A Wasted month

For several years we have watched as our resident tawny frog-mouth pair have successfully raised their young.

While these birds are not brightly coloured, and are nocturnal, they do appear to like living close to us.  Admittedly we have many gum trees with rough bark that mimics their colour.  From a distance it is difficult to see them perching on a branch as they blend so well.

This year I noted with great interest a next high above not far from the back door.  Aha, babies soon! 

Over the years it became apparent that eggs [one or two] were laid on an extremely basic nest on, or close to full moon, and the chicks hatched out on the next full moon.

We came home from shopping late last week to discover a bundle of white fluff lying on the ground below the nest.  Oh dear!  The chick hatched and ?  Not sure if it died upon contact with the outside world but there it was cold and unmoving on the ground with flies hovering.  I quickly buried it.

The parent stayed on the nest which was great news ... there must be another egg to hatch.

Full moon last night; the darkness of night lit up by a huge full moon.  At dusk the parent left the nest [they are nocturnal], and this morning I couldn't see the parent.  Why?

Then I looked down and a few metres from the nest another bundle of white fluff lay lifeless.  Another burial took place.

Hopefully this pair will try again and we will once again be enthralled watching as the little chick grows before it is sent out into the big wide world a few months later.

The photo is of a successful hatching a few years ago.

 

I do hope that by Christmas the parent will have a chick to feed and will not have another wasted month sitting on eggs that end in disaster.

Colourful birds

In this part of the world there is a saying 'You silly galah' uttered when someone is doing something that they have obviously given little thought to.  In actual fact the galah is a rather attractive bird, native to Australia.  Their lovely pink and grey plumage could form the basis of a  gorgeous décor for a lounge room; restful and easy on the eyes but still with a hint elegance.

 

We are privileged to see galahs every day as they move from tree to tree or from paddock to paddock as they 'graze' the seeding grasses.  I like them!  I love to see them perched in rows on the fence lines, or the power or telephone wires, and hold my breath as they suddenly swoop across the road as we drive by.  Trucks carrying grain from silos to port often leave a small trail of grain [not unlike the childhood story of Hansel and Gretel who trailed bread crumbs to enable them to find their way out of the forest] and galahs find these grains of wheat an unexpected treat.  They are daring!  It isn't until vehicles are almost upon them that they fly to the roadside verge escaping the turning wheels of their feeding wagon.

 

The above photo shows a flock of galahs busily feeding in the neighbour's paddock ... this year the vegetation is extremely short as we are not receiving our normal quota of rain.

Perfume

For more years than I care to remember I have read The People's Friend, a magazine for women, a magazine that some may think is suitable for the older lady, but in fact when I first met this magazine I was barely into my 30's.  There are advertisements, but not a lot; there are puzzles and crosswords [the cryptic crossword takes ages to work out with scribbles on pieces of paper and the dictionary close by], and there are letters by readers.

 

In the last magazine received, a regular piece, "The Farmer and his Wife", mentioned perfume ... 4711 perfume.  What a plethora of memories those four figures brought to mind! 

 

Way back in the days when country towns had a picture theatre and when young folk, and the not so young, attended the pictures at least once a week the cloakrooms would reek of perfumes as we tried our best to improve what nature had given us.  Eye shadows, often frowned upon by 'the parents' was stroked on liberally, perfume dabbed behind the ears, and hair back combed within an inch of its life.  Teenagers were ready for the world!

 

My favourite perfume was "Evening in Paris" that had its own special smell [Midnight in the Sewer catcalled the local boys].  The girls ignored the ignorant comments ... but smirked to each other ... 'they had noticed!' A few years ago I visited a museum of 'artefacts' from bygone eras and Evening in Paris deep blue/almost indigo bottles featured!  I only hope that had I been small enough I wouldn't have been popped up on a shelf and called an artefact!

 

4711 was another favourite.  4711 was more suitable for daytime wear [or for those not wishing to be quite so conspicuous].  And for the 'older woman' there was respectable "Tweed", which was a sure-fire winner if looking for a gift for a Mother or aunt.

