Isn't that the most Gothic (Gothically? Gothetically?) named fruit?!
Say it aloud in dark tones with me, let the words drip with gore "The...BLOOD...Orange!"
yessssss
I would have thought that with all the vampire chic going around these fruit would be enjoying a heyday, but stuff me if I know where to get them from normal channels. I have recently been given a small bag for free from Ma & Pa's neighbour (yes, Peter, whom I'm sure has been mentioned in the past at least once) and who is my best line on farm-fresh cauliflowers. During summer we are inundated by tomatoes the size of my head (Bullocks Heart the variety is called in case you feel your tommies are inadequately sized. A few people call Custard Apples by this name so double-check. Not that it would be horrible to end up with custard apples, but they're trees, not vines, and are no good for making sandwiches or salads. But I digress) and in winter it is mandarins and oranges.
I've never really gotten too excited, after all mum's been getting gamey, tart little mandies and tight, terse oranges off her trees for a while now and I figured it would be more of the same. No biggie, so normally I let Little Sister totally snaffle all the produce she wants, and it can take me a whole week to eat a single orange or mango due to my love of anticipation and enormous capacity for self-denial. In fact sometimes I have looked forward to it for so long it is no longer edible.
Last weekend, when Little Sister said she was planning a trip to the orchard, I thought I'd tag along. The fruit from the supermarket has been utterly deplorable for the last month and I had never laid eyes on this promised Eden so if nothing else it would make a nice diversion for an hour or so. She always gets this happy glaze to her face when she talks about the place and now I am a convert too.
We stood in the bountiful grove (that required a 4WD to get to) and plucked the most delicious fruits from the trees and ate them with the sun warming us and bees buzzing merrily around the flowers of the next crop. The soil was a rich, soft black and every tree was heavily laden with ripe or ripening fruit. We walked for a while, just to say the names and guess the varieties and we just didn't know them all. It was gorgeous.
Two trees were stripped bare of fruit and we crossed our fingers that the goods were waiting at the farm. Loaded with stuffed bags of fruit, we ventured back towards roads. Little Sister leapt onto the large box of fruit waiting on the front porch of the farm and then let out a long shuddering sigh of pleasure - here they were - the Blood Oranges. Very bravely she watched as we divvied up the total, a few here, a few there, some for so and so, and here Grandad you try a few, and then the rest were tucked safely into the boot of the car.
Have you ever seen them? They look normal enough from the outside, maybe with a faint hint of pink on the skin. I'm told that colour gets stronger with each frost (we've had such a mild winter here, these ones are barely blushing) and then you cut them open, and from the skin and pith in, depending again on the frosts, they're deep rich pink like fresh blood cut with a little water. And they bleed too - so juicy you can't help but want to lick them. The flesh is soft and pulps easily and quickly. These are a little tart from lack of frost, as though there's cranberries snuck into the blend. So very very delicious.
I've counted mine, and am rationing them out, one at a time, as an aperitif to breakfast and dinner. We're all on the lookout for another source now. You don't know anyone with a tree do you? Now I understand why my sister stands over her baby tree and wills it to blossom and grow. Peter could charge whatever he wanted for these and we would be reduced to stealing car stereos to pay him.
Showing posts with label Farm Stuff. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Farm Stuff. Show all posts
Monday, July 13, 2009
Sunday, January 04, 2009
A Mediocre Daughter
The alarm went off at 7.30am this morning.
Why so early on a Sunday? You may well ask.
It was a misguided ploy to emotionally prepare myself for the 6.30am start tomorrow. It worked in that Rumi got fed and Riley and I went to the loo (not in the same place, obviously) but it didn't work insomuch as all of this was achieved in a mumbling stumble with eyes mostly closed and earplugs firmly in place so that we could all fall back onto the Heaven Mattress and slumber peacefully on for another 2 hours or so. I mean there's being conscientious about work, and then there's down-right silliness.
Last Day Blues
In atonement for this (pretty much expected) lapse and over the morning cuppa, I wrote out two lists - all the things for today and all the things for tomorrow when I'm back at work. As my little Sister's taken to saying "You need to bring your 'A' game." Ok, Game On.
Hence the two lists. They each were three quarters of an A4 page. Daunting. Even broken up into little steps and next actions - it still seemed too long. Then I noticed that the more little steps I used, the longer the freakin thing got - it's a zero-sum game. You can either have a really short snappy list with massively dense action lines, or nice sweet action lines of 15 or 20 minute tasks that you need one of those toilet-roll length scrolls to track. Nope, not today thanks. I'm still way mellow from spending time up at the farm.
Parents: You Get No Choice
I'd put off going to visit the folks. Sometimes it is easier to love people in the abstract than in actual smelly, moody, messy real life. But as Riley had gone home with them for a farm stay on NYE and I was missing him badly, it had to be done. Friday night I packed the car and headed up, and there was the most amazing sunset for the last 30mins of the drive. Really. I know they're on the taboo list for writing about so I'll just say it was operatic in scope and style and I had a near miss with an oncoming holden because I'd drifted towards the middle a little bit trying to soak it all up. That put me into a pretty chilled-out vibe (the sunset, not the holden). Mum had made a veggie pizza for me and Dad was already in his cups and $5G down in his imaginary friends poker game. It was cooler there and a cold breeze. Actually "breeze" is a bit of an understatement - the wind had pushed a branch through the laundry the day before I got there but after a few days at 40degrees, a bit of wind is no problem if it brings the temps under 30.
So anyway Dad cleaned up about three quarters of a bottle of whisky and mum and I cleaned him up playing "Frustration" (a card game where you have to complete sequential hands. This is the easy version - KA and I have a hard-ass version we play which we've dubbed "Cranky Pants"). Anyway the scores total came out at: Mum 2, J9 3, Dad 0. Unheard of. Much laughter and bagging-out of crap play was made.
Sadly Dad did not remember his crushing defeat the next morning, and refused to allow that it had come out that way. Mum and I had kept the score sheets for just such an eventuality, but he brushed these aside as fabrications. The power of the mind is a wonderful thing. Rather than dwell in the past, I gave him a haircut.
Made in China
I don't know if other people do this, but many members of my family have an aversion to hairdressers, so we have a bit of a DIY ethic for haircuts. Maybe its a White Trash thing. I don't know. Anyway, Dad had recently got himself some clippers (top shelf gear too - $12 he paid - new!) and didn't quite insist that I use them but whinged that I always cut his hair too short when I do it by hand. In a gesture of reconciliation for being a crap daughter generally and a moody bitch often, I consented. Well, you know the pleasure that can be had from holding a beautifully designed and constructed piece of technical or mechanical equipment? Something that seems a perfect amalgam of form and function? Right. Well these clippers are the exact opposite of that. I read the chinglish instructions - twice - and attempted to decipher the accompanying diagrams and then we were on. I fired them up and off we went. Enter the Clippers.
The Field of Engagement
My Dad has an almost spherical head and is pretty much bald. He has a Friar Tuck do - bald and shiny on top and a fringe of faded fine hair ringing his skull in line with his face. Dad likes to offset this feeble growth with what can only be described as a mammoth set of Fuck-Off Mutton Chops. These grow in the super-wiry white steel that now passes for his face hair and they stick out from his head much like Blinky Bill's ears. Needless to say, the clippers quailed at the job, but being of stout constitution I persevered at my Herculean task until it was completed. I then offered to run the Dragon Clippers of Death (albeit slowly and possibly painfully) over the acre of old-growth forest Dad keeps on his chest but this thoughtful gesture was rebuffed (somewhat rudely). Despite my concerns over the tools he looked pretty darn good at the end of this, but the really beautiful thing is that this entire procedure is always completed on the front porch so we can all enjoy the view and the "breeze". Oh yeah, farm folks do it casual.
In his own magnanimous act of reconciliation as I was leaving, Dad pressed upon me his two new prize DVDs - Dire Straights Live and Jethro Tull Live at Montreaux 2003 to watch and enjoy as best I may. Dad's not very good at initiating sharing, and he only got these last week - so it was a big gesture, and I couldn't refuse.
So today, instead of those do-gooder to-do lists, I've been pottering around doing craft and soaking up the vibes of Dad's tunes and you know, Jethro Tull can really rock a flute solo.
Why so early on a Sunday? You may well ask.
It was a misguided ploy to emotionally prepare myself for the 6.30am start tomorrow. It worked in that Rumi got fed and Riley and I went to the loo (not in the same place, obviously) but it didn't work insomuch as all of this was achieved in a mumbling stumble with eyes mostly closed and earplugs firmly in place so that we could all fall back onto the Heaven Mattress and slumber peacefully on for another 2 hours or so. I mean there's being conscientious about work, and then there's down-right silliness.
Last Day Blues
In atonement for this (pretty much expected) lapse and over the morning cuppa, I wrote out two lists - all the things for today and all the things for tomorrow when I'm back at work. As my little Sister's taken to saying "You need to bring your 'A' game." Ok, Game On.
Hence the two lists. They each were three quarters of an A4 page. Daunting. Even broken up into little steps and next actions - it still seemed too long. Then I noticed that the more little steps I used, the longer the freakin thing got - it's a zero-sum game. You can either have a really short snappy list with massively dense action lines, or nice sweet action lines of 15 or 20 minute tasks that you need one of those toilet-roll length scrolls to track. Nope, not today thanks. I'm still way mellow from spending time up at the farm.
Parents: You Get No Choice
I'd put off going to visit the folks. Sometimes it is easier to love people in the abstract than in actual smelly, moody, messy real life. But as Riley had gone home with them for a farm stay on NYE and I was missing him badly, it had to be done. Friday night I packed the car and headed up, and there was the most amazing sunset for the last 30mins of the drive. Really. I know they're on the taboo list for writing about so I'll just say it was operatic in scope and style and I had a near miss with an oncoming holden because I'd drifted towards the middle a little bit trying to soak it all up. That put me into a pretty chilled-out vibe (the sunset, not the holden). Mum had made a veggie pizza for me and Dad was already in his cups and $5G down in his imaginary friends poker game. It was cooler there and a cold breeze. Actually "breeze" is a bit of an understatement - the wind had pushed a branch through the laundry the day before I got there but after a few days at 40degrees, a bit of wind is no problem if it brings the temps under 30.
So anyway Dad cleaned up about three quarters of a bottle of whisky and mum and I cleaned him up playing "Frustration" (a card game where you have to complete sequential hands. This is the easy version - KA and I have a hard-ass version we play which we've dubbed "Cranky Pants"). Anyway the scores total came out at: Mum 2, J9 3, Dad 0. Unheard of. Much laughter and bagging-out of crap play was made.
