Mud and puddles
Went up to visit the paternal parent in the country. He is the shape of a crab, or a pretzel, due to ongoing lower back pain and sciatica. Something Has To Be Done. He is hampered by his location and immobility. Argh! It is so frustrating.
However, we took advantage of the hospitality and dined on honey soy free range chicken drumsticks, potato salad, and, best of all, Windfall Pie.
Windfall Pie? A dazzling combination of blackberries and apples – the apples that have been collected from under the apple trees.
Small Z, who has been going through a phase which consists of her saying “Wipe your HANDS?” after she touches food and almost anything else (she means ‘Wipe my hands’ but remains a bit confused about ‘I’ and ‘Your’), rallied from her cleanliness. We were outside and she was investigating a drip…which led to investigating some mud, smearing mud over her tummy, face and tongue, and finishing it off by stepping in what she and I both thought was a shallow puddle…that turned out ankle deep. I hosed her in the shower. Kid fun!
Meanwhile, M filled our shed with all the things we have divested from our lives since moving house. That created a good feeling. So why is it that our shed at home still looks like it’s at bursting point? Declutter fairy, are you out there?
Bringing down the tone
A telephone call from our new real estate agent a few days ago. How it should have gone:
“Hi Beth, this is Peter. I’m just calling to query you on the caravan in the front yard.”
“??!”
“Uh, the owner is a little concerned. It has an extension cord running out of it. We just need to know if there is anyone living in it? Also, it would be good if it could be eventually moved around the back, for cosmetic reasons.”
“Actually Peter, I’m glad you called. I was wanting to talk to you about a similar thing. But just to clear up your query, there is no one living in it. It is 14 feet long? M stays in it if Small Z is having a bad night. My mother stayed in it last week. But do I have a longterm sublet going on from which I am profiting wildly? Unfortunately I do not.
”What I wanted to bring to your attention was that I feel that the house itself is bringing down the tone of my caravan*. My 1962, egg-shaped, vintage, restored, fibreglass caravan. I was hoping that the owner might consider repainting the exterior of his very important investment property that was, until recently, his personal home LaMarque White (Dulux) with a blue metal flake finish around the window frames? This would work much better for me than the dark green house and the cracked aubergine and white front door.”
…Of course, what happened was that I spluttered incoherently, told him where the owner could stick his concern about the cosmetics of his property and forcefully informed him that no one was living in the caravan and it was no business of anyone but myself where on the property the caravan was located. Gah.
M and I immediately felt somewhat violated that someone (friends of the owner – who has relocated to Queensland) had been driving by, perving at our set up. It was this icky, spied on feeling. We felt instantly like we were in someone elses house, not our own. Of course, we have recovered our equaminity, but it wasn’t a great start to things.
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*Suggested by L, who is good with acerbic responses.
A much needed recap
It has been such a hiatus in writing that I hardly know where to begin. The month of January 2010 passed by in a smear of fatigue and bustle. (As I am posting this in retrospect, let me say that if I had to relive the first trimester of this pregnancy again, I would elect to do it in a coma…which would be fairly similar to how I felt the entire time…) Small Z turned TWO! on 9 January – something I hope to write about in a very backdated post, my mother turned SIXTY! (Yes, they are parted by 58 years) And then we moved house.
Ack. I have been quietly envying She-Who-Will-Not-Be-Blogged and her efforts to declutter her life in preparation for a house move that is undoubtedly looming in the near future. How thoughtful! How sensible. Meanwhile, M and I stayed in a state of utter denial as the days ticked by toward the date when we would have to scrape our sorry arses out of Warneet and get them, and all their associated accoutrements, on the road to Hastings.
Let me backtrack for a moment (yes, this will probably be a long, rambling, expositional entry, feel free to skim). On 5 January I got a call from the agent of the only house I had applied for. I can’t remember if I’ve written about inspecting it prior to Christmas, but anyway – Small Z and I went to look at it, and there was another woman looking as well. Our direct competition. She was an older woman who worked as a nurse. She had lots of time to be chatty with the owner and the agent and talk herself up, while I chased after Small Z who was dancing around the Christmas tree singing ‘Jingle Bells’ and begging to swing on the clothesline.
