Must Have Home Improvements?

Astrid's wonderful cross-stitched Advent Calendar made by Mum

As I settle in for an evening of individually wrapping 48 little bits of chocolate to string on Linus and Astrid's (Incredibly Awesome Mormor Made)  Advent Calendars ready for tomorrow, I am reminded of wrapping stations.

What's a wrapping station I hear you ask? Well, I certainly didn't know there was such a thing until a few months ago and my mind I must admit BOGGLED a little. 

Researching colours for the dining room I stumbled upon Riviera View where I was introduced to a pair who's home (apparently); "friends and neighbors all agree ... is hands down one of the most stylish in the Hollywood Riviera" (I assume this information was volunteered by the power couple themselves, um, hubris anyone?). Anyway, the home includes as we are exuberantly told, "a gift wrapping zone - on everyone's fantasy design to-do list - which Melissa actually accomplished! " 

This got me pondering. 

You know, I've never fantasized about this and I'm fairly certain that I NEVER will. So who are these "everyone" who do fantasize about a place to wrap stuff? 

Apparently quite a few people do including Martha Stewart.

I know very little about Martha (save her white collar prison escapades). But Martha doesn't just have a wrapping station! No, her must have design items include; a pet grooming salon, a dining room and kitchen in her state-of-the-art climate controlled stables (and not for the horsies either. I certainly hope the ventilation is state-of-the-art), a barn (I think just to hang quilts in and make culturally uncomfortable puns "Barn-Mitzva"?!), 100 year old Canadian fencing to, I presume, make her Canadian horses feels at home and 45,000 Daffodil bulbs!

Hmmmm, would I fantasize about any of that? Erm, no.

Although I will admit to having a little daydream about a few of the daffodils.

Keep it between you and your doctor!

We are of course all for reducing our packaging and recycling.

Reusing things for whatever creative whim might strike is encouraged and the volume of "art" produced by our children is staggering. Cereal boxes, yoghurt containers and bottle tops are whisked away to make spaceships, "dog jails", famous landmarks, and modern sculptures that defy labelling. That's just fine with me as I can do regular sweeps of the house to help these things make it the rest of the way into the BULGING recycling bin before bin day.

Fortunately for us we have a huge Wheelie Bin for recyclables that is collected fortnightly. Unfortunately though despite our best efforts to reduce the amount of packaging we buy this bin is nearly always filled to capacity. OK, so there might be a couple of wine bottles in there but even so where does it all come from?

Well, the school insists on sending home mountains of their own and donated (from other people's bulging bins no doubt) recycling made into treasures like life-size models of box children (thanks for that, it took about 2 months of crammed bins to get rid of) and  robot dogs like this one. The troubling thing about Fido here is that his head is made out of a tablet box for a medicine that Google tells me is for Gout (well, you know I had to Google it, it could have been for Syphilis or an Anti-psychotic or  for Flesh Eating Disease. All things I'd rather my children's teachers didn't have).

Who donates their prescription medicine boxes to a school? Couldn't you have slipped this into your own bin and given them a toothpaste box instead? This is now too much information and a bit of a burden for me (and not just because I have to try and squeeze it into my recycling bin). Now I'll be secretly watching the staff and parents for signs of limping or grimacing to work out who's recycling this is.

And what if a "bin diving" tabloid reporter goes through my recycling, sees the box and the couple of wine bottles and writes an article about me having Gout?

I guess it could have been worse. I could have Syphilitic Psychosis and a nose hanging by a thread.

The Frogs of Anarchy

We have a  Motorbike Frog living in our pond we call him Opie. He’s been there for a couple of months now calling every evening, “Bwrrrrrrrrrrrrr-rudtp rudup” (which means, “Ladies . . . got a really nice pond here . . . ladies! There’s lots of lovely plants to hide in and bugs to eat . . . LADIES!!!”). 

After months of his effort, who should show up? Not one but two more male frogs! Seems that they are starting a motorcycle chapter (the Frogs of Anarchy). So now we have an incredibly loud chorus of motorcycle revving going on each evening. Surely the lady frogs can hear them now from kilometres away.

Of course what they’re not saying is, “Bwedipt” (there’s also 6 Koi fish that will gobble up any of the eggs that the three of us don’t eat first).

Melbourne is for Cool Kids

Ducked off to Melbourne for the weekend (sans children!).
Walked our little feet off.
Hung out in Fitzroy mostly and tried not to look too old and boring (this is hard to do around Brunswick Street).
Went to some great restaurants, bars, art galleries, parks and visited with friends.
I bought some silk and stainless steel yarn just because I could, really no idea what I'm going to use it for though.
I was "pan-handled" by a well dressed dwarf in Carlton. He had apparently, "lost his wallet". The situation was so absurd that I gave him $2.
We had Brazilian coffee in a Cuban cafe served by a dark smouldering-eyed young man who had the Che Guevara look down pat. Funny thing is that the Historian looks somewhat like Castro at the moment with his greying beard and black cap. Another absurd situation...Comrade.
Then it rained.
Lots.
We still walked our little feet off but in very wet sloppy shoes. Rain wicked up our jeans and our legs got heavier and heavier, and colder. Lucky for tiny warm dry bars...everywhere.
Thanks Melbourne it was really fun!