Sadly Dad did not remember his crushing defeat the next morning, and refused to allow that it had come out that way. Mum and I had kept the score sheets for just such an eventuality, but he brushed these aside as fabrications. The power of the mind is a wonderful thing. Rather than dwell in the past, I gave him a haircut.
Made in China
I don't know if other people do this, but many members of my family have an aversion to hairdressers, so we have a bit of a DIY ethic for haircuts. Maybe its a White Trash thing. I don't know. Anyway, Dad had recently got himself some clippers (top shelf gear too - $12 he paid - new!) and didn't quite insist that I use them but whinged that I always cut his hair too short when I do it by hand. In a gesture of reconciliation for being a crap daughter generally and a moody bitch often, I consented. Well, you know the pleasure that can be had from holding a beautifully designed and constructed piece of technical or mechanical equipment? Something that seems a perfect amalgam of form and function? Right. Well these clippers are the exact opposite of that. I read the chinglish instructions - twice - and attempted to decipher the accompanying diagrams and then we were on. I fired them up and off we went. Enter the Clippers.
The Field of Engagement
My Dad has an almost spherical head and is pretty much bald. He has a Friar Tuck do - bald and shiny on top and a fringe of faded fine hair ringing his skull in line with his face. Dad likes to offset this feeble growth with what can only be described as a mammoth set of Fuck-Off Mutton Chops. These grow in the super-wiry white steel that now passes for his face hair and they stick out from his head much like Blinky Bill's ears. Needless to say, the clippers quailed at the job, but being of stout constitution I persevered at my Herculean task until it was completed. I then offered to run the Dragon Clippers of Death (albeit slowly and possibly painfully) over the acre of old-growth forest Dad keeps on his chest but this thoughtful gesture was rebuffed (somewhat rudely). Despite my concerns over the tools he looked pretty darn good at the end of this, but the really beautiful thing is that this entire procedure is always completed on the front porch so we can all enjoy the view and the "breeze". Oh yeah, farm folks do it casual.
In his own magnanimous act of reconciliation as I was leaving, Dad pressed upon me his two new prize DVDs - Dire Straights Live and Jethro Tull Live at Montreaux 2003 to watch and enjoy as best I may. Dad's not very good at initiating sharing, and he only got these last week - so it was a big gesture, and I couldn't refuse.
So today, instead of those do-gooder to-do lists, I've been pottering around doing craft and soaking up the vibes of Dad's tunes and you know, Jethro Tull can really rock a flute solo.
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Great Copy that works EVERYTIME!
As part of the research into my critic's comment yesterday (scroll down a little if you want to read that one first) I went looking for purposeful blogs and for possible topics of such a blog and gee-whizz there's a lot of overly sincere people writing mostly very dull things about nearly anything you can think of. So I constrained myself to about 2 hours looking only at copywriting. I must say that I did learn a lot in that time.
Hot Sex NOW
For example, I didn't realise how critical sub-headings are to the ongoing readership of one's copy. But many articles touched on or heavily emphasised this facet of writing. This seemed to jar a little bit with my view of the world, but then I discovered a hitherto unknown nuance - copywriting must be persuasive - it is promotional by nature. Anything else is just 'content'. Maybe this is where I've been going a little astray. I thought there was reporting, literature (or just fiction or story if you will) technical writing and then copy. Obviously my mental organisational systems have been limiting me. I read on and discover that not only does my copy/content not use enough sub -headings, but that when I do use one (as above), it's all wrong. Here's how that sub should have looked:
5 Tips to the Hottest Sex You'll Ever Have
1. Be really hot yourself
2. Get a really hot partner
3. Writhe around in a hot state of undress
4. Do it during summer
5. Buy my ebook for 27 kinky tips to set your love life on fire! Just $19.95 if you use this code: HOTMONKEYSEX
Wow. Do you feel the sizzle in that copy!? See that mad 'call to action'?! That is by-the-book AWESOME copy right there. Told you I wasn't wasting my friday night googling "monetise your blog for hot results now".
Mum rang last night in the middle of this mind-altering experience to give me an update on Riley (he's been moping around the house, bored and lonely - so he's gone for a mini-break to play on the farm until Sunday) and mum says "Are you doing anything special tonight?" and I am sitting in my jammies in front of the computer. I should have had the presence of mind to lie and say "Yeah I'm out at dinner with some friends" which would be a pleasant fiction for both of us. Sadly no. I say (with a bit more enthusiasm than it really warranted) "I'm reading about copywriting."
There's a cool pause.
"You're on the internet, aren't you?"
"Yes. Yes I am."
Another coolish pause.
"We found that bull that was missing. We put an ad in the paper, and it turns out he was about 3 kilometers away. He had gone up through Spicer's place but then must have cut through to the back of Joan's and kept going. He's up by Twohill road. Well worth the cost of the ad."
"Oh, I'm glad he isn't dead."
"Yeah, we'd started looking for a bad smell."
So after that call, I made a vodka & tonic and returned to the world of red, bold sub-headings atop numbered lists and people making outlandish claims about how much money they make EVERY DAY from ebooks and long copy and repeating the ask. Oh yeah, and the guy who insisted that no article of under 500 words should ever take more than 20 minutes to write. WTF?! - I mean I know 500 words is not all that long, but I can't even type that fast let alone compose a line of thought. oh, he says "I think about it and write it out in my notebook for a few days prior." "Oh", I think, "so lying to make the story better is still ok, and what I'm reading is story or copy - not reportage." Picky freakin bitch aren't I. How am I ever going to be tempted to click through to that ebook if I'm always thinking criticially?!
I learnt a lot about what people who call themselves "the best copywriter on the internet" think great copy on the internet is all about, but I don't think it's going to help me create the best possible 1500 words about the historic Cobb & Co Trail for a new tourism brochure that I need to give a client on monday . I think I'll risk not using the red bold sub-heads on that job.
In his defence, my critic apologised when he realised that his throwaway line had been a bit hurtful, but I honestly don't mind. I am long-time companion of self doubt and I think that's an ok thing to live with and make decisions with. He had a clear-hearted intention and besides, he's only little. As far as he's concerned the internet has always been there, it has always been huge, corporatised and socially networked, in a way he has been looking out for me - doddering dinosaur that I am.
We've strayed a little way this morning off the topic at hand and I've now been sitting in front of the computer (still in the jammies) for about an hour and Rage is coming to a close, which means it's nearly time to get the day officially underway. So let's wrap this thing up.
I really love writing. It is fun and it can be beautiful. I love swimming too, but not the same way. I can live without swimming for months at a time. I'm good at swimming and am naturally buoyant which helps (sometimes it rules to be fat!) although a lot of the time I like to just float and feel held by the water. That's what this blog is. It is my floating pool with a big sky all around and a nice breeze. I'm held here and it makes me happy. Sure there's the odd spider or frog fallen in, and sometimes the water is a bit frosty or i'm sick and can't get wet, but otherwise it is perfect.
So I think that's where I wan to be right now. Visualising this blog as a pool of surrender to physics and the sensuous nature of the physical world, participated in by the willing and friendly. So Come on in if you like, the water's gorgeous!
(BTW:Stay tuned for my up-coming SF thriller "Monkey Jockeys Riding Fascist Ex-Bankers" in which voodoo blood magic takes hold of a small community of Squirrel monkeys being kept for smuggling to rich collectors. These infected, possessed simians find deep roots and power in the spiritually weakened areas of New York (Wall Street) and take command of hollow primates to do their bidding. It's gunna rock out - really).
P.S. Buy my ebook NOW for 27 kinky tips to set your love life on fire! Just $19.95 if you use this code: HOTMONKEYSEX
Hot Sex NOW
For example, I didn't realise how critical sub-headings are to the ongoing readership of one's copy. But many articles touched on or heavily emphasised this facet of writing. This seemed to jar a little bit with my view of the world, but then I discovered a hitherto unknown nuance - copywriting must be persuasive - it is promotional by nature. Anything else is just 'content'. Maybe this is where I've been going a little astray. I thought there was reporting, literature (or just fiction or story if you will) technical writing and then copy. Obviously my mental organisational systems have been limiting me. I read on and discover that not only does my copy/content not use enough sub -headings, but that when I do use one (as above), it's all wrong. Here's how that sub should have looked:
5 Tips to the Hottest Sex You'll Ever Have
1. Be really hot yourself
2. Get a really hot partner
3. Writhe around in a hot state of undress
4. Do it during summer
5. Buy my ebook for 27 kinky tips to set your love life on fire! Just $19.95 if you use this code: HOTMONKEYSEX
Wow. Do you feel the sizzle in that copy!? See that mad 'call to action'?! That is by-the-book AWESOME copy right there. Told you I wasn't wasting my friday night googling "monetise your blog for hot results now".
Mum rang last night in the middle of this mind-altering experience to give me an update on Riley (he's been moping around the house, bored and lonely - so he's gone for a mini-break to play on the farm until Sunday) and mum says "Are you doing anything special tonight?" and I am sitting in my jammies in front of the computer. I should have had the presence of mind to lie and say "Yeah I'm out at dinner with some friends" which would be a pleasant fiction for both of us. Sadly no. I say (with a bit more enthusiasm than it really warranted) "I'm reading about copywriting."
There's a cool pause.
"You're on the internet, aren't you?"
"Yes. Yes I am."
Another coolish pause.
"We found that bull that was missing. We put an ad in the paper, and it turns out he was about 3 kilometers away. He had gone up through Spicer's place but then must have cut through to the back of Joan's and kept going. He's up by Twohill road. Well worth the cost of the ad."
"Oh, I'm glad he isn't dead."
"Yeah, we'd started looking for a bad smell."
So after that call, I made a vodka & tonic and returned to the world of red, bold sub-headings atop numbered lists and people making outlandish claims about how much money they make EVERY DAY from ebooks and long copy and repeating the ask. Oh yeah, and the guy who insisted that no article of under 500 words should ever take more than 20 minutes to write. WTF?! - I mean I know 500 words is not all that long, but I can't even type that fast let alone compose a line of thought. oh, he says "I think about it and write it out in my notebook for a few days prior." "Oh", I think, "so lying to make the story better is still ok, and what I'm reading is story or copy - not reportage." Picky freakin bitch aren't I. How am I ever going to be tempted to click through to that ebook if I'm always thinking criticially?!