I assumed we had little chance. Chatty nurses without dependents seemed to trump us, even despite my wildly inflated yearly income and excellent references. WRONG! Nurse had dogs. We had kid. Kid trumped dogs. Yay us! It was when they called on the 5th that I burbled that we’d be HAPPY to move in on January 29th. Thrilled! While conveniently forgetting the 60th birthday monolith that was gradually subsuming everything and everyone around it.
The other thing was, M had never seen the house. We picked up the keys on 29 January and went and had a poke through. Both M and I were underwhelmed, and seriously wondered if we had made the wrong decision. I forgot to mention before – one of the other things that happened on 5 January (besides a lovely day of boating in Cannons Creek)? Our current real estate agents had called and said, gobsmackingly, that the sale of the house had fallen through. They offered us another 12 month lease. After a sleepless night, I decided to knock them back. In my head, I’d already moved out.
So anyway, the day after the big 60th birthday, M – with the help of DJ, moved all the heaviest stuff into our new house in Hastings. He spent the following WEEK moving everything else. I felt very impotent, but had little choice as someone had to look after Small Z. Now that we have been here for a little while, M and I are more than happy with our new surrounds. It has been about TWELVE years since I have moved into a clean house. And the difference it makes to morale is phenomenal.
Our house in Queensland was almost a squat in desperate need of renovation, the trailer was, well, the trailer – a dirtier place could hardly be imagined unless…then you moved into the house with the view…and the disgusting walls/carpets/tiles falling off the shower. Anyway, our last house was really enjoyable for a year, and then it got old. This house is brilliant. The open plan means that I can see where Small Z is while I’m trying to do stuff, and, better than that, she can see ME.
I can walk to things. Oh my god. It has been almost FIVE loooong years since we have lived somewhere that I can walk to STUFF. This didn’t matter so much when I was without spawn (oh, all those hours I just took for granted, stupid, stupid, stupid) but one long year with a baby who hated the car, as well as having no friends anywhere closer than an hour away was just… well, difficult. Now we can walk to the library, to playgroup, to the pool and most importantly, to INDIAN TAKEAWAY!! Obviously if we ever get our dream chunk of land, it will probably be isolated, but…it will be ours, and the spawn will not be quite so small…
Alan, Alannah, Ally, Hugo and Violet
Drawn back to blogging by bum related hysteria. For almost as long as we’ve been knocking around together, the name of M’s bum has been Alan. Yes. On one occasion while he was away on tour with Augie March in Coolum, he drunkenly confided this to all and sundry and I was telephoned by someone called Declan who was gasping with laughter and desperate for corroboration. I corroborated. I probably would have done more than that if requested, his accent was exceptionally attractive.
Tonight, M stripped off in the kitchen and did a nudie dance prior to getting in the bath with Small Z. She shrieked with delight;
“DADDA has a SWINGING PENIS!!!”
M then had the taste for performing, and showed off;
“Dadda’s SWINGING ELBOWS.”
His swinging eyebrows…and finally…
“DADDA has a SWINGING BUM. His BUM is SWINGING!!”
Yes, I told her. Have I told you that Dadda’s bum’s name is Alan?”
“Al-lan?”
“Alan.”
“Ahhhh,” she made her appreciative noise, “Alan. ALAN. What’s the swinging penis’s name?”
I choked. M, of course, did not miss a beat. “My penis,” he said, wagging it, “Is known as HUMUNGO.”
“Who-mungo?”
“HU-MUNG-GO.”
“Alan and Who-Mungo,” mused Small Z. It seemed to work for her.
Later in the bath, Humungo was shortened to ‘Hugo’. My bum was introduced to her as Alannah. Then she asked the vagina question – “What’s it’s name?”
I heard M flailing in the bath, and tried to think of something inoffensive.
“Violet!” I yelled down the hall. “Your vagina’s name is VIOLET!”
I heard the little voice echoing off the bathroom walls…
“…and what’s Mama’s….”
“VIOLET as well.”
