing so hard.

A good day to stay inside.

Tuesday, October 9, 2012

Spring again . . . .

and the roses have started to bloom.  There is a line of demarcation in the garden where I was pruning roses, one each day, until I broke my leg - short roses to the left, tall straggly roses to the right.

We've had some hot days lately, everything is very dry, I wish it would really rain.  We had a small shower overnight, but we so need a good solid day's rain.

The fragrance of the roses is in the air -

My favourite rose in the garden, DA Lucetta . . .

My not so favourite, Reine des Violettes . . .

My least favourite, Reine Victoria, showing signs of the warm winds of last week.  My forced sitting inside for the last almost two months has started my thinking that the whole front garden needs re-doing.  Things need to be moved so that there's a bit more structure to form and colour scheme, the soil needs a boost with a good addition of compost and Reine Victoria is going on the burning pile!

Clematis on the archway on the side gate.  The crummy archway is once again on a precarious lean and I think one more gust of southerly wind will bring the whole lot down.  The fish pond nearby is looking so dilapidated, it needs a good clean out but worse still, seems to be leaking water.  The fish still appear every time I go near, anxious for food - they would eat all day.

In the meantime, the cast is off my leg, and I'm waiting for the swelling to go down.  I'm having physiotherapy and trying to get myself walking properly.  My ankle is stiff, but I'm not sure how much of the limp is in my ankle and how much is in my head.

Tuesday, September 4, 2012

What is going on . . . ?

Three weeks ago, I fell down and broke my leg.

I had had Ewan McGregor at the vets that day - he had gone for an explosive run the night before after a rabbit and came back totally lame in one of his back legs.  Struggled back up the back stairs and promptly flopped down on the back verandah.  Which is so not like him.

So off I went to the vets the next morning, 'has he had anything to eat this morning?', 'we'll need to do an x-ray to see what's going on, leave him with us, we'll ring you when we have some answers'.  Ring, ring - 'hello, I'm sorry to tell you that Ewan McGregor has ruptured his cruciate ligament and needs surgery to fix it - fortunately, we've got space in the operating schedule for Friday so in the meantime, come and pick him up but keep him as quiet as possible till then' . . . 'Here he is, he's still a bit sleepy from the sedation we had to give him to take the x-rays, just watch that he doesn't go running and do himself an injury, that will be $700 for today, thank you, please have him here by 8.30am on Friday, oh I should let you know that the operation will cost $1100 minimum, okay bye bye, see you on Friday!'

So I took our Ewan McGregor home and he was kind of quiet until I took the dogs out for their dinner at about 8.15pm.  Having finished his food quickly (he hadn't eaten all day), Ewan McGregor then shot off down the stairs, across the lawn and round the end of the hedge he disappeared.  I cursed his naughtiness and followed him, with my torch, exquisitely attired in my pyjamas, dressing gown and daggy old slippers which had been the subject of recent conversations re their worn-outness and lack of tread on the bottom.  I had slipped in them before, at least twice.

So I proceeded with great caution, shining my torch down the hill to see where my crazy dog had gone.  Over by the side fence I couldn't see him anywhere.  I walked diagonally towards the first of the casuarina trees, past which the land flattens out and I knew I would be safer standing there.  Just one more step close to the tree and I will be on safe ground.  Stepped with my right foot which when it made contact with the ground just continued in a forward motion and I was falling.  Backwards, with my left foot remaining where it had been.  And so I fell, with my right leg out in front of me, onto my back but also onto my left leg, bent at the knee, with my left foot in a contorted sort of position, half pointing out to the side but with my toes pointed up towards my head.  And I heard the snap.  A muffled kind of snap.

