The First....

This morning, I decided to treat myself to poached eggs on Crumpets. I really like poached eggs, & hardly ever have them. I do enjoy crumpets, preferrable to bread or toast, somehow.

Not liking butter, I use margarine, but I rarely have Crumpets as a sweet treat.

As I enjoyed my breakfast, I was reminded of the "magic" first time I ever had Crumpets.
I would have been perhaps 5 or 6. My mother took me with her, on a trip to our nearest City, to do some shopping. She promised me a 'special Treat'. It was to be a 'surprise'.

Of course I was so excited, I could barely contain myself. Having learnt that nagging or persistant questions tended to dull the promised delight, I carefully kept quiet.

To set the scene, you must remember that this was post War New Zealand. (WW2). New Zealand was a small country, on the 'bottom' of the world. The 'Treats' were few & far between, & very plain fare was the order of the day. I suppose the Americans may have introduced new ideas (ketchup??) & new foods to the country, as they were stationed in New Zealand periodically, the war having progressed to the South Pacific Region, with the involvement of America, through the Japanese bombing of Pearl Harbour.

My mother says I owe my life to an American Serviceman, who caught my very pregnant mother, as she fell, on a steep set of steps, leading up to the Central Post Office, in Auckland. She felt forever grateful, & was sure, that, had she fallen, I would have been no more!

Here I digress. Back to Crumpets- & not the American version either!

Having completed shopping requirements, my mother declared we were going to have lunch. It was a cold day, with cold winds off the harbour. A small Cafe, facing the Harbour. We entered the warm Cafe, steamy windows attesting the cold outside temperatures. Seated at a small table. My mother ordering Crumpets & Honey. A pot of tea for her, a 'Soft drink' for me. I have forgotten what the drink was, probably orange. Fizzy Orange. Or 'Creaming Soda', perhaps an American addition, to the bottled, aerated drink selection.

What, I wondered, were "Crumpets"? I had never heard of them.

When they arrived I looked in astonishment at the round shapes, full of holes! Glistening with butter, & the Honey, fallen through the holes.

But,- Oh! the blissful magic of that first taste!! It will never leave my memory. I had never before encountered such a lovely, exotic, strange, unusual, thing! The holes, perfect for soaking the honey! The wonderful light texture! Surely a magic gift!

Today, when I eat Crumpets, I tend to like them savoury, such as with poached eggs. Or Baked Beans. Or Eggs & Bacon.

Every time I see them though, I am transported back, to my first taste of Crumpets, with the magic!! I can never recapture that first bliss, but I can still recall the memory of the bliss!

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The posting of the gift quilts is accomplished. Now I have to wait to hear of their arrival.

I am working on another gift quilt.

My Son sent me a link to a discourse on possession as a 'habit'. Or a state of being. It discusses the idea of an article 'being', as opposed to an article as 'being mine'. It discusses the idea of monkeys & possession. If something is gifted, it becomes the property of the 'owner'. If it is not gifted, it remains the property of the maker, or previous or original owner.

I have often pondered this, as I have made various items I have, & various items I have made, knowing I am gifting them. I don't feel any sense of 'mourning' or 'loss' if I have specifically made those articles for giving.

Is this confusing? Gom just came racing in, read some of the text, & told me it is 'crap', to use one of his technical terms, haha!

Does anyone else know what I mean? I feel quite detached to an item I have decided to make as a gift, whereas, if I make it for me, I feel very attached. Mind you, some things I make, to give away, I find I feel very attached to, in spite of knowing that item will be a gift!

Roy Orbison, Blue Bayou.

Mail, Treasure, & Sewing.

We have had some lovely balmy days. Not very Wintery, for this time of year. A gentle warm breeze, & some beautiful blue skies & sunny days. We are warned it is all about to go pear-shaped, so at least we can be grateful we have had such a nice break/

Monday brought treasure in the mail. How excited I was to recieve a packet in the mail from England. I had been told it had been posted, & was quite impressed with the speedy delivery!

Inside the parcel was this lovely treasure from Quilting Bebbs. It is so sweet, & every bit as lovely in 'person' as it looks in the picture. I was the lucky person to win this on a giveaway Anne had.

Anne's work is lovely, so neat & her stitching is perfect. Just the thing to perk up winter days. I love strawberries!

I have been very busy sewing, working away on gift quilts. I have finished, & even labelled one I Spy quilt, ready to give away. I chose a cheqered patterned fabric for the binding, as I thought it a little like a snake to go around the jungly border. I am quite happy with the way it finished, & I have backed it with flannelette for warmth, & snuggles. My daughter made the first I Spy quilt I ever saw, for her daughter, & we all had so much fun playing with it. A good way to dispel some boredom.

I decided to finish this quilt instead of the other I Spy. As the recipients are sisters, I thought they might like something different, & perhaps can share. I love this quilt & am very happy with they way it has finished too. I decided to call it Raspberry Ripple. I love the colours.

It is also backed with flannelette, for cuddles.

I hope both quilts will be enjoyed & loved.


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Skin update number blahtey blah blah.

Finally got to see Specialist. He was stunned to see the referral letter was written in February! Perhaps I should have explained how it came to be, that I could not get an appointment until now! Perhaps he doesn't realise how busy he is!