 

Today many perfumes are cloying and many change their smell on different skins.  Funny isn't it how four little figures, 4711, bring back a glimpse of days long past.

A storm

It is normal in winter to have rain.  After an excellent fall of rain in March or was it April crops were sown and optimism was high.  The sun shone; day after day it shone.  The temperatures remained high and the rains did not fall again.  Except for a very occasional drop of rain; not enough to lay the dust.

The farming community began to worry.  Where were the winter rains?  Would they have a viable crop?  Optimism dropped off and pessimism began to rear its ugly head.

Earlier this week the weather forecasters were optimistic!  Rain, maybe up to 60ml would fall mid-week.  This morning the weather man predicted a 90% chance of rain.  Goody, goody! 

Mid morning the wind came up and dust began to spread its clinging coat all over; indoors and out.

The view down the road was blurry and the dust crept into eyes and up the nose.

 

Up the road the view was the same; blurry, and being outdoors was uncomfortable.

 

The electricity failed but thankfully it came on after an hour or so.  Time to hurry with lunch while there was power!  I happened to look outside as we could hear small branches falling onto the roof.  Sand crept in under the door which rattled with every gust of wind.  Then I noticed the damage ... a huge gum tree had been wrenched from the ground with the power of the wind.  It did not land on anything except the road.

After phoning the neighbour to inform her of the 'mishap' [the tree was outside her boundary fence on the verge of the road] I phoned the local Shire.  Help was on its way within half an hour!  This was indeed an excellent response.

A man in a truck and carrying a chain saw arrived.  The branches were cut off, the neighbour's fence which had been caught up in the upturned roots of the tree was righted, and later a loader arrived and pushed the tree branches onto the side of the road leaving the stump in its original position albeit with its roots exposed to the weather.

I was given to understand that the tree and other branches that had fallen nearby will be removed in the near future.

It isn't often that we have such excitement in the neighbourhood!  But still there has been no rain!

Blancmange

In the height of summer we had a series of power outages the result of storms passing through.  Milk in the refrigerator does not keep if the electricity is off and the daytime temperature is the 40's.  So, I bought long-life milk ... to me coffee without milk is quite simply Y U K!

 

Months later there are still packets of long-life milk in the pantry cupboard.  Knowing that I wouldn't likely use it before its 'best by date' I decided to make blancmange, which to me is just another glorified word for custard.  Last night we had rhubarb and blancmange as dessert.

 

While stirring the mixture in the pot a recollection sprung to mind.  Long long ago when a child I read about girls going to boarding school, and I will confess that at the age of nine or ten attending boarding school and getting up to all the hi-jinx described in the pages of books I would have loved to spend school terms at boarding school.  [That desire did wear off ... before I was of boarding school age!]

 

The mention of blancmange for tea at boarding school sounded to me the height of luxury.  [I didn't realise it was only custard.]   The use of a 'foreign word' in the context of a school dinner resounded in my mind ... anything foreign must be great to a country girl who had travelled no further than 50 miles north to the nearest city, and that was a huge adventure.

 

As I dished up the rhubarb and blancmange my mind was still back in last century where girls had daring, and exciting, adventures attending boarding school, and where they ate blancmange for tea. 

Smoke and its not cigarettes!

Far to the south of this state bushfires are raging, one had a boundary of over 200 kms.  Thankfully few homes have been burnt; but the devastation as tall karri trees are engulfed is an ecological tragedy.

 

Early in the week our area, the mid west of Western Australia, had power outages that totalled 50 hours, with a four hour relief when I re-charged the computer, and did a load of washing.  The following morning the power was off again, as were the phones.  Where the previous day neighbours were able to keep in touch via the phone, the day telecommunications failed we gathered on the road exchanging woes.

 

However, our woes were nothing when compared to the fires burning in the south.

