Cockleshell
I've got my gardening mojo back. Now that it's school and paid work season, I've taken to spending a little of most evenings in the garden, enjoying the cooler temperatures after sweltering hot days (summer really did come after all). I've not been rocking the boundaries of the gardening sport in the slightest, just weeding, a little planting and of course, mostly watering. Tansy, one celery seedling, one kale seedling and some parsley went into the ground tonight.
We had huge bills for the car and I've had to give up my beloved and much appreciated cleaner for this month. I felt really shitty having to do this, knowing that despite the car bills, we are so much richer and more privileged than her. Had our family stuck to our budget better last year, that money would be staying local and helpful instead of paying credit card interest. I want to employ C again as soon as we can stem the worst of the money-letting. As for the house itself, who really cares. I cleaned it loads over summer, I'm still cooking, I've organised FH and Fionn to do the night dishes (I was over the relentless morning Cinderella stuff) and really I'd rather be gardening. Or reading or writing. Sewing and knitting has taken a very back seat of late.
I re-read and loved the short story 'Cockleshell' by Tim Winton this evening. The first page is here. I think Winton is a brilliant writer, though I have to be in the right mood for his dark tone.
Tomorrow the piano arrives. I dimly remember the day it arrived at our family home for the first time, and now it is coming to my home to live. I notice how my daughter loves music and am glad that she will have a piano to explore sound with. I've asked several favours from strong men around our neighbourhood to get it off the truck and inside and bought some beer for them this evening. I've asked one teetotaller and so I think some pizza making might also be useful.
Just as we ran out of grit for the chooks and I couldn't get to the shop today, our neighbour called out over the fence and handed us a busket of mussel shells. I've smashed some of them for the chooks and will do more tomorrow. Chooks are superb re-users, and indeed recyclers for that matter.
We had huge bills for the car and I've had to give up my beloved and much appreciated cleaner for this month. I felt really shitty having to do this, knowing that despite the car bills, we are so much richer and more privileged than her. Had our family stuck to our budget better last year, that money would be staying local and helpful instead of paying credit card interest. I want to employ C again as soon as we can stem the worst of the money-letting. As for the house itself, who really cares. I cleaned it loads over summer, I'm still cooking, I've organised FH and Fionn to do the night dishes (I was over the relentless morning Cinderella stuff) and really I'd rather be gardening. Or reading or writing. Sewing and knitting has taken a very back seat of late.
I re-read and loved the short story 'Cockleshell' by Tim Winton this evening. The first page is here. I think Winton is a brilliant writer, though I have to be in the right mood for his dark tone.
Tomorrow the piano arrives. I dimly remember the day it arrived at our family home for the first time, and now it is coming to my home to live. I notice how my daughter loves music and am glad that she will have a piano to explore sound with. I've asked several favours from strong men around our neighbourhood to get it off the truck and inside and bought some beer for them this evening. I've asked one teetotaller and so I think some pizza making might also be useful.
Just as we ran out of grit for the chooks and I couldn't get to the shop today, our neighbour called out over the fence and handed us a busket of mussel shells. I've smashed some of them for the chooks and will do more tomorrow. Chooks are superb re-users, and indeed recyclers for that matter.
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