As it was, I apologised for the disgusting letter of referral. It was handwritten, in illegible writing, & the page was covered in masses of blobs of ink, from a leaky printer. I don't think he could quite believe the state of it either!

As it happened when I went to see my GP, in desperation, for a referral for the Specialist, GP was away on holiday. Consequently the Doctor I saw was a relieving GP. He seemed to be very disgruntled with a lot of things, the printer not least, leaking it's ink as it was.

Isn't it funny how we become loyal to those we like. I felt quite indignant at the criticism implied, & offended to think he was making noises of disapproval. It so happens we really like our GP. We feel really comfortable with him, & we know he is a very thorough Doctor.

End result of today's visit is I am to try Light Therapy.
This in itself sounds ok. The idea is, rays of UV light, & UB -I think- light will be directed on my body 3 times a week. Times for the exposure will vary, increasing as I progress, from what I can gather.

After declaring I am not claustrophobic, I was taken to a cubicle to disrobe! Completely! Imagine if you will, the horror of such a thought.

Then, it turns out I have to walk stark naked, from this cubicle with just a mere curtain for privacy, over to a contraption box, Octagonal in shape. Rather like a circular phone box- or the Tardis, for those who like Dr Who.

There are lotions, & potions to be applied to certain -ahem- extremities. N!pples is one location. Not being a male, the other location did not apply to me!

Sunglasses are supplied, with disinfectant to wash them before you wear them. There is a curtain arrangement for the face. This has your name applied & lives in a plastic bag, in a cabinet for future use. I noticed there are cotton gloves, presumably for those whose hands dont itch.

I cringed out into the light box/cabinet. I was so traumatised I had forgotten to remove my knickers. They lay on the floor after prompting from the nurse to remove them.

Huge elements turned on & glared rays at me. Quite a warm sensation. Quite short blasts. I was assured the door is able to be opened, should sudden claustrophobia occur.

I thought to myself, it is very lucky that it is not Gom who suffers this ailment. He is extremely claustrophobic, as he discovered when he had to have his head scanned for fractures, after being attacked in the Hotel.

The plan is, I will recieve this treatment 3 times a week for a time. I was told it is not a quick result. I was also told I can actually wear my underwear to walk to the Light Box - if I feel embarrassed?? WTH?? Who wouldnt feel embarrassed knowing all it takes is a twitch of a curtain to expose your *all*? Sometimes I think they become so blase, they don't realise how traumatising it can be, to have to suddenly 'grin & bare it'!!

Not much comfort there, but better than nothing!

I have new tabs to take. Hope they work. "Itch Pills" the Professor called them!

Hope the light works. There is no readily available parking in the vicinity. Stressful to say the least!

Roberta Flack, Trade Winds.

The Pain...

I heard a story, today, of one young person's life, that made me so sad.
I wished I could heal this young girl's life. I wished I could take her 'to my bosom' & heal her pain. I know I can't. I am too old & cantankerous to deal with such heartache, any more.

She has expressed a wish to be 'adopted' by our family. She loves us all, & we are very fond of her, by the same token. I would welcome her into our family, the safe parameters. The strong ties that stand in defiance, against all comers. Against any criticism. A Family, United!

But, if I were to do that, what might I do? In defence of this lovely girl?

I might resort to going & belting her father, biffing her mother, to realise what a perfect gem their child is. I can't take her into our home, & lie awake at night, worrying if she got home safely.

I have done that in the past. With troubled souls. I do think I did good things for those people. I do think I had a positive effect upon their lives. But now, I am old & tired. I struggle with what I feel I should do, & what I am capable of doing. Without detriment to my own family, my own health.

I think, I believe, that I cannot change the destiny of any other person. I also like to think I can ease their pain, & I can help their passage in this life. If I could, I would house this girl, & love her to health. I know I can't be so arrogant to suppose I could achieve this. I like to suppose our support might help.

So we give what we can.

I read there are upwards of 1,000 people without homes in our area, every night. It is very cold now, & I cannot imagine going to bed in the open. Or under the nearest bridge.The local Soup Kitchen, turns away hundreds of hungry souls every night. I feel mortified to think we have 'enough', & these people have nothing.

Currently there is a petty squabble over some local political 'lights'. Dining in Luxury, at a nightspot. The statement " Do you Know Who I Am?" was uttered. I find it so sickening. I want to grab a homeless person to scream, " Do you know who I an NOT?" in some kind of warped redress.

My heart breaks for these unfortunate people, .. I feel there but for the grace of fate, go I. Most of these folk are not bad people. Nor are they people who wish to wrought the system. They are, by & large, folk who have seemingly 'slipped through the cracks of Society'.

I am ashamed to say, I don't do enough for these people, I don't really know where to begin.

Rolling Stones, I Can't Get No Satisfaction.

An Evening in Paris, & Winning Post Chocolates.

As a child I loved to watch my mother getting ready to go out. I would sit on the bed, & watch, as she put her makeup on, combed, then recombed her hair. I know it annoyed her to have me watching her every move. She would sometimes snap at me to go away. I adored her though, & thought she looked lovely.

In later years I was to feel that same annoyance of watching small faces, as I prepared to go out.

