Pulled out to make room for more winter veges. The new chook run for the bullied chook is behind it. Mrs Victim is flourishing in her refuge, testimony to what life beyond domestic abuse can be like.
The shady corner by the tree hut. The photograph doesn't show the nasturtiums, the roses and the jerusalem artichokes, but they are there, roaming free with the wandering jew and the composting cosmos.
Crimson kale in dappled light. There is some chicory and some spinach there as well. The tomato and the marigolds in the background will be pulled soon to make way for more winter veges. The brick north facing wall provides a great spot for winter veges.
It's a beautiful experience, gardening, and spending time out there every day is doing me a world of good. Much much better than washing shirts and then discovering at the ironing board that a scrap of orange paper survived the pre-wash pocket check and the shirt is now stained. Don't even talk to me about workplaces which like to print things on orange paper.
I never seem to read anything in sequence for book group anymore. Wrong book for the wrong meeting, or I have to go home because I was falling asleep because I spent three hundred hours of my life filling in forms for the government to satisfy itself that I am doing my job (generally ensuring that I don't have time to do my job) or some other thing.
So here is my record. Not even all about books. After the wonderful America is not the Heart by Elaine Castillo, I read Nora Ephron's Heartburn, (originally published c.1983 and recently reissued by Virago Classics, for the first time.
After reading almost everything I could find about Elaine Castillo after finishing her novel, this is what stuck in my mind: What is striking about “America Is Not the Heart” is how it’s unapologetically Filipino, peppered with expressions in Ilocano, Pangasinan, and Tagalog and nuances like wearing tsinelas, calling everyone Ate, faith healing -- with no italics, no footnotes, no glossary of terms…
I went away for the weekend and suffered a traumatic incident.
It started off quite innocently. I was at my parents house, and they have properly (wastefully) good water pressure and gas hot water and so I had a very long shower and eventually followed that with borrowing Mum's hair dryer.
Ever since Hitchcock's shower scene, we have known that bathrooms are dangerous. Behind the clean white lines lurk danger, and yesterday was no exception. There should have been high pitched violins playing when I decided to step on Mum and Dad's scales.
The scales told a message I was not interested in hearing, using numbers I did not think should have relevance to me. I thought they might be broken, but my longsuffering and ever loving husband just talked supportively about exercise when I told him, which is not the same at all as declaring the scales corrupt and incorrect.
So it's no bloody wonder that I'm looking at dressing in stretchy jeggings and flowy merino tunics. …
I finished the blue crossover top (Simplicity 1945) in the weekend, and wore it for the first time today. Brighid took some photos for me at the end of today. She even interrupted the story she was writing for her homework to take them. "A unicorn was going over a rainbow one day. It found a dead unicorn. It fell down through the rainbow."
It has definitely turned out better than the first version. I learnt a lot about making full bust adjustments and taking better care of details as I sewed, so this version doesn't, for example, have two different sized sleeves. That is an improvement. It is very comfortable to wear. The fabric is very clingy - I think a print would be more flattering, but print fabrics in jersey knits are not easy to find in New Zealand. The first version was too tight across my tummy. I could carry a pregnancy in this one. I don't plan on doing anything of the kind. I had hoped that this would be a pattern that I would make sev…