Nasturtiums like to grow free-range in the sun with well-drained soil but I planted the seeds in an old hanging basket under the verandah and watched their lifespan over three months from warm September mornings in springtime to steamy January afternoons in summertime.
Australians really love their pet pals – one in three won’t go on holidays because it would mean leaving their pet behind. A recent survey examined the lifestyle of 1,000 pet owners regarding the impact pets have on their travel habits. I found the results interesting.
National Seniors and Trusted Housesitters research demonstrates that with 5.7 million households owning a pet in Australia (over 13 million people) roughly four million people choose to stay at home rather than holidaying due to concerns about their pet’s well-being.
Apparently those who did take a break (69%) said they had felt guilty when leaving their pet behind, while over one-third of Australian pet owners (36%) have turned down a weekend away, citing being unable to arrange pet care as the reason.
Pets often disrupt their owners’ social lives, with 18% of respondents having regularly missed social engagements in favour of staying at home to ensure their pets were cared for. Of those surveyed, 6% avoided going on dates, choosing their pets over romance.
When it comes to Australian pet owners who regularly take holidays, 29% opted for a trusted pet sitter versus putting their pet in a boarding kennel (21%), while 35% of pet owners organised friends or family to care for their furry friend.
One in four participants said they would never travel overseas or interstate without their pet. Presumably this pet is a dog and the owner is wealthy!
In a British study of veterinary experts conducted by Trusted Housesitters UK, 100% believed animals responded better to a new carer than a new environment, as animals were particularly bonded to their home. Is there bias in this result?
I’m not making any pronouncements for-or-against. I’ve loved and cared for every one of my darling pets and by making arrangements in advance, none ever stopped me from travelling away from home. But the guilt was there.
You are invited to follow my pictorial efforts in home-growing mandarin trees with no experience and limited resources. Nothing by the book, just me planting seeds and hoping Mother Nature does the rest. I’m not even sure if you have to dry the seeds first!
Two loaves of home-baked bread with garlic on top and grated cheese inside, eaten with chicken and corn soup. Entrée nibbles were baby beetroot leaves, sliced sausage and home-grown mandarin (tangerine) pieces. The mandarin tree is about 45 years old but still produces a juicy citrus crop each winter.
There’s no disputing that clothes, shoes and food make the world go around. The order depends on your preference. I would have listed food first but today I’m talking about shoes. Why? Because I wear shoes out of necessity and make my favourite pair last for years.
Summertime footwear is usually sandals or thongs, no, not that kind, the flip-flops/jandals kind. And wintertime is usually a closed-in toe like runners/joggers/sandshoes. I have black work shoes and lace-up boots for walking, and flat heels and small heels being the most versatile for social occasions.
I like matching accessories, however, my shoes are usually the least prominent colour. Recently I purchased a shiny rose gold-pewter casual pair of flatties and I love them. They go with a lot of things and they are comfy. My maroon old-lady slippers haven’t had a workout yet (summertime lingers in the subtropics) but my shiny flatties are just as good for pottering around the house. The best part is that the shoe shop where I purchased them had a sale day. Need I say more…
The ramblings above make it appear that I have many pairs of shoes but in actual fact I do not. Of course, there’s the old, forgotten ones shoved to the back of the wardrobe, e.g. closet, gathering dust and mould. The strappy, bling-covered pair which contain good memories; the 1980s white leather and wood health clogs; the brown leather knee-high boots which cost me a month’s wages (much admired by family and friends) now growing mildew.
Not so long ago I had a foot problem due to a gardening incident and suffered much pain even when inactive. Treatment and recovery were slow, I spent a lot of time babying my foot which became a nuisance. My heel had throbbed at random intervals, even though I inserted every kind of foot pad imaginable into the sole of my shoe…but not all at once!
My foot injury made me very aware of good shoe support and good advice from a doctor or podiatrist. Never underestimate the importance of your “plates of meat” as Cockney slang might say. Feet get you from A to B carrying the complete load of your body. Support them!
Are you participating in Earth Hour? Join the largest global movement for the environment. On Saturday 24 March 2018 switch off – then do it again every year. Make an earth-friendly statement towards our planet’s future. Commit to a sustainable world!
Have a cosy night in.
Light all the candles you can find.
Turn off all your lights.
Turn off the television.
Turn off the phone.
Turn off all electronic devices.
Sit in your favourite place.
Talk, laugh, eat and relax.
Be aware of the darkness of night.
Gaze into the candle flames.
Feel drowsy, feel peaceful.
One hour goes fast.
Maybe sit there a bit longer…
In Australia, Earth Hour will start at 8:30pm. Join millions of people in over 180 countries who are switching off their lights for Earth Hour as a symbolic gesture to show the need for stronger climate action. Are you ready to join the movement? It’s time to switch off and #Connect2Earth.
