tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22714654244738766132024-03-06T08:35:05.562+11:00Dolwendeethe deep heart's coreJuliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00647929951322724618noreply@blogger.comBlogger151125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2271465424473876613.post-35023102597902862282013-06-16T09:50:00.001+10:002013-06-16T09:50:40.088+10:00Scene stealer<table align=center><tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCJjJw7XmgTN3dkLhP7d5sCMFbTbHnZrzhyDyyeZ1yBPDjmGqwEWaNB_Dbpmxg6pC7KWQQWrwSqE-K21zwv4IGt-0qncAyjxUmGz3gIB-mOiF1IcB22zpJ9sPt8K-sBXMr3sF7JSAGAls/s1600/Willoughby+Walk+%23+3+060.JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCJjJw7XmgTN3dkLhP7d5sCMFbTbHnZrzhyDyyeZ1yBPDjmGqwEWaNB_Dbpmxg6pC7KWQQWrwSqE-K21zwv4IGt-0qncAyjxUmGz3gIB-mOiF1IcB22zpJ9sPt8K-sBXMr3sF7JSAGAls/s640/Willoughby+Walk+%23+3+060.JPG" /></a></td></tr></table><BR>
<table align=center><tr><td>We are waiting, albeit impatiently, for baby sister to be born, with Alannah convinced that SHE is the one who will do the 'catching'. It is dawning upon her, that BS will not be able to go on the slide, or write, or play tea-parties immediately. We are doing a lot of watching of videos as Alannah went through her own 'blob' stage.</td></tr></table><BR>
Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00647929951322724618noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2271465424473876613.post-88027982065304898292013-06-08T07:43:00.001+10:002013-06-08T07:43:50.339+10:00On straightjackets<table align=center><tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhICfcBvsUBq-ZdQr-0zSmll4x5lAlhn7JjGhxW3M0sJUgVdvDFi96TPCG0rv9_uh1-Y0WxvDFYM4yT1QZpyOsZjBPmK-_wyUpKx-BSi0FZcoTVzKJTPz7d38-V8wADVfmO5V1cTZ2UOWw/s1600/1.JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhICfcBvsUBq-ZdQr-0zSmll4x5lAlhn7JjGhxW3M0sJUgVdvDFi96TPCG0rv9_uh1-Y0WxvDFYM4yT1QZpyOsZjBPmK-_wyUpKx-BSi0FZcoTVzKJTPz7d38-V8wADVfmO5V1cTZ2UOWw/s640/1.JPG" /></a></td></tr></table><br>
<table align=center><tr><td>People are not condemned to replicate their upbringing, to follow slavishly in the footsteps of their immediate ancestors. Behaviour wise, at any rate. There is also the option of the intelligent application of freewill. To rise above learned behaviours requires a modicum of introspection. And intelligence. And empathy. And selfless love.</td></tr></table><br>
Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00647929951322724618noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2271465424473876613.post-23056602921137173932013-05-25T11:03:00.000+10:002013-05-25T11:03:19.228+10:00The value of picket fences<table align=center><tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdqn9_4hiAwxYtflA8KZJiqUfcLElmFYn2shqbeAQ28hmS7aHTzMJy98FrfUX93mRROOqjQP7SMHXAJqb0_Y5nlLriY_U5VdkJmUCuB13zhOllZgG5fD1i7weCR0KHyuB4CncNmWmWXZE/s1600/1+Picket+fences.JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdqn9_4hiAwxYtflA8KZJiqUfcLElmFYn2shqbeAQ28hmS7aHTzMJy98FrfUX93mRROOqjQP7SMHXAJqb0_Y5nlLriY_U5VdkJmUCuB13zhOllZgG5fD1i7weCR0KHyuB4CncNmWmWXZE/s640/1+Picket+fences.JPG" /></a></td></tr></table><BR>
<table align=center><tr><td>They don't have to be white, these picket fences. Hell, they don't even have to be literal. Upon reflection, they are a state of mind, and considering the connotation is way more powerful than the denotation these days, they are better as a figment.</td></tr></table><BR>
<table align=center><tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaPqpfACK9q6KxI9HbWaBz7nFti7oSeY0nze_xPJ4uVTnBue62LTrNrHW7Z4xP02eoT-4vvGE7ESnLcSzsSLQ0qav-OL6srsOe-4Tan9xwZrZYcoFiGPz6TgL-pHNWGHCT6E-kzPTaFIw/s1600/2+Picket+fences.JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaPqpfACK9q6KxI9HbWaBz7nFti7oSeY0nze_xPJ4uVTnBue62LTrNrHW7Z4xP02eoT-4vvGE7ESnLcSzsSLQ0qav-OL6srsOe-4Tan9xwZrZYcoFiGPz6TgL-pHNWGHCT6E-kzPTaFIw/s320/2+Picket+fences.JPG" /></a></td><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDyDDQKe1EIaPkH5BHYB_oXslzrNNnDqqIvXdhM3J51ZJlWKJzpmQILcEsW_9xCL1k4HAjFQAqhASYHGaicSW-BndhWhl1jT0zT7TxQQMspkIPyW3bRV3SsbvBJUitDTV6SoQFAaeaZls/s1600/3+Picket+fences.JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDyDDQKe1EIaPkH5BHYB_oXslzrNNnDqqIvXdhM3J51ZJlWKJzpmQILcEsW_9xCL1k4HAjFQAqhASYHGaicSW-BndhWhl1jT0zT7TxQQMspkIPyW3bRV3SsbvBJUitDTV6SoQFAaeaZls/s320/3+Picket+fences.JPG" /></a></td></tr></table><BR>
<table align=center><tr><td>I remember my lone trip to Tasmania between Christmas and New Year's 2004, and trying to fathom what threw me about Launceston, until it dawned on me that it was the picket-fence-figment. Here I was from Waterloo in Sydney, walking the WASP streets of northern Tasmania, with nary a turned-over-garbage, a needle-filled-gutter, a turban, or an attitude, a hijab or a foreign language spoken at ten-to-the-dozen. My new abode is a bit like this. I say a bit, because a decade has passed, and old barriers constantly tumble.</td></tr></table><BR>
<table align=center><tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji_eLE6PHYB31uQiRovRO0HCT2tyVaSMQvliIkGKKrtXcVvc7k6LUr8dJ_bLUhExMEkkg9_6MoYOrhyphenhyphen3KpYC6mrN7LlTkDoSMolQ6XTAk6BX2NVbE20qhsgxZdwUpYDRYrCs6gEOqpnc0/s1600/4+Picket+fences.JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji_eLE6PHYB31uQiRovRO0HCT2tyVaSMQvliIkGKKrtXcVvc7k6LUr8dJ_bLUhExMEkkg9_6MoYOrhyphenhyphen3KpYC6mrN7LlTkDoSMolQ6XTAk6BX2NVbE20qhsgxZdwUpYDRYrCs6gEOqpnc0/s640/4+Picket+fences.JPG" /></a></td></tr></table><BR>
<table align=center><tr><td>In comparison with Paddington, I feel that we are living on acreage. Yesterday, Alannah and I visited Hamish's yard. We have an open invitation, you see. We held hands, chanted the cross-the-road-mantra, and pushed open his side gate, collecting Floyd the grey kitten as we entered. We watched the guinea pigs first, but they were too pre-occupied with Floyd. So we continued on, past the hoarded statuary, past the up-turned tinnie, until confronted by the padlocked chicken-coop, or hen-house, or chook-pen. Once solved, we squeezed in, leaving Floyd on the outer, whist encouraging an errant Silkie bantam back into the coop with us. <BR><BR>
And the chooks didn't panic. They clucked and scuttled, but nothing approaching panic as though a fox had just flashed. Indeed, it took me a while to hunt here and there, to discover the two new-laid eggs, which I convinced Alannah to allow me to carry! That was how I discovered the possum, trying to hide in the cardboard box atop the laying-house. Petrified it was, and with good reason, I suppose. Had he come in to recover, or to die, I wondered. His back was covered with mange, his jumping abilities a shadow of their former self. He tried though, and we watched as he swung up and out onto the guttering of Hamish's house, and away. With two warm eggs in my jacket pockets, we sung 'Off to see the wizard', as we recrossed the roadway ... </td></tr></table><BR>
<table align=center><tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_opC9ihe6e2r8vGOfHpGvk7ZfwY9Mb5rGQADVTJtpAwXCAfCNnTPjn5tZ5yyLGS08towte-hoFrm5XJ6CHUjoXEvpXQXV8ejJVDkFpSs20xj8PDm95cyDsdQ1D6naE12g6APCawvcrqU/s1600/5+Picket+fences.JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_opC9ihe6e2r8vGOfHpGvk7ZfwY9Mb5rGQADVTJtpAwXCAfCNnTPjn5tZ5yyLGS08towte-hoFrm5XJ6CHUjoXEvpXQXV8ejJVDkFpSs20xj8PDm95cyDsdQ1D6naE12g6APCawvcrqU/s320/5+Picket+fences.JPG" /></a></td><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKSjXsCzsagEjCN09R5Z_mgeHHYfMwhspDDt-uRrtSB4uT0IvfdeQxBbj3QJWzIzydljpHXp9LogUndnaFjBWCOgxybjGNz4xSlA0qdjf6ckRTjbLSNUCz-4zSh6b2MgeJpvPmt9lZR94/s1600/6+Picket+fenceds.JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKSjXsCzsagEjCN09R5Z_mgeHHYfMwhspDDt-uRrtSB4uT0IvfdeQxBbj3QJWzIzydljpHXp9LogUndnaFjBWCOgxybjGNz4xSlA0qdjf6ckRTjbLSNUCz-4zSh6b2MgeJpvPmt9lZR94/s320/6+Picket+fenceds.JPG" /></a></td></tr></table><BR>
<table align=center><tr><td>And a little while later, having cut some left-over meat into small chunks, she and I perched our cheeks onto a rickety milk-crate eating one of Mumma's tea-cakes, as we watched our trio of Butcher Birds swoop in, gobble up some in their beak, then fly off to the safety of a nearby tree, before repeating the process. Ad nauseum. <BR><BR>
All a bit like a blast-from-the-past really. The 1950s revisited. Figments of picket fences are all the go, up here in Ironbark.</td></tr></table><BR>
<table align=center><tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhkMKNyrOXjvlhb6EsdiHiNgxjnFRlT4WK3Od_AQcqwVY80Qbh1mWPcNAq2IIPmGKxt7ZFBYd6eZ-_N2ofiY31pHgxhviRmAa_mAFgClF6JS7sVhshL_D6nQbrSHXUYVOY3-beVEfSkV0/s1600/7+Picket+fences.JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhkMKNyrOXjvlhb6EsdiHiNgxjnFRlT4WK3Od_AQcqwVY80Qbh1mWPcNAq2IIPmGKxt7ZFBYd6eZ-_N2ofiY31pHgxhviRmAa_mAFgClF6JS7sVhshL_D6nQbrSHXUYVOY3-beVEfSkV0/s640/7+Picket+fences.JPG" /></a></td></tr></table><BR>
Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00647929951322724618noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2271465424473876613.post-5870730002926656002013-05-04T21:04:00.000+10:002013-05-04T21:04:29.168+10:00Expressing the inner person<table align=center><tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM5M_AiVwrMROweNohVwHUo1euX0NtpO5ocNUdyvm56dO5PjEDvH_FJSPhMyu5c9DohRFWdZq1MgsiBTpyGIDXjdIxI7rVHhtwmd_D0Lvt4q_3ZHp_5wT-tiymLBG0fzph3hS0C97ic6E/s1600/1+Expressive.JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM5M_AiVwrMROweNohVwHUo1euX0NtpO5ocNUdyvm56dO5PjEDvH_FJSPhMyu5c9DohRFWdZq1MgsiBTpyGIDXjdIxI7rVHhtwmd_D0Lvt4q_3ZHp_5wT-tiymLBG0fzph3hS0C97ic6E/s640/1+Expressive.JPG" /></a></td></tr></table><BR>
<table align=center><tr><td>Alannah, the daughter of my daughter, is now 2 years and 9 months old. I am her carer on Fridays, and for half of Tuesdays, as her grandfather takes her to the park for the other part of Tuesday. She goes to Kindy on Monday and Thursday, and spends Wednesday with her mother. For mine, this is an ideal child-care structure.</td></tr></table><BR>
<table align=center><tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW9Yx3x-CMkjLvUU4CU5-wY5dtLrTx6du8_tZ4-giaEn_4Y4a8oFigPwT1AUKse9L3cdtKDy4cVKd8j4slTz3qHHvufFNFxVJmPdD7StKk7H_vw7uH3WA4FIzoCORvoz5SQYAb__rEI3U/s1600/2+Expressive.JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW9Yx3x-CMkjLvUU4CU5-wY5dtLrTx6du8_tZ4-giaEn_4Y4a8oFigPwT1AUKse9L3cdtKDy4cVKd8j4slTz3qHHvufFNFxVJmPdD7StKk7H_vw7uH3WA4FIzoCORvoz5SQYAb__rEI3U/s640/2+Expressive.JPG" /></a></td></tr></table><BR>