 

This morning at sunrise the sun looked weird.  As the morning wore on it became apparent that smoke was beginning to affect our area ... and by 4.00pm when I took the photo, a smoke haze made a curtain between the earth and the sky ... it is impossible to see the sky; all around smoke clings to the land.

 

I feel for those folk who have respiratory problems; life will be more difficult for them.

Wipes brow!

Whew!!  Today was, still is, hot; very hot, too hot!

 

Thankfully after doing the ironing early in the morning household chores were minimal.  Beginning a 'secret challenge' meant that I could sit and stitch without feeling guilty.  Easier said than done in the sweltering heat, but I have managed to put into stitches the idea floating around in my mind. 

 

As the temperature rose the perspiration dripped from my brow; plenty of water was essential ... too often I have felt the effects of not drinking fluids ... lesson learned!

 

Two photos, taken indoors, show just how hot it was.

 

Woops, the clock is a little lopsided ... I must have held the camera sideways!  But the two dials tell the tale.

 

 

A New Year has begun

Our small town holds a Market Day the first Saturday of each month with a variety of interesting stalls.  Cakes, apple pie [a must!], pickles, plants, books, DVD's, jewellery, crystals, and many other bits and pieces that make for curious browsing.

 

We are regulars to visit the Markets, and I find the mix of stall holders fascinating.  Some sit at the back of their gazebo tent watching the passing parade, others wander amongst their product which makes me wonder if they are expecting the public to not only look, but to take when the stall holders eyes are turned.

 

Not far from where we park is Mr Toolman who has spades, drills and bits, screwdrivers, you name it he has it, while Mrs Toolman has interesting crockery and nick knacks.  I try to not look there too long as I have a perchance for crockery, buying teapots [and seldom drink tea] just because they are interesting. 

 

Mr and Mrs Toolman have a dog, a gorgeous big eyed King Charles Cavalier who enjoys do-nuts for breakfast, and who relishes the attention of passers-by.  Needless to say this stall is always my first port of call ... and the obligatory pat of the dog is all important.

 

After wishing Mr and Mrs Toolman Happy New Year I wandered close to the little dog who views the passing parade from the comfort of a deck chair.  Once I was close to the dog I wished him a Happy New Year [one must spread a little cheer if possible] and yesterday those three little words had a profound effect!

 

Little dog smiled at me, no, not smiled, he grinned.  Such a simple appreciation of a few words of greeting brought a smile to my face for the rest of the day.  I guess if there is any one thing to take from this posting it could be ... pay attention to the little things in life as they often bring the most joy.

Simple but pretty

When I first came to the mid-west the sand that passed as soil astounded me.  In N.Z. I had been used to fertile soil that grew wonderful vegetables and flowers, if one planted plants that like a cooler climate. 

 

My first foray into making a flower garden here was an abject failure.  Plants purchased failed during the long hot dry summer.  We obtain our water from a bore, admittedly it has good water, but needs to be pumped [by electricity] to a holding tank.  Watering flowers seemed an expensive waste of water.

 

The following year I purchased more plants; another failure.  When 'moaning' about my lack of gardening abilities in the local newsagents I was surprised to hear that this was a common complaint.  The only way was to plant flowers that needed little water and could withstand weeks of temperatures in the high 30's to low 40's.  Lesson learned!

 

Next year I purchased a packet of nasturtium seed; planted a couple of the old fashioned geranium that grows anywhere, and was the lucky recipient of a rosemary bush and an agave.  These form the backbone of my 'garden' such as it is.  Vegetables are cheaper bought at the supermarket.

 

Each year in winter I plant a few seedlings ... petunias, pansies that sometimes do well and sometimes do not, stock that invariably is a single stock despite the punnet assuring they are doubles.

 

The nasturtiums from that initial planting seed year after year and make a colourful display; needing no attention and thriving with the occasional rain storm.

 

I love their brightness, their adaptability, and the ability to grow year after year.

Kookaburra in the old gum tree

Australia has more gum trees than I care to count; I would hazard a guess that no-one has counted them all.  We have gum trees sheltering us.   Their falling leaves are another story ... I have the self-appointed task of raking them up and transferring them to a bonfire.

