Saturday, 31 January 2009
Marley and Me is a beautifully light comedy / drama about a family and their beloved dog. My thoughts wondered to our two beloved mutts, Jock and Elibelle who one day decided to go a bit too far in their tug o' war game with a poisonous snake, resulting in their death. During the movie, I sneeked a peek at the Machinist, and observed his face, taught with emotion. Just the sight of him made me want to sob ...
Anyway, here's the info for Marley and Me. Enjoy!
Friday, 30 January 2009
Load the hungry washing machine, switch on the tumble dryer - full of the previous laundry user's clothing. In this case, Sam's clothing (and bed sheets and riding gear, including gloves). Make an Isowhey shake with 1/4 banana and skim soy milk (not my first choice, but I've adapted). Sip on shake - slowly. Take meat out of freezer for lunch.
Head to the shop for more painting with second daughter. Become a mosquito's banquet while standing on a ladder; tray of paint in one hand, brush in the other. (They know when you are vulnerable, the mosquitos do). Keep on enquiring of the time. Grandpa points to a huge clock on top of his kitchen pantry. I can just see it if I bend my knees and peer, squintingly through the kitchen window.
Almost time for morning tea.
Feel very chuffed after completing western and southern gutters and eaves FOR THE THIRD TIME. Even before morning tea ...
Go home for morning tea.
Actually, morning espresso coffee. With almond nuts and a pear.
Dragged by the Machinist into the Machine Shop office to send a quote, record an invoice and relieve business creditors by performing internet banking direct deposits. (IBDD's), as well as writing cheques.
Lunch; meatballs with oregano and five spices, cinnamon, onion and tomato sauce with garden salad.
Check emails after lunch and fall asleep at the computer. Several times. Wake up with a massive whiplash. Go for a nap under the mosquito net in bedroom. Doze off. Woken by second daughter, Sarah, after ten minutes of deep sleep, as she opens the bedroom door to drop off her dad's boots.
Return to the office to finish bookwork and print off reports from MYOB.
Head to the Shop to complete painting the gutters and eaves on the Eastern wall. West, South, East?
Go back home. Peg out (more) washing. Jump into the pool - fully dressed. Frolick in the pool with the Machinist (even learn a new trick; - how to conquer the 'Big Daddy' floating bed).
Coffee with the Machinist.
Head off to mow the lawns at the Shop and Grand's Cottage garden with the Machinist. Take over the Machinist's new toy; a ride on mower. Create many dust storms on said ride on mower (due to making 'doughnuts' and tracks on dry, loose soil with mower). Feel very chuffed and rebellious about making dust storms.
Due to the darkness of the sky (8.45pm), load the push mower and whipper snipper onto the ute. Ride in convoy home. The Machinist on the mower, me in the ute behind him.
Thursday, 29 January 2009
Wednesday, 28 January 2009
On arriving home this evening with the Machinist, I lingered a little in the utility truck. Tall conifers on either side of me - the driveway completely hidden from the street. I looked around at the amount of projects on the go, that have to be completed within the next two months:
A ladies bicycle that we picked up at the tip, needing a new wheel and two new tyres. I can't wait to ride it!
A metal trunk which will be cleaned up and used as a prop for Metalsmithery
An old galvanised weed sprayer, with the name "Hudson" imprinted on the front. This will also be cleaned up and used as a prop for Metalsmithery.
Two wrought iron single bed headboards to be stripped and painted.
Four tressles used to support outdoor work benches when spray painting various items.
Gothic looking hinges and door supports for Metalsmithery's main door, made by the Machinist, awaiting spray painting.
An enormous hydraulic ram, which the Machinist intends to use on a piece of equipment he is going to make.
Long lengths of galvanised steel, awaiting manufacture.
A large trailer, quarter filled with garden refuse from the Shop grounds, awaiting weeds and home-garden refuse from the Head Gardener (me!)
A wheelbarrow loaded with bags of chicken poop, to be scattered and dug into the vegetable beds.
A large bag of pig poop, also to be scattered and dug into the vegetable beds.
Old wooden crates, to be chopped up into smaller pieces and used as firestarters for the Autumn months.