<table align=center><tr><td>We now live in the same house, my daughter, her husband, my grand-daughter and I. Last year, I was living in a court-yard apartment in the inner-city suburb of Paddington. A similar child-care arrangement was in place. However, I found that I was structuring the day, as I used to when I ran my own Kindy. Inside play. Outside play. Water play. Sand play. Reading time. Colouring time. Painting time. Plasticine time. Sleep time. Video time. That is not the case any more.</td></tr></table><BR>
<table align=center><tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuTizxeJDt1anj-fntiXQ-f3U2IjQJmX7K-as2fLWcCbu4n_z4HN87VGczFCFBoKG4Q2Bw3LF6kcxDQm97AZYgaYuDwyVbFrGR8rucqW893J6ukHqV39NbfRocCIG1-lkkMiKDuUJfxQQ/s1600/3+Expressive.JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuTizxeJDt1anj-fntiXQ-f3U2IjQJmX7K-as2fLWcCbu4n_z4HN87VGczFCFBoKG4Q2Bw3LF6kcxDQm97AZYgaYuDwyVbFrGR8rucqW893J6ukHqV39NbfRocCIG1-lkkMiKDuUJfxQQ/s640/3+Expressive.JPG" /></a></td></tr></table><BR>
<table align=center><tr><td>Alannah is older. We are both at home. A structure does not enfold our day. Except for the structure her Mumma sets: leave the house at 7:30am, and return home about 6:30pm. Have lunch about 12:45, read for a while, and then sleep about 1:30 'til 3pm. And the day zooms past. And she grows. And learns. Acquires skills. And expresses herself. We have done a lot of craft, with cutting and pasting. She has quite good scissor skills. However, this week she clambered back into artistic mode.</td></tr></table><BR>
<table align=center><tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvG9VFP03OV1Dk-4eo9NXnBNeV_wrYvGh7oC0K0I0bCgQg9fI_TcOrLIyMpHLc4bMwS6KYMn6XQC5yWt_p8vY3_Ask8M2aHzHWRklviOV9RTJ4TszYUeETlM4BZSdao9BsZz3ZKhkNnDM/s1600/4+Expressive.JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvG9VFP03OV1Dk-4eo9NXnBNeV_wrYvGh7oC0K0I0bCgQg9fI_TcOrLIyMpHLc4bMwS6KYMn6XQC5yWt_p8vY3_Ask8M2aHzHWRklviOV9RTJ4TszYUeETlM4BZSdao9BsZz3ZKhkNnDM/s640/4+Expressive.JPG" /></a></td></tr></table><BR>
<table align=center><tr><td>Her mother took the easel out onto the front lawn last Sunday, and I followed suit on Friday. In between I had stocked up the ToyBox with lots of paints and brushes and paraphernalia. She is more than happy to explain what she is painting as she progresses: usually spiders, or crabs, or octopus, or sharks, or snakes. But it is the brush strokes that fascinate me. They have more purpose to them: some short, some long; some dabbed, some swirled; some curved, some straight. There are some colours she can do without, but not green, or blue, or purple, or white, or black. She is into black in a big way, and not just with paints. Her mother no longer has a decent black texta anywhere in her home-office. But look at the attempt at writing words. Wonderful delicacy, and purpose.</td></tr></table><BR>
<table align=center><tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0CxpFdCSikXbnUU5nnZmYhATGmZNC5g6f-3655LDnqpHkxE-PEqm9iuPfFsncDI3hOoLkV-lQBtsnQ_pmFkTkygZy-qy3CLULNb5NTBGvTxlPGWn30S3inYUXf2pSY90Yyp1lcgdqGJc/s1600/5+Expressive.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0CxpFdCSikXbnUU5nnZmYhATGmZNC5g6f-3655LDnqpHkxE-PEqm9iuPfFsncDI3hOoLkV-lQBtsnQ_pmFkTkygZy-qy3CLULNb5NTBGvTxlPGWn30S3inYUXf2pSY90Yyp1lcgdqGJc/s320/5+Expressive.jpg" /></a></td><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHuguLKaxY7xo-5ZeZvVaaejwpfa6INJuQd13rFcuFmxKYwsOJpxSpklAVhkiEKWMKlY2g9nD8txueAXzJKuUbjkEc-c2ytcTqME42gJRLJWg48f0GL_EtjUoFsnvR4cvd9h3kzZBEkSE/s1600/6+Expressive.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHuguLKaxY7xo-5ZeZvVaaejwpfa6INJuQd13rFcuFmxKYwsOJpxSpklAVhkiEKWMKlY2g9nD8txueAXzJKuUbjkEc-c2ytcTqME42gJRLJWg48f0GL_EtjUoFsnvR4cvd9h3kzZBEkSE/s320/6+Expressive.jpg" /></a></td></tr></table><BR>
Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00647929951322724618noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2271465424473876613.post-7738180262981859332013-04-17T11:51:00.000+10:002013-04-17T11:51:16.047+10:00Throwing her voice ... <table align=center><tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOKtKvZfC3UTIaMpJQMmexyUqKUTI2Y_F2qDeTYT-WGsmhCJNV9mrDk01FZI_NifQzFTps6kbMjB93vuiXfCd4s0iTf9rD_RyAeBqdx1LR3O9rw1btUCsyo4YLa3rU_LPx_4VYQjILfFU/s1600/Duplo+and+play+013.JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOKtKvZfC3UTIaMpJQMmexyUqKUTI2Y_F2qDeTYT-WGsmhCJNV9mrDk01FZI_NifQzFTps6kbMjB93vuiXfCd4s0iTf9rD_RyAeBqdx1LR3O9rw1btUCsyo4YLa3rU_LPx_4VYQjILfFU/s640/Duplo+and+play+013.JPG" /></a></td></tr></table><BR>
<table align=center><tr><td>Put your index finger on the top of your head.<BR>
Why, Ma?<BR>
I am going to show you how to throw your voice.<BR>
{Finally, shocked silence.]</td></tr></table><BR>
<table align=center><tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJmlQ3cFrvZUrU9NrToP1fYgtDlZT1vkjxL5PpbgwYp8KQ8WUXvFCUXtTFwO4wkgD-nKPx-TMZOrW61xj-aTgt4NxZ2-mLD4bJqVaJg8uVoaRvAwS2KzZBVGTlfnyLfqeTMFkldlGH0Gk/s1600/Duplo+and+play+018.JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJmlQ3cFrvZUrU9NrToP1fYgtDlZT1vkjxL5PpbgwYp8KQ8WUXvFCUXtTFwO4wkgD-nKPx-TMZOrW61xj-aTgt4NxZ2-mLD4bJqVaJg8uVoaRvAwS2KzZBVGTlfnyLfqeTMFkldlGH0Gk/s640/Duplo+and+play+018.JPG" /></a></td></tr></table><BR>
<table align=center><tr><td>Now, throw your voice from your throat, all the way up to your finger.<BR>
Like this, Ma?<BR>
Yes. Yes. Yes.</td></tr></table><BR>
<table align=center><tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyZE8NdUt-qkFr0c9RP_QdzLZRgGPuWwS8nQ4hCUqYdyiZMyWn1Yf_EqzYUg92gjZ1cZU_k7gwR9l61gWSldY1XJ1FxE6jlX0rakKhpekgS3Pejcz_bS6oMprtK60YKgBfk3z5fLyqftc/s1600/Duplo+and+play+016.JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyZE8NdUt-qkFr0c9RP_QdzLZRgGPuWwS8nQ4hCUqYdyiZMyWn1Yf_EqzYUg92gjZ1cZU_k7gwR9l61gWSldY1XJ1FxE6jlX0rakKhpekgS3Pejcz_bS6oMprtK60YKgBfk3z5fLyqftc/s640/Duplo+and+play+016.JPG" /></a></td></tr></table><BR>
<table align=center><tr><td>Now put your hand on your chest. And growl like a bear.<BR>
Ahh that tickles, Ma.<BR>
Now, throw your voice down to your chest.<BR>
AArrggghhh ... !</td></tr></table><BR>
<table align=center><tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGjWRuGyprtFn9HeytoJAWIZHs1rbC0uyeC1dYekgIROvCYQHTtvsElmizA8y7jKgV2Cz-JYFDqmA2-LUbTc-SQP5RihjKh5qwCrs1SAuqJXpS2Xhrh3bsTpaaKvxExSbetMxcUX7_3Jg/s1600/Duplo+and+play+017.JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGjWRuGyprtFn9HeytoJAWIZHs1rbC0uyeC1dYekgIROvCYQHTtvsElmizA8y7jKgV2Cz-JYFDqmA2-LUbTc-SQP5RihjKh5qwCrs1SAuqJXpS2Xhrh3bsTpaaKvxExSbetMxcUX7_3Jg/s640/Duplo+and+play+017.JPG" /></a></td></tr></table>Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00647929951322724618noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2271465424473876613.post-48142694660149145012013-01-23T06:01:00.001+11:002013-01-23T06:01:47.732+11:00Oozing her lineage<table align=center><tr><td>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9aGayZFywxbXvRZQCT9EleFrbWa6fosQ5b4ld-S1F3Q3Gg1upQMyzdztDNJOxFaz_52XND04uZappk93mLj-vWl1YqNednOFHWH8hxnKUJ8jbC-lZxK_zi7HC9xsI0u8Z-vvlHtDYwuo/s1600/1+Lineage.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="430" width="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9aGayZFywxbXvRZQCT9EleFrbWa6fosQ5b4ld-S1F3Q3Gg1upQMyzdztDNJOxFaz_52XND04uZappk93mLj-vWl1YqNednOFHWH8hxnKUJ8jbC-lZxK_zi7HC9xsI0u8Z-vvlHtDYwuo/s640/1+Lineage.JPG" /></a></td></tr></table>
<table align=center><tr><td>"Don't put your finger there ... BECAUSE ... this will HURT you."<BR><BR>
"It will STING!"<BR><BR>
But then ... Buddy will kiss it better. He is in there ... on your BED."<BR></td></tr></table><BR>
<table align=center><tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8LN5ad4kV_3vv2xNzWC-ziffdNwD-D-MGR3Q2RiDL8Fw7cL0Ts6a7mIcm92mbamQQCTNRQzr0j3VVWDDUaJm0NoFBkta_jfc36xRgDNb9iWp0-At1R_2RgXG7UhALB41_sjl0Or8nOK4/s1600/2+Lineage.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8LN5ad4kV_3vv2xNzWC-ziffdNwD-D-MGR3Q2RiDL8Fw7cL0Ts6a7mIcm92mbamQQCTNRQzr0j3VVWDDUaJm0NoFBkta_jfc36xRgDNb9iWp0-At1R_2RgXG7UhALB41_sjl0Or8nOK4/s640/2+Lineage.JPG" /></a></td><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRs1copkGmPTTs3EWfLMoW6LQLK2gmv1uZ4D93-ltSNKG8CLtptuS0hHjcPVQJiaiJVLMjwQXyYkGmiUkvnOyEQsJm3MhDWJBnTzcAnh-wS-zTIDp4akPs0KjNra7exfjm2SOnIDM2Up4/s1600/3+Lineage.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRs1copkGmPTTs3EWfLMoW6LQLK2gmv1uZ4D93-ltSNKG8CLtptuS0hHjcPVQJiaiJVLMjwQXyYkGmiUkvnOyEQsJm3MhDWJBnTzcAnh-wS-zTIDp4akPs0KjNra7exfjm2SOnIDM2Up4/s640/3+Lineage.JPG" /></a></td></tr></table>
<table align=center><tr><td>Alannah comes from a long line of shop-keepers - starting from her 4 times great grandfather, John Dunstan Tonkin, who was an iron-monger in suburban Melbourne from the Victorian gold rush until the boom of the 1890s. Then there was her two times great grandmother, Sylvia Irene Veronica Cole, who kept shops in Crows Nest, Gosford, and Hornsby for the entirety of the first half of the twentieth century.<BR><BR>
So it comes as little surprise when we slaved during our record breaking hot day of 45.9C to create a cup-cake shop. All baked on the premises, regardless of the temperatures beyond the shuttered windows, and closed doors.</td></tr></table>
<table align=center><tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMVY6fVs50o-aG-9PoTB_wlQbDIHBbrjYd21cSVw18FKjzr-g9oHFOh4BMh0rA4DVBANtgmIW0Jy-woaO-o9Ey_WtpwX6L3bOS0E3eVHaIm79rwoThp7PCUeKRE56R-O2Oszm6eUx6TRA/s1600/4+Lineage.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="430" width="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMVY6fVs50o-aG-9PoTB_wlQbDIHBbrjYd21cSVw18FKjzr-g9oHFOh4BMh0rA4DVBANtgmIW0Jy-woaO-o9Ey_WtpwX6L3bOS0E3eVHaIm79rwoThp7PCUeKRE56R-O2Oszm6eUx6TRA/s640/4+Lineage.JPG" /></a></td></tr></table>
Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00647929951322724618noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2271465424473876613.post-31969971248276853542012-12-19T22:42:00.000+11:002012-12-19T22:42:34.370+11:00Spontaneous combustion ... <table align=center><tr><td><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<table align=center><tr><td width= 640><blockquote>Pot plant, pot plant<BR>
Sitting on a wall<BR>
One goes away<BR>
And it must fall.</blockquote><BR>
I think, perhaps, she made this up herself. It certainly appeared that way. We often put the pots along the ledge. But we have never had a musical accompaniment before.<BR><BR>
Each cycle involved seven pot plants. And there were at least four cycles. That is a long process for a two-year-old.<BR><BR>
The flowers I bought from the Hot Dollar shop in the BJ Mall, and cut them from the spray into individual flowers. The pots are small yoghurt containers from Thomas Dux. The chalk is that really large variety that we bought from the driveway sale in Lane Cove back in about May.