HEAT

Things are starting to heat up here and the mild sense of panic that comes over me each summer is creeping in. I know, all of you staring at long dark winters ahead of you will be rolling your eyes,"What's she complaining about?"

I really struggle with summer and the older I get the more wussy I get. I don't want to make light of depression (because that's serious) but I think I have a slight touch of S.A.D (Seasonal Affective Disorder). More rolling of eyes. Yes, I know that's usually associated with those long dark winters (not to set off your S.A.D by reminding you again). . . mine comes from too much light . . . and HEAT.

So to stave off the dread of the approaching furnace that is the Australian summer, I thought I'd list the pros and cons as I see them (hopefully the Pros will come out in front?!?):

NEGATIVES

1. It's HOT, sticky, sweaty, uncomfortable...you don't want children, Historians or even clothing touching you. This is particularly horrid when small children insist on climbing all over you wailing, "it's HOT mama".
2. I have to wax my legs . . . more frequently. OK, I'll admit that during winter my legs can get a little Hobbity and I like it. No mess, no pain, no hassles.
3. Sleep is HARD. I remember years of summers when the only way to get through the night was to wet your top sheet in a cold shower and drape it over you Coolgardie Safe style. I've gotten soft. Aircon. is a priority for our new house. Last summer without it brought me to a very dark place!
4. Flies! Little skinny ones that like to get up into your nostrils and big fat slow ones that square dance contemptuously around your room. Oh, and Mozzies (Mosquitoes)! Lying in bed willing sleep to come and hearing that high pitched whine as the horrible sucker that avoided the Mortein Napalm cloud you sprayed before bed circles it's prey and secretly hoping it chooses the Historian's exposed flesh over yours.
5. Your candles, ice-creams, make-up(if you wear it) melts. Disgusting puddles of once solid stuff are everywhere.

POSITIVES

1.  I get to wear a Kaftan at home without any hint of embarrassment. It's the only thing that touches me nowhere but the tips of my shoulders.
2. Washing is dry by the time you finish hanging it out. Very efficient.
3. Goths. Watching Goths in Summer is hilarious! I admire them for their steadfast commitment to their style but 40+C days are really tough on them. There's pools of white pancake makeup and black eyeliner everywhere. There's one particular local lad with licorice thin legs who gets around in his sprayed on black denim, long sleeved black shirt, black boufant hair and a frilly black parasol. I saw him "run"(mincingly) across the street last summer. That vision still gives me the giggles.
4.  Everyone gets more sociable. There are tons of barbecues to be hosted and attended. So that's nice.

Hmmm, the "Nays" seem to have it. I'll have to dig deeper for the positives before it heats up, or escape to cooler climes (more on that soon). 

Fennel

Apparently I'm attracted to Fennel. Every time I'm perusing the spice aisle at the supermarket, I have to stop myself from getting more Fennel. This is how my internal dialogue goes, "No, you don't need Fennel, I'm sure you've got some already. What do you even use it for anyway? You probably need Turmeric. Turmeric is something you always use. Get the Turmeric . . . but what if I don't have Fennel? Fennel is exotic, I'll probably need some Fennel. Imagine how annoyed I'll be when I discover I have 5 jars of Turmeric and no Fennel."

I think it's the sound of it. Fennel. It's such a pretty word, like fairies flitting through a shady glen (far prettier than Turmeric which sounds like something you need to have removed from your big toe).

So I end up with lots of Fennel (and yes, no Turmeric in sight).

My latest impulse buy was Fennel Tea. How can you make Fennel sound more attractive to me? Put the word Tea after it and have it made by someone called Heath & Heather. It's undoubtedly what the fairies drink. I believe they use it to flavour Absinthe too and fairies are definitely associated with Absinthe.

Fennel Tea is however . . . horrible! Actually, Absinthe is fairly horrible too. That should have tipped me off. The packet tells me amongst other things that it's great for appetite suppression. Well they're not kidding. After a few sips of this you're turned off food for some time. Must be why fairies are so small and thin, huh?

In other news, we have some nesting Kookaburras in the trees behind us. Here they are canoodling on the neighbour's broken basketball hoop.

And coming down for a closer look at me. The vege-patch Chitty Chitty was NOT at all pleased.

The Poo Man Cometh

50 litres of sheep poo delivered to our door! LOVELY!

We live on sand in this part of Australia. A whole city built on sand dunes. Whenever we get rain it goes straight down, schlurrrrp. And being basically dirty beach sand there's nothing at all good in it for your plants and vegetables. So the Poo Man is a bit of a super hero here: "Send up the Poo signal, we need POO MAN" . . .

Dealing with sheep and cow manure for a living gives you an odd sense of humor I suspect (one that a five year old would appreciate). It seemed that every discussion I had with the Poo Man was fraught with double entendre and toilet jokes;

"Hello, I'd like to order some sheep manure please."
"Great, I can't deliver till next Thursday though as we're...ahem, fresh out of it at the moment (snicker)."
"Out of it? You have to wait for some more to be forthcoming then (snicker)?"
"That's right. We need to increase production, we've had a bit of a run on it (snicker)."

"Hello. Just letting you know that we are running a little behind (snortle). We usually have a regular drop off in your area on Thursday. Is Friday too late for you?"
"That's fine we had no urgent plans for it"

Anyway, thanks Poo Man.  Thanks sheep's bottoms. Our garden loves you!