Various vintage metal implements, used as garden decor.
I'm sure there's more, but it will probably only come to mind as I trip over it, carrying coffee to the Machine Shop.
Tuesday, 27 January 2009
Prime coat. Top coat. Top coat.
"Round and round the circumference, like a teddy bear ...." tra la la
On both early morning starts, I've been comforted by the sounds of early morning rising. We are there before the Grands wake and get out of bed, but they're up shortly after. As they rise and shine, there is the sound of the toilet flushing; it's waste running to the septic tank. Then the bathroom taps are used, and the plumbing groans. If the hot tap is run, the Rinnai Instant Hot Water heater clicks into action, and a faint whiff of liquid petroleum gas seeps into the crisp dewy air.
In the kitchen, a gush of cold water runs down the drain and gurgles its way to the grease trap. The kettle is switched on and works itself into a panic as it reaches boiling point. More whiffs of gas, as the tea and coffee cups are rinsed under hot water. Muffled communication. Plates and bowls clatter - cereals are being poured. A frying pan clangs on the stove top. More muffled conversation...
The click of the front sliding door indicates 'wee wee' time for the beloved Pekingnese, Blossom. It's not long before Blossom has made her way around to the west to greet us.
A new day.
What will this day be like? I wonder...
What will my future be?
Monday, 26 January 2009
Today was momentus. For the first time, in over 20 years, we raised the Australian flag at the Shop (the old Roadhouse) - to be known as Metalsmithery & The Daily Pie. Grandpa had painted the flagpole, and the Machinist was really grateful that he did. The three men in my life raised the pole to their shoulders and carried it to where it would be erected. They marched proudly! Later, Sam brought the forklift around the building, and the Machinist and I climbed onto the platform, so that we could be lifted to the height of the flagpole bracket.
We had lunch at the Bushranger Hotel (formerly the Kimberley's Hotel) and later did the commemorative walk for Constable Samuel Nelson, one of our village's own:
"Shortly before 6pm on 26 January, 1865 bushrangers Hall, Dunn and Gilbert attacked kimberley's Inn at Collector. The local Police at the time were out searching the area for the bushrangers, and the only man on duty in town was the Lockup keeper, Constable Nelson. When news of the attack reached the Constable he remarked to his wife that he would simply "have to do his best" against the bushrangers. Approaching the hotel armed only with a Police carbine with bayonet attached, the Constable was shot by Dunn who had hidden behind a fence post. Nelson was initially hit in the chest by a shotgun blast, and as he staggered, Dunn fired again, hitting him in the face. He died almost instantly. The bushrangers then robbed the Constable's body of his personal belongings and the carbine, and escaped into the bush. The entire incident had been witnessed by one of the Constable's nine children, young Frederick Nelson, who was also fired upon by Dunn.
The Constable was born in 1823 and joined the New South Wales Police Force on 5 August, 1857. At the time of his death, he was stationed at Collector".
Here are the Ten Tenors singing "I Still Call Australia Home". Makes me cry every single time!
Sunday, 25 January 2009
Our friend, Robert decided to put the rooster out of his misery, and considerate of his wife's affection for all animals, he put the rooster in the basket of his four-wheeler, and took him for the (last) ride of his life to their 'pet cemetary' (other beloved pets had also been laid to rest due to snake bites). Robert begain digging a hole, deep enough to house Mr Rooster. He wanted to undertake the task as quickly as possible - the sun was rising high in the sky and beating down on both of them. Mr Rooster was placed in the hole and Robert began the rhythm of scooping dirt over him: shovel, twist, drop, shovel, twist, drop. The hole was filling quickly. Shovel, twist, drop. Shovel, twist, ... what the?
Out of the soil emerged a seizing chicken foot.
And with that, Robert put the largest boulder he could find (and move) over the grave site and fled on his four wheeler for the homestead ....