</td></tr></table>
Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00647929951322724618noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2271465424473876613.post-11183594412890420822012-12-07T22:01:00.000+11:002012-12-07T22:03:02.519+11:00Pretend, right ... ?<table align=center><tr><td><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<table align=center><tr><td>She has no sooner trotted in the gate, than I hear<BR>
'Play 'Guess Who', Ma?'<BR><BR>
This has been twice a week, every week since I dragged it out from the drawer labelled '1984' <a href="http://dolwendee-julie.blogspot.com.au/2012/09/guess-who-has-gone-anime.html">in the middle of September</a>. And at two and a half, she is a smidge young for the real rules, so it has been 'make-it-up-on-the-run' ever since. All variation upon a theme. Actually, I find it remarkable what a fine introduction GW is to set theory. No joke - find me all the people who have hats; find me all the people who have glasses; who is in both groups?<BR><BR>
This week the GW-mob, and the Playschool-dominoes, and the Duplo-mob, and 'the three robbers + 1' all became the audience for our concert. I went first, came out from behind the curtain, and sang 'Hey Diddle Diddle' to the enthralled throng. Alannah then chose to sing (with actions from Buddy) 'Baa Baa' and 'Humpy'. She really got into the swing of it when I showered her with applause AND wild cheering on behalf of our assembled friends.<BR><BR>
Pretending is heavily encouraged in this relationship; modelling and setting an example.</td></tr></table><BR>
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Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00647929951322724618noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2271465424473876613.post-13193916497136334002012-12-03T22:28:00.001+11:002012-12-03T22:28:40.879+11:00Huh? yes ... of course ... <table align=center><tr><td><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<table align=center><tr><td>We were playing aeroplanes today. In the living room, with a small plastic chair set on each corner of the oblong mat, representing London, Paris, New York, and Sydney. Once the passenger was aboard, two planes would take off one behind the other, to the refrain of "I can fly' from <b>Peter Pan</b>, out the living room door, into the kitchen, through the dining room, the sun-room and land under the whatever city chair back in the living room. Our passengers were Playschool dominoes which Alannah received as a 'secret santa' yesterday. Double Humpty. Double Big Ted. Double Little Ted. Double Jemima.<br><BR>
The microphone called Double Jemima to load her plane and click her seat-belt on. Our conversation went thus: <blockquote>I don't have a Double Jemima.<BR>
Why?<BR>
She ran away.<BR>
Did she join the circus?<BR>
No, she went to get watermelons.
</blockquote>
As one does ... </td></tr></table>
Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00647929951322724618noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2271465424473876613.post-40267951810746882432012-12-01T21:02:00.001+11:002012-12-01T21:02:36.466+11:00Colouring her world<table align=center><tr><td><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<table align=center><tr><td>First she drew a circle, anti-clockwise. Then, she said she was adding an eye, and then another eye. I asked if she thought she might add a mouth. A smile twitched at the corners of her own mouth, and her little index finger came up toward me. I asked if her person had any hair, and she chanted 'zig-zag, zig-zag' as the tresses of golden hair fell around the face. I knew I would have to be quick-pronto with the camera, as very soon lines were all over and through it.</td></tr></table><BR>
Juliehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00647929951322724618noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2271465424473876613.post-31900603011113137102012-11-22T11:36:00.000+11:002012-11-22T11:36:25.631+11:00Soundtrack of her day<table align=center><tr><td><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhynJoWwT6lButVj4i5v1xXN8u8JZ3zrNgEy1tXxeUshiUCxcquZ87xaQrug7Qf0isj4a621FW9SFLgjwc2q-7gsZUSNO2ZGGiUyFrYe4YfctG_-JA0wJ9WNh5_wXIeH3sK0XE9DwFRAno/s1600/1+Soundtrack.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="430" width="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhynJoWwT6lButVj4i5v1xXN8u8JZ3zrNgEy1tXxeUshiUCxcquZ87xaQrug7Qf0isj4a621FW9SFLgjwc2q-7gsZUSNO2ZGGiUyFrYe4YfctG_-JA0wJ9WNh5_wXIeH3sK0XE9DwFRAno/s640/1+Soundtrack.JPG" /></a></div></td></tr></table>
<BR><table align=center><tr><td>Enduring months of being under ther pervidious influence of the lingo of real-estate agents, over the weekend I reorganised my sunroom and carved out a painting nook! It is enclosed on three sides, with equipment arrayed within easy reach. The floor is easiy wiped tiles. There was one thing I did not realise, however.</td></tr></table><BR>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1FusW_GAGyErc5gDQxDNwjD-gFEGZNv5f7qGda_LliiyKy0JoFX0pJMpdJ-EH089NSP64E0ublr5Ejqg7Gd89yR1qKHyszOzzLVoseXzZj73f2OLXkeK6xTiiDbuNW7fCSwH29N9DM2I/s1600/5+Soundtrack.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1FusW_GAGyErc5gDQxDNwjD-gFEGZNv5f7qGda_LliiyKy0JoFX0pJMpdJ-EH089NSP64E0ublr5Ejqg7Gd89yR1qKHyszOzzLVoseXzZj73f2OLXkeK6xTiiDbuNW7fCSwH29N9DM2I/s640/5+Soundtrack.JPG" /></a></div></td></tr></table>
<BR><table align=center><tr><td>It is within easy earshot of the CD within my computer. So yesterday, Alannah wanted to paint, and she wanted to do it to a soundtrack. I have copies here of some of the CDs her mother has at home, and the CD of choice yesterday was the 'Disney Classic Collection'. As she painted, she danced and sang, to the music. Here she is dancing and singing to 'The Cat Song' from 'Lady and the Tramp' - 'We are Siam-ese if you plea-ese ... ".</td></tr></table><BR>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2271465424473876613.post-32216743138534397382012-11-10T21:00:00.000+11:002012-11-10T21:00:57.668+11:00On the move again<table align=center><tr><td><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<table align=center><tr><td>It was about this time last year that my daughter put to me the proposition that we share a house, a three generation house. It could be a win/win for us all, she persuaded. It takes a while to come to a full appreciation of the magnitude of such a decision. It had been an 'annus horibilis' for each of us, but moreso for her. Much moreso for her. I am fixated on being 'useful' and not a typical 'mother-in-law'. I also did not want to take more than I gave. So within that range, we jockeyed for a while and reached general consensus about Christmas 2011. And we started scouring the real-estate sites nearly immediately.</td></tr></table><BR>
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<table align=center><tr><td>By the end of January, we knew we were not going to find what we were looking for on the southside of the harbour. We looked: both virtually, and in reality. But the bang for yer buck was not there. By then, you see, we had established our criteria:
<blockquote>A downstairs wing for Ma - sitting room, bathroom, and bedroom, outside access<BR>
An upstairs for the family with at least 3 bedrooms and a bathroom<BR>
A large grassed, relatively flat garden<BR>
No pool<BR>
Space for two cars<BR>
Cul-de-sac<BR>
250 or less to public transport<BR>
an area with 'buzz' which was defined as cosmopolitan<BR>
close to bush-walks</blockquote>
And then Darren accepted a new job in Lane Cove, which obviously focussed our attention on that municipality. As we tossed the possibilities back and forth, our tastes and requirements modified, and also became more obvious to each other.<BR><BR>
Since the beginning of August, I have Ma-sat on Saturdays, whilst Kirsten and Darren went on their shopping-list rounds.<BR></td></tr></table>
<table align=center><tr><td><iframe width="640" height="480" frameborder="0" scrolling="no" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" src="https://maps.google.com.au/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=en&geocode=&q=Castlecrag,+New+South+Wales&aq=0&oq=castlec&sll=-33.796924,150.922433&sspn=1.962842,4.22699&t=m&ie=UTF8&hq=&hnear=Castlecrag+New+South+Wales&ll=-33.837627,151.206207&spn=0.136882,0.219727&z=12&output=embed"></iframe><br /><small><a href="https://maps.google.com.au/maps?f=q&source=embed&hl=en&geocode=&q=Castlecrag,+New+South+Wales&aq=0&oq=castlec&sll=-33.796924,150.922433&sspn=1.962842,4.22699&t=m&ie=UTF8&hq=&hnear=Castlecrag+New+South+Wales&ll=-33.837627,151.206207&spn=0.136882,0.219727&z=12" style="color:#0000FF;text-align:left">View Larger Map</a></small></td></tr></table><BR>
<table align=center><tr><td>Then at the end of October, Kirsten found something she really liked. Darren and I had poo-pooed it from the listing. Too fussy. Twee. However, she persevered and put it on her list. It took one viewing, and they both said they liked it. IN FRONT OF THE AGENT! Three days later, Kirsten's father and I saw it. We both liked it. There were two interested bidders. The public auction was cancelled, and replaced by a blind auction. How nerve wracking. Once chance. You nominate what you are prepared to offer. Neither side knew the details of the other. Kirsten was prepared to release 5% of the deposity immediately, plus offer a 90 day settlement. Within 30 minutes of the close of bids, it was hers - by $4,000.<BR><BR>
And it is not in Lane Cove municipality at all but in Willoughby Municipality in the small suburb of Castlecrag, which is on one of the spurs into Middle Harbour. It is 5km to Darren's work, and 9km to work for Kirsten in the CBD. It is 100m from an express bus route to the city for me, or a slower 15 minute journey to the Chatswood shops. But you know that is not my sort of thing. It is a cul-de-sac, and a walking track - behind the rear fence - follows Sugarloaf Creek down to the harbour. The back yard is tiered to make it flat but has two good playing surfaces. There are 3 large deciduous trees, so I shall need a good compost. Kirsten has said that I can have a vegie patch in the front yard, but I suspect that may be retracted when I submit my concept plan! I am downstairs on the left with the front-porch. The main entry is from the side near the car port. The garage is actually a men's shed. The only room that I have included is the upstairs family room. It is massive. The front faces north. <BR><BR>