 

Two days ago I heard willy-wagtails creating a raucous.  Willy-wagtails are a small bird with a huge inbuilt survival kit.  Spring is when they nest; spring is when they chase any bird that looks like attacking their young; spring is the time they dive-bomb humans who venture too close to the nest.  A willy-wagtail making a dive at one's head is not funny!

 

Wondering what was worrying the wagtails I peered into the old gum tree.  Three wagtails were flying in close formation around the head of a lone kookaburra.  Give Mr Kookaburra his due, he ignored the onslaught!  My sudden appearance decided the wagtails the battle they were waging was not worth the effort and they flew away, which made me wonder if this was simply a learning curve designed to teach the young how to protect themselves.

 

I hurried indoors and managed to take a photo of the kookaburra who sat undisturbed on an overhanging branch.

 

 

The wagtails did have a case re the attack as I believe kookaburras are not against raiding the nest of a wagtail. 

Food or Fodder?

This morning I read an article about kale, the latest wonder food.  It was written with tongue firmly in cheek and resonated with me.

 

I have noticed how many folk are talking about kale ... that leafy green plant  I thought was grown for cattle fodder.  Not that my Dad grew it; instead he grew its close relation [well I think it is a close relation] chowmollier which smelt a lot like cabbage.  It also looked a little like cabbage but with an extremely long stalk.  

 

Chowmollier was planted as a winter fodder crop for cattle and sheep, along with swede turnips that played an important part in my childhood diet as a table vegetable mashed and sweetened with a little sugar; or plucked directly from the ground, the mud cut off with a pocket knife that fathers and brothers invariably carried in pockets, was a firm winter favourite.  Sadly swede turnips in Australia are a poor relation to their New Zealand cousins.  It was always said that a swede turnip was no good until after the first decent frost; frosts are not commonplace in this part of Australia.

 

Upon reading the article it struck me how vegetables come and go in favouritism.  I remember spring cabbages that were leafy and green [no doubt in the same class as kale for goodness] whereas today supermarkets favour pale insipid looking cabbage, often cut in half and wrapped in cling foil.

 

I think I will give kale a miss and look forward to whatever is the 'in vegetable' in future.   I hope it isn't mushrooms!

A trip south

Last week we headed down to Perth, mainly for a break away before the heat of summer arrives, with a secondary reason being I needed summer clothes.  Honestly I do need new clothes!  Last summer I wore skirts and tops; not a great idea as the extra fabric at the waist only makes me swelter all the more.  Loose fitting dresses seemed a better alternative.

We do not have a movie theatre in our town; a trip to the movies added to the pleasure of a week in the city, not forgetting visits from and to family.  All in all a lovely break away.

Coming home we stopped at a little parking bay for a cup of coffee [a flask of boiling water and a couple of coffee sachets along with biscuits are essential for a four hour trip].  The photos were taken from there.  You may be able to make out wind turbines in the distance in one of the photos.  Turbines are commonplace especially near to the ocean [Indian Ocean in this case] where the wind is no stranger.

picnic shelter

bushland with turbines in distance

bushland next to picnic shelter

 

Mellow Yellow

Remember the song, Mellow Yellow?  Last week as we drove around the area it became obvious that the theme for this time of year could be Mellow Yellow.

Spring in the mid-west means the countryside is ablaze with crops reaching towards the sky as they grow and ripen, often inter-mingled with verges of wild flowers.

The canola makes a yellow splash on the sky-line ... surely a happier sight one can hardly imagine.

 

While the sky appears threatening no rain eventuated from those grey clouds.  A week later still no rain has fallen and the land is fast becoming parched.  Those splendid looking crops need rain or they will fail.  Yesterday the temperatures reached 30°, today they will be not far behind.  Farmers are becoming anxious.

 

No to Scams!