* * * * * * * * * *
Our Sam loves to ride his dirt bike. It has been said that there's not a patch or mound of dirt that he hasn't covered in our small village (and surrounding Travelling Stock Reserves). He was delighted, then, when his friend, Ben introduced him to a mound, in the middle of one of their farm's paddocks. The lads spent a good half hour in a bubble of dust, sweat, petrol fumes and roaring, overheated engines - competing for the highest jump, oblivous of their surroundings. Then, out of their zone -
"Ben! Ben! BEN! What the .... What are you DOOOO..ING?" It was Ben's dad, shouting from the car.
"C'mon, Sam, let's scarper ..."
"What's the matter?"
"Don't worry about it.. let's go ..."
A few hours later, when the dust had settled (in more ways than one), the lads returned to their new and recently compacted jump in the paddock. But not with the intention to - well - jump. Sam slid off his bike to take a closer look... there was a horse's hoof sticking out of the dirt, like a conquering flag on a mountain top.
Sam turned to Ben "did you know?"
Saturday, 24 January 2009
I have always referred to any woman working at home, married, with or without children as a housewife. The world doesn't use the term 'housewife' anymore. It's not politically correct to do so, and some find it derogatory. The names 'home executives', 'housepersons', 'homekeepers' or 'domestic executives' are the preferred titles for women who stay at home and work.
The vacuum cleaner is my talisman. Cloths, brooms, pans, mops, buckets and DETTOL are my friends and when I have these items in my hands, my family know that I'm not merely taking the bus and going on the Summer Holiday that Cliff Richards sings about.
I am Mrs Moppit Mama.
I am ready to perform the White Lightening lickover.
I am the Retro Housewife.
Retro Housewife; A married woman who embraces the role of wife, mother and homemaker, rather than adhering to the current paradigm of women assuming roles that are traditionally male
Friday, 23 January 2009
For years, we've had a home & productive food garden, a home-school and an engineering workshop with an office enclosed - all on the same piece of land in the country. Three separate entities to manage and coordinate. Nowadays, we still have the home and semi-productive food garden, (Homelife / Garden) the home-school room has been turned into an office / studio, and the engineering workshop (Machine Shop) has expanded. We have also purchased an old petrol station / roadhouse (the Shop) - just up the road from our home - which will one day become a retail outlet for metal creations (Metalsmithery) and have it's own coffee shop (The Daily Pie) enclosed. Later, there will also be a pie bakery (The Daily Pie) in the same building. At the rear of the old petrol station / roadhouse (Shop) we have practically rebuilt a three bedroom cottage (Grands Cottage), where my parents now live.
Big plans and dedication. Lots of work. Enormous amounts of motivation. Many sacrifices.
You know how you go through life sometimes and wonder what you've actually done - especially on non productive days? As I write all this out and think about the enormity of it all, I can only wonder how we've done what we have, and know - truly know - whence cometh our blessings and am truly grateful and thankful.
May God give us the strength, patience, tenacity and all the rest we need to continue with these graciously granted dreams - now reality.
Thursday, 22 January 2009
Wednesday, 21 January 2009
I knew nothing of this chap at the time of purchasing his portrait, but it seems that he is Maximilian I, Roman Emperor-elect; Archduke of Austria; Duke of Burgundy - born March 22, 1459 – January 12, 1519. He is often referred to as 'the lask Knight', and has a generally excellent rap, despite having had three marriages! According to the inscription on the print, translated from Latin:
"The most powerful, the greatest, and most invincible Emperor Maximilian, who surpassed all the kings and princes of his time in justice, wisdom, magnanimity, [and] generosity, but especially in martial glory and strength of courage. He was born in the year of human salvation 1459, on the day of March 9. He lived 59 years and 9 months, 25 days. He died, however, in the year 1519, in the month of January, on the 12th day. Whom God the Best and Greatest may wish to restore to the number of the living".
In the portrait, Maximilian is holding a broken and bursting open pomegranite, which, in his day, was a symbol of the fullness of Christ's suffering and resurrection.
This is a self portrait of the guy who painted Max - Albrecht Durer, generally regarded as the greatest German Renaissance artist
All this history. And to think that I only bought the print because I liked the way it looked...
Tuesday, 20 January 2009
Monday, 19 January 2009
John Brack was a Melbourne artist who in his work engaged with an urban reality, one which the great majority of Australians experience in their daily life.