I learnt a lot about what people who call themselves "the best copywriter on the internet" think great copy on the internet is all about, but I don't think it's going to help me create the best possible 1500 words about the historic Cobb & Co Trail for a new tourism brochure that I need to give a client on monday . I think I'll risk not using the red bold sub-heads on that job.
In his defence, my critic apologised when he realised that his throwaway line had been a bit hurtful, but I honestly don't mind. I am long-time companion of self doubt and I think that's an ok thing to live with and make decisions with. He had a clear-hearted intention and besides, he's only little. As far as he's concerned the internet has always been there, it has always been huge, corporatised and socially networked, in a way he has been looking out for me - doddering dinosaur that I am.
We've strayed a little way this morning off the topic at hand and I've now been sitting in front of the computer (still in the jammies) for about an hour and Rage is coming to a close, which means it's nearly time to get the day officially underway. So let's wrap this thing up.
I really love writing. It is fun and it can be beautiful. I love swimming too, but not the same way. I can live without swimming for months at a time. I'm good at swimming and am naturally buoyant which helps (sometimes it rules to be fat!) although a lot of the time I like to just float and feel held by the water. That's what this blog is. It is my floating pool with a big sky all around and a nice breeze. I'm held here and it makes me happy. Sure there's the odd spider or frog fallen in, and sometimes the water is a bit frosty or i'm sick and can't get wet, but otherwise it is perfect.
So I think that's where I wan to be right now. Visualising this blog as a pool of surrender to physics and the sensuous nature of the physical world, participated in by the willing and friendly. So Come on in if you like, the water's gorgeous!
(BTW:Stay tuned for my up-coming SF thriller "Monkey Jockeys Riding Fascist Ex-Bankers" in which voodoo blood magic takes hold of a small community of Squirrel monkeys being kept for smuggling to rich collectors. These infected, possessed simians find deep roots and power in the spiritually weakened areas of New York (Wall Street) and take command of hollow primates to do their bidding. It's gunna rock out - really).
P.S. Buy my ebook NOW for 27 kinky tips to set your love life on fire! Just $19.95 if you use this code: HOTMONKEYSEX
Saturday, November 08, 2008
Week One in Review
It was a great idea to come out to Ma&Pa's farm overnight. I wasn't going to, I didn't want to loose all that time driving, and I am no good at saying 'I have to go sit in my room and do other things than talk to you oh beloved parents who raised me and sacrificed that I might succeed in life' but logistical considerations for the rest of the weekend made it the logical solution, so I did. There was a meal together and an evening playing frustration on the new veranda. But in the perfectly non-linear way that the world actually works, this turned out to be relaxing, distracting, fresh and wholesome (in other words an antidote to a week of spitty gossip and petty work concerns). It also had the flow-on benefit that I could not guilt myself into doing chores before I wrote this morning (which I would have done at home). No indeedy. Here there's just the wind and the birds in the trees as much tea and left-over pizza (avocado, mushroom and corn) as I like and lo - I've done over 700 words and am not yet out of my jammies!
Riley doesn't know it yet, but he's staying here until Sunday evening. He needed a break from me, and a bit of dog time in the dirt always replenishes him. For myself, I am aware of how out of shape I am mentally and physically for writing. I have talked *about* it a lot more than doing it this year, and now I suffer for it. My wrist, forearm and elbow are sore. My mind is stiff, and my eyes are acting up (one keeps swelling and bruising. Maybe someone is sneaking up on me while I sleep and poking one eye with my thumb and laughing maniacally "that's for being you!! HAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!!) because I cannot think of any other explanation for this phenomena. Which simply demonstrates even further how out of creative fitness my mind is. Lazy and slow - too many pizzas and movies.
So, my week one word tally is 5 980. That's pretty good for an addled tryhard wannabe I reckon. Not great, not brilliant, but a fair effort. Shows potential, but plenty of scope for improvement. What I'm really happy about is that I don't feel bored. I can't believe how much fun this is! I still haven't got my characters off the fracking boat! WTF?! But I will dag-nammit! What's more, I'll get them off that boat and I'll get them into trouble, trouble they can not believe has rained down on their arses, and then I will twist that mother fucking plot on them! Oh yeah! and they will be in agony and things will be fucked up bad, man. Baaaaaad. And it will totally rock when, like a gentle ray of light from the high heavens, the characters think of a way to fight back, and they unravel the twist and they untrouble the shit and they fight the power. That is something I am excited about seeing, oh yes, and I have no fracking idea how the hell any of that is going to happen, or if it will be readable when the dust settles, but I don't care. We're in it together. If I keep writing, they'll keep doing and eventually, we'll have this adventure, or die trying.
You know, not die die, but just, maybe, well ....fail. But that's not the game plan! No, we're in it to save the Empire! (Questions about the value and validity of the empire can please be reserved for further projects on this theme should they eventuate).
Time to get out of the jammies.
Riley doesn't know it yet, but he's staying here until Sunday evening. He needed a break from me, and a bit of dog time in the dirt always replenishes him. For myself, I am aware of how out of shape I am mentally and physically for writing. I have talked *about* it a lot more than doing it this year, and now I suffer for it. My wrist, forearm and elbow are sore. My mind is stiff, and my eyes are acting up (one keeps swelling and bruising. Maybe someone is sneaking up on me while I sleep and poking one eye with my thumb and laughing maniacally "that's for being you!! HAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!!) because I cannot think of any other explanation for this phenomena. Which simply demonstrates even further how out of creative fitness my mind is. Lazy and slow - too many pizzas and movies.
So, my week one word tally is 5 980. That's pretty good for an addled tryhard wannabe I reckon. Not great, not brilliant, but a fair effort. Shows potential, but plenty of scope for improvement. What I'm really happy about is that I don't feel bored. I can't believe how much fun this is! I still haven't got my characters off the fracking boat! WTF?! But I will dag-nammit! What's more, I'll get them off that boat and I'll get them into trouble, trouble they can not believe has rained down on their arses, and then I will twist that mother fucking plot on them! Oh yeah! and they will be in agony and things will be fucked up bad, man. Baaaaaad. And it will totally rock when, like a gentle ray of light from the high heavens, the characters think of a way to fight back, and they unravel the twist and they untrouble the shit and they fight the power. That is something I am excited about seeing, oh yes, and I have no fracking idea how the hell any of that is going to happen, or if it will be readable when the dust settles, but I don't care. We're in it together. If I keep writing, they'll keep doing and eventually, we'll have this adventure, or die trying.
You know, not die die, but just, maybe, well ....fail. But that's not the game plan! No, we're in it to save the Empire! (Questions about the value and validity of the empire can please be reserved for further projects on this theme should they eventuate).
Time to get out of the jammies.
Sunday, November 02, 2008
Bonnie RIP
Sad news for the family this week.
Our old dog Bonnie has died. She has been increasingly slow, deaf and stiff in her joints and it seems certain that these were contributing factors in the circumstance of her death.
She was missing last Wednesday and late Thursday she was found. Burial took place on Friday.
We remember here as she was in her youth - loving and active - and also her miraculous recovery from the nasty incident of falling from the ute tray and being dragged some distance by her leash.
She is survived by her daughter in residence, Zara, and an unknown number of other descendants living happily on other farms in the region.
“In sudore vultus tui vesceris pane, donec revertaris in terram de qua sumptus es: quia pulvis es et in pulverem reverteris”
[“By the sweat of your brow you will eat your bread, until you return to the ground, since from it you were taken: for dust you are and to dust you will return”].
Our old dog Bonnie has died. She has been increasingly slow, deaf and stiff in her joints and it seems certain that these were contributing factors in the circumstance of her death.
She was missing last Wednesday and late Thursday she was found. Burial took place on Friday.
We remember here as she was in her youth - loving and active - and also her miraculous recovery from the nasty incident of falling from the ute tray and being dragged some distance by her leash.
She is survived by her daughter in residence, Zara, and an unknown number of other descendants living happily on other farms in the region.
“In sudore vultus tui vesceris pane, donec revertaris in terram de qua sumptus es: quia pulvis es et in pulverem reverteris”
[“By the sweat of your brow you will eat your bread, until you return to the ground, since from it you were taken: for dust you are and to dust you will return”].
Thursday, May 01, 2008
Some Nurture from Nature
The cold snap has receded leaving it its wake confused trees.
It still gets to about 25 degrees during the day, and the sun is strong enough to burn, but this morning all of the Gadagi trees along Toongarra road had half-turned their leaves to brown. I sometimes wonder if there’s any part of the tree that can reflect on how hard it’s working today because of a pre-emptive autumn response? On the other hand, if they aren’t going to start feeling Autumn now that it’s May (when it technically started in March!) then I don’t know when they will! Maybe some deciduous trees don’t mind a short winter. For some reason, I seem to think that as they’re adapted to it, in some way they want it to be a proper winter. I adapted for snow – bring it on!!
No normal chance of snow here, but you know what I mean. It’s cool enough in the mornings to need a cardigan and prefer long pants. I could do with a much longer walk before leaving for work, but we only have time for between half an hour and an hour. Having said that about the snow, I wonder if we’re going to see more of the “super cell” storms that happened over the summer (one of which was in Roma and resulted in hail so thick it looked like snow, where the next town out didn’t even get a shower)? I ask knowing the answer already – almost certainly. We’re far enough into our climate change slide that even in the super-quick response that is possible (but we as a nation have not yet decided to undertake) it would take years for the likelihood of “super cell” storms to subside.
The weather here is so fine otherwise – it’s hard to remember that the earth is still turning, but the sun has swung around to a completely different side of the house in the mornings and sets over a different roof, so that keeps me in step. Last night was perfect for looking at the sky. This is the real reason that I want to get an outdoor banana-lounge – the stars. Trash City isn’t as good for it as Ma&Pa’s farm, but it’s still pretty dim (lights wise in this instance) and the milky way is such a glory. Like a long walk, there’s something very calming in a long starbath.
It still gets to about 25 degrees during the day, and the sun is strong enough to burn, but this morning all of the Gadagi trees along Toongarra road had half-turned their leaves to brown. I sometimes wonder if there’s any part of the tree that can reflect on how hard it’s working today because of a pre-emptive autumn response? On the other hand, if they aren’t going to start feeling Autumn now that it’s May (when it technically started in March!) then I don’t know when they will! Maybe some deciduous trees don’t mind a short winter. For some reason, I seem to think that as they’re adapted to it, in some way they want it to be a proper winter. I adapted for snow – bring it on!!