Settlement date is 29th January.</td></tr></table><BR>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2271465424473876613.post-88317466420706355792012-09-27T22:40:00.000+10:002012-09-27T22:40:13.759+10:00Terrible Twos<table align=center><tr><td><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<BR><table align=center><tr><td>The 'terrible twos' is a label, and like all labels, is probably as much wrong as it is right. However, being no expert, doesn't stop me from having a firmly held view. As a child progresses from two to three, they start to understand how the world works. And, they start to understand that they can shape some of that world: with actions, and with words.<BR><BR>
Alannah has quite firm opinions. She knows what she likes to wear, and what she will not wear. Yesterday, she got the sleeves of her trakkie-top wet when playing with water (because I forgot to suggest she roll them up). Nothing I offered her in exchange was acceptable: there was a nice long-sleeved skivvy, but she would not part with the pink t-shirt; there was a nice thin, red cardigan, but she was adamant. She wanted the trakkie-top again. So, I rolled the sleeves up a bit.<BR><BR>
She is starting to try on some negative behaviours; I think mainly to see what my reaction will be. Not me, because it is me. But me, as the supervising adult. She was relieved when I asked her if she would like to go to the 'thinking place', which is a time-out, circuit-breaker concept that Kirsten has explained to me.<BR><BR>
I have an idea of how to ameliorate some of this: if it works! I am going to introduce a new activity each session, and make sure that the activity is a challenge for her. She has adored the 'Guess Who' game since I brought it out, and has played with it incessantly. She knows many of the cards off by heart: the names of the people, I mean. But this will have run its course come next week.<BR><BR>
So today, in preparation, I reorganised my courtyard, a change being as good as a holiday. I like to operate in 'rooms' - I garden like that, too. Change activity by moving to another physical area. I am devising an activity circuit: drop balls into tube; throw small bean bags through hoop; hop into a square and pick up stone; go through tunnel; and, limbo under a rod. I will also get a version of the game 'Twister', as she is a very physical girl.<BR><BR>
This week, being nice and warm both days, we were solidly back into having water in our sand-pit. Hence, the top images. On Wednesday, she spends the morning with me, and after her sleep Grandad picks her up and takes her to the park to play, if the weather is good. Hence, the bottom images.</td></tr></table><BR><BR>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2271465424473876613.post-47628135655510676732012-09-21T00:00:00.000+10:002012-09-21T00:14:37.144+10:00'Guess Who' has gone anime<table align=center><tr><td><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<table align=center><tr><td>On Monday gone, I introduced Alannah to the board game, 'Guess Who', using the very same copy that I played with my children 25 years ago. The box is stamped 1980. There is only one of the flip-characters broken, all the cards are present, and each of the little yellow scorer pegs is even still present. However, of the 24 characters, only 5 are women, and the deck is not very multicultural. Suffice to say, I suspect it reflects 1950s England, perhaps.</td></tr></table><BR><BR>
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<table align=center><tr><td>However, when I went into Dymocks in George Street (knowing they have two walls of board-games), I was immensely disappointed. The version on the shelf was called 'Guess Who Extra' and was electronic. Not what I am after for a 2 year old ... nor probably an any-year-old. At the age of two, I modify the rules to suit her evolving ability. We do not play the 'identify by elimination' aspect of the game ... as yet. I will say to her 'Knock over anyone who has glasses'. Which she does with gusto. However, she is not ready for the converse of that 'Knock over anyone who does not have glasses'. The other thing about the electronic version is that the price tag said $65. A misprint, surely.</td></tr></table><BR><BR>
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<table align=center><tr><td>I did find and (*she blushes*) buy a Travel-sized version put out by a competitor called 'Who's Who'. However, everything is way too small, and the little 'lids' get stuck. Nowhere near as much fun as the larger version. So I came back here and googled, which, yes yes, I should have done to begin with. There is a non-electronic version available, and it has been updated. I include a view of it here. Look at those characters! How 'Astro Boy' are they? Yuck yuck yuck. And their essential identifying characteristics are less obvious. I reckon they are, anyway. However, they are equally divided re gender representation nowadays: 12/12 a piece. However, they also have <a href="http://www.hasbro.com/games/discover/guesswho/Guess-Who-Characters-en_AU.cfm">additional sheets</a> that are able to be downloaded and printed off at home to freshen-up the characters. Some simply do not appeal, but that is probably old sick-in-the-mud me. Characters like: Dinosaurs, Creepy Creatures, Easter, and others. The differences are not defined enough. <a href="http://www.hasbro.com/games/discover/guesswho/upload/GWc_Sports-en_UK.pdf">However, I did not mind the Sports sheet</a>, and will get a bit of higher GSM board to print them out for next week.</td></tr></table><BR><BR>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2271465424473876613.post-76614302599756030632012-09-11T07:55:00.002+10:002012-09-11T07:55:53.277+10:00Busy as a beaver<table align=center><tr><td><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<table align=center><tr><td>Not sure what the official title of this is, but Alannah Jane took to it yesterday with alacrity. She barely needed any 'showing': 'Alannah can do it, Ma; Alannah can do it!' She perhaps needed encouragement to whack harder with the hammer, however, she used a clenched fist when she thought the hammer too slow! I guess she concentrated solidly for nigh on thirty minutes on this one activity. The table covering was new, too, and that whacked her eyeballs out to begin with!</td></tr></table><BR><BR>
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<table align=center><tr><td>We have lots of indoor activities before we go outside to jump, throw, climb steps, and play with sand. We used to 'sort' a lot but that is by-the-way now. In the dining room there are two tables on which we do: colouring-in; play-dough; and, Cuisenaire Rods. This week, I introduced Rummikub and Draughts. There are so many skills covered by simple games like this: NOT scattering everything on the floor is not the least of them! I am also partial to the card packs put out by Usborne in the UK, although the temptation to use them as flashcards can overwhelm too early. I have an old box of 'Guess Who' which I will update. I think it is a game that Alannah will adore.</td></tr></table><BR><BR>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2271465424473876613.post-67043794612516659692012-06-24T06:11:00.000+10:002012-06-24T06:11:03.780+10:00Trooping the boards<table align=center><tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnJLRXHg3v3iaHCKbS-84kXw-CCzDq9gQER4jTbEbDTKakiqeMIYU603x9Umr35FvNzLTq8nrjMLGwuZ_HXcZWt8q0v8lh7cZFs41W9_pMT72VcNPf4QQ-obh8_ml0NBtlfy4-oBCXkb4/s1600/1+BBBS.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="430" width="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnJLRXHg3v3iaHCKbS-84kXw-CCzDq9gQER4jTbEbDTKakiqeMIYU603x9Umr35FvNzLTq8nrjMLGwuZ_HXcZWt8q0v8lh7cZFs41W9_pMT72VcNPf4QQ-obh8_ml0NBtlfy4-oBCXkb4/s640/1+BBBS.JPG" /></a></td></tr></table><BR>
Dolly, Sheep-sheep, and Punchinello were unwitting participants in this tableau. I always ask if I can bring my camera out and take photographs. She is okay with it perhaps 50% of the time. Alannah is just becoming comfortable with singing songs. It takes a lot of effort to develop a 'singing voice'. But then, she also has to remember the aounds to make, more than the words to sing. She does enjoy it.<BR><BR>
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I sing songs at the drop of a hat. When the local bus comes around the corner, I burst into song with its call sign and its destination and whether it is going up the hill or down the hill. I can never remember the latest 'tune' I used, but the musical phrases are all found in English folk songs of the 19th century. Often handed down to us as nursery rhymes.<br><br>
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This little song and dance was to 'Baa Baa Black Sheep', which I have now found as a video ... a dreaded video. Why they insist on having adverts in a nursery rhyme, confounds me. So just ignore, or remove the advert near the beginning. Instead of one of the bags being for the little boy down the lane, I always allocate it to 'Alannah Jane' who lives down the lane.<BR><BR>
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There are so many maturing signs going on at the moment, not just evidenced in the singing. We are also getting a more regular timetable. The mornings are a bit cold (and often wet) to be in the courtyard, so the day kicks off with sorting and colouring-in at the dining room table. We have morning tea about 10am which is followed by a 30 minute reading session. then we are outside until lunch just before midday, with a sleep starting about 12:30pm. I have a firm pattern with getting her to sleep which involves singing about 15 nursery rhymes. I am trying to find time to put these into a book for her upcoming 2nd birthday. Can you believe that Alannah will be 2 years old in under a month!<br><br>
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There is another reading session during the afternoon period, and I ensure there is a madcap chase-each-other session with dress-ups and singing (again!). This week just gone, street-watching came back into vogue, with Alannah even waving to people when prompted. It is astounding how many people wave and smile at her - young people as well as old. We are often out there now with a cat plonked on each of the gate posts, so I guess it is a cute sight. <BR><BR>