The perfume of the day was always "Evening in Paris" in a small dark blue bottle, with a fancy little lid. A small dab behind each ear, & perhaps a little at the throat. She would carefully choose earrings, & sometimes a matching necklace. No pierced ears in those days. The earrings had clamps, painful things, I later discovered. Or they had screws which tightened to hold the earrings in place. Also painful, I was to discover. I went & had my ears pierced, against Gom's wishes when I was a mother of 3. I have no idea why he was so against it, as his mother had pierced ears, & had had them done when she was very young- by a friend with a hot needle!!

My mother didn't go out socially, very often. Occasionally she would go to the Races with friends. I know she loved a day at the races. She would arrive home happy, & slightly flushed from a drink or two. I never did share her liking for Races, & could not stand to watch the Trotting, which my mother loved. I remember once a would be suitor of mine took me to a Trotting Meeting, thinking he was giving me a treat. I was so bored & cold I didn't go out with him again!

The absolute treat of the day, when my mother was young, was a box of Winning Post Chocolates. Remember those? I am sure the PC Police would not allow such a name to be used today. It almost reeks of intent on the part of the gift giver, to reach the 'Winning Post', so to speak! From memory there was a picutre of a horse, & a horseshoe on the box, which I seem to remember as being blue? I suppose some suitor may have given my mother the chocolates on occasion.

I remember once, as my mother did her hair, & sprayed it to keep it neat, I remarked to her how like Mrs Ball's toilet her hair smelled. She quickly looked at the can of spray & was dismayed to see she had used air freshener instead of her hair spray! How we laughed. Mrs Ball was a friend & I used to babysit for her & her husband, when they had a night out.

I remember the smell of Evening in Paris. It was pleasant, dreamy & soft & not sharp or musky like some of the nasty perfumes of today. Some that I won't name smell just like cat pee animal urine, & take the breath away, & not in a good way! It didn't seem to make anyone sneeze or feel sick, either.

Though lipstick was popular in red colours back in those days, my mother never wore the bright, bloody reds. She usually wore soft pinks, often Tangee. Was that a colour or a brand? I know it was very popular, & was very soft. She seldom wore nailpolish either, & never bright reds.

I have an Aunt who married one of my mother's brothers, & she had beautiful strong long fingernails, & dark colouring. She wore Ruby red lipstick, & Ruby red nailpolish. It always suited her so well, & gave her an exotic look, to my eyes.

I can remember the thrill of being allowed to share some of those Winning Post chocolates. What a treat they were then. Now it seems the treats like that have all been spoilt by our overindulgence. Because I don't eat sweets often, I still find them quite a treat. I also love to get flowers. My daughter hates to be given flowers, which I find an odd thing. One of her partners used to give her roses, & she actually told me she hated them! She finally told him, too.


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I have been wondering why some people seem to wear a psychic "Kick Me" sign.

I know a young man, who was last born, in a family of 4 children. He was born quite close to a much wanted girl child, after 2 older boys had been born. He seemed a 'forgotten' child in some respects. Almost treated as an accidental addition to the family, which I think he was, in actuality.

When he grew to adulthood, he met & fell in love with a girl, who seemed a perfect match. However, she developed some hideous disease, that caused her to go utterly bald. Perhaps it was alopecia. Every hair on the girl's body vanished. She became depressed, gave up her job, wouldn't go out in public. The young man truly loved her, & still thought of her as beautiful.

He spent all his time, trying to make her feel she was still loved, & still a lovely person. He told her to wear hats, scarves, & he took her out for drives to get her out of the house. He just adored her. He asked her to marry him, they became engaged.

Eventually, whatever the hideous disease was, went. The girl's hair grew back, & she became conventionally 'pretty' again. She then told the man she no longer loved him, & wanted him out of her life.

The young man was devastated. He could not understand how his devotion was thrown back in his face. He spriralled into deep depression.

After a time, he met another girl. Fell in love again, asked her to marry him. She agreed. This time it seemed, he was destined to find happiness.

They were to be married at the girl's parents picturesque property. All the guests assembled, on the lawns in the beautiful gardens. The nervous groom waited proudly for his bride. Waited. Waited.

The bride appeared eventually, very late indeed. Clutching a bottle of beer, swaying & slurring. Quite obviously very drunk!

The Groom's mother, who is a little naive, & generous in giving the benefit of the doubt, asked another guest, with surprised dismay, "Do you think she is drunk?"
"No no" the other guest replied, not wanting to spoil it, "Perhaps she is just nervous."

The 'happy couple' were duly married, & sped off on their honeymoon. The car boot, loaded with beer. All the guests hoped it would be a happy marriage, though the chances looked a little slim.

For a time all seemed well. The Bride became pregnant. There was jubilation. A beautiful son was born. The Father was so thrilled. The Mother spiralled into depression. No one knew why. The Father tried to get the Mother to seek help. She refused.

One day, the Father came home, to find the Mother had fled, taking all the furniture, plus their son. The Father was devastated. He followed the Mother, he begged & pleaded with her to return. He asked why. What could he do, to change things. "Nothing" the Mother replied. She didn't know what was wrong. She only knew she would not go back.

So the almost-young man, even more broken by life, lives a lonely existance. Alone & sad, the only joy in his life, the times he has his son for visits.