No normal chance of snow here, but you know what I mean. It’s cool enough in the mornings to need a cardigan and prefer long pants. I could do with a much longer walk before leaving for work, but we only have time for between half an hour and an hour. Having said that about the snow, I wonder if we’re going to see more of the “super cell” storms that happened over the summer (one of which was in Roma and resulted in hail so thick it looked like snow, where the next town out didn’t even get a shower)? I ask knowing the answer already – almost certainly. We’re far enough into our climate change slide that even in the super-quick response that is possible (but we as a nation have not yet decided to undertake) it would take years for the likelihood of “super cell” storms to subside.
The weather here is so fine otherwise – it’s hard to remember that the earth is still turning, but the sun has swung around to a completely different side of the house in the mornings and sets over a different roof, so that keeps me in step. Last night was perfect for looking at the sky. This is the real reason that I want to get an outdoor banana-lounge – the stars. Trash City isn’t as good for it as Ma&Pa’s farm, but it’s still pretty dim (lights wise in this instance) and the milky way is such a glory. Like a long walk, there’s something very calming in a long starbath.
Tuesday, January 08, 2008
New Year: Same Me
Hiho!
welcome back to the blog one and all!
(This is a speed blog - I've set my timer at 10mins to make myself say hello.)
I have been in denial that 07 is done and dusted, and what better day to build a bridge and get over it that the 8th?! A week and a day! So how was your Festivus? The big news here is Helen! Ex-Cyclone Helen and the Dorothea Mackellar-type floods that's she's brought to the entire eastern seaboard it seems like. I would love it if only:
a) it was less hot and humid
b) there wasn't a really big tree in my yard that the family immediately identified as a "widow maker"
c) there was decent telly and I hadn't already run out of ROME and BSG S3!
Ma and Pa have been flooded-in on the farm now and then. They're rolling in it. A temporary creek has sprung up and is winding it's way through the front paddock. Complete with swimming ducks. Three months ago, we were just hoping the olive trees didn't die. Now the tanks and dams on the property have all overflowed, and the grass is back up to waist-height. Yay! Nature, what can I say?
In other news, going back to work has been a push. Even a little break like a week can really bump me out of all my structural habits (not hitting snooze when the alarm sounds!) and combined, well, there's lead weights on my feet as I drag myself to work in the mornings. I'm sure it will pass ... I heard today that Mars has been in a nasty retrograde mood. Well, if Mars says "talk to the hand" mortals ought to take it easy!
That's my 10min folks. Hope you and yours are well, and enjoying living.
Quote for the day from Neil Gaiman's blog:
"I'm only wearing black until they invent a darker colour."
welcome back to the blog one and all!
(This is a speed blog - I've set my timer at 10mins to make myself say hello.)
I have been in denial that 07 is done and dusted, and what better day to build a bridge and get over it that the 8th?! A week and a day! So how was your Festivus? The big news here is Helen! Ex-Cyclone Helen and the Dorothea Mackellar-type floods that's she's brought to the entire eastern seaboard it seems like. I would love it if only:
a) it was less hot and humid
b) there wasn't a really big tree in my yard that the family immediately identified as a "widow maker"
c) there was decent telly and I hadn't already run out of ROME and BSG S3!
Ma and Pa have been flooded-in on the farm now and then. They're rolling in it. A temporary creek has sprung up and is winding it's way through the front paddock. Complete with swimming ducks. Three months ago, we were just hoping the olive trees didn't die. Now the tanks and dams on the property have all overflowed, and the grass is back up to waist-height. Yay! Nature, what can I say?
In other news, going back to work has been a push. Even a little break like a week can really bump me out of all my structural habits (not hitting snooze when the alarm sounds!) and combined, well, there's lead weights on my feet as I drag myself to work in the mornings. I'm sure it will pass ... I heard today that Mars has been in a nasty retrograde mood. Well, if Mars says "talk to the hand" mortals ought to take it easy!
That's my 10min folks. Hope you and yours are well, and enjoying living.
Quote for the day from Neil Gaiman's blog:
"I'm only wearing black until they invent a darker colour."
Tuesday, October 09, 2007
Storms Forecast
This month is really getting away from me.
I've got until friday to get our next quarterly brochure proofed and signed off. I don't really write anything, I'm the in-between person. Not quite senior enough to be editing or making any real decisions. The type-it-up and send it back to the designer, person. Not glamorous, no. Not fulfilling, no. Slightly appreciated and well-paid. These things will do. Tomorrow is the 'send it to all the stakeholders for their approval of their bit' day, and we'll see if the preliminary approvals I got from each of them will hold good. Let's hope so.
Dull isn't it.
I didn't mean to start talking shop. There's been awesome thunder and lightening storms. Very little rain in them, and a bit of hail. Some areas have been devastated - others completely untouched. Everywhere is humid and horrible. Peter was grazing his cows in the long paddock this morning, and as we rolled through them, I saw how bony and tired they all are. His cattle, like ours, are near to death from hunger and creeping malnutrition. If we can squeeze two drops of water out of these storms we'll be grateful for it. In that context, print deadlines don't really mean that much.
I unpacked a few boxes tonight. After nearly a year in storage, it's a wonderful surprise to unearth so many beautiful things and wonder where I will put them all. The kitchen cupboards aren't quite finished yet, and somehow I haven't yet stepped over the threshold of putting anything into the built-ins. Maybe it's the lack of a bed. A home isn't really anchored until you're sleeping there. Until then it's a camp kitchen with an indoor loo. Still, my camp kitchen and indoor loo now have an owl or a Buddha in nearly every room. An eclectic pairing I grant you. It will just get better from here. The lovely Mel arrived today with hand-me-down couches. My vision of a lounge room that can comfortably seat 12 has finally been realised - sadly just about a thousand kloms from any of the usual groups of 12 that I can assemble! A success of its own kind nonetheless.
Street Gossip tells me that the horrid Bogans from Hell over in number 13 (no really!) have already gotten their eviction notice, so there won't be too much more excitement soon (read Police and GBH). "Gosh", says I "that's jolly good news". The folks in 15 had set up their lawn chairs at the fence-line for an uninterrupted view of the moving weekend. Glad to be that entertaining whilst doing nothing but carry boxes in and rubbish out.
For no reason other than it has been the main way I spend my leisure hours these past weeks, I tell you that I am still watching the TV series ROME on dvd. It is brilliant. Really. Bloody. Brilliant. This is my third spin through and it's still growing on me. The dvd extras are wonderful and bring out more and more of the value in the series. Don't get me started on Titus Pullo or Mark Antony. I will gibber, and that is never cool.
I've got until friday to get our next quarterly brochure proofed and signed off. I don't really write anything, I'm the in-between person. Not quite senior enough to be editing or making any real decisions. The type-it-up and send it back to the designer, person. Not glamorous, no. Not fulfilling, no. Slightly appreciated and well-paid. These things will do. Tomorrow is the 'send it to all the stakeholders for their approval of their bit' day, and we'll see if the preliminary approvals I got from each of them will hold good. Let's hope so.
Dull isn't it.
I didn't mean to start talking shop. There's been awesome thunder and lightening storms. Very little rain in them, and a bit of hail. Some areas have been devastated - others completely untouched. Everywhere is humid and horrible. Peter was grazing his cows in the long paddock this morning, and as we rolled through them, I saw how bony and tired they all are. His cattle, like ours, are near to death from hunger and creeping malnutrition. If we can squeeze two drops of water out of these storms we'll be grateful for it. In that context, print deadlines don't really mean that much.
I unpacked a few boxes tonight. After nearly a year in storage, it's a wonderful surprise to unearth so many beautiful things and wonder where I will put them all. The kitchen cupboards aren't quite finished yet, and somehow I haven't yet stepped over the threshold of putting anything into the built-ins. Maybe it's the lack of a bed. A home isn't really anchored until you're sleeping there. Until then it's a camp kitchen with an indoor loo. Still, my camp kitchen and indoor loo now have an owl or a Buddha in nearly every room. An eclectic pairing I grant you. It will just get better from here. The lovely Mel arrived today with hand-me-down couches. My vision of a lounge room that can comfortably seat 12 has finally been realised - sadly just about a thousand kloms from any of the usual groups of 12 that I can assemble! A success of its own kind nonetheless.
Street Gossip tells me that the horrid Bogans from Hell over in number 13 (no really!) have already gotten their eviction notice, so there won't be too much more excitement soon (read Police and GBH). "Gosh", says I "that's jolly good news". The folks in 15 had set up their lawn chairs at the fence-line for an uninterrupted view of the moving weekend. Glad to be that entertaining whilst doing nothing but carry boxes in and rubbish out.
For no reason other than it has been the main way I spend my leisure hours these past weeks, I tell you that I am still watching the TV series ROME on dvd. It is brilliant. Really. Bloody. Brilliant. This is my third spin through and it's still growing on me. The dvd extras are wonderful and bring out more and more of the value in the series. Don't get me started on Titus Pullo or Mark Antony. I will gibber, and that is never cool.
Saturday, September 08, 2007
Spring Feelings
Some weeks are chockas aren't they. This week included going to see a touring production of "Educating Rita" starring someone from "McLeod's Daughters" and a guy from "All Saints" (ie. two pretty dodgy Australian TV series) and as suspected, it was a bit dodgy.
The woman sounded like Bubbles from Ab Fab, and couldn't even sustain that. Why bother?! Surely there's enough self-awareness to realise that you're doing a shit job and look around for some solutions - would've made obvious sense to do an Ocker rendition, and have her be a bogan. The light and sound production was pretty sloppy, but most people just seemed pleased to have a play to go to locally. We'll forgive a lot to miss out on the two-hour each way drive. I did enjoy myself anyway, a free ticket from a neighbour who works in the centre, and a chance to see who goes to what gets billed locally as "Live Theatre" ...isn't that a tautology? Like so many country things - it was packed with about 4 generations and came with the slight smell of mothballs. Anyway, the beer was cold, and the story was good, so I went with it and had a good time.
As part of the Boonah Arts Festival, there'll also be a "street spectacular" tonight - I'm looking forward to it. The whole region will probably be there - half in it, the other half cheering. I've invited my new nearly-friend who is a volunteer at the gallery, but as he lives in Ipswich, I'm not sure if he'll come. Once again, I expect to be carried by the sheer naive enthusiasm and open-hearted joy of the event rather than any special artistic or cultural vision. Hi-larious. Yes, I am mocking, but not with any venom. As part of my "bloom where you're planted" program I have come to appreciate many more things about this region - particularly as compared to Trash City. As our eccentricities here are accepted and valued, we do tend to live freely, and that is valuable to us day-to-day but also, it turns out, as a curiosity worthy of a day-trip from the city folk.