“Zoe’s bum’s name?”
“Ummmm. Let’s call her Ally,” I was running out of inspiration.
“Ah,” she said, her curiosity sated. All parts were named and in their place.
Happy New Year
We had a quiet one this year. Less quiet than the last, but still didn’t make it to midnight. I have been reading on a few different blogs the plans and hopes and dreams that people have for the coming year. The whole start of a new year/decade thing has given me a much needed kick in the arse – particularly in the area of DECLUTTERING. Oh my god.
I have been inspired by M in this respect. He began attacking the shed and throwing unnecessaries into the box trailer. I think he’s trying to lessen the amount he is going to have to move when (and I say ‘when’ with a feeling of fond hopefulness) we get around to moving. Which will be when we find somewhere to move to. So I have also been trying to throw things out, but mostly what I end up doing is rearranging things. This MUST STOP. You would reasonably assume that the large rubbish bag full of clothes that I have intended to sell on eBay for the past 10 months would be on it’s way to the op-shop right now. You would. But this is not so.
There it sits, with it’s equal promises of increased wealth and postage miscalculations. To be dealt with in the time that I don’t have. Which brings me to another reason for the DECLUTTERING. I spend most of my time moving things to different spots that actually have nowhere to go. It is time to throw it or stow it. I think I need a plethora of plastic crates or the slightly more asthetic equivalent. Since I woke up on New Year’s Day I have been desperate to organise the crap that surrounds me. Was I cursed by a Virgo in the night?
Regardless of this possibility I have been reacquainting myself with FlyLady after about an 18 month absence. She’s hokey, she uses ‘LOL‘ waaaay too often (more than twice) and, yeah. The hokieness. But other than that it all makes sense in it’s bite-sized approached to tackling your personal hell. It’s called CHAOS (Can’t Have Any One Over Syndrome).
In blathering all this I forgot to mention another thing that is probably influencing this flurry. A few days before Christmas I followed a link from Little Earth Stories to Daily Imprint (which I have now added here) and read the profile on Kristine Pedler, the artist. It wasn’t a long piece, but I was inspired, and took note of the book she mentioned right at the end – The artist’s way: a course in discovering and recovering your creative self by Julia Cameron.
I never get into books like this. Actually, I’ve never bothered to try, but I thought that if Kristine Pedlar was finding it useful, I might also. Dad asked me what I wanted for Christmas and I pointed him in the direction of the book. Basically it’s a 12 week structured approach to unblocking your creativity and making you productive. STRUCTURED!! That’s what I wanted! So for six mornings in a row I have written three longhand pages about anything at all – the point is to just do three longhand pages. I think it was in thinking about how I was going to fit the other writing exercises into my week, that I realised that I needed to get my shit together and stop wasting my time faffing around with endless aimless domestic tasks. And that’s where FlyLady came back in…
Of course, if you could see the room that I am sitting in to type this, the reaction would be hysterical. You can’t see the floor and my rubbish bags of STUFF…eBay stuff, old baby clothes, stuff to throw away and stuff to take to the op-shop, it would sound like I am all talk, no action. But I am chipping away at it. I suppose that eBay bag really has to go…
Boxing Day and Binginwarri
We had a lovely Boxing Day at Loch – a feast of wondrous proportions. Champagne. Splodge the cat. Unholy amounts of smoked trout, D’Affinois and soy and honey drumsticks. Followed by a cream cake. Small Z had a snooze in the caravan, and was delighted to receive a new book and some Thomas the Tank Engine shaped… PASTA?! Ha!