Burning pain in my left ankle.  My immediate thought was 'how am I ever going to stand up?'  I was out of earshot of the house, Mike was home with the television at his usual volume.  Just stand up . . . no, that hurts too much . . . what am I going to do! . . . okay, roll over onto your hands and knees and try to get up that way . . . oh no, that hurts, what have I done to myself (insert small episode of sobbing here) . . . okay, crawl back up the hill till you're close enough for Mike to hear you.  I even gathered up all my belongings!!  Made sure I had the torch AND the rotten slippers.  Crawled till I was near the mulberry tree at which point, ignoring the pain, I got to my feet, staggered to the edge of the paving and proceeded to use the torch to morse code my distress through the windows of the family room in the hope of attracting Mike's attention.  Which I did, fortunately, quite quickly and he came outside.  I said 'I've REALLY hurt myself!!!'  But I still had the 10 steps up onto the verandah to contend with and I'm not going to describe how much that hurt.  Got inside, got the peas out of the freezer, already swelling,  paining, sobbing, okay off to Accident and Emergency (IN MY PYJAMAS!), sorry, the radiology folks have gone home to bed, here's some strong pain killers, if I poke here, does it hurt?  Okay, could be ligament damage, we'll put a bandage on it for you and you'll have to come back in the morning at 8.30am for an x-ray.  Here's some more strong pain killers, and some more to take home.

I kind of slept, but every time I moved . . . ouch!

As soon as the first x-ray was done, the radiologist lady said 'Fracture!'

I had a temporary plaster put on while they decided whether it needed a pin put in, I was admitted to hospital, the orthopaedic surgeon decided not to pin, the following day the backslab plaster was replaced with a right orange fibreglass cast and after another x-ray to check the position of the bone, off I went home on my new crutches.

Boy, it was sore!  And bruised - it still is.

Two days later, it was Ewan McGregor's day - off he went in the morning with Mike, the vet rang early afternoon to say every thing had gone well, and the procedure from here on was that he was to be kept crated for as long as possible, and only taken out, on a leash, for toilet stops.  I could have gone and bought a crate, but on the crutches, my chances of taking him down 10 stairs to go to the toilet were nil.  And so he stayed at the vets.  And almost three weeks later, he is still at the vets.  They ring me every few days and tell me how he's going, that he's pretty well taken over the place, that his injury is healing nicely.  I miss him and so does Merlin.  He'll come home when it's okay for him to be off the leash and able to get up and down the stairs by himself - who knows how long it will take.  In the meantime, the $1100 is growing by the day.

My leg has improved greatly, once the soreness went away I found it so much easier to get around.  It still hurts a bit if I put too much weight on it.  The greatest frustration is not being able to get the cast wet, so showers are an absolute nightmare for someone who loves to run a big, deep bath and lie there with a book and a glass of wine!

I have missed my mum these last few weeks, if only to hear her say 'well, what did you go and do a silly thing like that for!'

Friday, June 15, 2012

Amazing . . .

I have made it to Grandmotherhood!!!

My dear son and daughter in law, after a very long and tortuous day of labour, welcomed into their lives the gift of a son.  He was born by forceps delivery, just before a caesarian was ordered, at 8 o'clock last night, weighing 7 lb 12 ozs.  Just a lovely size.

This is this morning's photograph.  Look at that blissful innocence.  Look at that nasty forceps mark.  My first thought was that he looks so much like his mummy, but then I found this very first photo of my son and I think there is definitely a good resemblance there.

I couldn't believe how much the years in a frame had faded this photo.  You can clearly see the circle that has been exposed.  I finished knitting that little blue cardigan while in hospital after his birth and he wore it home.  I still have it.

It was such a long day yesterday, waiting for the phone to ring with the good news.  I wasn't relaxed for a single moment and I got to thinking that that must have been how it was for my mother.  When I was in the labour ward all those years ago, was my mum at home, all on edge, nervous with anticipation and worry at the same time?  One thing I do know is that at the time, I was totally oblivious of it and probably would have been cross with her if she'd told me.  After yesterday, I understand so much better.  How I wish she was here to see meet her new great-grandson.  And how my dad would have loved him, his grandkids were so special to my dad, so sad that he never got to meet any great-grandkids.