Ma & Pa's farm to us is a flawed home full of jobs half-done and living things that need tending so they can be eaten later. It is delineated by fences that have hugely important meanings in the eyes of the human laws but which are invisible and insignificant to the lay and the pulse of the land itself. The flows of it, the push of the sun and the pull of the water. This is the broader place that connects us into this tiny box of farm and why it is so very hard to leave in the tough times of drought or fire, because after a little while it owns you in a more permanent way than any contract ever could. When someone visits anywhere like here, anywhere a few hours away from concrete landscapes, the proximity to this power is revitalising. It gets called scenery, or quiet, but we know that it is more. An old more that we don't have a name for now.
Despite still being lonely here a lot of the time, I am actually saddened by the prospect now of going. This connection has been worth growing. Having had a few more days to think about things (since Ticking the Boxes) I can say to my sister "Yes, I am happy."
No matter what happens in the next phase of the plan, or the plan after (!) or what life throws in my path anyway, this has been a good thing to do. It's all ok.
The woman sounded like Bubbles from Ab Fab, and couldn't even sustain that. Why bother?! Surely there's enough self-awareness to realise that you're doing a shit job and look around for some solutions - would've made obvious sense to do an Ocker rendition, and have her be a bogan. The light and sound production was pretty sloppy, but most people just seemed pleased to have a play to go to locally. We'll forgive a lot to miss out on the two-hour each way drive. I did enjoy myself anyway, a free ticket from a neighbour who works in the centre, and a chance to see who goes to what gets billed locally as "Live Theatre" ...isn't that a tautology? Like so many country things - it was packed with about 4 generations and came with the slight smell of mothballs. Anyway, the beer was cold, and the story was good, so I went with it and had a good time.
As part of the Boonah Arts Festival, there'll also be a "street spectacular" tonight - I'm looking forward to it. The whole region will probably be there - half in it, the other half cheering. I've invited my new nearly-friend who is a volunteer at the gallery, but as he lives in Ipswich, I'm not sure if he'll come. Once again, I expect to be carried by the sheer naive enthusiasm and open-hearted joy of the event rather than any special artistic or cultural vision. Hi-larious. Yes, I am mocking, but not with any venom. As part of my "bloom where you're planted" program I have come to appreciate many more things about this region - particularly as compared to Trash City. As our eccentricities here are accepted and valued, we do tend to live freely, and that is valuable to us day-to-day but also, it turns out, as a curiosity worthy of a day-trip from the city folk.
Ma & Pa's farm to us is a flawed home full of jobs half-done and living things that need tending so they can be eaten later. It is delineated by fences that have hugely important meanings in the eyes of the human laws but which are invisible and insignificant to the lay and the pulse of the land itself. The flows of it, the push of the sun and the pull of the water. This is the broader place that connects us into this tiny box of farm and why it is so very hard to leave in the tough times of drought or fire, because after a little while it owns you in a more permanent way than any contract ever could. When someone visits anywhere like here, anywhere a few hours away from concrete landscapes, the proximity to this power is revitalising. It gets called scenery, or quiet, but we know that it is more. An old more that we don't have a name for now.
Despite still being lonely here a lot of the time, I am actually saddened by the prospect now of going. This connection has been worth growing. Having had a few more days to think about things (since Ticking the Boxes) I can say to my sister "Yes, I am happy."
No matter what happens in the next phase of the plan, or the plan after (!) or what life throws in my path anyway, this has been a good thing to do. It's all ok.
Saturday, September 01, 2007
Bucolic Idyll
Glorious sweetness of a day at home.
Woke without the alarm at 6 and heard the birds rustling each other into action within the soft, sweet silence that a large, mostly calm space makes.
Re awoke at 8 to the full chorus, callback and conversations of the crows, magpies, and all the other smaller ones that I can't quite see. Wandered out and made a coffee, went to check on the tomato seedlings - they're strong and perfect to plant out today. The big wattle tree by the front porch is in full bloom and heavy with labouring bees. I love that tree. So shady in summer and nondescript most of the time until this late August type time - when ka-pow - out with the enormous golden sprays of tiny fluffy pollen balls.
Took the coffee over to watch mum walk back from the top of the oats, where she'd been checking on a new calf. We're up to nine now, and they're a little smaller from the tough season, but perfectly formed and cheerful like baby animals with their mothers always are. The few good days of rain last week has come over our land like a kiss. We've blushed green.
My Grandad has arrived to stay with us for the weekend. He's just come back from about 4 weeks in America and he's bubbling with stories and amazement. He's been a long time without going everywhere, and he's sprightly and enlivened with all that he has seen, and the chance to spend such time with another branch of our family.
Riley is beside himself that we're all at home today and has been running like a running-fool, pausing only to wrestle Zac to the ground. Zac is grown into a large cat now, not quite fat, but very heavy and soft. To see this blob of ginger and white on his back passively getting choked by the tiny frantic terrier is hilarious... even when with his little tongue out he *really* is choking. I think he may be a little bit Michael Hutchence about the choking thing, and I am curious to see how far he would let it go before he pushed even a little bit back at Riley. The curious me would let it run it's course .... but the idea of facing ma and pa with an expired cat and a confused dog always tips me back into action.
"Enough Riley!"
Tonight is the launch of the Boonah Arts Festival. Ma and I will go, and I'm quite looking forward to it. Boonah embraces anyone who has a crack at something arty. It makes for what arts people call a "varied" or "mixed" show (ie they look down on it) but as a member of this community, I love the inclusiveness and fun of it. Should be a hoot tonight. May have to wear a scarf darling ....
Woke without the alarm at 6 and heard the birds rustling each other into action within the soft, sweet silence that a large, mostly calm space makes.
Re awoke at 8 to the full chorus, callback and conversations of the crows, magpies, and all the other smaller ones that I can't quite see. Wandered out and made a coffee, went to check on the tomato seedlings - they're strong and perfect to plant out today. The big wattle tree by the front porch is in full bloom and heavy with labouring bees. I love that tree. So shady in summer and nondescript most of the time until this late August type time - when ka-pow - out with the enormous golden sprays of tiny fluffy pollen balls.
Took the coffee over to watch mum walk back from the top of the oats, where she'd been checking on a new calf. We're up to nine now, and they're a little smaller from the tough season, but perfectly formed and cheerful like baby animals with their mothers always are. The few good days of rain last week has come over our land like a kiss. We've blushed green.
My Grandad has arrived to stay with us for the weekend. He's just come back from about 4 weeks in America and he's bubbling with stories and amazement. He's been a long time without going everywhere, and he's sprightly and enlivened with all that he has seen, and the chance to spend such time with another branch of our family.
Riley is beside himself that we're all at home today and has been running like a running-fool, pausing only to wrestle Zac to the ground. Zac is grown into a large cat now, not quite fat, but very heavy and soft. To see this blob of ginger and white on his back passively getting choked by the tiny frantic terrier is hilarious... even when with his little tongue out he *really* is choking. I think he may be a little bit Michael Hutchence about the choking thing, and I am curious to see how far he would let it go before he pushed even a little bit back at Riley. The curious me would let it run it's course .... but the idea of facing ma and pa with an expired cat and a confused dog always tips me back into action.
"Enough Riley!"
Tonight is the launch of the Boonah Arts Festival. Ma and I will go, and I'm quite looking forward to it. Boonah embraces anyone who has a crack at something arty. It makes for what arts people call a "varied" or "mixed" show (ie they look down on it) but as a member of this community, I love the inclusiveness and fun of it. Should be a hoot tonight. May have to wear a scarf darling ....
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Craptacular!
Well the last two days were a crap blitzkrieg at work, but funnily enough with the GBS now having come under the spell of the roids, some new rockin' tracks on the pod thing, a good sleep and a satisfying dvd experience - it just doesn't seem as bad.
Plus, we got a shower of rain!! OMG - it went for about 10 minutes and then there was another short one later!! Wow, great news. Really. I think officially it came to just over 1mm in the measuring thingo. Mum is gloating about her 'waters' being on the money. Dad's been calling her Uri Geller - it's almost funny.
In other news, I inspected a house yesterday with an 'eye to buy' as they say here and it was a real money pit. An absolute stinker. Apparently the owner is "very negotiable" on price, yet has a full-price sticker on it... got a very Sydney feel to the market here at the moment, but all this brouhaha with sub-prime doodads ought to calm it all down to slightly more reasonable values. I'll be looking at another one on Friday. This one has no yard, but is well within my affordable range. It's a town house, two beds one LUG. Hmmm.... decisions decisions.....
Well, the sun is out, it's morning tea o'clock and I love youse all.
Plus, we got a shower of rain!! OMG - it went for about 10 minutes and then there was another short one later!! Wow, great news. Really. I think officially it came to just over 1mm in the measuring thingo. Mum is gloating about her 'waters' being on the money. Dad's been calling her Uri Geller - it's almost funny.
In other news, I inspected a house yesterday with an 'eye to buy' as they say here and it was a real money pit. An absolute stinker. Apparently the owner is "very negotiable" on price, yet has a full-price sticker on it... got a very Sydney feel to the market here at the moment, but all this brouhaha with sub-prime doodads ought to calm it all down to slightly more reasonable values. I'll be looking at another one on Friday. This one has no yard, but is well within my affordable range. It's a town house, two beds one LUG. Hmmm.... decisions decisions.....
Well, the sun is out, it's morning tea o'clock and I love youse all.
Friday, August 10, 2007
More Eating Stories
Fresh Cauliflowers actually taste good.
Wow - I'd forgotten all about caulies - having so often gotten those slightly rubbery, almost woody tasting things from woolies. I'd kinda given up on them.
Peter bought round two he'd just picked from his garden late yesterday arvo. The leaves hadn't even wilted. They were beautiful. He handed them to me and I could smell the delicate, light scent of fresh cauliflower. Yum yum yum. I was just planning dinner and it didn't take much to swerve from mashed spuds (oh god not again) to steamed caulies in a white sauce. I made a pot of it to go with the tomatoe and lentil bake. Tonight I'll make a pie with them and some corn and carraway seeds.
I can't wait to plant tomatoes for summer. Freshly grown food really does taste so very good, and it is inspiring to have it sitting on the bench and filling the kitchen with smell ideas, rather than bundled in plastic in the fridge/morgue going slowly creepy.
Wow - I'd forgotten all about caulies - having so often gotten those slightly rubbery, almost woody tasting things from woolies. I'd kinda given up on them.