Life often seems to be so unfair. I don't understand how or why, one person seems to be singled out for such unhappiness. Such kicks in the ar*e for just 'being'.

It is said we are all born with a set quotient of happiness, that will not change. It is said it is about even for us all. This young man's life would seem to give the lie to that idea.

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We have blustery winds. I find windy weather very unsettling. I always feel colder, & a little bleaker, when it is windy. In spite of the coldly blue diamond sky, the lemony sunshine, which cannot warm in the face of such biting wind.


Paul Simon, The Boxer.

That Huge Ball, Rolling Down the Slopes..

I feel as though there is a huge Ball of something, racing down the slopes above me.

If it is snow, it might disintegrate & melt away.

If it is mud, it might swamp me, & splatter all about me...or smother me...

I think it is just a feeling that I need more hours in the days. Or more efficiency in my scattered activities, perhaps.

The feeling that, the more it rolls, the more it gathers, of "things & stuff", that I can never get to meet or greet.

I seem to feel sudden, overwhelming, realisation that I am never going to read all the books I would love. I am never going to hear all the music I would love.

I am never going to sew all the quilts I would love to make.

I am never going to travel to all the wonderful destinations I would wish to visit. Even allowing for the monetary factors, there probably wouldn't be enough years left.

I will never read all the wonderful Blogs out there, that take my breath away, with the beauty of the words, the art, the photography.

I spent a lot of time yesterday, on a Blog site I would like to share. If you are at all interested in quilting, it is Quilting Heaven! I was led there by Christine's mention. Thankyou, Christine.

Del, of Del Quilts. I spent hours enjoying her quilts. Reading her words.

Today, there is a post leading to another site, equally as fascinating. Whales. Please, go & enjoy it all.

This is the wonderful world of Blogs. One more medium to gain so much pleasure from. One more medium to gather knowledge, & hopefully, to share in the wonderful world about us.

One more reason to be grateful that I have time & ability to access the magic.

We have been discussing with friends what we would like to do, should be win large amounts of money.

Our friend says, though 'they' say money cant buy happiness he would like to give it a shot. See what type of misery it might buy.

My Beloved Brother says "Ah, but always remember, happiness cant buy money!"

My theory is to just keep on imagining what we could will do, should we ever have access to large amounts. It is said you won't achieve anything you haven't previously imagined... is that how it goes?

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I think I found this Glow Worm on another blog, & I pinched it! If it was yours, sorry, but I wanted to share it.

On the quilting front, I have almost got the binding on one of the I Spies- aka Dog's Breakfasts.

I am still dithering with the top for my Granddaughter.

I am trying vainly to catch up with correspondance I must get written. I am limping along mentally in many fields, it seems. Too many books I am reading at once. Too much music to listen to. Too many posts, written in my head. Too many words, waiting for release.

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Gom had a horrible nightmare last night. He doesn't remember what it was about, but has a nebulous memory of having had the nightmare. It was a vocal nightmare, with horrible wails from Gom. From where I lay, beside him, it was a nasty nightmare to 'witness'. I attempted to wake him, but he couldn't be woken. He finally turned over, & his breathing resumed a regular rythym.

My dreams of mansions I own seem to have slowed!

Newton Faulkner, To the Light.

The Magic of Long Term Friends.

There is something just magical about long term friends. People you have known 'forever', it seems. Not the 'relative family', friends, who are part of your life, for most of your life.

I am referring to the 'friend family', of friends, who are the network of friends you have made along the path of your life. I am so lucky to still have contact with friends I have had for 60 or so years.

Because I grew to adulthood in the same small town where I was born, I was lucky to have that continuity of friendships. Ties that were forged with such reinforcements, they have lasted throughout lifetimes. Differing career paths, living, circumstances. Children, travel, changing/moving residences, changes of country. All fall away, as we recall old jokes, old events, wonderful shared memories.

Oddly enough of all the friends made when I was very young, most of the marriages we made seem to have stood the test of time. It must say something about the times we grew up amidst, or the values we were taught.

I was priveledged yesterday, to spend a magic day with a friend I have known since before we both started school. I had met her husband once before, & she had met my husband 2 or 3 times before.

Here we are, in our first year of school in 1949.
J is on the left, in the front row of seated girls, & I am second from the right.

I can remember the name of almost every child in that photo, which seems incredible to me now. Another girl in that class was a playmate too, before school days, & she & I used to attend Sunday School together. I had not realised how many more boys there were. I love the boys braces!! The little knitted pullovers, that were the fashion then!

As we sat & reminisced, our husbands chatted quietly & most amicably. I wish they had had more time to spend, some time to stay with us. I was so thrilled to have even one day, to see my friend of so many years. She is, as she has always been, a lovely generous person with an absolute heart of pure gold. My brother remembers her with fondness too, as a person who was always lovely to everybody, & that is exactly how she is today.

I feel so lucky she is still a part of my life, even though it is mostly a distant -in miles- part.

It is so interesting to think how little she has changed in her fundamental personality. She still has the same wonderful sense of fun, & humour. She is still generous almost to a fault. She is still so warm!

I love the way these old friends & I speak the same language. We know exactly what we mean by a word, or a tone. It is like 'coming home' to spend time with such friends.

