Community gardening

This morning, early, I received a feint phone call, 'Ma, would you like to come, too'? Would I ever! So off we went to Bondi Junction looking for the Waverley Community Garden, somewhere off Ebley Street. Off, and down a gully, as it turned out.

But what a wonderful way to spend a short morning: three generations working at weeding, watering, growing, talking, and bonding. The first image shows the flower of an onion and, yes, my girls are in the photographs. too. I have already located the nearest community garden to the house that we move into at the end of January. In our suburb! And our local council - Willoughby Council - runs seminars on 'Chooks in Backyards' as well as promoting the 'Sustainable Street' programme. 'Twas meant to be, dear God; 'twas meant to be! See in that final photograph, Alannah's hand on her mother's arm? Kirsten had been showing the other little girl - Marlo - the flowers and fruit of the zucchini plant. I have a series of shots that show Alannah's thoughts: 'Huh! I will put a stop to that! She is MINE!'!

Dusk gathers us in

Looking into Wangi Bay, on Lake Macquarie, late on Saturday afternoon.

Indulgence

This is my contribution to the Weekend in Black and White community.

What happened to Sydney's blue skies?

We waited out the drizzle, but last Sunday morning never did amount to all that much, weatherwise. However, I did enjoy the visit to Camp Cove with my girls. The photograph, taken by Kirsten, shows us in our 'hatties'. I only have the one summer hat. However, Alannah likes to colour-coordinate her hatties.

This is my contribution to the Skywatch Community.

Cock Horse

Today reached 38C when the average for this time of year is about 24C. We sought refuge walking around the stables in Centennial Parklands, but continuing to swelter we quickly repaired to the nearby cafe for an ice-block.

Ride a cock-horse to Banbury Cross, To see a fine lady upon a white horse; Rings on her fingers and bells on her toes, And she shall have music wherever she goes.

Widow's waeds

They set a cracking pace, chattering as they scurried, throwing hurry-ups over their shoulder to ensure none was tardy. Checking that I, the intruder, didn't miss my step over the gutter, I snatched a glimpse as they ducked around the back of the crematorium. Luckily, I caught the hem of the black sheep as he stepped in behind the Eastern Wall. An unexpected vista opened before me.


Could they have internalised Robert Frost's 'Mending Wall'? In this small section, maybe half a dozen rows, there they were, laid cheek-by-jowl, peas-in-a-pod, not an inch between them. One big, happy family with bountiful tending and respect. I heard the tumbling gush of ancient-tongue, the bustle as bouquets unfurled, and water fetched. The tsk-ing and the tut-ing as the week's embarrassments were confided.

I moved on, with a spring and a smile. Not only Frost, but Dylan Thomas as well:

Though lovers be lost, love shall not; And death shall have no dominion.

Paying one's respects

As the bus meandered down the peninsula, it increasingly filled with passengers who, to me, were all very similar. I took a wild punt that they were going my way. And sure enough, the bus emptied at the Botany Cemetery stop.

Mostly the other passengers were in their 70s, short and a little overweight, wearing black. Predominantly they were female, but not exclusively. I followed them; they were all in a jolly mood; and, they all seemed to know each other well.

Mostly, they were Greek. Am I supposed to say 'of Greek extraction'? Anyways, they were Greek. They led me to the most beautifully maintained section of any cemetery I have ever visited. *whispers* I think they compete with each other. *shhh*

Shall show you more over the next few days.

Memories of beaten plough shields

The world appeared to heave as I reached double-digits, and I was asked to help with the ploughing and the sowing and the reaping. I would tether my water-flask in the cool shallows of the dam for later retrieval, jump on the running board of the sower, adjusting my stance to buffer against the pummeling, and knot a bandana across my nose and mouth. A quick thumbs up to Dad on the tractor, and we would lurch into a morning of action, as I judged the small seeds scattering from the ancient machine into the wobbly furrows beneath my feet. A haul on the lever to neutral, as we rounded the extremeity of the paddock, heaving it back to release, as we headed toward the dust shrouded dam in the distance.

But in reality, all I saw were native fauna fashioned from rusting farm equipment.

Homing pidgeon

What better birthday present could I receive? My daughter, Kirsten, returns home today after facing her demons. In about ten days, the pathology on the excised ameloblastoma will pronounce whether the demons are vanquished. All data thus far is very encouraging.