In 1954, he began to explore the techniques of printmaking and created a series of four small, intimate images in drypoint, one of each of his daughters. Third daughter is a little gem in characterisation, where the stark frontality, the clenched fists and the scowling expression denote defiance.
Sunday, 18 January 2009
For anyone known as a "born cook", reducing approaches anguish. It is no laughing matter to skip lightly into the kitchen and fix barbecued spareribs, juicy and rich and spicy and abounding in calories, and watch the family smack their lips over the platter while you eat a lonely lamb chop - broiled, fat cut off, fat being the best part - and a dish of shredded cabbage garnished sweetly with a slice of lemon.
But I like the fresh green vegetables, too. The first thinning of beets and onions steamed in butter is also a dish that might go on any heavenly menu.
Saturday, 17 January 2009
"I'm gettin' some chooks, Andre. Would ya like our old ones? If so, could ya come over and help us trim the wings and dust 'em all?"
After trimming the wings and dusting the chooks, we noticed that the gentle, majestic rooster wasn't looking too well. He had been lying far too long in the sun - too long for a dirt bath. He couldn't walk far, either. He'd amble along, then fall, head over spurs, into the dust. After a phone call to the vet, we learned that the magnanimous King Pin rooster had been bitten by a snake. He was promptly put into a cage and carried to the cool of the verandah.
Good farmers will always have medical supplies, for both humans, pets and livestock in their pantries or fridges. The Machinist helped to administer 5ml of Vitamin C and gently rubbed the rooster's throat. Chooks can't take injections; any medication has to enter their poultry bodies via their beaks. Fortunately, all the Vitamin C went down the gullet, followed by several shots of water, so that dehydration wouldn't set in.
Farm dogs are like their owners; friendly and welcoming. The 'outside' dogs and the 'inside' dogs fall into this same category. While the Machinist and I were having the refreshments offered to us, Russell - the Jack Russell - simply couldn't help himself. We had our backs to him, ignoring him, but this didn't douse his enthusiasm for fuss. He jumped up our backs, squeaking as he did so. I know dogs, in general, don't squeak, but Russell does. He backanswers you, too. In comparison, Jake, a leggy wolf hound, likes to walk right next to you, with his wirey-fur clad body which touches you constantly, as if he would be "out" if he wasn't actually touching you.
Ducks and ducklings (teenage ducklings) were making their way around the house, travelling in covoy.
Eva and Onslo, the miniature pigs we will be adopting paced the length of their pen as we passed by.
Their neighbours, the black pigs weren't as energetic, though. They sat like a couple of elderly villagers, at the doorstep of their sty. The farmer noted that one of Mr Black Pig's tusks were missing.
Four young sassy saddlebacks scoffed down their meal as we watched. The male saddleback kept on snouting the others out of the food bowl, but he was kept in line with a branch of eucalypt, distracting him from his 'hoggy' ways, leaving opportunity for the girls to tuck in.
The two hand raised lambs were freed from their pens. I'm sure they love weekends when their mistress is home!
We left the farm with a cage of hens and five bags of chicken poop! Waste not, want not.
The Machinist will undoubtedly call and see how his patient, King Pin Rooster is tomorrow...
Friday, 16 January 2009
Wednesday, 14 January 2009
I was lounging on one of the Machinist's floaties the other day - his "Big Daddy" floatie. It's not often that I go in the pool, but a girl has to keep cool, especially one with English blood flowing through her veins. The Puppies, and the Kitties, took their turn in climbing up the steps onto the pool deck to see what was going on, as it wasn't a common occurence for their mistress to be in the pool. They did their checking, saw that all was well, and retired to the cool of the shade.
Absorbing the heat from the pentrating rays on my arms and legs, it wasn't long before my eyes began to droop. Lying flat on my back, all I could see was blue sky with cirrus clouds, framed by an assortment of trees: the willow, the pine tree, the apple trees, the plum... My lids were closing fast now. I couldn't lift them! I could hear the sound of buzzing insects. Probably Christmas-beetle laggers. As long as they weren't close-by buzzing insects, I wasn't worried. Now and again, the bang of a hammer on steel, echoing from the workshop.
