In which I break the inside stuff and get some outdoors poo
Broken sewing machine. Really broken. From today's discussion with Jackie at the Bernina shop, the belt may have come off. Surely you understand that this is beyond my fix-it abilities. Stuart the sewing machine fixer is recovering from heart surgery and can only fix 1-2 machines per week at the moment and has a backlog of 15.
So that all sounds like a substantial break from sewing. All good. Not like a substantial break from wine, or sleep (Remember pregnancy and newborn babyland anyone? Major break from both.)
This afternoon Brighid and I visited Raelene. Raelene has an oversized back garden with lots of chooks (truly a LOT of chooks), sheep, a couple of dogs, a cat and now a donkey. Totally marvellous and always something new for the children (and poo of some kind or another for my garden). We spent the afternoon collecting donkey poo and I now have about eight plastic bags of prime garden fertiliser waiting to go on the garden. It is beside the grass clippings (dropped off by our friend who mows the high school lawns) and the unstacked wood (I managed to stack three barrow loads this morning after breaking the sewing machine). And surrounded by the long long grass. Better not rain too early tomorrow, we need a family working bee.
I could spend my evening knitting but Bill Pearson is calling louder. Coal Flat. A university person somewhere has written a book about Bill Pearson and I want to read the novel first before I get the library to buy the biography.
So that all sounds like a substantial break from sewing. All good. Not like a substantial break from wine, or sleep (Remember pregnancy and newborn babyland anyone? Major break from both.)
This afternoon Brighid and I visited Raelene. Raelene has an oversized back garden with lots of chooks (truly a LOT of chooks), sheep, a couple of dogs, a cat and now a donkey. Totally marvellous and always something new for the children (and poo of some kind or another for my garden). We spent the afternoon collecting donkey poo and I now have about eight plastic bags of prime garden fertiliser waiting to go on the garden. It is beside the grass clippings (dropped off by our friend who mows the high school lawns) and the unstacked wood (I managed to stack three barrow loads this morning after breaking the sewing machine). And surrounded by the long long grass. Better not rain too early tomorrow, we need a family working bee.
I could spend my evening knitting but Bill Pearson is calling louder. Coal Flat. A university person somewhere has written a book about Bill Pearson and I want to read the novel first before I get the library to buy the biography.
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