Finding the Sparkle

As we are now into Spring, it is that time of year when the cold still bites and the Summer seems to be teasingly evasive, and elusive.
We have flashes of warm balmy days, when Summer seems to be almost upon us, caressing us with sun, and light zephyrs of harmless,  mild air.
We are lulled into false feelings of warmth, and the bite of further cold air comes as a shock, to remind us that the Seasons are fickle, with Spring perhaps the most fickle of all.

The almost irredescant greens,  of the new bursting leaves on the deciduous trees, remind us that Summer will soon arrive.

The Jacarandas are curious, as their leaves turn yellow, and begin to fall, at this time of year, in seeming contradiction to the seasons. They are making way for the glorious display of blossom in the beginning of Summer, which here, in Oz, is in reality, November.

We do seem to be blessed with many purple/blue flowers at the start of Summer.

A rain sprinkled Agapanthus, from another Spring.

No raindrops this time.

Since our Jacaranda almost never rarely flowers, I don't have any pictures of the blossom.

I do, however have pics of our wonderful Orange Clivea.

The best ones grow clustered about the trunk of our Maple tree. They slumber peacefully during the Summer months, resting, and preparing for their magnificent bursts of colour during the early Spring.

We have several clumps of Clivea, but the best ones grow close to the trunk of our Maple, and the fallen leaves of the Maple, which cover them with the shed leaves of the Autumn fall. They keep them snug and warm under the blanket of red and brown leaves.

When we first redesigned our garden bank, I divided some of the Clivea clumps, and transplanted them a little further away from the trunk of the Maple.

They were slow to flower, and seemed to sulk a little, though they did still receive the blanket of comforting leaves, that the Maple provided.

They produce lovely red berries, which are quite beautiful in their own right. They glow, a scarlet red, and I have no idea if they are fertile or not.

At present we have some very happy succulents, which are in a neglected pot. They are flowering prolifically, and are quite lovely upon close inspection.
My favourite is the fern which has regenerated from the log banks of the garden. I know they don't flower, but I have a very soft spot for ferns.

The log wall which encloses the embankment is beginning to looks quite aged. It seems so recent since we redid this garden, but I guess time passes very quickly. It is, in fact, over 7 years since it was done, so it is little wonder that age has appeared.

Our back yard had become heavy with perfume, from the neighbour Jasmine, which is heavlily flowering. We also have  a Port Wine Magnolia, which is flowering and perfuming the air, along with another shrub with a small white flower, which I have forgotten the name of, but the perfume is very sweet.

They do "Sparkle".
However, I fear I have developed an allergy to something, since I seem to be sneezing rather a lot!
Even the dogs, and the cat, are snorting and sniffing!

Leo Sayer, Orchard Road.

The Hideous Case of the Nightshirt.

Long ago, and far away, in another Country, (& another era, I might add) in the early 70’s, in fact, men & women wore vastly different clothing, to what they are prepared to appear in public in,  today.

Long floppy, floral patterned shirts were the flavour of the day for men. The sleeves were slightly full, the collars had long rounded ends.Paisley was big, for both men and women, back in the Day. 

The preferred whisker, or facial hair look,  was a moustache and/or a beard, to go with the longer flowing locks. Not Mullets, you understand, but just a longer look. Something resembling the Band members of  “America”, for instance. Or maybe Arlo Guthrie, Definitely flared jeans or trousers for the women, and the men. Both sexes favoured platform shoes.

 

We had a friend who sold shoes for a living. A Sales Rep? I am not sure, as they changed the title of the purveyors of the goods, to improve the image… or something.  He would appear at my door, bearing his own ‘Boil-in-the Bag’ lunches, & he would proceed to prepare his lunch, in my kitchen, while displaying his newest shoe collections. Of course, he sold me many pairs of gorgeous shoes, but they were all at discount prices, & who could resist a heavily moustacheoed man, who was happily married to one’s great friend? Who proffered heavily discounted shoes because I happened to take the display size, & so ….. well the rest is history.

Gom, and the other, lovely wife,  were aware of the periodic luncheon visits & had no qualms or worries about sisnister or devious intent. We were all very good friends & spent weekends together as well as many mid-week social gatherings, to do with either the sale of shoes or the sale of Alcohol associated products. Never a dull moment in the ‘70s, I must say. And, surprise surprise no hanky panky ‘70s style shenanigans! Just great friends.

When I married Gom, he never wore pyjamas, nor did I care. My mother was somewhat horrified, & told me she had been disgusted to find, upon marrying my father, he did not own a pair of pyjamas! I, of course, laughed about it with Gom, when we married, & worried not at all.

Some years later, when we now had children to think about, Gom decided perhaps a nightshirt might be bearable for him to wear to bed. His BIL had told him he had some, & found them most comfortable. Being as the the budget was tight- (No it was not entirely because of the latest shoe acquisitions!) – I decided to purchase cotton seersucker fabric , & make some night shirts. Gom demanded they be front buttoning, so that is what I made.  They proved to be most comfortable  & successful for his sleeping comfort.

The time came when our street became designated as a ‘Bus Route’. We were not pleased, but happily concluded the Bus Stop would not be outside our house. WRONG!

We begged & pleaded, but the stop would not be moved one way either side. The sound of the idling bus kept us awake at night, to say nothing of the stench of Diesel fuel. Our protests were like gnats f@rts to the bus company. We were victims, we felt.

We did, however, discover, that there was a maximum idling time outside our house, before the bus motor had to be turned off. If it was over x amount of minutes it was over the limit.

I went off on a holiday to the North, taking our Children, as was the way of our lives then.

Imagine my horror upon our return to be told that there had been an “Incident”.

Said Incident had involved the bus revving his motor for much longer than the ‘allowed’ motor revving period. Gom, alone & rather disgruntled, no doubt, had leapt from his lonely bed, & stumped out, in high Dudgeon, wearing a flimsy front buttoning Night shirt, to shout abuse & ire at the hapless driver of this bus “Idling’ outside our very door, so to say.

I have no doubt there were buttons which had become unfastened, as apparently the Driver was struck with some type of helpless laughter, at the appearance of this seersucker-clad… oddity, -no doubt flashing, as he ranted & raved , jumping up & down to make his points, (so to say) incoherently at the driver, whilst inadvertently displaying his ‘jewels’.

Needless to say, on my return, I was quite horrified at the thought of this scene. I found many reasons not to confront this bus driving person, nor did I venture forth when a bus was stationary outside our address. Nor did I ever use such bus in any of my travels.

I am sure the image of the Nightshirt-wearing-house-owner, is permanently burned into some bus driver’s eyeballs. I hope he enjoys a hearty laugh about it all!