<table align=center><tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeowoSWZ6uM3R2O4vEj2liUD6Xak1kFqyw20w-CwDQnIzjJAxD_sCbMu9uBkNptTikJarR_1Cn7SlTLfH4ik7Ewkal7XRapTJPaB64V8DRQ_nH6zHZJCR4PVXUwBj8stbv18vgSGTr2zM/s1600/5+BBBS.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="430" width="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeowoSWZ6uM3R2O4vEj2liUD6Xak1kFqyw20w-CwDQnIzjJAxD_sCbMu9uBkNptTikJarR_1Cn7SlTLfH4ik7Ewkal7XRapTJPaB64V8DRQ_nH6zHZJCR4PVXUwBj8stbv18vgSGTr2zM/s640/5+BBBS.JPG" /></a></td></tr></table>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2271465424473876613.post-70959837972124380962012-06-22T14:32:00.000+10:002012-06-22T14:32:22.792+10:00Who doesn't like NOISY!<table align=center><tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEHWYZ9bK-_j50P8F68yHj1e4GaKarAMF_cXqHG6kSVrzncNYTmZ2GQVkUzqWsFcLykPGibbx_EHXfFHwAEggQpYnioYgJGtS6hWzakjQnqBsdSLZgv6lUPIY9j9Tw90R6ECdaR1PCuxo/s1600/1+Play.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="430" width="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEHWYZ9bK-_j50P8F68yHj1e4GaKarAMF_cXqHG6kSVrzncNYTmZ2GQVkUzqWsFcLykPGibbx_EHXfFHwAEggQpYnioYgJGtS6hWzakjQnqBsdSLZgv6lUPIY9j9Tw90R6ECdaR1PCuxo/s640/1+Play.JPG" /></a></td></tr></table>
Being overhung with deciduous trees, and three story terraces, the courtyard is a challenge in winter, especially if the wind is whipping the leaves around our ankles. But, being troopers (read pig-headed and determined), we carry on regardless. Once we have surmounted the contretemps of the necessity for jackets and beanies. One out of two aint bad ... <BR><BR>
<table align=center><tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir5Y2cozmRg6_pTlTXgioO05MKwcDtK_ZDCodVjELySpNH12SUxH4bL9VPgZW8r3BOxy425wvTS6PCJwRelgvWTrza09dTmfP8TnoIcWF0wwAaktbQR54gJqJsqMEyRwZNnEzSBNDYRkI/s1600/2+Play.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="215" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir5Y2cozmRg6_pTlTXgioO05MKwcDtK_ZDCodVjELySpNH12SUxH4bL9VPgZW8r3BOxy425wvTS6PCJwRelgvWTrza09dTmfP8TnoIcWF0wwAaktbQR54gJqJsqMEyRwZNnEzSBNDYRkI/s400/2+Play.JPG" /></a></td><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwEh07ehyphenhyphen6pHuR9kvL4UQTsbDq48SQpvZxVh4cPN8GdhUIr5rh_TNgpuX5mmcuXSojoVK9J33L_tJB8nIu650uUsYQHT7rnp6x3tuVp5hwitn4DAEQ9zERNRMRUOjRoitzh_6RHUTkQmQ/s1600/3+Play.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="215" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwEh07ehyphenhyphen6pHuR9kvL4UQTsbDq48SQpvZxVh4cPN8GdhUIr5rh_TNgpuX5mmcuXSojoVK9J33L_tJB8nIu650uUsYQHT7rnp6x3tuVp5hwitn4DAEQ9zERNRMRUOjRoitzh_6RHUTkQmQ/s400/3+Play.JPG" /></a></td></tr></table><table align=center><tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUFw_WQP8MboRsjINa0WMJYHlNXJ1FDwVjCnJIHsqTBYJCo9F4UE_lLq9FS2y1CS59tY_yqE-1x7iVWKPAMsEE2aWwTh6LMgM7jLteqbGyfrCdM0EoZNuBIAI-tYeBgu-_aCIXA7XiaPg/s1600/4+Play.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUFw_WQP8MboRsjINa0WMJYHlNXJ1FDwVjCnJIHsqTBYJCo9F4UE_lLq9FS2y1CS59tY_yqE-1x7iVWKPAMsEE2aWwTh6LMgM7jLteqbGyfrCdM0EoZNuBIAI-tYeBgu-_aCIXA7XiaPg/s400/4+Play.JPG" /></a></td><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJYbYbpjr2CQnIOgpQVu1RkekASna3zv64bEnZDhsbjgS5StYpZydMahZe4zIktHtkU7t4JAYfsaiHAVvDP4In4jxrrxO0xK-WUHJWYCAmJqyPba4coe-CdsuSvmUJIOsbjQw5hyphenhyphenyYblk/s1600/5+Play.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJYbYbpjr2CQnIOgpQVu1RkekASna3zv64bEnZDhsbjgS5StYpZydMahZe4zIktHtkU7t4JAYfsaiHAVvDP4In4jxrrxO0xK-WUHJWYCAmJqyPba4coe-CdsuSvmUJIOsbjQw5hyphenhyphenyYblk/s400/5+Play.JPG" /></a></td></tr></table><table align=center><tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7TQrNDXrHujTlrBJEOpuH_A3HvwZa0mwlja3RNrXX7qviOOqB6j16YQPn608yWaqFLM24WH86YxozkEKkdT5nkahtTbf4S83oGvuq9U_EbE6cdGNiwhe8h_BePnURQVFdRE5eeqwcZVw/s1600/6+Play.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7TQrNDXrHujTlrBJEOpuH_A3HvwZa0mwlja3RNrXX7qviOOqB6j16YQPn608yWaqFLM24WH86YxozkEKkdT5nkahtTbf4S83oGvuq9U_EbE6cdGNiwhe8h_BePnURQVFdRE5eeqwcZVw/s400/6+Play.JPG" /></a></td><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-gm026TN-iZ0wEZRp1DSsK5tLoCWdNu_fluzS4jiPeELUCss8WeI5mZyLYegf1QR8yrlYskLBQo9sey54V_Gl5A-WmIWO1Dj4xkvgVZ25M9B7pKnbr3W2GNZDKqo4049DdAa3eLYzMV0/s1600/7+Play.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-gm026TN-iZ0wEZRp1DSsK5tLoCWdNu_fluzS4jiPeELUCss8WeI5mZyLYegf1QR8yrlYskLBQo9sey54V_Gl5A-WmIWO1Dj4xkvgVZ25M9B7pKnbr3W2GNZDKqo4049DdAa3eLYzMV0/s400/7+Play.JPG" /></a></td></tr></table>
We cycle through games and activities. Today's 'must-do' is tomorrow's 'meh'! And 'street-watching' is (temporarily, I'm sure) shelved for the mentally challenging game of 'Noisy'. Remember those little book-shop stuffers (like jelly beans in the check-out at Woolies), the Mister Men books, and their female counterpart. One of them is a 'noisy'. But they aint seen nutin' till they experience my Little Miss Noisy.<BR><BR>She did not need much, indeed any, encouragement to embrace this game whole-heartedly, and to recognise its potential in a myriad of situations. Take a plastic container (like an ex-yoghurt tub) and partly fill it with metal bells, like Morris Dancers have on their socks. Ensure the lid is held on tightly, then shake for all your worth, at the same time yelling at the top of your voice NOISY. Hunch your shoulders, put your finger to your lips, keep your hand still and whisper 'quiet'. Then seamlessly hit the noisy option again. Presto! A game is born.<BR><BR>
Of course, there is nothing like a pesky adult to reverse the labels for the action, and, initially cause confusion, then the peak of hilarity. Ah, yes ... the Noisy/Quiet game is a wonder of the modern universe.<BR><BR>
<table align=center><tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMgEK8LcYDigCBSCBWKF7DhzYi3m1p5hJ8n7gkHBpDudJA1QdYhABlCLw_T7ZVz5tGCG5uqgJ43phspTW1lRG7SeIyp7yL0_8O7rV8XAPx3OuymYx6GyByH9PU6qoDFZcwZmZzhNZ_aog/s1600/8+Play.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="430" width="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMgEK8LcYDigCBSCBWKF7DhzYi3m1p5hJ8n7gkHBpDudJA1QdYhABlCLw_T7ZVz5tGCG5uqgJ43phspTW1lRG7SeIyp7yL0_8O7rV8XAPx3OuymYx6GyByH9PU6qoDFZcwZmZzhNZ_aog/s640/8+Play.JPG" /></a></td></tr></table>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2271465424473876613.post-5515156719046914872012-06-01T21:46:00.000+10:002012-06-01T21:46:15.882+10:00At Ma's Place<table align><tr><td><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvJwZyOY6QuyKKbYSSKOgjfg-y9fVePpwIoSZPzvS00Sl_0_iybz9Sx-ruuc6K5giFLsnQQFwOMLecbkkrWHCdg9Y_4aMXSxQHdp-_0B5Vpx1IFMehG-jjHrYf2dJ12hm_j49QbJpA23Y/s1600/1+A+day+with+Ma.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="215" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvJwZyOY6QuyKKbYSSKOgjfg-y9fVePpwIoSZPzvS00Sl_0_iybz9Sx-ruuc6K5giFLsnQQFwOMLecbkkrWHCdg9Y_4aMXSxQHdp-_0B5Vpx1IFMehG-jjHrYf2dJ12hm_j49QbJpA23Y/s320/1+A+day+with+Ma.JPG" /></a></div></td><td><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipIHeBTipLxZNISd0Xie8B9TBeAptInZLsBdkPGMQy191s7snUSPJ_15vEbbBgunM3q5TCvwMekkVtbw1zLcFom081tOeD4XzTXF6Nxr1z6gO2fIZcSLFvzVwILQp6E3Dl1gjZh83h0Z8/s1600/2+A+day+with+Ma.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="215" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipIHeBTipLxZNISd0Xie8B9TBeAptInZLsBdkPGMQy191s7snUSPJ_15vEbbBgunM3q5TCvwMekkVtbw1zLcFom081tOeD4XzTXF6Nxr1z6gO2fIZcSLFvzVwILQp6E3Dl1gjZh83h0Z8/s320/2+A+day+with+Ma.JPG" /></a></div></td></tr></table><BR>
Frequently, the weather dictates what we do when Alannah comes over to Ma's place to play. My courtyard is wonderful in summer, but quite chilly in winter, requiring a jacket and hat most of the day. If Ma does not wear her jacket and hat, very quickly Alannah dispenses with her's, too. Lucky that Ma is a skinny little runt!<br><Br>
We have moved out of the 'street watching' phase. We used to do two sessions of at least 30 minutes each, but some days now we don' clamber onto the courtyard gate at all. This week it was replaced by cooking. <br><br>
Fraught times for Ma! Don't fall off the bench. Don't burn yourself. Where did I leave the veggie knife. Ah, no! That isn't cooked yet. And yet internalising it, and presenting an air of equinimity to the outside world. Cooking involved gnocchi with mince, garlic, asparagus, broccolini, a tomato and basil prepared sauce, and fresh chives. Not forgetting the pinch of salt. Just like piggy requests from the picnicking otters in Helen Oxenbury's 'It's My Birthday'.<br><br>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpYksKqFgRL27xL_Yzipolu-caqaWxZO7_px3jXtuJS2e_1b5PH3Z6zDOo7IBmFPwyzAQKz9_-xliZCAQRpy5Y4dMZ-CBhpZeSn12D916RCUejYZB38Sp8DOHgWKS-6zPbfMTPzAWPFW4/s1600/4+A+day+with+Ma.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="215" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpYksKqFgRL27xL_Yzipolu-caqaWxZO7_px3jXtuJS2e_1b5PH3Z6zDOo7IBmFPwyzAQKz9_-xliZCAQRpy5Y4dMZ-CBhpZeSn12D916RCUejYZB38Sp8DOHgWKS-6zPbfMTPzAWPFW4/s320/4+A+day+with+Ma.JPG" /></a></div></td></tr></table>
As Alannah's fine motor skills develop, we are doing more colouring, cutting'n'pasting, sorting and 'writing'. I collect as many little plastic containers as possible and she sorts by shape and colour, endlessly. Tip up. Then 'Abracadabra. Kazoo. Kazaam. Mix me up as much as you can.' You might know it as shuffling.<br><br>
The toy box (what a grand investment that was!) contains an array of writing implements. One such, is a bag of very small crayons that are generally too small for her wee hands, but good for sorting into colours. And, Alannah discovered this week, for rolling under the coffee table to Sellie, who proceeded to tap it this way'n'that with with her pink-tipped paws, rolling upside down, and suddenly dashing off out of the room to reenter by another door. All to squeals of delight from Alannah.<br><br>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAldL__HG-tmRsvxYpyVIepIby2WeXqlHP3t4oSNt8PZHSaBHvGFxsMfDr5zHIyoc8NqLm7bQpcvpDd1JXVDdN7i2pbwz7W7f9hd1cuC7HWvJeaVrcWOXRmX7oy9ztHJpeSl1Gj3d3A1Y/s1600/6+A+day+with+Ma.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="215" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAldL__HG-tmRsvxYpyVIepIby2WeXqlHP3t4oSNt8PZHSaBHvGFxsMfDr5zHIyoc8NqLm7bQpcvpDd1JXVDdN7i2pbwz7W7f9hd1cuC7HWvJeaVrcWOXRmX7oy9ztHJpeSl1Gj3d3A1Y/s320/6+A+day+with+Ma.JPG" /></a></div></td></tr></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8h78ig1HRg5lNGIjfdPJyX_xoOjuL9fjPn6Gj9L0b56KR6tt6XWOemXE58Bt7f1MVmVZnjqaTc-nv9VilKFFKMiyZ-gLUY4aFlAiF16xqy5mhw3XU8BeIS3yTIotI1DjEMDnwJBZlwQA/s1600/7+A+day+with+Ma.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:2em"><img border="0" height="320" width="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8h78ig1HRg5lNGIjfdPJyX_xoOjuL9fjPn6Gj9L0b56KR6tt6XWOemXE58Bt7f1MVmVZnjqaTc-nv9VilKFFKMiyZ-gLUY4aFlAiF16xqy5mhw3XU8BeIS3yTIotI1DjEMDnwJBZlwQA/s320/7+A+day+with+Ma.JPG" /></a></div></td><td>And then our big 'advance' of the week. I have often sat Alannah at my computer desk, and written words on scrap pieces of paper for her to 'write' as well. She took to this with avengeance this week. Including a one hour session which she allowed me to photograph. <BR><BR>