Once upon a time I received money in an envelope; it was called my pay.  Straight away I headed to the bank and deposited a hefty proportion of that pay packet, saving some for board [I lived at home with my parents and board was expected back in those days], some I placed in my purse for 'sundries that may have included stockings [yes, before pantihose!  and nowhere near as easy to wear as pantihose], going to the movies, and perhaps a look at the sales.

 

Later when married for some time my husband was paid with money in an envelope until one day he was requested to give his bank account number to the company as thenceforth pays would be direct debited.  Instead of putting money in the bank we were encouraged to take it out!

 

Time moves forward.  Plastic cards almost took the place of money.  Herein lies my tale.

 

Yes, cards are easy to use; easy to spend with, which I suspect is more than half the reason the banks like them as if anyone is not careful enough to keep within their bank balance a loan [with interest] might be required from the bank.  Banks have become Big Business!

 

Fortunately I had a good grounding in keeping hold of money.  I now have a debit card which I will admit is invaluable in spending 'on line'.  Oh so very easy to log in, search for a fabric [as most of my sundry spending these days is on fabric to cater for my addiction of stitching and patchwork], type on the card number, if they don't use PayPal, and wait for a parcel to arrive in the post.

 

Recently my debit card was updated.  I did not request it be updated to a 'wave by' [or some similar foolish name] card.  In fact one of my first forays into the shops, a little bakery that sells quite delicious decadent cakes, I was asked if my card was one of these 'wave bys'.  I must have looked quite blank.  The shop assistant grabbed my card, waved it above a machine, and before I knew what had happened the transaction was complete.

 

On my way home, some time later, it suddenly occurred to me ... what if my handbag/purse was snatched?!!  In some places it is quite common [sad what some humans have descended into isn't it!?]  Since then I have insisted I insert my card into the machine and put in my PIN. 

 

Whilst at the newsagents last week my eye was taken by a stand displaying metal 'card holders'.  I asked why metal.  The reply was that they are meant to stop folk who have a scanner from scanning a card whilst it is in a handbag/purse/wallet/pocket and spending money that does not belong to them.  I bought a pretty pink one!!

 

 

Some days I wish we had money to spend!

Kangaroo

The kangaroo family/mob [had to look up the collective noun for these animals!] have once again been grazing on the green grass across the road.  I grabbed the camera, which does not have telescopic lens ... unfortunately ... but I did wind the view finder to its best view, sneaked across the road trying to walk quietly on the gravel.  My quarry was in sight!  However he [or she] had excellent hearing and stood up listening.  I managed a couple of photos before it bounded away beyond my picture taking distance.

 

 

The best photo I cropped, but you will see the distinctive shape and colour of a  red kangaroo which are the most common in this area.

The white blobs are melons that grow wild and prolifically and over which I wage a continual war.  I must add that our place does not have melons ... they are pulled out at the 'poking head through the soil' stage!

Green, green.

Searching through my mind for a title the Tom Jones song flickered into my consciousness ... and how apt it is.

After the dryness of summer we have had rain, not just one rainfall, but several over the past weeks and a transformation has occurred.  Outside it is Green, green!  We now have a lawn which to me is rather upside-down as in New Zealand I mowed lawns in Summer, here in Western Australia I mow lawns in winter.

 

The photo shows the greenness ... and while it appears to be just a photo of rural Western Australia [which it is] there is a wonderful tale surrounding this scene.

 

Two weeks ago as I was adding more rubbish to our bin parked across the road where it waited patiently for the bin-man I heard a strange noise.  I looked and there down the neighbours' boundary fence were two kangaroos trying desperately to jump across or through the high wire that kept them from the shelter of a small bush area.  The smaller kangaroo managed.  It took several minutes of what was obviously a time of panic for the larger kangaroo to finally find a place to jump over.

 

I believed there were kangaroos living in that bush area to the top left of the photo. 