Earth Hour ambassador, Lucas Handley, says “For me, Earth hour isn’t just about saving energy for that one hour – it’s a visual recognition that we are all part of an interconnected community; capable and committed to finding a more sustainable and earth-friendly direction for our society.” Q&A with Lucas Handley
I love the homey words and clean, familiar lines of Rachael Flynn’s artwork. She lives on a cattle and sheep farm in a locality called Piambong which is about 25km north-west of Mudgee, NSW, Australia. Her calendar (above) features rural farm life with a quirky theme and seasonal recipe each month.
The yellow rabbit picked his front teeth with a twig and contemplated what it would be like baked in a rabbit pie. He remembered a tune the tone-deaf gardener used to sing “Run rabbit, run rabbit, run, run, run, something, something, he’ll get by without his rabbit pie…” Stupid song but with a happy ending for the bunny. The yellow rabbit didn’t have to worry about ending up in a pie because he crept among the marrows and hid in the sunflower patch or in buttery dandelion clumps and the gardener couldn’t see him. There were so many things to hide in, or on, or against when you were yellow. He remembered the nerve-wracking time he stopped on a double yellow line so a council truck wouldn’t run over him. The driver wasn’t going fast but that’s beside the point. The yellow rabbit nearly hopped out in front of the vehicle. Of course, stopping still on the yellow line made him invisible. His paws were a bit shaky once the truck had driven passed and he’d vowed then and there never to cross a road again. He looked up at the back verandah of the old homestead and continued his contemplation. There was a big yellow tablecloth fluttering on the railing which meant plans were afoot to eat outside. He had already spied the plump yellow cushions on the cane chairs. The big glass jug was frosting over, filled with ice and lemon nectar. The yellow rabbit always thought it strange how the humans ate with tools. They doled out piles of food and delicious salads with forks and scoops and ladles. Then they sliced succulent pineapples with large knives and chopped it into chunks. The strangest thing he’d ever seen was when they would cut the sides off mangoes and grid the luscious inner flesh before turning the skin inside out. At least the young human consumed large portions of her meals with her fingers. This meant that the female of the warren would continually wipe the fingers and face of the little fluffle. The yellow rabbit was now watching for this small fluffle, a young girl who always wore a yellow and white striped dress. She strolled outside holding a glass bowl, spooning egg custard into her mouth without watching the spillage. Her bright eyes were scanning for him. It didn’t take long for her to see him crouched down in a tray full of marigold seedlings. He twitched his long ears. She brushed a curl out of her eyes. He wiggled his nose. She gave a wiggle of her fingers then turned away, disappearing back inside. Out came the male and hung a wire cage on a fancy hook. The canary inside the cage started singing. The male started to set the table with yellow spotted plates and serviettes with sunbeams on them but seemed more interested in taking long swigs from a bottle of amber liquid he had left on the open window sill. The little girl reappeared and behind her trailed several yellow balloons on long shiny strings. She was wearing a cardboard hat decorated with sprigs of wattle which tangled in her blonde hair. The female emerged from the kitchen door with a bunch of daffodils in one hand and an empty honey jar in the other. She put the flowers in the jar and placed it in the middle of the table while talking to the male. The yellow rabbit shuddered and averted his eyes from the hot metal plate where the male had just thrown raw meat. Even the smell of fresh lettuce couldn’t stop him feeling slightly nauseated. After a few minutes, the little girl looped the balloon strings around the handrail and skipped down the verandah steps. She was coming straight towards him. Instinctively he shrunk low into the cool earth and tensed his muscles. She was swinging her arms casually and appeared to be looking over his head at a light catcher made from shimmering pieces of tinfoil clipped to a branch. The yellow rabbit blinked in surprise. She walked right by. However, quick as a wink, she flipped something out of her pocket and into the seedling tray. It was a carrot! Joy swelled in the yellow rabbit’s heart. He snatched up the fresh carrot in his big front teeth and leapt out of the seedling tray. He landed on the grass and bounded for the back fence. He knew it was ungracious of him, but he didn’t turn around to acknowledge the young girl. Biting hard on the carrot, and with a bit of pulling and tugging, he managed to crawl under the fence without getting stuck. He hopped off across the paddock with his tasty prize. The young girl trailed slowly back to her parents. They had soft smiles on their faces. With a happy nod, the young girl sat down at the table where a chunk of pineapple was waiting. As the sticky juice ran down her hands, she listened to her parents tell the familiar story of how they had been shown the nearby rabbit colony when they were her age. The yellow rabbits were a family tradition but nobody knew why they were yellow. Strangely, most of the bits and pieces in the homestead were the same colour, a shade her grandmother called sunshine. Legend says the yellow rabbit always appears on bright sunny days.
The above story was written as a free-write, a freefall stream of consciousness, and I had no idea where it was going or how it would end. It’s a fun technique! To find out more, click Jen Storer Girl and Duck Scribbles
Ever do something just for fun? Sure you have. From an impromptu picnic to cooking a lavish dinner. Sporty things, family things, shopping expeditions or entering a competition in the name of fun.