No writing from me. And very little colour. She insisted she was not 'colour in' but writing. And that obviously was only done with a black felt pen. You will see a wide variety of pencil grips still employed. I am trying to show her the classic grip and she often gets it. But the dagger grip is a starting point. She can now do vertical and horizontal lines. Exaggerated arcs. And wee pinched little lines. This is the writing. And she knows what she wants to write. Telling me Mummy, Daddy, book, car, cat dog, circle, oval, star. Each time she does an up-then-down mark she says 'Ma' and it is easy to see why.<BR><BR>
Check out the angle of the head, and the tongue. There was a lot of effort devoted to this session this week. I think she might be ready for her own packet of textas. Only for use up here on my computer table. And, yes, I do have to take to my tabletop with jiffy and a scrubber to remove the over enthusiatic lines!<BR><BR></td></tr></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXSP_Yss82GLgwEjuyS7HwHLozgCt6ceFukuX6mDkU5PhWMVF-zCB3Xg3-35ZVgEULHMWDTkjeufV3cgB93hZQVTjJsHECviRIe7eeDKxlu5-sKacH7D2qXBwAUY-V0fXyH9H5qegonps/s1600/8+A+day+with+Ma.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="215" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXSP_Yss82GLgwEjuyS7HwHLozgCt6ceFukuX6mDkU5PhWMVF-zCB3Xg3-35ZVgEULHMWDTkjeufV3cgB93hZQVTjJsHECviRIe7eeDKxlu5-sKacH7D2qXBwAUY-V0fXyH9H5qegonps/s320/8+A+day+with+Ma.JPG" /></a></div></td><td><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq1KnBIe4tVG0jtle_FoJfRVG9FRhyphenhyphengXw2ugkMvAbOirYYh3V7c2j1Ox2wc3yBNr-OYRg84QghuDScLKszU3VR3f0zjGLuw0e9eEzCeZDlz-ommneNfpsBK-l8nYqjDQQRKOrwao04x8o/s1600/9+A+day+with+Ma.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="215" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq1KnBIe4tVG0jtle_FoJfRVG9FRhyphenhyphengXw2ugkMvAbOirYYh3V7c2j1Ox2wc3yBNr-OYRg84QghuDScLKszU3VR3f0zjGLuw0e9eEzCeZDlz-ommneNfpsBK-l8nYqjDQQRKOrwao04x8o/s320/9+A+day+with+Ma.JPG" /></a></div></td></tr></table>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2271465424473876613.post-55940591554114087162012-05-15T00:04:00.001+10:002012-05-15T00:04:52.203+10:00The KID<table align=center><tr><td><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCISFVsyae8GHoGRHXafwhVtPqgqQ_1vrMjhqQ7RSzUCc33LurBqoGNmSxl8jUZtwUAX_NLWKJaRQ1Tywm3LJIAWwwclPp-4uCtZ-pRdlEVm4JSjBmxNkrfWnefL2dql4C7APZ2TzVChU/s1600/Alannah+with+Duplo+018.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCISFVsyae8GHoGRHXafwhVtPqgqQ_1vrMjhqQ7RSzUCc33LurBqoGNmSxl8jUZtwUAX_NLWKJaRQ1Tywm3LJIAWwwclPp-4uCtZ-pRdlEVm4JSjBmxNkrfWnefL2dql4C7APZ2TzVChU/s320/Alannah+with+Duplo+018.JPG"></a></div></td><td><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB-BrXsi_rVP5OlCLsVG2YJ39S_yXe4GEK7G0Uru8bN3nO3pBhSCU83TgoRvYOUzqOe4dmXxAWsx9xcWBIZAlQaip45XRjBZKos7KJ7msOoOaTC8sqeuxhHoaUWYLDEBX_gI3Sdn5H7ho/s1600/Alannah+with+Duplo+020.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB-BrXsi_rVP5OlCLsVG2YJ39S_yXe4GEK7G0Uru8bN3nO3pBhSCU83TgoRvYOUzqOe4dmXxAWsx9xcWBIZAlQaip45XRjBZKos7KJ7msOoOaTC8sqeuxhHoaUWYLDEBX_gI3Sdn5H7ho/s320/Alannah+with+Duplo+020.JPG"></a></div></td><td><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7PuM-SBBw1VG3YuTe37nc97QrQvcgJqsceJnbiFhmrIsrBECf-MaO46KUa2fV4CFTqLfSOjQ30a6ZsoygE5ktlOQDRv9pS80NxOgdce4j76GbW5McBrQIA_8OOlVpGXWZ8yKGlFFQHes/s1600/Alannah+with+Duplo+021.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7PuM-SBBw1VG3YuTe37nc97QrQvcgJqsceJnbiFhmrIsrBECf-MaO46KUa2fV4CFTqLfSOjQ30a6ZsoygE5ktlOQDRv9pS80NxOgdce4j76GbW5McBrQIA_8OOlVpGXWZ8yKGlFFQHes/s320/Alannah+with+Duplo+021.JPG"></a></div></td></tr></table>This child is no longer a baby, nor a toddler. Today, I reckon, she was officially a kid!<br><br>
We built a cubby along the side wall, out of flat-pak removal boxes, only the front being open. Alannah dragged one of the mats out to soften the floor, while I fetched a pillow to lean against. We searched through the Osbourne '1001 Things on a Farm' dictionary finding feathers, foxes, moles, and tractors. We listened for 'big, blue, buses' (said rapidly and as all one word!), helicopters, currawongs, and sirens. We built with Duplo, and excelled at finding just the piece we needed. "Alannah do it!'<br><BR>
We played musical chairs, including the closed sand pit, a child's chair, two garden chairs, and a milk crate. Throwing 'Buddy' to each other, even though he should have returned to her bakpak after sleep, a sleep barely 90 minutes in length. We listened to a 'Play School' CD while engrossed in a colouring-in book with STICKERS!!<BR><BR>
We dug in the sand, filled up buckets with sand, and did not argue - or pretend cry - when Ma asserted it to be way cold for playing with water. We listened to Robin (from the upstairs flat) from the security of Ma's hip ('Up, Ma. Up!!) as he and Ma discussed how many pots had been knocked over by the wind. We fed the cats, and roused on them when they batted each other in their excitement.<BR><BR>
Now Ma needs to find a sheet (or part thereof) of corrugated perspex to race our Matchbox vehicles down.<BR><BR>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeMv9mIeJuDR0AFanFdcBKykwXTQXPvaRrWuxvGwku0AXpxV3hhcDeJqv9BWK2FE-TPspXIbq0APhKQJoUWd57KuSEiXf-rYpqgJJqbJXZmvvF8h2-p50EX0iJhOW3trWRqPXUp6cRWOM/s1600/Alannah+with+Duplo+029.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeMv9mIeJuDR0AFanFdcBKykwXTQXPvaRrWuxvGwku0AXpxV3hhcDeJqv9BWK2FE-TPspXIbq0APhKQJoUWd57KuSEiXf-rYpqgJJqbJXZmvvF8h2-p50EX0iJhOW3trWRqPXUp6cRWOM/s640/Alannah+with+Duplo+029.JPG"></a></div></td></tr></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVNLJI3vJj9tyRhjkZFMF6U25SzFtJURjJMipbk6bwRVw8T5DiQLtQXNUSYayXmsE4MgffihnVH41sZdMM8uSOj6G5ZHMHRInaRAqO2v9tv291iWSHIMU3DxzzqVoqwJUTdFAgr_iv_Gg/s1600/Alannah+with+Duplo+030.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVNLJI3vJj9tyRhjkZFMF6U25SzFtJURjJMipbk6bwRVw8T5DiQLtQXNUSYayXmsE4MgffihnVH41sZdMM8uSOj6G5ZHMHRInaRAqO2v9tv291iWSHIMU3DxzzqVoqwJUTdFAgr_iv_Gg/s640/Alannah+with+Duplo+030.JPG"></a></div></td></tr></table>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2271465424473876613.post-43081828742615272602012-05-07T20:37:00.000+10:002012-05-07T20:37:19.344+10:00Talking the talk<table align=center><tr><td><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS_JuYnJI5koByzAV3AUZLhouEEYsCkR66cp8SuzLjazOx6wZyV2FXUyBaHJoA89vY_Q-XXSiIirXRjxi_REzMz3NGVJxOI86OgKkqSrxytFMlhKVkGyogONkRYDFrxGZqpT-eK9BUMnY/s1600/1+Lego.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS_JuYnJI5koByzAV3AUZLhouEEYsCkR66cp8SuzLjazOx6wZyV2FXUyBaHJoA89vY_Q-XXSiIirXRjxi_REzMz3NGVJxOI86OgKkqSrxytFMlhKVkGyogONkRYDFrxGZqpT-eK9BUMnY/s640/1+Lego.JPG"></a></div></td></tr></table>
I had a wonderful play date today with my 21 month grand-daughter, Alannah. It was a bleak, grey day where the mercury did not break 20C - which is cold for Sydney. We both kept our jackets on all day, but still spent most of the day in the courtyard.<BR><BR>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOtnVL_RjRDO77c38DS4_m2abY5jH3v3PzU7GhrZAKHM_pEWv5ITYRbCqFr_z-cRVuGvt7n3sOVDtz1M5ZLpGj40SeiWPNTn-8qPxkSo18LTYC_qVUcMYzIOCk5KFk9rx1blj-fT6At1Y/s1600/2+Lego.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOtnVL_RjRDO77c38DS4_m2abY5jH3v3PzU7GhrZAKHM_pEWv5ITYRbCqFr_z-cRVuGvt7n3sOVDtz1M5ZLpGj40SeiWPNTn-8qPxkSo18LTYC_qVUcMYzIOCk5KFk9rx1blj-fT6At1Y/s320/2+Lego.JPG"></a></div></td><td><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP5v0R50XldaSx1eV4eauIK62DXX3dBBipIe6U7xVdMJJqoWNw_P6cTR43G_GnceRgJmWP8Wz5894z9YYqypQwm1-G1a1ToEgJf6hl3UgXduv7U_H9l7CbSG6AsTHaRnoxyK5tMaJRFU4/s1600/3+Lego.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP5v0R50XldaSx1eV4eauIK62DXX3dBBipIe6U7xVdMJJqoWNw_P6cTR43G_GnceRgJmWP8Wz5894z9YYqypQwm1-G1a1ToEgJf6hl3UgXduv7U_H9l7CbSG6AsTHaRnoxyK5tMaJRFU4/s320/3+Lego.JPG"></a></div></td></tr></table><table align=center><tr><td><em><small>Mummy and Daddy wore flowers in their hair. Mummy also wears a flag. Then you see the apartment and the steps we built.</small></em></td></tr></table><br>
We had two sessions of 'street watching', two sessions of Lego, read the same book twice ('A Fly went By'), sorted the slide pins into colour tubs and made lots of noise shaking them, then wrote a card which I put in the post immediately after her father arrived to take her home. While we were street-watching today, we watched the post-man cross the road with his heavy back-pack and his fist-ful of letters to deliver. Alannah will find the card in her letter-box tomorrow, which is her home-day with Mummy.<BR><BR>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyrWB_c1IujlPcoRJWgQEDakhF-_IogTys7VIxnKSjTajg4Lo6JySBQThqdlxoRtHkHf1Kaf6j3wi867lChXZmbMQVip2cqVCzNhCm-QbeTK7doe_q089Kl4dvYzsxewibLlR2ZYqMRfo/s1600/5+Lego.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyrWB_c1IujlPcoRJWgQEDakhF-_IogTys7VIxnKSjTajg4Lo6JySBQThqdlxoRtHkHf1Kaf6j3wi867lChXZmbMQVip2cqVCzNhCm-QbeTK7doe_q089Kl4dvYzsxewibLlR2ZYqMRfo/s320/5+Lego.JPG"></a></div></td></tr></table><table align=center><tr><td><em><small>Ma frequently laid down on the job. Whereas, Alannah was 'taken' by her self-named figure, being given a lot of work to do.</small></em></td></tr></table><BR>
When I want to take photographs, I always ask her permission. Often she says ‘NO’ (or today I even heard the variation ‘nope’), but every-so-often I will get a shy grin, a direct look and an ‘Okay’. Recently, on e-Bay I purchased a whole bunch of Duplo figures, because I want the play to revolve around people. I guess we have over 50 now. So we named them – Mummy, Daddy, Alannah, Ma, Grandad, and Pam. And then she spent ages opening the windows, getting the figures out, naming them, and returning them to different windows. She chats continuously, and rarely needs me to interject. Although, I chat about what I am playing, too. She is very good, now, in constructing with Duplo. She cannot build a house or anything like that. That is not what I mean, but she can join blocks together and sort the blocks into same-piles, either by size or by colour.<BR><BR>