Then, the familiar sound of a Puppy snorting. Polly was on the pool deck, crooning to get to me. I swear, if my body had a hatch door and could open, that particular puppy would jump straight in. I grabbed her collar and pulled her on to my belly. For a few minutes, she was unsettled, as the floatie was swaying. Then she started to relax and I dipped my hand into the water, and stroked her head and face.
It was tempting to drift some more, with the Puppy on my belly, but you know - duty is always calling...
Mr Green was so kind and generous in many ways. He would serve us treats and arrange them so prettily on a blue and white plate. Naturally, we shared our feasts with our dollies. They, too, appreciated Mr Green's thoughtfulness.
When the weather was fine, or the greenhouse became too hot, we would play in the garden, which was like an adventure playground, without the apparatus. Our form of entertainment was hiding in all the little nooks that Mr Green had created with his gardening knowledge and skills. Our favourite outdoor area was the goldfish pond. We would lie flat on our bellies, heads dangling over the edge, looking at our (often distorted reflections) and watch the life in the pond. As long as we didn't 'touch' anything in the pond, we were allowed to lie there as long as we would like...
Mr Green's house was furnished with cobblestones, leather seating, lots of pictues in gilt frames and oakwood furniture. His kitchen was clean and scrubbed and had the fragrance of Sunlight soap. Although a widower, his clothes were always clean and well pressed, the little hair he had left was well groomed. His shoes were highly polished.
And... who knows why my thoughts are of Mr Green? Perhaps its because of my gardening marathon. Perhaps it's because I've been watching my reflection in the pool. Perhaps it's because I've had a recent hankering to inhale the summery fragrance of Sunlight soap of late.
Perhaps it's because I'm getting older and you know how they say that your memories revert a lot to your childhood?
Er... no.... I think I'll settle for the former list of possibilities....
Tuesday, 13 January 2009
And so - as the song goes "... Mad dogs and English (wo)men go out in the midday sun..." I love to keep to tradition.... thanks to Noel Coward ...
Lambsears were totally evicted. MILLIONS of earwigs began crawling up my legs and scurrying across my feet as I air-lifted these clumps out of Sarah's fenced garden. The recollection of seeing the earwigs simply daunts me. (Later, I squashed one on it's way to my knickers!). Valerian, a gift from Sarah's piano teacher was hacked beyond recognition. The once bushy, evasive plant was reduced to cluster of stumpy green alien-like fingers. Although left unharmed - just merely grazed by the shears, the scent of catmint filled the air (I've never seen any of our cats roll around in the multitudes of catmint we have planted for them).
Granny's bonnets breathed a sigh of relief, as did claustrophobic English lavender. Even a thorny rose appeared; the tallest of the (formerly hidden) botanical population. And at the base of the rose - a clump of variegated violas - courageously anchored firmly amongst giants.
A terracotta pot, half buried in moisture retentive soil hosted a family of carbuncle-like snails. Other slug family creatures preferred to live in the dark, under a home-made stepping stone.
Later in the day, when a dense plum tree and hardy conifer offered shade, I decided to end the reign of common mint and tentacles of periwinkle from the washing line garden, watched closely by the Machinist who desperately tried to persuade me to accompany him in the pool. Sarah was already in there, floating on her back.
"C'mon, Babe, I've got the pool leaf free for you..."
But, Machinist, don't you know - Gardens are not made by sitting in the shade!
Rudyard Kipling - 30 December 1865 to 18 January 1936
Monday, 12 January 2009
Sunday, 11 January 2009
Excitedly, and in anticipation, they rushed off to the back verandah, waiting for an invitation inside. I was left alone in a secluded area of the garden near one of the arbours, surrounded by greenery. Looking over to the orchard, I watched lacy-brown apple leaves rise and fall, rise and fall and twirl to the ground. The willow tendrils were swaying. Noisy parrots and cockatoos argued overhead. There was the steady, burring, methodical sound of the ride-on lawnmower, operated by the Machinist in the paddock beyond; a comforting sound, almost rhythmic. A strong fragrance of roses and mint flirted in the cool air - together... Soft, gentle raindrops fell on my chin, and as I tilted my head heavenward, more fell on my eyelids...