Recently I designed a book-themed teatowel for fun. There was a prize involved but I won’t dwell on that because I did not win. However, it did spawn this blog piece…
For those born into a dishwasher world, I will elaborate. A teatowel is used to dry crockery and cutlery. It is made of an oblong piece of linen or cotton material, naturally absorbent, hemmed on all sides and printed with a design. The design is printed on one side, in portrait position. Teatowels can be any colour, any theme, but traditionally the same fabric and size. They can also be displayed poster-like on a kitchen wall. The following teatowels are not ignominious!
Tourist destinations sell souvenir teatowels, the most glorious ones are those in public art galleries. Gift shops offer cute ones with flowers, teacups, recipes or cow designs. Craft groups use them as fund-raisers, while cookware stores display matching sets of oven mitt, apron and teatowel with a trendy designer logo.
I have a large proportion of Australian flora and fauna too well-laundered to show here. The examples displayed are the best I could find in the kitchen drawer. A lovely giraffe print from Western Plains Zoo, Dubbo NSW, was singed from a cooking incident. My recently purchased Cecily teatowel (below) is part of a book-themed series from New Zealand. It will not suffer the fate of another limited edition teatowel which, shock horror, was used to wipe the stove griller.
Teatowels sound old-fashioned and domesticated but they can become the focus of teenage washing-up disputes and used as a weapon to flick people. Snap!
Apparently teatowels originated in Victorian England and were used at teatime to keep the china in good condition. Baked goods were often laid on a teatowel to cool or alternatively kept moist under a teatowel. The name is different in different countries, in Australia a dishtowel/dishcloth is used for more heavy duty cleaning.
No doubt there is an online history of teatowels and teatowel aficionados around the world, but I am content in the knowledge that I have owned many useful hard-working ones over the years. Lightly imbued with nostalgia and sentiment, some were gifts, most I have bought, and one I designed myself which is not destined to be printed. That’s a good thing.
Daydreaming is my addiction. “Well, if one’s going to daydream, one might as well make it a good one, don’t you suppose?” says Danielle Paige.
My biggest vice is the real estate section in Brisbane News or weekend supplements. I drool over million-dollar homes, daydreaming how I would rearrange the décor, or daydream about refurbishing an old mansion. Of course, I enjoy daydreaming about being effortlessly rich, benevolent, eccentric and having a chauffeur to drive me everywhere. Until Lily Amis reminds me “Daydreaming is a way of escaping from reality. But you can’t avoid the reality forever! Sooner or later you have to wake up and face it!”
Still, my mind wanders no matter what, usually while doing domestic tasks. My focus regularly trails away into the realms of daydream when I am reading, writing or watching a movie. As Neil Gaiman says “You get ideas from daydreaming. You get ideas from being bored. You get ideas all the time. The only difference between writers and other people is we notice when we’re doing it.”
A cautionary note comes from Jasper Fforde who says “My mind wanders terribly. I’m not wholly annoyed by my daydreaming as it has been of immense use to me as regards imaginative thought, but it doesn’t help when it comes to concentration. And writing needs concentration – lots of it.”
P.S. Charles-Édouard Jeanneret (Le Corbusier) a 20th century architect said “Une maison est une machine-à-habiter” or “A house is a machine for living in”.
As I sit on our small balcony with the French doors open behind me, I can see a front view over the trees, over the shallow valley and up the opposite hillside. Roof tops gleam here and there and a council bus grinds its way up the steep incline of a street still named ‘lane” from way back when it took farm traffic up and over the hill.
To my right are the wooden chamfer boards which line the house, in this instance making the wall of our home office, or, as it was nicknamed many years ago, The Den. To the left is an open view over rooftops and trees and I’m right in line with a big fluffy white cloud. This cloud is probably bigger than an ocean liner. It is floating slowly through the blue sky.
To the side I hear the roar of a jet engine and a shiny aerodynamic form cruises past, heading towards the fluffy cloud. For the first time, I wonder what it must be like for the pilot, drawn inexorably into this massive expanse of whiteness. From experience I know that clouds can be bumpy rides but the unspeakable horror of something else flying into it from the other direction…nah, that’s not possible in this day and age…
The plane gets smaller and smaller until the sun glints off a tiny silver speck. I wait for it to be swallowed by the white cloud when, ever so gracefully, it curves away and downward, heading for the airport and out of my view.
I jump as suddenly a screeching white cockatoo cuts across my line of vision. It is closer but follows the same flight path as the jet. Still screeching to scare both friends and enemies, the cockatoo turns and mirrors the same downward arc, disappearing from sight.
Perhaps a philosophical parallel could be made, a bit of literary prose penned to suit the occasion. However, it is just an illustration of everyday life and I can still hear the highway rumble, the neighbour’s dog barking and the postman on a small motorbike with squeaky brakes. Nothing magical, no cheque in the mail, just suburban routine.