Peter bought round two he'd just picked from his garden late yesterday arvo. The leaves hadn't even wilted. They were beautiful. He handed them to me and I could smell the delicate, light scent of fresh cauliflower. Yum yum yum. I was just planning dinner and it didn't take much to swerve from mashed spuds (oh god not again) to steamed caulies in a white sauce. I made a pot of it to go with the tomatoe and lentil bake. Tonight I'll make a pie with them and some corn and carraway seeds.
I can't wait to plant tomatoes for summer. Freshly grown food really does taste so very good, and it is inspiring to have it sitting on the bench and filling the kitchen with smell ideas, rather than bundled in plastic in the fridge/morgue going slowly creepy.
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
Happy Birfy Dad
Dad's birthday today and he got a cup of tea in bed and loads of goodies. Last night i asked him what kind of cake he wanted, and he said "vanilla sponge with chocolate icing" so that's what I made for him, using my new heart-shaped pan (mucks around your cooking time - bakers beware!). He got to sit in his chair and watch stupid tv while I bought him the beaters to lick, then the bowl, then I found an icing recipe that concluded with "eat directly from bowl" so that's gotta taste good, and it did. He's all set for a great day.
The weekend included a large donation of kitchen goods and homewares from Wazza whose mum sold her house so she could go into a home. I got some very lovely baking pans (that's where the love-heart shaped cake tin came from) a big oval casserole dish (must be about 3 - 5 L) and a 4 piece china dinner set. It was very kind of them to think of others at that point.
The new season of calves have started hitting the ground, which is fun, but quite sadly we decided to send all of last year's calves (the weaners) off to market because with no rain even the dead grass is now gone and there's just nothing for them to eat. The new calves are very sweet and adorable. There's something fundamentally gratifying and spring-like about seeing tiny mammals cavorting and learning about the world. Plus, this is the only time you can pick up a cow. Mum and I had to do that on the weekend when one of the new ones got separated from her mum and ran out of puff and just collapsed. Her mum had wandered off, and so we had to pick up the little one and carry her (well I couldn't hold her so I ran and got the wheelbarrow!) and take her to her mum. There was a tense moment when we waited to see if she smelt too much like humans to be recognised again by mama cow - but she licked the icky smell off her and got her sucking again, and all was well. Yay.
The weekend included a large donation of kitchen goods and homewares from Wazza whose mum sold her house so she could go into a home. I got some very lovely baking pans (that's where the love-heart shaped cake tin came from) a big oval casserole dish (must be about 3 - 5 L) and a 4 piece china dinner set. It was very kind of them to think of others at that point.
The new season of calves have started hitting the ground, which is fun, but quite sadly we decided to send all of last year's calves (the weaners) off to market because with no rain even the dead grass is now gone and there's just nothing for them to eat. The new calves are very sweet and adorable. There's something fundamentally gratifying and spring-like about seeing tiny mammals cavorting and learning about the world. Plus, this is the only time you can pick up a cow. Mum and I had to do that on the weekend when one of the new ones got separated from her mum and ran out of puff and just collapsed. Her mum had wandered off, and so we had to pick up the little one and carry her (well I couldn't hold her so I ran and got the wheelbarrow!) and take her to her mum. There was a tense moment when we waited to see if she smelt too much like humans to be recognised again by mama cow - but she licked the icky smell off her and got her sucking again, and all was well. Yay.
Friday, August 03, 2007
Three Magpies on a Branch
They warbled me awake and the dawn was golden on the gum's pale branches. I like the mornings here when the breeze sighs through the leaves and a birdcall can sit on the air.
August opened with the first calf of the season. A tiny little thing seen from the bathroom window, cavorting around in the fog on wednesday morning. Ma and I stood and watched - a lovely moment. Of course being the beginning of August meant that July was done, and we could look back and say "not a single drop of rain fell on our property during the month of July". We wouldn't say it, not out loud anyway. We all know it. We live and live and live with it. So apart from the newly painted house, we're a thousand shades of brown now. Even the brown is looking browner, drier, paler. Deader.
Mum is acting pretty confident that it's going to rain next week, but I think she's either full of shit, or hopeful to the point of being criminally insane. I mean I hope she's right, but I left off how her reason for this rock-solid belief was that she could "feel it in her waters." We don't have any waters. That's the point. You've got no water to feel it in woman!! Had she said "I can feel it in me whisky bladder" I would have put money on it.
Other great news (it's all about me) is that it looks like I'll be able to work towards a film program here next year. I know that's vague, but trust me - that's nearly 6 weeks of pained discussions to get to the position where we've agreed what it is NOT to be, when it is not to be, and that we will discuss at a later time what it should be a lot more like, and who we want to come. This is a solid win! I also took away from this meeting the implicit understanding that this could get to within a chook's tooth of happening and get cancelled/completely co-opted. That also is just how things are here. Despite sounding like a horrible meeting, in a sad, Ipswichian way, i believe it is all actually a desire to protect me from innocently harming myself, and really a sign of trust and expectation in me and my abilities.
Or a setup. We'll see.
August opened with the first calf of the season. A tiny little thing seen from the bathroom window, cavorting around in the fog on wednesday morning. Ma and I stood and watched - a lovely moment. Of course being the beginning of August meant that July was done, and we could look back and say "not a single drop of rain fell on our property during the month of July". We wouldn't say it, not out loud anyway. We all know it. We live and live and live with it. So apart from the newly painted house, we're a thousand shades of brown now. Even the brown is looking browner, drier, paler. Deader.
Mum is acting pretty confident that it's going to rain next week, but I think she's either full of shit, or hopeful to the point of being criminally insane. I mean I hope she's right, but I left off how her reason for this rock-solid belief was that she could "feel it in her waters." We don't have any waters. That's the point. You've got no water to feel it in woman!! Had she said "I can feel it in me whisky bladder" I would have put money on it.
Other great news (it's all about me) is that it looks like I'll be able to work towards a film program here next year. I know that's vague, but trust me - that's nearly 6 weeks of pained discussions to get to the position where we've agreed what it is NOT to be, when it is not to be, and that we will discuss at a later time what it should be a lot more like, and who we want to come. This is a solid win! I also took away from this meeting the implicit understanding that this could get to within a chook's tooth of happening and get cancelled/completely co-opted. That also is just how things are here. Despite sounding like a horrible meeting, in a sad, Ipswichian way, i believe it is all actually a desire to protect me from innocently harming myself, and really a sign of trust and expectation in me and my abilities.
Or a setup. We'll see.
Monday, July 30, 2007
Tidy Up
Well hey there compadres!
There's loads of little things to tell you all about. First of all, thank you to everyone who's sent me a message of any kind in support of pulling through the last few weeks. The GBS is now battling the prednisolone/salofalk and I think loosing. The side effects (mostly I get very restless and only slightly cranky - so hard for other people to tell there's any difference really) of the drugs have been more manageable this time as the dose wasn't as high and got stepped-back more quickly. The new doctor seems thoughtful and intelligent and I'll be seeing a new specialist soon. I like the idea that I am assembling a "crack" (sorry about any arse puns that make their way into this post) team of brave and compassionate souls all fighting for a better world. Yes, I have been reading too much Harry Potter.
That reminds me. HOW GOOD IS BOOK SEVEN?!?!!! No Spoilers here - don't be concerned. I really enjoyed it, and yes I know there's many points of discussion about what a better book/series might be... but I am living with the experience I am having, not the one I think I ought to have - and that has to go for books, comics, movies and transport options too. We'll talk later, I'm sure.
Major Family Moment on the weekend. After months of planning and preparation (mostly by my very able and forthright sisters) Ma & Pa's poor white trash shack of house has been transformed into a sunflower bright butterfly house. OMG. Isn't it amazing what eleven people, hundreds of dollars of paint and about 16 litres of tea can achieve?! The shock-troops arrived on saturday morning around 9am (yes, I was just getting up and had jammies and gritty eyes) and had a full first coat of paint on the place by lunch. Huge. I offered (wisely I thought at the time) to stay out of the way (my uncle and cousins are professional house painters) and to do the catering. What an undertaking. Imagine the logistics of serving and provisioning eleven hungry folk for morning tea, lunch, afternoon tea, dinner, morning tea and lunch. I will never be intimidated by Christmas again! Many thanks to Sis2 for sporadic assistance, a warm haven for the night and a restful breakfast before re-entering the fray. Ma is delighted with the outcome and we're all pleased it's over. In a happy way.
The portugese tarts were ok. The pastry was a wreck (i measured a key ingredient incorrectly and turned it from flaky pastry to shortbread - no one seemed to mind) but the custard totally made up for it. This is the *best*ever* custard and well worth the time it takes to assemble. I will be trying the custard in a vanilla slice-type environment to see how I go with store pastry (as we have a huge bag of passionfruit to use).
Today I have sent away an application for a regional writers scholarship through the Queensland Arts Council. If I get it, it means 3 weeks at a writing retreat in Varuna. I have applied once before for a mentorship there - it's a brilliant setup in the Blue Mountains. I don't want to get too excited, I don't even know how long it takes for them to decide and everything, or how many people apply for this. But just putting together the material for the application was actually a brilliant process and very worthwhile. It helped me to get back on track for my writing goals for the rest of the year. Light a stick of incense for me - I'll keep you informed.
Finally, it seems to have taken years, but Beowulf, Stardust and His Dark Materials: Golden Compass are all about to hit the big screens. What a glut! YAHOO!!!!
Just make sure you go read the books first. Really.
(Yes, the Hearney translation of Beowulf - through Faber, oh, I think Penguin bought out Faber... just go to the library ok!).
Really finally... Crazy Clark's has closed down across the road from my office window. Out of no-where friday was their last day. What a trash and desolate place the Ipswich "CBD" is now with more vacant shops than filled ones. This is the natural predatory order of things in the capitalist jungle. Perhaps this culling will allow some sunlight in and some new things to take root. I live in hope.
There's loads of little things to tell you all about. First of all, thank you to everyone who's sent me a message of any kind in support of pulling through the last few weeks. The GBS is now battling the prednisolone/salofalk and I think loosing. The side effects (mostly I get very restless and only slightly cranky - so hard for other people to tell there's any difference really) of the drugs have been more manageable this time as the dose wasn't as high and got stepped-back more quickly. The new doctor seems thoughtful and intelligent and I'll be seeing a new specialist soon. I like the idea that I am assembling a "crack" (sorry about any arse puns that make their way into this post) team of brave and compassionate souls all fighting for a better world. Yes, I have been reading too much Harry Potter.