There is one business, however, that has been there for some years now. An open garden. A garden that began life as a bare paddock, with horses and a few trees. A garden that became a young mother's obsession. A garden that has now, in more ways than one, bared fruit. Fruit on the trees and the fruit of success from labours borne. The garden, Foxglove Spires, consists of three and a half acres of feasting for the eyes. From the moment one 'floats' beneath the 100 metre stretch of Espalier pear arbour, ~ the entrance to the garden ~ there is much striving to absorb the abundance of beauty. Striving and wrestling in the anticipated frustration of knowing that not all will be seen in one visit.
Two gigantic Norfolk Island pines guard the homestead, like wise men of old. Wise and wary and forever watching. Soldiers perhaps. Guards. They tower over the rest of the garden. They watch as one roams through the many garden rooms and walks......
Lining 'Crabapple Walk' are the purple and pink shades of foxgloves, the garden's namesake, which seem to stand so strong and upright for their height. Proud almost. Forget-me-nots and lambsears sit faithfully at the base of their stalks. Suddenly, a pond - lined with water irises and Lombardy poplars. A Redwood stands nearby. Wild ducks on the pond, their necks turned and tucked, floating dreamily - in their own perfect haven. This is surely a place to sit and ponder - even reminisce, soaking in the tranquillity. A mock church ruin, grown between the weeping willows adds to the setting. A 'live' set. A set which any and all visitors play a part, should they perchance to dream.....
Further along is the camelia and azalea walk, which seems to 'serve' the line of liquidamber and prunus trees, growing behind. An explosion of colour, and so perfectly matched. Purple-burgundy/ lemon-lime. Gently sloping now to Cedar Hill. Canopies touching, creating tunnels. Shade. Muddy and sometimes slippery paths underneath. It is here that the smell of the earth provokes a sense of wonderment. Earth; the substance. Earth; the base for the growth which spreads in all directions. Breath-catching. Emotionally choking. Delightful!
From Cedar Hill, and walking into the sun, there is a quandry of which path to take; the one to Bluebell and Oak wood? Pear Circle and Daffodil ring? Citrus Walk? Wild Rose Garden? The Shadehouse? A bench, perched in the centre of the garden, surrounded by Iceberg roses, provides a place to decide. To wrestle further. From here, Mount Dromederry can be seen peeking above the tree tops. Wherever one finds oneself in this bounty, there is continual fragrance, as well as plant life grown in wild abandonment. Every room with it's own atmosphere, calling on each visitor to use their senses.
Which path again?
Pear and Daffodil Circle, ~ pear trees, encircling a patch of a variety of daffodils. Bluebell and Oak Wood, ~ a path running between the trees, with an old gate at the top end of the wood, standing alone with no fence. Citrus Grove, ~ a grove of lemon and orange trees, planted in an arc, with a bench in the 'belly' of the arc. Wild Rose Garden ~ old world roses grown in a formal diamond design, with pebble paths dividing each patch. The Shadehouse ~ a cool, dark place. A room covered in rambling honeysuckle.....
Nut Walk, which flows into Apple Tree Lane often claims the victory of previous indecision. 'Latticed' apple trees grow on one side of the lane, while on the other side, berry bushes mixed with honeysuckle spill over. Structured disorder.
The vegetable patch indicates that the old homestead is nearby. The house and then the garden exit through Foxglove Spires' Nursery. Medicinal and culinary herbs are mixed with a variety of vegetables in the pottager. They are planted using the companion plant method. A few pansies, violets, marigolds and nasturtiums are grown for colour as well as protection to other plants. Doctor plants. Moments are spent noting what thrives. Alas, time has slipped away yet again......
But......before leaving, a peek at the coop! Greenery planted around the coop, bales of hay within. Feathered friends of multicultural backgrounds peck, hop, run, cackle, perch and doze. They live in a 'Rolls-Royce' hen-house. Happy chickens. Complacent ducks and geese. Peace. Harmony. Not only here, but throughout.....