Legbone connected to the jawbone

This is my daughter, Kirsten, and her family. These shots were taken whilst they cycled around parts of the state of Tasmania during Easter 2011. At that stage, they were oblivious to the ameloblastoma pedaling with them.

Kirsten is in an induced coma for the next 12 hours or so. There are tubes everywhere. She did not need any blood transfusions but took 4 litres of fluid and is quite puffy. Her vitals are strong, with maybe her heart a bit fast. The nurse on duty when my son-in-law visited just now, was happy both with Kirsten's colour and with the colour of her new new jawbone.

Kirsten has been writing a blog to help her understand what was happening to her and how it was going to be 'fixed'. When she googled she could not find enough 'reliable' and detailed information, and she thrives on information-overload (she has law degrees). So, for herself, and for future sufferers, she started a blog. There is one particular post which is a good summary: http://marsupialmum.wordpress.com/2011/07/20/reconstruction/

Having read that, you are welcome to go to 'Home' and follow the postings by her husband, Darren. Kirsten hopes to post from her ICU bed by week's end. I hope she does, too. She is one courageous woman. Her father and I hope to catch a glimpse of her tomorrow afternoon.

On the same wavelength

Rushcutters Bay playground, Monday afternoon.

Happy first birthday

Some of you may recognise this young lady from my family blog. She turned one year old last Friday.

Happy birthday Alannah Jane!!

The possibility of imagination

Watsons Bay library is a branch of the Woollahra Municipal library. Public libraries in NSW are a function of our third tier of government, local or municipal government. The other tiers of government in Australia are the federal goverment (which is based in Canberra), and the state governments, of which there are six.


The Watsons Bay library is very small and only open Tuesdays and Thursdays. However, it has an aspect that is drop dead gorgeous. To take the two photos on either side of this text, all I had to do was turn around. The library has a fenced in grassed area for spreading rugs and parking strollers, and is attached to a small cafe. And today was about 20C in the midst of autumn. Can you see the city back down the harbour, and the Harbour Bridge peeking above the hill on the right? It was very smokey for some reason today.


My 10 month-old grand-daughter has her own library card, which means that my daughter is able to borrow up to 40 books at any given time! Alannah is able to turn pages and lift Spot's flaps. The other morning, when Kirsten went to get her up, she was sitting in her cot turning pages of a book she had retrieved from a table through the bars of the cot. So important to have an imagination that is open to being stretched ...

Time out

Will lay low a bit for a couple of days with pre-loaded one liners.

What is work and what is play?

Marked for posterity

For the last ten months, two cousins and I have been organising a family reunion. Yesterday was the big day: 80+ relations, covering four generations, met in a venue in Western Sydnay. We were all descended from someone in one particular photograph taken in 1924.

Our gift to the gathering was a scroll which they were all invited, nay dragooned, to sign - even those among us who were not up to the writing stage.


My grand-daughter watched intruiged as her father held her and her mother painted her hand with black paint, and squeezed it down upon the canvas surround of the photograph. In another 87 years, I hope she will feel a thrill to look at this imprint and acknowledge those who came before.

Yum cha

'Emporer Garden' in Dixon Street for early Yum Cha on this extraordinary day for state poliltics. Good to mooch around with brothers and neices and nephews. Not forgetting my wonderful sister-in-law.

... twowit, twowoo said the wise old owl ...

Reading aloud to children, from an early age, is a fun thing to do, and creates a bond of emotion and involvement that lasts their whole life through.


My grand-daughter, Alannah, is about 5 1/2 months. Her mother, Kirsten, first read to her when she was three days old. She read her a little Golden Book, 'Baby's Birthday', which was her own very first book. I gifted it to Kirsten on her 30th birthday in 2009.

Alannah already has 35 books on her shelf, some in French which I picked up in Paris last September.

Money bags

I have sixpence Jolly, jolly sixpence; I have sixpence To last me all my life. I have tuppence to lend And, tuppence to spend And, tuppence to take home to my wife.

Baby's first Christmas

My daughter lugged a Norfolk Island pine home a few days ago, baby in the bjorn on her stomach, pine in a pot on her hip. Determined, would cover it.

Fifty bucks, at the local market. Stands about our height, smidge over five feet.

So, today we decorated it.
Nothing OTT. Or schmaltzie.

But I think it went over well.