I think she might read my blog. I hope she does, as I can say the things I didn't say in person. It was one of life's true treats, to have her for a day.

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Help....??
I seem to be lost a little in the evolution of this quilt I am making for my Granddaughter. She was here to visit, & helped me choose the differing purples for the rounds on the blocks. She hasn't seen the green checks yet. I really like them, the colours are very good.

It is the next round I am pondering. I tried a dark pink... it just killed the dark green, & looked awful. I am thinking something light, but am not sure what or how light to make it.

The stitchery blocks are from a Bronwyn Hayes pattern, featured in a Australian Country Threads Magazine, & I can't do much by the book, have to be different decided to change the settings, so I am winging it here. Colours are quite different from Bronwyn's pattern. GD loves the colours, so there is no problem there.

Any suggestions??

I have not backed or basted the fun dogs breakfast quilts yet. They are looking at me a little accusingly. I am thinking to be making some more blocks to do another for SG. I guess my thinking is, you can never have too many quilts! haha. What do you think??

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We are having more rain. It is a peculiar Winter for us. Usually Winter is clear fine days. This rain is wonderful though, & goes a long way to redressing the drought that has been a factor hereabouts for so long.

The garden... well the weeds are just flourishing! The Daphne is just beginning to bloom.

I know the full moon is about. I have been having incredibly vivid dreams again. I keep dreaming of huge houses, & I am the owner. I have no idea what this may mean, but I do know, that I am sharing these houses with may folk, family & friends, so I feel happy about that.

Randy Crawford, Tender Falls the Rain.

A Sewn Evolution

I am calling this my evolution story. It is not really very dramatic, or exciting, but I have been pleased with the process of it all. Small Grandson has been here for breakfast for the past 2 mornings, & he loves to play with the scraps off the scraps. He was a little crestfallen when he found out they may not be for a quilt for his use.


These 2 photos are with my first choice of border, just to frame the 'bursting out all over' centres. A black on black print. Somehow I couldn't seem to get clear pics, these seem a little fuzzy.

These past few days, the quilting mojo seems to have returned. I have been in an almost fever, sewing away, & getting these quilt tops to the backing stage.

I thought my quilty friends, or even non quilters, might like to see how I progressed these very casual scrap quilts. I am very happy to say they have come from stash too, which is always a bonus. I did purchase some baby jungle-animal print for the final border, once I decided what I wanted to do with that.

This was the next step, & I decided to use different fabrics for the border, & was determined to only use what I had on hand.

Here are the final 2 with the outer borders. I am now up to the batting & backing stage, which is my least favourite step in the construction, since I find it really hard on my back. These really are 'patchwork' since I had to improvise in some places. To me, that is "True Pioneer Patchwork Ethic"

Since I can no longer get down & dirty, ha ha down on the floor, I do my basting on a table, using a method I found on Keryn's blog. Thankyou Keryn!!

Once I get this done, the quilting will be very simple. After all, such busy quilts don't need elaborate patterns, & hopefully, the end result will look good in spite of the quilting! Also, children seem to be nonjudgmental, & don't look for perfect matching corners, or even "perfect". Sometimes, just love is the "perfect".

The strange winter weather is having the effect of keeping folks at home, snuggled up, as far as they can arrange. We had a partial day out yesterday, visiting various outlets for neccessities, with some degree of success. Bargains were to be found in the seafood section.. woo hoo, makes me happy!

The Gom is still happy with basic meals, & he is happy rearranging his freezer drawers in the upstairs freezer. Of course, this means every time I attempt to find a vegetable package or some other frozen goody, they have gone missing, or merely been relocated!

Goodness knows about the downstairs freezer- I feel it is safer not to ask!!

The visuals in the Front Garden are woeful! Gom has wielded a mean hand. Half the plants are decimated, the other half are bewildered & confused. When I enquired why some limbs of Grevillea are poked into the ground, I am 'assured' it will 'grow again'. Of course it won't!! It is much like the "late Parrot" of the Monty Python fame. They wrote this whole series with Gom in sight!!

Gom's father, was a small-framed man, who put up with all sorts of disappointments in his life. But he sure could grow things in his garden! He had a lovely big back yard, & he used every inch of the soil, to positive results. His potatoes were legendary, & generously shared. As were his wonderful peas, beans, tomatoes, cucumbers, when he finally worked out how to grow them!!. The pumpkins were delicious!

I regret we have not got the space for vegetable growing. I loved the gardens of my childhood home. I loved the garden of my Father In Law. Gom has not one whisp of garden talent. The Anal distruction gene seems alive & well. I have to devise a way to curb it, & keep the level to a dull thrumm.....

John Denver, Sunshine on My Shoulders.

Twists of Fate... & other dances...

When I was a young & slim girl, the Twist was the Dance. Everyone could do the Twist, or an approximation! It was fun, & it sure did make for fit bodies, with slim waists. Ahh those were the days.

Best Friend J & I would go to dances rather than go on dates. Unbelievable, but true. We had our favourite Dance Halls, & we had our 'regular partners' on the night.