Walking through the nursery exit, there is always a sense of exhale. Unsurpassed beauty has been experienced, lived. Could Foxglove Spires be remotely akin to the beauty of Eden? If not, then what is to come is uncomprehensible ....
Saturday, 10 January 2009
Thursday, 8 January 2009
In the rather large animal-transport-to-the-vet cage, was a brawny cockatoo, completely unruffled by the fact that there were many humans surrounding him. His main objective, it seemed, was to perform as many party tricks for his audience as possible by flapping, and clawing, as well as using his beak to climb up, then down, then across the cage. Momentarily, he would stop his antics, as if waiting for applause.
Was it fate, chance, that this healthy cockatoo should cross our family's path after the passing of our beloved Bucko, who was unfortunate to contract beak and feather disease at birth?
The temptation to keep the bird was great. The desire to keep the healthy bird in a cage for most of his long life expectancy years was not.
Last night, before any of us could take the slightly injured friend to WIRES, the Machinist let him out of the cage, and watched as he fluttered across the garden, climbed up the fence and sat contentedly, plucking at the leaves of a photinia robusta bush, in true cockatoo fashion. Later, he made his way across the road from our house, and was joined by a flock of locally bred cockatoos, squawking loudly, as if cheering him on. An avian 'support' group.
We're all hoping that our feathered visitor will have a long and fruitful life of destruction and - flight.
Wednesday, 7 January 2009
Oh, and seeing as we are all so darn competitive, well, let me just say, it won't be me, buddies. You may think it will be, but it won't. I'm persevering on this while my body rearranges itself!
Bring it on!
Tuesday, 6 January 2009
2 We left England when I was 12
3 I lived my whole 12 years in England in the house I was born in
4 I grew up in South Africa
5 We moved house 11 times in South Africa
6 I met the Machinist in South Africa when we were both 14
7 I married the Machinist on 1st May 1981
8 We married in a registry office in a small country town in South Africa
9 I gave birth to our first daughter in South Africa
10 We celebrated our 27th wedding anniversary on 2008
11 I now live in Australia
12 I gave birth to our second daughter and only son in Australia
13 I have lived in Australia for 23 years
14 We have moved house 12 times in Australia
15 I have lived in the country for 15 years
16 I love living in the country and dislike the city
17 I have four brothers
18 I am the youngest of five siblings
19 I have 1 brother in England, 2 brothers in South Africa and 1 brother in Australia
20 The Machinist has no siblings, one aunt, one cousin. He is an only child. Unlike me.
21 I have no nieces or nephews
22 My parents live less than 500m away from me
23 I have 5 living aunts and uncles out of 14 on my mam’s side of the family
24 I have 0 living aunts and uncles out of 2 on my dad’s side of the family
25 I have 9 living cousins out of 11 on my mam’s side of the family
26 I have 3 living cousins out of 3 on my dad’s side of the family
27 Genealogy is one of my hobbies
28 I have 2 pet dogs, 2 pet cats, 2 pet hens and a horse
29 I would probably have more pets if the opportunity arose – including miniature pigs
30 I still have a British accent
Monday, 5 January 2009
Saturday, 3 January 2009
So impressed was the Machinist and I that after our meal (which left us amply satisfied, but not stodgy-full) we went shopping at the Asian supermarket next door.
On advice and full recipe details from my friend, Mr Doon, my purchases included:
Jasmine loose leaf tea
Sweet Chilli Sauce For Chicken
Won Ton Soup Base Mix
Chicken Bouillon Powder
Mixed Ginger Pickles
Sweet and Sour Sauce
Char Siu Sauce
Oh, and as a fragrant addition - Sandalwood Soap - Bee & Flower Brand!
Friday, 2 January 2009
We often talk about the birds in our garden. Sam used his catapult to scare them away. I followed suit - until I developed a tennis elbow. Cockatoos are a menace to farmers as they eat their crops. (They eat our fruit crops, as well!) Too many of them, and the whole season's crop is gone!