 

Last night as I sat eating my meal I noticed some brown blobs in the paddock.  Even though I had new spectacles [not as good as my old ones for distant viewing!] I wasn't certain if they were kangaroos or dead grass.  Leaving my meal I grabbed the binoculars, hurried outside for a better view.  Four kangaroos were grazing near the large gum tree.  One, a large one, must have heard me for it raised its head [and it was then I knew I was looking at kangaroos] and loped out of sight.  The others continued to graze for the best part of quarter of an hour. 

 

We have kangaroos nearby!!  I feel sorry for folks not living in a rural area as the sudden appearance of native animals and birds keeps one fascinated.

ANZAC Day

25th April is the day we remember those who gave their lives in war.  Ninety nine years ago the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps fought for freedom at Gallipoli; many lost their lives; many came home changed men. 

 

World War 11 [1939 - 1945] followed, more death and despair, the Korean War [1950 - 1953], the Vietnam War 1962 - 1975], and now the Afghanistan conflict [2001 - ] continue to take the lives of young men, leaving widows and fatherless children to lead some semblance of a normal life.  Some, too many, who come home are so seriously affected they can no longer face life; truly a great sadness.

 

Women left at home attempt to bring some normality to their loved ones serving abroad, and  in World War 1 a recipe for a 'good keeper' sweet treat was concocted.  The result ... Anzac biscuits, that are a firm favourite with the home-maker who bakes not only around ANZAC Day, but throughout the year.

 

Not having an oven I buy biscuits.  Last year ANZAC biscuits were sold in a tin; and this year I found two different tins full of these chewy biscuits in the supermarket.  I bought one which will be used as is it's last year companion, as a storage container for sweet treats.

 

ANZAC biscuits

 

120 g butter

1 tblsp golden syrup

1 cup desiccated coconut

pinch salt

1 tsp baking soda

1 cup plain flour

1 cup sugar

1 cup rolled oats

2 tblsp boiling water

 

Sift flour and salt.  Melt butter and golden syrup on stove, dissolve baking soda in boiling water.  Mix all ingredients together, roll into balls and place on tray lined with baking paper leaving room to spread.  Bake in moderate oven 350° F 15 minutes or until golden.  Cool on a wire rack before serving.

Letters

We often hear it said 'He is a person of letters' meaning he is of an intellectual persuasion. 

 

But ... there are those other people of letters who literally write letters regularly, to family, to friends, to acquaintances, letters of complaint, thank you letters, and letters of apology.  To me folk who put pen to paper, or in the modern idiom, fingers on keyboard and print out [which is eminently more readable in many cases] are the true people of letters.

 

Sadly people of letters are becoming a rarer breed.  Although the Internet offers several ways of communication much is fly-by-night; fluffy and following the thoughts of the millions of that moment.  Some, thankfully, is interesting and well worth sitting down to read and appreciate.

 

As a child I liked to write letters; more importantly I loved to receive letters, and it soon became evident that to receive a letter one had to first write one, or at least reply.  Aunts and Uncles became my main targets as they were as thrilled to receive my scribbles as I was to receive their replies.    Thus a lifetime of letter writing was nurtured.

 

When my parents departed this world I took it upon myself to become the 'family correspondent'; after all my only brother had left pen and paper behind upon completing his school days, though [said in a whisper] when he was courting he did write letters.  Those letters were composed at the kitchen table with a lot of input from myself and our parents.  To this day I am sure the recipient was not aware of how public his letters were. 

 

Elderly relatives died and my list of correspondents faltered.

 

Then I discovered pen-pals!  People from across the ocean wishing to correspond with folk of like minds.  By this stage a portable typewriter became my main tool of keeping in touch, and on a Saturday afternoon with the children either in bed, or at the swimming pool, and husband occupied in his shed, or in the garden, the kitchen table took on the appearance of an office.  The number of pen-pals altered as other activities captured their attention more than writing. 

 

Many of those letters had small booklets enclosed and these little treasures held the names and addresses of other pen-pals wanting to increase their circle of friends.  Fun!  Did I want a pal in this particular country or would I prefer one there?  All the time the cost of stamps was kept forefront; after all the grocery money had to be adjusted to fit in overseas postage.