And our friend just likes to be with us and hear our chatter. When we play Lego he ‘sleeps’ often with one eye open. When we ‘street-watch’, he sits on the brick gate post beside Alannah.<BR><BR>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAypXphzbfc1NRH5gIHYDMWOKyfznUlPds6Z2skNHTk5YhksqwrZvGlNCrYRjkvyDjE69Hb4mmYDNkb5Wdg4YI8ZGg5VmqAa-4EICldsRSb89D4b2D9L_gWMK5QEB7fIj2zIz6aQ2kseU/s1600/6+Lego.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAypXphzbfc1NRH5gIHYDMWOKyfznUlPds6Z2skNHTk5YhksqwrZvGlNCrYRjkvyDjE69Hb4mmYDNkb5Wdg4YI8ZGg5VmqAa-4EICldsRSb89D4b2D9L_gWMK5QEB7fIj2zIz6aQ2kseU/s640/6+Lego.JPG"></a></div></td></tr></table>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2271465424473876613.post-13804143484763637312012-03-09T22:40:00.004+11:002012-03-09T23:09:21.226+11:00Did I hear someone holler 'play'?<table align=center><tr><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiavys0eGLOEPwTUpytf8KQk3mjfOQaTOGi7WPYcjOEH40oA99ps_0UivPxs29KvOXmn6tP-MDik1GkmW7HQzBvQ_2lqSHb8skyM9ATYtNwfnNMMMK7J_xYcXRkbfqH3lOXCHYv9_xEmCA/s1600/1+Play.JPG"><img style="float:left; cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiavys0eGLOEPwTUpytf8KQk3mjfOQaTOGi7WPYcjOEH40oA99ps_0UivPxs29KvOXmn6tP-MDik1GkmW7HQzBvQ_2lqSHb8skyM9ATYtNwfnNMMMK7J_xYcXRkbfqH3lOXCHYv9_xEmCA/s640/1+Play.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5717863690843960466"></a></td></tr></table><br />In another place, I am having a discussion about 'play' and how it differs now from when I was a child in the early '50s. I guess we look at our own upbringing with rose-coloured glasses to some extent, and we may also forget some of the things we did and why. I cannot remember back to when I was 18 months old, as Alannah is. However, I do have strong memories from when I was 5 until I was, let's use 10. For some of that time I lived in Hornsby, and for some of that time I lived on a farm outside Denman in the Upper Hunter Valley.<br /><br />I had neither play-dough nor a sand pit, but I did Matchbox cars, and I did have a dirt patch in which to play.<br /><br /><table align=center><tr><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj_wt4CZxba3ngDn2Yx2jTSsw7MM1n1rOUVU-vMl2Dl_wcoy3wIiEhBoJvjR0mjq1ESYRkBpyZmTeUfFv_CpIPU7FH0-TUJGijae36jl4dLUiCdqxcUVOzxd3uSWZaIGcp0QaU3CdQmfI/s1600/2+Play.JPG"><img style="float:left; cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj_wt4CZxba3ngDn2Yx2jTSsw7MM1n1rOUVU-vMl2Dl_wcoy3wIiEhBoJvjR0mjq1ESYRkBpyZmTeUfFv_CpIPU7FH0-TUJGijae36jl4dLUiCdqxcUVOzxd3uSWZaIGcp0QaU3CdQmfI/s320/2+Play.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5717862693665570178"></a></td><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnmPezMMmzeTlTjFTk9gYJ3i2BYFW3t0f9M23hfpQ8Wht8VQ6CEe3dtofBi34pRpx2a-Vjr6tgQKjb7sRa-Wfw_97kgFrcaGaelS8ZII7BagGIadzPzic7qBpNMpq_r0Inxa7enlMWqGA/s1600/3+Play.JPG"><img style="float:left;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnmPezMMmzeTlTjFTk9gYJ3i2BYFW3t0f9M23hfpQ8Wht8VQ6CEe3dtofBi34pRpx2a-Vjr6tgQKjb7sRa-Wfw_97kgFrcaGaelS8ZII7BagGIadzPzic7qBpNMpq_r0Inxa7enlMWqGA/s320/3+Play.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5717862703291817362"></a></td></tr></table><br />This week, playing at Ma's, we introduced play-dough. I have no idea whether Alannah has used play-dough much before. She was hesitant on the Monday, but by the Wednesday she took to it with alacrity. For her, it has a very physical proponent. She like the feel of it, and the fact that she can mould it and pull it to bits. She is learning to roll it in her hands, and by next week maybe a ball will result. On Wednesday, I made her a Daddy and I made her a Mummy. We made balls, and snakes, and stars.<br /><br />We have played with a sand-pit all year. We have play with small cars and trucks for longer than this year. But for the first time on Wednesday, we combined the two. We also used our collection of rocks, and shells, and leaves, to decorate the castle in the middle of our sand-pit, while the trucks brrrrmmmed around in the moat. I suspect this game with be expanded this coming week.<br /><br /><table align=center><tr><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtpJFpPg51s25bziYEO-JoZbssA_0q9EswDAWZcq5kz_DNz8HysUbaAAs3xSBijsHi_m3hY_XETfeUW8LgxtrNVFyvQOEzK2bGZQv3Zb4QYufsGO82jwyUXkpao8M2wWxelTHSQ5zK4yA/s1600/4+Play.JPG"><img style="float:left; cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtpJFpPg51s25bziYEO-JoZbssA_0q9EswDAWZcq5kz_DNz8HysUbaAAs3xSBijsHi_m3hY_XETfeUW8LgxtrNVFyvQOEzK2bGZQv3Zb4QYufsGO82jwyUXkpao8M2wWxelTHSQ5zK4yA/s320/4+Play.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5717862062375779570"></a></td><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg2eRJPYAlIvMgpVtoH_gNGbEfalVDXEgqkH0K8hQDfszLdpSz2A9_l6tBC-BQOOgq9hOUrl6mxi3-mMT90pIl8ms3h6Hl1ciUc4i-n3U8GOaFT9zDNr9CAHPKwKeSZFzQeJpoaPk2Hpw/s1600/5+Play.JPG"><img style="float:left; cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg2eRJPYAlIvMgpVtoH_gNGbEfalVDXEgqkH0K8hQDfszLdpSz2A9_l6tBC-BQOOgq9hOUrl6mxi3-mMT90pIl8ms3h6Hl1ciUc4i-n3U8GOaFT9zDNr9CAHPKwKeSZFzQeJpoaPk2Hpw/s320/5+Play.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5717862078386693618"></a></td></tr></table>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2271465424473876613.post-1400324165715824972012-02-28T21:57:00.004+11:002012-02-28T22:31:14.405+11:00Metamorphosis<table align=center><tr><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI4O52I-K6DeSqyeB6G2Ia6ip8Mp8Cqbd8-ENWsRuwBXAmTtNnlfiHAIK9NVuWahtbgShjnYhfSofq0DT86QW1SUvi8mXercOZziGs36cTWjX3IALo0BXFs79dTMovhXEE6Bz2fCje6Zw/s1600/AJ+at+play+011.JPG"><img style="float:left; cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI4O52I-K6DeSqyeB6G2Ia6ip8Mp8Cqbd8-ENWsRuwBXAmTtNnlfiHAIK9NVuWahtbgShjnYhfSofq0DT86QW1SUvi8mXercOZziGs36cTWjX3IALo0BXFs79dTMovhXEE6Bz2fCje6Zw/s640/AJ+at+play+011.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714143724408549410"></a></td></tr></table><br />It had to happen, of course. That my courtyard garden change into a toddler's playground. Oh, the plants are all still there. They are still growing, and being infested, and flowering, or not. The veggies were a one-season wonder. I get more pleasure from the annuals and the succulents. And they have fewer bugs.<br /><br /><table align=center><tr><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-3nGk3Oo-gaZ0kLqJaDgbfwTjFTAOdK8H-FtfIUQPjy-qX1Xzk3IR58zpIkrjxe5TqeT3iAPJ_DcJZQWO5E-EehStv_5jVPeSySYelb6D2GXqM_ZeOq8fEtU4Lf8GD-4P56g42PzUwbY/s1600/AJ+at+play+009.JPG"><img style="float:left; cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-3nGk3Oo-gaZ0kLqJaDgbfwTjFTAOdK8H-FtfIUQPjy-qX1Xzk3IR58zpIkrjxe5TqeT3iAPJ_DcJZQWO5E-EehStv_5jVPeSySYelb6D2GXqM_ZeOq8fEtU4Lf8GD-4P56g42PzUwbY/s320/AJ+at+play+009.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714139791883471906"></a></td><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD0Hhj2oqNS5vtObJY8SzCZJc-foiqgezOmBFFC7_l97uhnHspR4PoZ0qEpRuai1iaWGV1DtgNGIRJZObS8oEoNDYsIvFeiwSbKc6V8PMj33PMQvrPBQcazQutf7KKGrN5ZjYGg7FOyKs/s1600/AJ+at+play+004.JPG"><img style="float:left; cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD0Hhj2oqNS5vtObJY8SzCZJc-foiqgezOmBFFC7_l97uhnHspR4PoZ0qEpRuai1iaWGV1DtgNGIRJZObS8oEoNDYsIvFeiwSbKc6V8PMj33PMQvrPBQcazQutf7KKGrN5ZjYGg7FOyKs/s320/AJ+at+play+004.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714143734391388898"></a></td></tr></table><br />But now that I have a toddler over to play twice a week, THAT is the focus of my courtyard. So, I have decided to transfer the stories about our play-dates from 'Plumbing' to 'Dolwendee'. Back in the years 1982 to 1985 I ran a Family Day Care in my garden in St Ives. The house there was transformed, too. Down on side, there was a go-cart track, with tyres, and planks and a skid pattern into the wall at the bottom. I guess you could say that I have form.<br /><br />Anyways, look at the difference between these images of Alannah painting, and the shots last week of her first foray (at Ma's place) into painting. For starters, we ditched the smock. Mainly because Alannah insisted 'No more'. Then we got proper artists brushes rather than brushes used by house-painters. And and and ... I put loads my paint into the pots, which caused her to grunt with pleasure.<br /><br />*Hand on heart* ... this was all Alannah's work, this painting. I did not guide the brush in any way. She would look at me in that way that says 'are you nuts?'<br /><br /><table align=center><tr><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7_HSQHFSZqfXeiww47wJxzdi1spAOD24YPzcsfwPFqOb4sllZ9up6dMsMuVu5ThWpu5z0J4dxci-YobhGbnSnvG1a4M3W2qoMe1Wix2UojD7ljy1btlEA3bee8WIyjAIKtXUZdO0p670/s1600/AJ+at+play+014.JPG"><img style="float:left;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7_HSQHFSZqfXeiww47wJxzdi1spAOD24YPzcsfwPFqOb4sllZ9up6dMsMuVu5ThWpu5z0J4dxci-YobhGbnSnvG1a4M3W2qoMe1Wix2UojD7ljy1btlEA3bee8WIyjAIKtXUZdO0p670/s640/AJ+at+play+014.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714139803158237250"></a></td></tr></table>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2271465424473876613.post-31959898121236237052012-02-07T13:37:00.006+11:002012-02-07T14:12:51.484+11:00The solace of sweeping<table align=center><tr><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi52mH0xoeJe0ujxWxYTIXKqnqMBPRraXRvFoeN6yBDxXEW8_I1sUuqE6l0z4LOH3H_aCm71Lt85_D4Ai33lebt1TKhWF6w7IhbvjjunzsvGzc1hnDovfuTPUsLc6yhY5HmT_UL_nZVMOk/s1600/1+Solace+of+sweeping.JPG"><img style="float:left;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi52mH0xoeJe0ujxWxYTIXKqnqMBPRraXRvFoeN6yBDxXEW8_I1sUuqE6l0z4LOH3H_aCm71Lt85_D4Ai33lebt1TKhWF6w7IhbvjjunzsvGzc1hnDovfuTPUsLc6yhY5HmT_UL_nZVMOk/s640/1+Solace+of+sweeping.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5706219976146009474"></a></td></tr></table><table align=center><tr><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihnckuTU0ZbJ8wlEWt_T-9MHnJG318f45O6XRVOio9wAZaeGLH9lR98XgxWTjyXAzo1GS3uQbgTUSWjLLRII54ju5H0RdvIH6xIzi1ri9xbkYqAnLQFqamFBa8zsLDM-MCAYnsXE7-4Bo/s1600/2+Solace+of+sweeping.JPG"><img style="float:left; cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihnckuTU0ZbJ8wlEWt_T-9MHnJG318f45O6XRVOio9wAZaeGLH9lR98XgxWTjyXAzo1GS3uQbgTUSWjLLRII54ju5H0RdvIH6xIzi1ri9xbkYqAnLQFqamFBa8zsLDM-MCAYnsXE7-4Bo/s320/2+Solace+of+sweeping.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5706219987021707682" /></a></td><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP3Yufyh77eqomyj-pCjuhSrooJ5-KDSKXDKRVH2Yc7xI38izd2VB_qjCf51eSa-mbLvmfWjfrzGIUJuqMk3l99o9TZxlv_IeugJe8N4V80VbMjXGAhZ1wthiEP6QjE446YKqhCxtW7Ug/s1600/3+Solace+of+sweeping.JPG"><img style="float:left; cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP3Yufyh77eqomyj-pCjuhSrooJ5-KDSKXDKRVH2Yc7xI38izd2VB_qjCf51eSa-mbLvmfWjfrzGIUJuqMk3l99o9TZxlv_IeugJe8N4V80VbMjXGAhZ1wthiEP6QjE446YKqhCxtW7Ug/s320/3+Solace+of+sweeping.