Largely, the same faces could be seen at the different venues. The same 'favourite partners', would ask to dance.
Chubby Checker, Let's Twist Again, Like We Did Last Summer became somewhat of an "In joke" with BFJ & I.
We had another girlfriend who would come along with us, but she met her Fate. She fell in love, & soon, was exclusively dating P. Her dates with us, reduced accordingly.

BFJ "Twisted on" all summer long, & on into the Winter. Nothing like the Twist to warm the body. Various partners came & went, for both of us. We planned our get-away, to the South Island. Applied for jobs, were accepted, & travelled off to meet our fates.

Which happened to be husbands, & children, in the Southern Island. Fate caught up with us...perhaps. My marriage lasted, BFJ's didn't. Twist of Fate. Our friendship lasted though. Over 46 years, & still, too much left to say, when we meet. I love that friend, a sister could not be closer.

The Twists of Fate moved along, we moved a Country. We lived a new life, Gom & I & our children. Our life is in Oz now. We regard it as Home. Though we still miss our friends in Aoteoroa. Always will.

Today, I read a post on Tanya's blog, which seemed strangely, almost prophetic, of a twist of fate here in Oz. A young man, a father at 15 years of age, had been run over by an unlicensed driver, of a vehicle. The young man, who died, had been visiting his girlfriend, who was the mother of his 5 month old son. They argued. He fled, clad only in a towel, & proceeded to lie on a busy Highway. One has to wonder at the twists of fate that conspired to make the meeting of events, that led to his death.

I have been hard at the sewing machine front over the past 2 days. I have played out with ideas. I have had plans, vaguely in mind. I thought to make some quilts suitable for the young. I chose bright, & what I thought were interesting fabrics, for children, to perhaps play "I Spy".

I laid some sewn blocks on my ..cough cough, 'design floor' haha. Leo proceeded to dance the Tango or the Doggy equivalent, over the lot! After admonishing him, I re laid the blocks, & viewed the result.

Hmmn, the kindest comment is Dog's Breakfast! Or Pig's Nest! except, I dont think I have one Pig to display.... just the leftover nest.


Here are some "Options". Nothing set in stone. Nothing committed.

Here is Leo's repaired Dance Floor!
I straightened things up, but still, Dog's Breakfast springs to mind. I can't call it that-- children won't understand!

I realise the lines between my values are too blurred for this to be a rousing success. But children just might enjoy the 'random' to quote my Adult Granddaughter.

I must give credit, though she may cringe, & wish I didn't to Finn, for giving me the 'Kitchen Sink' idea for the quilt. Even if mine has not worked well, Finn's has.

Ah the wonderful Twists of Fate.

Today is my Nephew's 20th Birthday. Happy Birthday D, Love you!

America, You Can Do Magic.

A TAG.

I agreed to do this tag, but have not prepared the pics!

These are the rules.

The Rules:
Each player answers the questions about themselves. At the end of the post, the player then tags 5-6 people and posts their names, then goes to their blogs and leaves them a comment, letting them know they’ve been tagged and asking them to read your blog. Let the person who tagged you know when you’ve posted your answer.


1. What I was doing 10 years ago.

We were relocating to the area we now live. We were hoping for a change of pace, & a laid back lifestyle. We got our wish! We love our new location!

2.What 5 things are on my to-do-list for today...

Well it is late in the day, but I did most of them.
1. was to answer emails.
2. clean the remaining windows, not on computer, in the house!
3. sew some squares.
4. hug the resident GOM.
5. Phone my children.
All checked, all done!

3. Snacks I enjoy.
Too many:

I love calamari.
Cashew nuts.
Hazelnuts.
Celery.
Macadamia nuts.

5. Things I would do if I was a Billionaire:

OMG where does one start.??
Buy Houses for the kinder.
Give to a charity, that I think is very deserving, & is local. ( I have one already selected, with a very enlightened outlook, for the misguided young- I would SO give to this man!!)
Travel, hopefully to broaden my outlook & understanding, thereby enabling gifting to deserving charities.
Gifting to priorly discovered deserving charities.
Enlightening my family, to do good for the future.

5. Places I have lived.
A small BOP town in New Zealand.
Auckland.
Christchurch
Sydney, Australia.
Central Coast, NSW Australia.

This easy tag was given to me by Dawn of Sew Ritzy Titzy, & so I will not tag any one in particular, but if you would like to do this, it is painless, & can be fun.

Please do this. It is fun to dream about what we could accomplish!

I would also like to say, if I could, I would establish a home for all the 'unwanted dogs & cats, so a huge portion of funds would be for RSPCA!!!.

Mumble mumble...

The tooth was fixed with little drama... except in my heaving heart! The minute I walked into the waiting room, I could smell the 'smell'.
The dreaded words were spoken-
"Take a Seat, Mrs Terrifiedoutofyourwits"

I think that the waiting is often the worst part.
There were thumps & hideous squeaking sounds or dragging sounds or furntiture being rearranged sounds. Along with a vioilent wind tunnel sound effect, of some sort. Accompanied by high notes of whining whizzing ultra fast drill noises.

Ye gods! What were they doing to the person in the open doored surgery next to the waiting room??

The swish new Surgery they built recently should be soundproof. It should not include some walloping thumping noises from upstairs. Is that where they bind people before they extract teeth? What does go on up there? What is it for? I have never actually seen anyone accessing the door that I suspect hides the stairway.