And because I never believe in doing things poorly or by half measure, I have got myself the worst possible dose of flu.  I spent last weekend (a gloomy, rainy holiday weekend!) in bed and by Tuesday was taking 2 different antibiotics and I'm still coughing and coughing.  I've got so much congestion that my breath bubbles in my chest.

So consequently, I am most saddened to say that I don't expect to be able to squeeze and smooch this precious new person for some time yet.  Everyone else is telling me when they are going for a visit and I can't go.  Why me?

Thursday, May 31, 2012

Life lately . . . .

has had its ups and downs . . . .

Have I told you that I'm about to become a grandmother for the first time?  My son and his wife expect the birth of their first child within the next week or two.  It's almost surreal - this waiting for a blessed event that once again changes everything.  It seems no time since my son was, himself, a wee one.  Now he's about to become a dad.  And his wife becomes a mum.  And we older ones, the generation before, who up until the moment of this new life are the mums, are no longer the mums.  We become the grandmothers.

The pregnancy has not been without its troubles.  Morning sickness was more like all day sickness.  Major renovations were being carried out on their house and once the pregnancy was confirmed, became even more urgent.  My son's job become somewhat redundant at Christmas and just at a time when income became very important, there was none.  There was a lot of stress.

But the house is mostly sorted, a new job has been found, baby showers have been celebrated and now we wait for the happy event.  I have been knitting (chuckle, as my knitting skills are somewhat suspect), thank goodness for Ravelry - it has taken over from eBay as my most favourite bookmark.

In March I began making a quilt for my sister in law who was turning 50 in April (snort, did I think that was plenty of time to get it done?) and whilst I was in the process of piecing it, discovered to my dismay that my niece had just turned 30 (not 29 as I thought) and as I had made up some crazy plan that a zero birthday deserved a quilt, I then had 2 quilts to make.  I'm pleased to say they were both done by the middle of April and are now warming the toes of their recipients.

This is the one I made for my niece.  I thought I'd taken a photo of the other one but iPhoto tells me I didn't.

In the meantime, the garden got very little attention and the more bedraggled it looked, the less inspiration I had to work there.  After such a lousy, wet summer, autumn has come along with warmish sunshine and coolish nights and I have ventured back into the garden to say hello to all the healthy weeds and try to get a little bit of order happening before winter comes.  I've been getting plant catalogues in the mail with tempting pictures of lovely things I should be planting now but the weeds need to come out first.  I started on Monday this week in the 'snake bed' - here's a photo taken half way through my gardening day -

Check the height of the kikuyu!  It was growing up through the roses and the salvias, had completely covered the poor yellow irises and in the front left corner, under a thatch of kikuyu, I found my treasured little snowflake bulbs pushing up through the soil.  I had to sit down on the step and contemplate their determination and gave myself a small lecture about not letting things get in the way of what I would like to achieve.

Monday, February 20, 2012

Okay . . .

who was it that requested more rain?

Here we are, February has almost finished, which means summer is as well, and to say it has been wet would be an understatement.  Ark building has crossed my mind.

This afternoon has brought another storm.  I stepped out with my camera onto the back verandah as it came racing up from the south.

I wish this showed how quickly the clouds were moving.  Sorry about the sound of the wind.

This is looking south-east towards the city.

Yikes!  Armageddon!

I spent the day on Saturday, between showers, weeding the nut grass from the west garden bed.  Bags and bags of it - and it is already growing again.  I am watching it through the kitchen window and it is laughing at me.  I am hurt and dismayed, then I laugh back with an evil laugh as I think of the big container of deadly poison that sits in the cupboard in the garage under the house.  Maybe, if I persevere, in 15 years or so, it will be gone.

What I did achieve with my Saturday weeding was a sore finger.  It is red and infected and when I bump it on things, which I am doing constantly, it oozes yucky blood stuff out the side of my fingernail.  It even hurts to type this.

Do you think it's the nut grass getting even with me?