People lingered until around 6pm, and Small Z and I retired an hour or so after that. I continue to enjoy waking up in the caravan – particularly at Loch where you can listen to birds and cows beginning their day. It’s nice to then tiptoe across damp grass to the house, where there is often a pot of tea underway. I particularly like the new windows in the bathroom that grants the reflected a sort of smoothed, well-lit, blemish free view. A lovely way to start the day…
We set off to Binginwarri at around 10.30am, hoping that Small Z would sleep. We stopped briefly at Korumburra op-shop, where they were having a sale, and then continued on, with Small Z becoming more and more fractious, translating into raised stress levels for driver M. I relocated to the backseat in an effort to alleviate both situations, and actually managed to READ Small Z to sleep by using a very sleepy boring voice… A feat that has never occurred before. Naturally this occurred two minutes before arriving at Roy and Kaye’s *groan* meaning there had to be a quick transfer from backseat to caravan bed…
We had been unaware that lunch was going to be awaiting us, and had several starving people cursing our lateness, in a friendly fashion. We stayed two nights, with each day hotter than the next and a tiger snake spotted on the final day. On the 27th (Happy Birthday Small Brother!!) we all ventured down to Port Albert, where we got some sublime fish and chips from the tarted up place near the pier. I remembered reading a review of it not long ago…
We left in the late afternoon on the 28th, after Kaye showed Small Z her first frog and we got to scope out the cousin’s squeeze (Hi KL!) We paused at Port Welshpool to give Small Z a run and to see if we could replicate the fish and chip experience of the previous day. We did! Go to the place nearest to the pier…It’s interesting that only a few days after this, there was an article in The Age discussing the rarity of fish and chip shops that were able to use locally caught fish.
Sated by our food, we decided to call up Loch and ask if we would be able to stay the night on the way back. Glad we did – as it was dark by the time we got there and Small Z was valiantly hoicking her eyelids wide. It was a nice way to finish our post-Christmas journey. In the morning we made scrambled eggs and watched the first episode of Beachcomber Cottage on iView – he reminded me somewhat of Donal MacIntyre.
We arrived back home at around 1pm and I was thrilled to discover the letterbox piled high with all the books I had ordered from the Book Depository. Better late than never. I had warned the residents of Loch that their gifts were in the mail…
Christmas 2009
Have eaten my bodyweight in mussels, and added in a glass of white and six oysters. It’s all good here. Low key and lovely. I found this track while cleaning out the shed the other day – Bidston Moss doing Six White Boomers, a Rolf Harris classic.
Merry Christmas!!
Wednesday. What’s Hot and Not 06
What’s Hot?
MooGoo. Have been meaning to post that for a month. This is the stuff I bought – and it is a LARGE tub and is going to last me ages! It is fabulous – particularly when I use it after washing my face. Love it. Big thumbs up.
More Christmas music. A post from Tony pulled me up short – he mentioned a song I wrote a while back when living in Hervey Bay, about being stuck up there for Christmas. I had utterly forgotten it’s existence, and when I listened back to it I was instantly transported back to my beautiful study, the beautiful swimmable water and the airiness of our Queenslander.
The Victorian home birth pilot project. Oh my goodness! This is such a fantastic development for women wanting to give birth at home. It’s being offered though three hospitals, including Casey Hospital, where Small Z was born. Women can give birth at home attended to by midwives, while being signed up to a hospital for extra care if there are complications. If this had been an option when I was pregnant, it’s what I would have done…except that I was living in a trailer with no insulation and the day I went into labour (and Small Z was born) was about 44 degrees… I think this is great…other people are not so sure…
The new (via eBay) paddle pool…
Cleaning some crud out of the shed and op-shopping it. Oh, the relief.
Not Hot
The odds that my rental application for a house in Hastings will be beaten by another woman who inspected it along side me. Older, single, no kids. Gah.
My ongoing fight with our electricity provider (to be elaborated on in another, more confessional post) that is currently with the ombudsman who seem incapable of speaking to people like they are individuals…
Sleepless nights. These are really getting to me again. This is the most NOT HOT item.
The fact that none of the Christmas presents I ordered (admittedly rather late) online are here. And it is CHRISTMAS EVE. Ohhhhh.
My ongoing and seemingly unending struggle about doing something INTERESTING besides raising a interesting, compassionate, inquiring, creative, humorous little person. What IS IT that I want to get stuck into? Writing? Music? Radio? Whingeing….? My self discipline has gone the way of my sanity, memory, concentration…
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To play along, it’s as easy as writing up your own hot/not list on your blog and then linking back to loobylu.com and then adding your url to the widget.