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5706219044211696930"></a></td></tr></table><br /><br />There is a certain calmative effect engendered by the rhythmic sweeping of a courtyard.<br /><br />See that massive tree towering over my courtyard, resplendent in its summer livery? Hiding within that livery lurk spots of bright orange, thousands of tiny seeds. Circular seeds. Hard seeds. Seeds that are now, in this fading summer that never-was, falling inexorably onto the bitumen and courtyard below. Just yesterday, I heard the first crunch-crunch as the passing traffic squashed them into oblivion. Noisily into oblivion.<br /><br />Those that fall into my courtyard, do so silently, but nevertheless messily.<br /><br />Following that denuding. comes the autumnal falling of leaves, and leaves, and leaves. For months on end. Seemingly until the lime shoots find their way through the branches with the turn into the spring. But before they sprout into incipient leaves, we have the floating of 'fluff'. <br /><br />A spawning if you will ... a mess of a spawning.<br /><br />A cycle that encompasses the year. A year of messes, which require sweeping. And sweeping is such sweet solace.<br /><br /><table align=center><tr><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK_4O4xnzH8cTWQ2Mo2UxgDNP9w6vxE91dbxaf_r1qB0sCGt4NaOBwSVzQrTgJmqU5tHF3XO7r7Kbn4xbtt67ZRXN_cGseO4mXxDO_CL5DZoYt-53vCJQf5XSLG3jt5Cnh99BvAgaV4oc/s1600/4+Solace+of+sweeping.JPG"><img style="float:left; cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK_4O4xnzH8cTWQ2Mo2UxgDNP9w6vxE91dbxaf_r1qB0sCGt4NaOBwSVzQrTgJmqU5tHF3XO7r7Kbn4xbtt67ZRXN_cGseO4mXxDO_CL5DZoYt-53vCJQf5XSLG3jt5Cnh99BvAgaV4oc/s320/4+Solace+of+sweeping.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5706219054809843890"></a></td><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqFBsjYagKgE6TtJB1cr_XWK6_HmgsgmMYRGyKjhK4I9r_0Tc4s5hhU7E4WxQV8GCKxq7qA8bl8BWPjwDHg7UcRAn_wys6vWXVruU9Xy2hHnXU_sXwfCwQYvApA-K0Ce98HiOFJH10Pqk/s1600/5+Solace+of+sweeping.JPG"><img style="float:left;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqFBsjYagKgE6TtJB1cr_XWK6_HmgsgmMYRGyKjhK4I9r_0Tc4s5hhU7E4WxQV8GCKxq7qA8bl8BWPjwDHg7UcRAn_wys6vWXVruU9Xy2hHnXU_sXwfCwQYvApA-K0Ce98HiOFJH10Pqk/s320/5+Solace+of+sweeping.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5706218216126275394"></a></td></tr></table><table align=center><tr><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg62vcN9da1QL-q-JPzqd19Bo0kkKcAsTj3z240CYAJgVMxoiwXxXTRphhv-4sOAM1ZdHSMi4UxPz6cJczE4X_R1CrXKuZ0BBUxGWGHJ88rkCIzBzWoK9rvK40Bzc6EBdPLJ2Lr4roPxGI/s1600/6+Solace+of+sweeping.JPG"><img style="float:left; cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg62vcN9da1QL-q-JPzqd19Bo0kkKcAsTj3z240CYAJgVMxoiwXxXTRphhv-4sOAM1ZdHSMi4UxPz6cJczE4X_R1CrXKuZ0BBUxGWGHJ88rkCIzBzWoK9rvK40Bzc6EBdPLJ2Lr4roPxGI/s640/6+Solace+of+sweeping.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5706218235778941362"></a></td></tr></table>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2271465424473876613.post-83397719069189143122012-01-18T11:47:00.005+11:002012-01-20T07:57:08.084+11:00Saving grace<table align=center><tr><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQucMIGQ_geNjAavWjljIM3eS8M-eyV8bX4s-Ggr3GaYzAyqHcliP0jGNMWjP_traPCgFDFV6cycEUoBb4nwYC3Fzq1JkXy14zge5UXp4lz4rU3PbCATB9hYuHUkcbiNvtAkTFPBzK_j0/s1600/1+Courtyard.JPG"><img style="float:left; cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQucMIGQ_geNjAavWjljIM3eS8M-eyV8bX4s-Ggr3GaYzAyqHcliP0jGNMWjP_traPCgFDFV6cycEUoBb4nwYC3Fzq1JkXy14zge5UXp4lz4rU3PbCATB9hYuHUkcbiNvtAkTFPBzK_j0/s640/1+Courtyard.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5698769588707546210"></a></td></tr></table><br />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.<br /><br /><table align=center><tr><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXZinF3j8hyW-je42dbZrHUbehubbVnLaigmqlzXyQLLXBuV57mb5I858qsZ6eSaQrMMSY1njdc9e1qVbSMl9TX0KallhLTp5axxh3vDwoKe8Zm5vqKtIPETk8UsQ_sw2zKjn8cFu0sSw/s1600/2+Courtyard.JPG"><img style="float:left; cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXZinF3j8hyW-je42dbZrHUbehubbVnLaigmqlzXyQLLXBuV57mb5I858qsZ6eSaQrMMSY1njdc9e1qVbSMl9TX0KallhLTp5axxh3vDwoKe8Zm5vqKtIPETk8UsQ_sw2zKjn8cFu0sSw/s320/2+Courtyard.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5698769599855254002"></a></td><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQiOaHSNJ2BaktmOoegZdeIUXFqWT-iV8dQXNMGhFcgisuFOHkoRtiGr092OG4O8yVNZ4A1ks8_OXdtGA1m0ZGM5boCXX8tyjoo2Nb77SnLLN6t5WBg0CKdmBscE598O3nGMrnzCih_X0/s1600/3+Courtyard.JPG"><img style="float:left; cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQiOaHSNJ2BaktmOoegZdeIUXFqWT-iV8dQXNMGhFcgisuFOHkoRtiGr092OG4O8yVNZ4A1ks8_OXdtGA1m0ZGM5boCXX8tyjoo2Nb77SnLLN6t5WBg0CKdmBscE598O3nGMrnzCih_X0/s320/3+Courtyard.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5698769012418952626"></a></td></tr></table><table align=center><tr><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRNEt_gLbpoPBchtO3nDZq8baM4PcEQb1bjP1LPc-xjHcPLn4fo_NjfNjBn0ga0oqyu769ToOSV0S6eg-m0D5ysI6jqZXsZk6Xw9mKQ70ibPySuXGmKkIMoTBjyxglh_F4oF9Zl96DiFA/s1600/4+Courtyad.JPG"><img style="float:left; cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRNEt_gLbpoPBchtO3nDZq8baM4PcEQb1bjP1LPc-xjHcPLn4fo_NjfNjBn0ga0oqyu769ToOSV0S6eg-m0D5ysI6jqZXsZk6Xw9mKQ70ibPySuXGmKkIMoTBjyxglh_F4oF9Zl96DiFA/s320/4+Courtyad.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5698769022694351922"></a></td><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI_1IomwM_5IjNKdySbMDiALEnkokFzGKAqpkByZYGn5hnH6nsH98JKKpspyn6G8lr6e072BM9YZSCoCnPqjEKgcTMpjoV7ViI2XuTCYl0BsirX-qGnVdRBJOoXMeIL63uslu0-XQekbs/s1600/5+Courtyard.JPG"><img style="float:left; cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI_1IomwM_5IjNKdySbMDiALEnkokFzGKAqpkByZYGn5hnH6nsH98JKKpspyn6G8lr6e072BM9YZSCoCnPqjEKgcTMpjoV7ViI2XuTCYl0BsirX-qGnVdRBJOoXMeIL63uslu0-XQekbs/s320/5+Courtyard.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5698767941923765042"></a></td></tr></table><br />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.<br /><br />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!<br /><br /><table align=center><tr><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4INOY7a3KFignT1ATC9RN4cb-6k3rpzpFoJed7mhTyCk6zH0pF9xLlh8D_5457FeBwvmrF8aVP6a978N4AJVPhar-nKm2w82LUp5GYWJIhsC-Ido80LZfKno63CA99HR-QnysVGryyHs/s1600/6+Courtyard.JPG"><img style="float:left; cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4INOY7a3KFignT1ATC9RN4cb-6k3rpzpFoJed7mhTyCk6zH0pF9xLlh8D_5457FeBwvmrF8aVP6a978N4AJVPhar-nKm2w82LUp5GYWJIhsC-Ido80LZfKno63CA99HR-QnysVGryyHs/s640/6+Courtyard.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5698767945807493954"></a></td></tr></table>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2271465424473876613.post-66483721375396763182012-01-14T08:33:00.007+11:002012-01-14T09:45:54.941+11:00Virtual world of zombied friends<table align=center><tr><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikvbcxcrKgMJJ6zEv44lekSHeTtM8nSCXDU2h5X34BAL-q6kRqfXMJSFssKqsq7HBqxQOweOy_kHHGew9lPg9ZOPg3Pnf80hHHHxGk6b5lVXHFZmHOIN67N6MvDoS3cOFW0Zu4Ndx_kgc/s1600/1+Letty+jams.JPG"><img style="float:left; cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikvbcxcrKgMJJ6zEv44lekSHeTtM8nSCXDU2h5X34BAL-q6kRqfXMJSFssKqsq7HBqxQOweOy_kHHGew9lPg9ZOPg3Pnf80hHHHxGk6b5lVXHFZmHOIN67N6MvDoS3cOFW0Zu4Ndx_kgc/s640/1+Letty+jams.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5697234271851765058"></a></td></tr></table><br /><a href="http://sydney-eye.blogspot.com/2012/01/now-this-l-like.html">On 'Sydney Eye' durng this week gone</a>, 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 <a href="http://poofanditsgone.blogspot.com/">Ararat</a> which arrived late Thursday, is proof of that particular pudding.<br /><br /><table align=center><tr><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG3kUJrSTPyhWtAFjB9KD9VWdM5eKeaZ1Nrsv7fdl4m7afQnUryvYPER9Jo2gRtfyXT9ijwBw0rDbysjj7mTil6FYP9pDSXuI_Sru3M-4VJI4uInqQdwb2ZDBdSrn0aUpGlBiyCzN4Hbc/s1600/2+Jam+on+toast.JPG"><img style="float:left; cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG3kUJrSTPyhWtAFjB9KD9VWdM5eKeaZ1Nrsv7fdl4m7afQnUryvYPER9Jo2gRtfyXT9ijwBw0rDbysjj7mTil6FYP9pDSXuI_Sru3M-4VJI4uInqQdwb2ZDBdSrn0aUpGlBiyCzN4Hbc/s640/2+Jam+on+toast.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5697240985005098162"></a></td></tr></table><br />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 <a href="http://www.muh.org.au/">MUH</a> to walk Kirsten through it. She was entranced. The fact that she threw up nearly immediately, was by-the-by.<br /><br /><table align=center><tr><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkhW9am2gr6r9obyTuUVuy3vF6N3uPCB3YTjxUjT7KMqZRLtAI3cAw5YXZqCMiblXitIumAi_rNP10_6uvPIwN5dZF5U9J-16hElB_SC1kCB3VbePz_aHSbIlgYb9olDlUXqQJcsVyKnE/s1600/2+Letty%2527s+jams.JPG"><img style="float:left; cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkhW9am2gr6r9obyTuUVuy3vF6N3uPCB3YTjxUjT7KMqZRLtAI3cAw5YXZqCMiblXitIumAi_rNP10_6uvPIwN5dZF5U9J-16hElB_SC1kCB3VbePz_aHSbIlgYb9olDlUXqQJcsVyKnE/s320/2+Letty%2527s+jams.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5697233845251197154"></a></td><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLbnRJzV_PZLHc6SuA7DC3dUmqKj7x_DqOw3ZsMnLVSOzlMeYXuFWgauMRTITrmXOBspneZLXHkE-5Mt_JZ1oaartAxwpxfU6FSQreHbZ6OwDJ-YOtZM9mSbsfCkZAcjvaC9OMrq6xGcs/s1600/3+Letty%2527s+jams.JPG"><img style="float:left; cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLbnRJzV_PZLHc6SuA7DC3dUmqKj7x_DqOw3ZsMnLVSOzlMeYXuFWgauMRTITrmXOBspneZLXHkE-5Mt_JZ1oaartAxwpxfU6FSQreHbZ6OwDJ-YOtZM9mSbsfCkZAcjvaC9OMrq6xGcs/s320/3+Letty%2527s+jams.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5697233854877296466"></a></td></tr></table><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Ah, well, what the heck! Look what I just had for brekkie ... <br /><br /><table align=center><tr><td><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP-wFUkBzvTu64H5dZeNKJnw-9_Md5FkOhq3y1omBREM-M0MfQdGrk5MXr0QjG90ci_A4hFGI80R-X7FByPagnkS7nLy_c2Y0_xrdF-sXhDu_IZ9jSQXulA22LdhOr9MFfDBo6mFn1aV0/s1600/3+Jam+on+toast.JPG"><img style="float:left; cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP-wFUkBzvTu64H5dZeNKJnw-9_Md5FkOhq3y1omBREM-M0MfQdGrk5MXr0QjG90ci_A4hFGI80R-X7FByPagnkS7nLy_c2Y0_xrdF-sXhDu_IZ9jSQXulA22LdhOr9MFfDBo6mFn1aV0/s640/3+Jam+on+toast.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5697240988361537042"></a></td></tr></table>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3