I took a book, hoping to distract myself. Fat chance!! There was a radio station being relayed into our ears from a highly placed speaker. No avoiding it. No avoiding the thumpy thump thump or the inappropiately worded songs. "Let me put it to you! baybeeee"
Who wants to hear cr*p like that?

Another hapless man came in, & instantly began fiddling with his mobile phone. Reading jokes or something, judging by the idiotic look on his face. Or perhaps he was drunk, ...you know, Dutch Courage. Who could blame him!

Those very same things that irked me so much had irked my nervous daughter a week ago, when she visited the same Dental rooms. Perhaps we should start a petition?

Finally, my name is mangled & mispronounced called. I cringe down the hallway. The gnome-like Doctor who has been my dentist for the past 9 years, comes in, with his steady chatter. He doesn't give time for replies. He just goes on endlessly. My daughter couldnt stand the running dialogue, so she changed dentists. I actually don't mind it. It is better than the horrible radio, playing thumpy thumpy on the side cupboards.

I was surprised to read comments from others, overseas, about how they get tv remotes handed to them, or earphones for music of their choice! What a great idea. Though this surgery is new, & supposedly full of mod cons, there is nothing like that.

As it happens the tooth that broke is one that I had previously had root canal work on, so there was actually no real pain. The Drill strikes terror into my heart, even though I can't feel it. A new tooth was practically built into my mouth, so I came out smiling. Was told the rest look ok. Drop by in a year. Sigh. Just lightened my wallet substantially, but worth it really. And much cheaper than the city prices my son has recently had ripped out of his wallet, for the same treatment.

We had SG here this morning, to feed, then take to the school bus. He very nicely told me I need to go to the 'face dentist' to have those "marks moved, Nanna".
"Thankyou SG, I will bear that in mind."

We had a little wait for the bus. There is another school close by, & we watched the passing parade of parents & children walking to the school. The majority of these people come from, shall we say, the disadvantaged. It is a sad truth that the school does not have a good reputation, nor do the attendees. It is a rather 'have not' neighbourhood. Consequently, there is quite a lot of vandalism, & skullduggery goes on about the neighbourhood. It has a nickname, which is not complimentary.

There seem to be a lot of tattooed parents, both male & female. The garb of a lot of these people is 'comfortable'. Very probably 'affordable' too, I suspect. I was startled to see a large woman with a sweater on. The startling fact was, she had no bra on, & the morning being somewhat nippy, the nipples were outstanding! One was at waist level, the other was about 3 inches higher! They joggled as she walked!

I felt an urge to laugh, then had a second thought, & felt sorry for the woman. I hate wearing bras too. I find them an ordeal to buy. I have blogged about this ordeal before, so wont bore you again. I too have an oddity of size, just like this poor woman. A bra goes a long way to disguising this fact.

Also, I am sure if I was living on a tight budget, I would be hard pressed to afford them! They are priced outrageously high! The larger one gets, the larger the price ticket, also. What has the world come to, when women can't afford such a basic item of clothing. Perhaps it is not a necessity, but on the other hand, it would be, perhaps if you had had cancer, & only had one breast.


Out in the 'market place' yesterday, I took my printer to get some new ink cartridges. A very nice man, who owns the shop had told me if I took the printer into him, he would service it free, & he was as good as his word. He cleaned it, told me it is in excellent condition, & sold me 2 new cartridges for 1/2 the 'Orificeworks price'! That is Great Service!


Mercury Rev, Opus 40, or any of their music at all!

Dreams can come true... but

This is Honey, as she was on Xmas Day 2000. She was my Xmas present, & was a dream come true.

She was so tiny, we had to be careful not to step on her! She was always a good little girl, & once I got her trained she has been a great, polite, clean & loving little girl.

I dreamt of having another little puppy, to keep her company. Gom kept telling me I didn't need another dog.
I would tell him of course I did, I couldn't have too many.

Then we got this little treasure, in 2005. The Wee Leo. He is the same breed as Honey, a Poodle Maltese Cross. They both had little black Poodle mothers, & Maltese fathers. Not the same parents though. Leo's father was actually a Poodle Maltese cross too, so Leo is very curly, & more poodle like.



Leo was such a little heart stealer. He looked more like a stuffed toy, than a real dog. Hiccups training him. He was a chewer of shoes too. He ate many shoes & slippers, to say nothing of sundry other items. He was always boisterous, a much different dog, temperamentally, to what Honey had been.

We had both dogs desexed as soon as they were 6 months old.
Leo just has that dominant male streak in him, that makes him think he needs to be Boss of this house.

Hmmmnn, careful what you dream of ...you might get it.



Of course we love him to bits. He has really become Gom's dog. But he needs taking down a peg, as they say. He is a naughty boy, really. We have tried the Dog Whisperer method. Which worked really well.

But Gom wont obey! He does all the wrong things with Leo. He lets him lord it over him. He lets him up on his chair. He just basically loves him too much. Treats him like a human little boy. Spoils him rotten.

In other Dreams.....


Last night I dreamt I broke a tooth. Today this dream came true! To my utter horror.