That reminds me. HOW GOOD IS BOOK SEVEN?!?!!! No Spoilers here - don't be concerned. I really enjoyed it, and yes I know there's many points of discussion about what a better book/series might be... but I am living with the experience I am having, not the one I think I ought to have - and that has to go for books, comics, movies and transport options too. We'll talk later, I'm sure.
Major Family Moment on the weekend. After months of planning and preparation (mostly by my very able and forthright sisters) Ma & Pa's poor white trash shack of house has been transformed into a sunflower bright butterfly house. OMG. Isn't it amazing what eleven people, hundreds of dollars of paint and about 16 litres of tea can achieve?! The shock-troops arrived on saturday morning around 9am (yes, I was just getting up and had jammies and gritty eyes) and had a full first coat of paint on the place by lunch. Huge. I offered (wisely I thought at the time) to stay out of the way (my uncle and cousins are professional house painters) and to do the catering. What an undertaking. Imagine the logistics of serving and provisioning eleven hungry folk for morning tea, lunch, afternoon tea, dinner, morning tea and lunch. I will never be intimidated by Christmas again! Many thanks to Sis2 for sporadic assistance, a warm haven for the night and a restful breakfast before re-entering the fray. Ma is delighted with the outcome and we're all pleased it's over. In a happy way.
The portugese tarts were ok. The pastry was a wreck (i measured a key ingredient incorrectly and turned it from flaky pastry to shortbread - no one seemed to mind) but the custard totally made up for it. This is the *best*ever* custard and well worth the time it takes to assemble. I will be trying the custard in a vanilla slice-type environment to see how I go with store pastry (as we have a huge bag of passionfruit to use).
Today I have sent away an application for a regional writers scholarship through the Queensland Arts Council. If I get it, it means 3 weeks at a writing retreat in Varuna. I have applied once before for a mentorship there - it's a brilliant setup in the Blue Mountains. I don't want to get too excited, I don't even know how long it takes for them to decide and everything, or how many people apply for this. But just putting together the material for the application was actually a brilliant process and very worthwhile. It helped me to get back on track for my writing goals for the rest of the year. Light a stick of incense for me - I'll keep you informed.
Finally, it seems to have taken years, but Beowulf, Stardust and His Dark Materials: Golden Compass are all about to hit the big screens. What a glut! YAHOO!!!!
Just make sure you go read the books first. Really.
(Yes, the Hearney translation of Beowulf - through Faber, oh, I think Penguin bought out Faber... just go to the library ok!).
Really finally... Crazy Clark's has closed down across the road from my office window. Out of no-where friday was their last day. What a trash and desolate place the Ipswich "CBD" is now with more vacant shops than filled ones. This is the natural predatory order of things in the capitalist jungle. Perhaps this culling will allow some sunlight in and some new things to take root. I live in hope.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Lil Goes to Silverdale
Lil the Cow and two of her cowpatriots went to Silverdale this afternoon. None of us were here to wave them off, the local truck-driving man knows the drill and loaded them hisself, filled in the paperwork, possibly patted a dog, and was gone.
Gone from our lives, Lil. Ma's second ever purebred Limousin cow who she got before they moved out here to the big farm, mustuv been about 14 or 15 years ago, and she's been breeding ever since. But here's how it goes; we're running out of feed, there's young uns to keep (although most will go soon to Silverdale too) and the dam's getting low low.
So despite the fetal hope in their bellies they're at the Silverdale yards tonight, and tomorrow someone will buy them and we hope it will be a loving family with paddocks of knee-high clover who will love them until their natural end.
Yeah, and then I'll win lotto.
Gone from our lives, Lil. Ma's second ever purebred Limousin cow who she got before they moved out here to the big farm, mustuv been about 14 or 15 years ago, and she's been breeding ever since. But here's how it goes; we're running out of feed, there's young uns to keep (although most will go soon to Silverdale too) and the dam's getting low low.
So despite the fetal hope in their bellies they're at the Silverdale yards tonight, and tomorrow someone will buy them and we hope it will be a loving family with paddocks of knee-high clover who will love them until their natural end.
Yeah, and then I'll win lotto.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Another Perspective
Riddle me this Batman....
Isn't hindsight great!?
It's not really a riddle is it? Here's the riddle - how can I access the clarity and wisdom of hindsight in the moment??
hmmmm.... trust me, if I figure that out, you can see my on my speaking tour of the universe!
So I'm home crook from work, tucked up nice and warm, looking back over a couple of rough weeks - which were so hard to move through day by day, and going "oh yeah - that would be when I started getting sick again!" There it is. Chronic conditions may take a holiday, but they never leave completely.
It's not enough that the horrid nausea and pains are back - but worse even is that I feel like I short-changed the lovely lovely Julian who drove all the way up to stay for a few days. I was so very worried he would get lost, or eaten by trolls, or squished by a semi. Thankfully, none of those things happened at all, and he arrived jubilantly - his normal cheerful and charming self. He won over the entire extended clan to his fanclub within 20 minutes of meeting any of them. It was great fun to tour him around the farm, and the area. He seemed honestly joyful, and it was a pleasure to share his interest. He had an amazing time before he got here - driving up from Sydney through the inland road, staying at Armidale, and after leaving us heading to Mount Tambourine (in the hinterland towards the Gold Coast) and hence to Coffs Harbour in northern NSW. I remember Coffs as being a totally top-town so I hope he's enjoying his time there. I am honoured that we were included in his itinerary, and grateful that he took my illness in his stride.
I HEREBY ACKNOWLEDGE THAT JULIAN BEAT ME FAIR AND SQUARE AT SCRABBLE.
He made some corkers over the triple-word stars let me tell you.
Just in case you've been wondering - no rain. NO RAIN. The one remaining bonsai receives ever more care. The jacaranda is hanging in with us (getting the odd bucket of grey water) but I've had a heart-searching session, and the fig bonsai has become a totem of hope at the moment. It is continuing to thrive through the winter, as I've moved it into the sunroom. I move it to the window ledge for the day (careful - they can be burnt by winter sun through glass) then away from the cold glass at night. Right now it's outside in the normal sun soaking in a bowl of icy tank water, feeling the wind on its bark. Yes, it gets more attention than I give my hair.
The six-month date of moving to the farm ticked by on June 20th. No biggie. (yeah right!) I still feel so homesick sometimes - but I know it's only for the very very goodest-things from before. I have forgotten the boring and icky bits quite easily. Really good friends are hard to replace. Invisible computer things help a lot, but they never make up for dinners and hugs. Well, love works in strange ways, and despite how blue and brown I've been lately, well, I still do trust that things will all work out.
Naive? Perhaps.
Isn't hindsight great!?
It's not really a riddle is it? Here's the riddle - how can I access the clarity and wisdom of hindsight in the moment??
hmmmm.... trust me, if I figure that out, you can see my on my speaking tour of the universe!
So I'm home crook from work, tucked up nice and warm, looking back over a couple of rough weeks - which were so hard to move through day by day, and going "oh yeah - that would be when I started getting sick again!" There it is. Chronic conditions may take a holiday, but they never leave completely.
It's not enough that the horrid nausea and pains are back - but worse even is that I feel like I short-changed the lovely lovely Julian who drove all the way up to stay for a few days. I was so very worried he would get lost, or eaten by trolls, or squished by a semi. Thankfully, none of those things happened at all, and he arrived jubilantly - his normal cheerful and charming self. He won over the entire extended clan to his fanclub within 20 minutes of meeting any of them. It was great fun to tour him around the farm, and the area. He seemed honestly joyful, and it was a pleasure to share his interest. He had an amazing time before he got here - driving up from Sydney through the inland road, staying at Armidale, and after leaving us heading to Mount Tambourine (in the hinterland towards the Gold Coast) and hence to Coffs Harbour in northern NSW. I remember Coffs as being a totally top-town so I hope he's enjoying his time there. I am honoured that we were included in his itinerary, and grateful that he took my illness in his stride.
I HEREBY ACKNOWLEDGE THAT JULIAN BEAT ME FAIR AND SQUARE AT SCRABBLE.
He made some corkers over the triple-word stars let me tell you.
Just in case you've been wondering - no rain. NO RAIN. The one remaining bonsai receives ever more care. The jacaranda is hanging in with us (getting the odd bucket of grey water) but I've had a heart-searching session, and the fig bonsai has become a totem of hope at the moment. It is continuing to thrive through the winter, as I've moved it into the sunroom. I move it to the window ledge for the day (careful - they can be burnt by winter sun through glass) then away from the cold glass at night. Right now it's outside in the normal sun soaking in a bowl of icy tank water, feeling the wind on its bark. Yes, it gets more attention than I give my hair.
The six-month date of moving to the farm ticked by on June 20th. No biggie. (yeah right!) I still feel so homesick sometimes - but I know it's only for the very very goodest-things from before. I have forgotten the boring and icky bits quite easily. Really good friends are hard to replace. Invisible computer things help a lot, but they never make up for dinners and hugs. Well, love works in strange ways, and despite how blue and brown I've been lately, well, I still do trust that things will all work out.
Naive? Perhaps.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
What a week!
Little Zac the Eager Cat in a paroxysm of pleasure launched himself at the wood stove last night - perhaps expecting that if it was so very comfy right next to the fire - sitting atop it would be nirvana. Well the speed at which he approached his destination was nothing to how quickly he left it! Poor little one has burnt pads on his front paws, but the rear ones are fine - must have used the "Cats Only 9 Lives Propulsion Power" for the FTL exit.
Someone who wasn't so lucky was the cow who died in the dam. She's in the cow morgue awaiting identification. CSI preliminary report suggests she went down the steep embankment to brunch on the bull rushes and get a drink, lost her balance, slid in, and due to the steepness and sticky mud, couldn't climb free. Her cries for help unable to attract anyone with opposable thumbs, she drowned. No suspicious circumstances, just a tragedy. (I'm grateful that Dad didn't suffer the same fate trying to get her out. Some things ought not be attempted by a man alone with a tractor).
That she died one day or so before we had three solid days of rain just compounds the pain. Our neighbour has fenced off his dam for this reason, and we're thinking of doing so too now. What a horrible senseless way to die. I've never been able to reconcile myself to this part of farm life.
We have had some rain, and that's the good news. There's a tinge of green back in the landscape, and even the soft sound of it on the roof was a sensual pleasure. No frog calls yet - normally they'd be croaking up a storm, but there's just the rain and the sound of it falling into the tank. Where are you froggies? Please don't all be gone - please don't let that have come to pass.