 

Letters passed to and fro; photos of children; snippets of a life lived in another country added to the tapestry of my life.

 

Time marches on; the Internet arrived, and slowly, one by one many of those letter writers fell by the wayside and emails were exchanged.  Emails that were jokes, or fripperies; not letters that could be read and re-read.

 

But, some of us keep up the old tradition of letter writing [or letter typing and printing out, complete with photos] and today I have just written two such letters.  Page upon page of what I hope the recipient at the other end will find interesting. 

 

I do wonder how, in say 100 years, people will communicate?  Will mail be delivered into mailboxes?  Will pen and paper, or typewriter and printer be  normal, or will everyone send a text ... minus the vowels?

Old is new is old

Most mornings I read the free on-line headlines in the newspaper that was once my daily newspaper, The Otago Daily Times, as I like to keep up with what is happening 'at home'.

 

This morning's smaller headline spread a smile on my face.  From the article I gleaned that knitting is making a comeback in Otago where I hasten to add, wool is the most suitable fibre for winter wear.  In my 'mother' days I knitted; kept five children in knitted jerseys, and when the need arose knitted for myself and my husband.  Knitting was what I did at night with one eye on the television; knitting occupied any spare moment during the day, and a wool shop was a goldmine. 

 

Upon my departure to Australia and needing to keep the number of 'things' I brought with me, taking into account where I might live and how much space I may have, and just how much of my decades of accumulation were important enough to transport. High on the list, in fact very high on my list, were knitting needles. 

 

 Over the years my collection of knitting needles had grown ... bamboo ones [wasn't too keen on them as the action of knitting split the bamboo leaving me feeling as though I had swallowed a fly]; plastic needles that bent like palm trees in a storm, steel needles that pierced the eardrums as they click-clacked against each other.  My Mother did not like knitting, though she did through necessity; her reason being the click clack, click clack.  My favourite needles were, and still are, plastic coated steel lined.  Soft gentle click clacking, and they come in pretty colours.

 

I have a collection of knitting wool that needs getting into ... unfortunately the temperature in Australia is much warmer than South Otago and the need for woollen garments less.  I do still knit, mainly for new arrivals though a cardigan half completed in a bag will be finished and worn ... next year perhaps?

 

 The newspaper article reminded me of the hours I had spent knitting as I pondered upon the thought that knitting is almost a pastime of the past.  Perhaps knitting will show a resurgence, and once again women will pick up the needles, knit something they can wear, and feel rather pleased with the result.

 

Oh ... it isn't just women who knit.  My bachelor uncle who was a keen cricketer and bowler [indoor and out] knitted jumpers for the cooler days when he played sport.  It was he who showed me a great way to cast on, a method I use to this day.

Deep down I hope knitting, and other skills from last century, will once again be taken up, and fashion is once again dictated by those who put time and effort and their own particular stamp on a design.

Beautiful Iris

Much of my life I lived in complete ignorance of Garage Sales; that changed when I moved into my present home.  Significant Other is an avid Garage Sale viewer and slowly this harmless addiction has crept into my psyche.  One need not always purchase!  One should always look ... and common sense should always prevail.

 

Saturday mornings see us driving into town armed with The Rag, our local once-a-week newspaper, advertising when and where that day's garage sale can be found.

 

Many of the folk who regularly seek out garage sales are the same week to week; a kind of camaraderie exists, though there are a few who have their eye only on bargains.

 

Yesterday was a diamond day; well an Iris day.  The goods were spaciously laid out and there in the middle of a table sat a gorgeous Iris article.  From the distance I assumed [wrongly! one should never assume as a tutor once told me, to assume makes an ass out of u and me] this delectable looking article was pottery.  The price would probably be more than what I had in my purse.  But ... luck was on my side!  This tin, with a lid, was in perfect condition and became mine for the princely sum of 50c.  Now that is a great bargain.  You may wonder how I will use it ... I am not sure, but never worry; I will find a use, and a space for it.