Saving grace

Every time that I move my place of abode, and it has been fairly frequent in the last 15 years, I declaim in my over-the-top way, that I must have dirt. I need to be rooted. Where I am at the moment is fairly expensive (and getting moreso with each contract), but the size of the outside is nearly as big as the size of the inside, and this suits me just fine. Not only does it sustain the inner me, but it also enables me to play host for play-dates with my grand-daughter, Alannah.


There have been, and continue to be, so many wild'n'wooly things happening in my 'greater' life in the last 12 months, that my daughter and I have agreed that it is time to move onto the next phase. We have agreed to find housing that suits her young family, and includes me as well. We are giving ourselves this calendar year to sort it out, and to find a property. They are all horribly expensive, and there is a specific layout that we are after. We have found one, but it is on the market now and we are not ready to action anything just yet. What we do know is that neither of us want to be involved with residental care for me, if we can sort an alternative.

But it will have a garden, and she is more than happy, nay overjoyed, if I were to take that on as my own personal fiefdom!

Virtual world of zombied friends

On 'Sydney Eye' durng this week gone, I made a crack about the younger generation and their penchant for mindless computer games and electronic gadetry. And I did not twig that what is good for the goose, is good for the gander. Being someone who spends an inordinate amount of time in a virtual blogging world, does that make me, and those with whom I am in touch, zombies. Well, to reassure folks, that would be a definite 'non'! And this little parcel from Ararat which arrived late Thursday, is proof of that particular pudding.


Inside the parcel - to open I did not beat around the bush, but went straight to the Stanley Knife - was a cornucopia of goodies: two jars of home-made jam; two brown paper bags of purple potatoes; and, a handwritten note. What joy! I even put the parcel into my caddee and took it out to MUH to walk Kirsten through it. She was entranced. The fact that she threw up nearly immediately, was by-the-by.


All through yesterday morning as my 'baby girl' underwent yet another round of surgery (the 5th in twelve months), I slaved around my courtyard moving anything that was heavy. Actually, everything that was heavy. I wanted the taller things to provide afternoon shade, and I wanted more space for child's play. And there is another issue. I have been losing plants of late. Not meaning they disappear over the fence. No, they simply cark it! Why? Why? Why? I ask myself. Out loud.

Too much rain? Not enough sun? Not enough watering? Or ... eerie music ... Is my upstairs neighbour doing nefarious things when I am not looking? I lost a large Lavender. I lost my Wollemi Pine. My Lemon tree is sickly (now I ask you, who could kill a lemon tree?) And that Gardenia Augusta up near the gate looks out for the count.

Ah, well, what the heck! Look what I just had for brekkie ...