Hump day. So very humpish today too. There's a chocolate coated cherry (or more if I don't share) waiting for me tonight to balm away the hours until the next attempt at being a citizen. I really am such a worthless bag of meat waddling around. I don't mean this in a bad way - just calling it how I see it. Perhaps the chocolate will help me recalibrate to a shinier, happier state. In the words of the great philosopher John Denver, "some days are diamonds, some days are stones".
Someone who wasn't so lucky was the cow who died in the dam. She's in the cow morgue awaiting identification. CSI preliminary report suggests she went down the steep embankment to brunch on the bull rushes and get a drink, lost her balance, slid in, and due to the steepness and sticky mud, couldn't climb free. Her cries for help unable to attract anyone with opposable thumbs, she drowned. No suspicious circumstances, just a tragedy. (I'm grateful that Dad didn't suffer the same fate trying to get her out. Some things ought not be attempted by a man alone with a tractor).
That she died one day or so before we had three solid days of rain just compounds the pain. Our neighbour has fenced off his dam for this reason, and we're thinking of doing so too now. What a horrible senseless way to die. I've never been able to reconcile myself to this part of farm life.
We have had some rain, and that's the good news. There's a tinge of green back in the landscape, and even the soft sound of it on the roof was a sensual pleasure. No frog calls yet - normally they'd be croaking up a storm, but there's just the rain and the sound of it falling into the tank. Where are you froggies? Please don't all be gone - please don't let that have come to pass.
Hump day. So very humpish today too. There's a chocolate coated cherry (or more if I don't share) waiting for me tonight to balm away the hours until the next attempt at being a citizen. I really am such a worthless bag of meat waddling around. I don't mean this in a bad way - just calling it how I see it. Perhaps the chocolate will help me recalibrate to a shinier, happier state. In the words of the great philosopher John Denver, "some days are diamonds, some days are stones".
Saturday, May 19, 2007
Visitation
Glory glory!
To an utterly gorgeous late-morning I stumbled out of the bedroom and realised I don't need to drive anywhere today. Relief - such relief. There's couch time, there's laundy hanging out time, and there's the promise of visitors. Visitors - for me!!
It's important when one lives a long-way-away not to get too caught up on the idea that anyone will ever actually get here, despite all the good intentions. Going into the country for city folk (particularly city folk from interstate) is akin to writing a will. Honestly, it's a good idea, and probably worthwhile, but it takes too long, and no-one ever really gets around to it unless there's a direct and urgent need. Hey, don't get me wrong, it's a frackin long way. Total kudos to Mellie and Tom who both made it to visit me at work during April. That was awesome and I was astonished at how badly I wanted to show Mellie my desk, and think of interesting things to tell Tom about Trash City. So today, with the promise of a visitation, I didn't get too worked up, so I wouldn't be dissappointed when it got called off (freak cyclone? Flat tyre? Heart Attack? Sure, I understand). You know, *anything* can happen - and sometimes does. I was so cool, so understated, the only thing I did was get the butter out of the fridge at lunch time so it would get soft in an hour or so, because I would make scones *anyway*.
So when Lee & Andy arrived - I could have popped a gasket I was so excited! They made it!!! They had come from Petersham and now were in Frazerview. AWESOME!! I wanted to tell them everything about everything all at once. "And this is a tree, but my dad hit it with a tractor a few years back, and that's why it's wonky, and this other tree is younger, but it's grown bigger, and that's the house - where we live - and this is the fence and the paddock, and those cows, well they aren't cows, they're the yearlings and mostly they're steers now, and, and, and..." my brain could *not* get a word into my mouth for a while there. But they were good, and we walked up to the olives and walking is always calming in these situations. How brilliant it is to have beloved friends to show somehting to, and through their eyes see everything all over again. Mum and Dad love to talk about the farm and afternoon tea (yes, Scones with lashings of cream and jam) was great fun. We watched the sun set from the back hill, and waited for a wallaby to move off the track on the way back down.
They had to go - of course - evening meal beckoned. Mum had brought more meat in case we could tempt them to stay for dinner, but they have a lot of people to see over the weekend. So they drove off into the twilight, we fed the animals and closed the house back up for the evening. Mum and Dad are watching "Gardening Australia" on the tube and after I hit the button here, I'm going to walk out into the dark yard and stare up at the sky's opulent stars and imagine all my friends standing together and looking up as well. I'm going to feel the cool air moving through the little hairs on my arms and over my skin, hear the telly in the background, smell the warm ground letting out a breath into the evening and feel all around me the energy of the greater life in the world and the special energy that seems like strings. Stringy stretchy love that reaches so far so easily - possibly through the stars- and keeps friendships alive.
To an utterly gorgeous late-morning I stumbled out of the bedroom and realised I don't need to drive anywhere today. Relief - such relief. There's couch time, there's laundy hanging out time, and there's the promise of visitors. Visitors - for me!!
It's important when one lives a long-way-away not to get too caught up on the idea that anyone will ever actually get here, despite all the good intentions. Going into the country for city folk (particularly city folk from interstate) is akin to writing a will. Honestly, it's a good idea, and probably worthwhile, but it takes too long, and no-one ever really gets around to it unless there's a direct and urgent need. Hey, don't get me wrong, it's a frackin long way. Total kudos to Mellie and Tom who both made it to visit me at work during April. That was awesome and I was astonished at how badly I wanted to show Mellie my desk, and think of interesting things to tell Tom about Trash City. So today, with the promise of a visitation, I didn't get too worked up, so I wouldn't be dissappointed when it got called off (freak cyclone? Flat tyre? Heart Attack? Sure, I understand). You know, *anything* can happen - and sometimes does. I was so cool, so understated, the only thing I did was get the butter out of the fridge at lunch time so it would get soft in an hour or so, because I would make scones *anyway*.
So when Lee & Andy arrived - I could have popped a gasket I was so excited! They made it!!! They had come from Petersham and now were in Frazerview. AWESOME!! I wanted to tell them everything about everything all at once. "And this is a tree, but my dad hit it with a tractor a few years back, and that's why it's wonky, and this other tree is younger, but it's grown bigger, and that's the house - where we live - and this is the fence and the paddock, and those cows, well they aren't cows, they're the yearlings and mostly they're steers now, and, and, and..." my brain could *not* get a word into my mouth for a while there. But they were good, and we walked up to the olives and walking is always calming in these situations. How brilliant it is to have beloved friends to show somehting to, and through their eyes see everything all over again. Mum and Dad love to talk about the farm and afternoon tea (yes, Scones with lashings of cream and jam) was great fun. We watched the sun set from the back hill, and waited for a wallaby to move off the track on the way back down.
They had to go - of course - evening meal beckoned. Mum had brought more meat in case we could tempt them to stay for dinner, but they have a lot of people to see over the weekend. So they drove off into the twilight, we fed the animals and closed the house back up for the evening. Mum and Dad are watching "Gardening Australia" on the tube and after I hit the button here, I'm going to walk out into the dark yard and stare up at the sky's opulent stars and imagine all my friends standing together and looking up as well. I'm going to feel the cool air moving through the little hairs on my arms and over my skin, hear the telly in the background, smell the warm ground letting out a breath into the evening and feel all around me the energy of the greater life in the world and the special energy that seems like strings. Stringy stretchy love that reaches so far so easily - possibly through the stars- and keeps friendships alive.
Friday, May 11, 2007
So Over It
The olive harvest continues - it's been over a month - nearly six or seven weeks now I think. There's still about a fifth of the trees to go, and it's an Occam's Razor setup - the closer we are to the end the more there is to go. It feels like it will never end. The weather has stayed fine and hot so the trees are continuing to ripen. Ripening, and over-ripening. There's so much fruit on every tree now, a lot more like it should be, but almost half of it is too ripe and has to be thrown away (bruised, rotten or otherwised damed fruit can't be used).
In Mum's words "I'm so over it. We're finishing at the end of May".
That's how it goes. I think it's been a harvest of only about 3 tonne as of last weekend. I'm only involved on the weekends when I help grade (sort) the fruit. In a normal (non-drought) season, we would expect to get about 12 tonne. Frankly, we couldn't have gotten it off the trees this year. Of our regular pickers, about half didn't want to work this year, the people we selel the fruit too got a bee in their bonnet about only taking 'A Grade' so we've put a lot more to oil than we ordinarilly would (which makes us a lot less money), we've needed to make capital investments in a grading machine, and then further purchases on the right crates and tbs to use at either end of it. Dad's been getting radio-treatment for a face cancer every weekday, so he's doing a 200klm round trip every day, unless he's delivering our fruit to the oil press and then it's a 500klm day. I've never been so grateful to have an office job.
Kids, wear sunscreen. You so very do not want to get skin cancer.
Last night someone asked me if mum and dad make money.
No. No they don't.
Maybe if we got the 12 tonne instead of the 3 they would have a chance to recoup the costs - but even getting it off the trees and graded takes so much human effort. They're really banking on the mechanical harvesting techniques improving, and someone buying equiptment and being willing to lease it out for a week or so with a good driver for next year.
Of course, all the planning in the world won't help if there's no rain.
This farming stuff is heartbreaking in bad times.
In Mum's words "I'm so over it. We're finishing at the end of May".
That's how it goes. I think it's been a harvest of only about 3 tonne as of last weekend. I'm only involved on the weekends when I help grade (sort) the fruit. In a normal (non-drought) season, we would expect to get about 12 tonne. Frankly, we couldn't have gotten it off the trees this year. Of our regular pickers, about half didn't want to work this year, the people we selel the fruit too got a bee in their bonnet about only taking 'A Grade' so we've put a lot more to oil than we ordinarilly would (which makes us a lot less money), we've needed to make capital investments in a grading machine, and then further purchases on the right crates and tbs to use at either end of it. Dad's been getting radio-treatment for a face cancer every weekday, so he's doing a 200klm round trip every day, unless he's delivering our fruit to the oil press and then it's a 500klm day. I've never been so grateful to have an office job.
Kids, wear sunscreen. You so very do not want to get skin cancer.
Last night someone asked me if mum and dad make money.
No. No they don't.
Maybe if we got the 12 tonne instead of the 3 they would have a chance to recoup the costs - but even getting it off the trees and graded takes so much human effort. They're really banking on the mechanical harvesting techniques improving, and someone buying equiptment and being willing to lease it out for a week or so with a good driver for next year.
Of course, all the planning in the world won't help if there's no rain.
This farming stuff is heartbreaking in bad times.
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