I hope the rest of the dream doesn't also come true. I broke another tooth also. I am off to see the Dentist about the broken one this afternoon. I hate to think what he may tell me. There is not much of it left, that is actual tooth. It seems to be mostly composed of filling... those ugly old black amalgam fillings. I think the theory now is that they crack teeth, as they expand & contract with heat & cold.

So this will mean another session of board-like rigidity, copious nervous sweating, sheer terror at the sounds of the whole dental rooms. The smell. I wish I had an ipod or something to keep out the sounds of the drill, the dreary music they pipe into the room. Why dont they have movies on the ceiling? Why can't they knock you out, so you don't have to face the ordeal?

Why am I such a downright coward?



Now, what slops can I find for lunch. I dont want to break more off the wretched thing!


Janis Ian, At Seventeen.

Random musings ...on living with...

Living with lists...
I don't seem to have much success with lists.
I can write them, & follow to a certain point, then the 'random' in me takes over, & I just seem to rebel.

I was never one who could live with routine. I hated being told to treat my babies as some 'routine'. Do this on Dot A. Do that on Dot B.

I used to think I would scream if I heard the word 'Routine' one more time. I felt my babies were people, ....perhaps like me, who didn't always feel like A on Dot A, or B on Dot B.

What about mood swings? What about whimsy? What about contrary? Who decreed that babies couldn't feel the same,...perhaps wanting variation?

I tried to follow the 'rules' of "Plunket", which was the main source of guidance for new mothers in the 'babyhood' years in my babies' lives in New Zealand. My mother had been the 'victim' of this regime also. She kept my Plunket Record Book, & presented it to me, years later. She agreed, I had been a somewhat contrary being, even way back then!

I probably do the "Plunket" an injustice here, as they really were a source of help & guidance for new mothers. I do believe Plunket probably saved many babies lives, in an age when babies may otherwise have died, through sheer ignorance, & lack of understanding of babies' needs.


Weeping at the feeling I was inadequate, & worrying about my son, the first "AGED" read Doddering Plunket nurse to 'home visit' me, almost caused me a breakdown. All she could talk about was her 'overseas' stint where babies starved to death due to lack of breast milk among the mothers, then a further story about a mother who drowned her baby in the bath, to quiet it down. I was almost a 'gibbering idiot' (thankyou Tanya, the Art Butcher) by the time she left. Why would she tell me such things?? Did she suspect I would drown my precious baby, in some moment of insanity? Did she know that I suspected my breast milk to be inadequate?

Traumatic times. My mother lived on another Island- too far for daily consult. My MIL kept insisting my son needed 'Water'. She snatched him from my arms at every visit, insisting on pumping him full of warm water. Preserve us from MILs. I would never, & have never done that to a young mother!!

My babies survived my seeming inadequate mothering, perhaps to the disbelief of the MIL. snigger, nyah nyah.

I have always tried to respect my daughter's ability to be a mother. I have tried not to over step, or over-instruct. I really do believe in mother's instinct. I also believe that every mother does her best, to the best of her ability.

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Living with a Retired Husband.

This is something noone warned me about!

At first, when he was Semi Retired, it was great!
I loved the extra time we had to spend together. We spent time together, & it was fun, & we seemed to be in 'tune' one might say.

Finally he Retired, altogether. A whole different set of rules became apparent.
Gradually he has assumed responsibility for the tidiness of the pantry.
The stacking of the Freezers. The placement of pots, pans, in the cupboards.
Who knew!! All the years I had been in charge of such things, I had made botch of it all! I had organised things in actual 'disarray'!!

My lovely, anti-list style was all wrong! I needed to be 'routinised' is there such a word? if not Hitler has coined it! I am periodically shocked to find I have been a virtual F***wit at housekeeping!!

The weekend's party for Family & Friends, was very nice. I was told to b***er off, it was all taken care of! Some of the Actual Words were "Get out of MY kitchen". You may imagine the ire that raised in my mind!!

However, I went away, & while licking my metaphorical wounds, I decided "Who cares?" "If this is what he wants... I wont argue!"

This has become his new "Domain". His new "Realm". He is Leo. He needs to feel King Of His Kingdom.

I can learn to live with that. I am a lover of my freedom, my own space. He has always allowed me that personal space. I can bend. I can adapt.I think.
It is not always easy "Living with."



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Living with new habits on Television Viewing.

The roaring emanating from the Lounge Television, is very hard to bear. I sneak out to turn down the sound, when Gom is not in the room. He is actually out in "His Kitchen" cooking his Steak Sandwich".

I turn it down! Bliss. I can concentrate without intrusive 'St Vitus Dance Finger.' Which is a condition peculiar to Gom--- but may be contagious, or well known among other aging male fingers. I have even heard it can be a female affliction. I don't suffer from that particular disease, thankfully.

Living with that condition is very difficult. Just when you are hearing some interesting piece of news... flick!, inane comedies follow! Or snatches of cartoons! or some Commercial sludge...ye gods, the electronic age is full of items designed specifically to Drive One Mad!!

The frenzied, & frenetic clicking is driving me crazy!! Along with the Retired Hitler, the Garden Vandal, I am surrounded with Crazy!!
Heelllllppp!! Sinking here!

llll
From the weekend, with family....


"Who's your Daddy?"


There could be no doubt!!
Honey Loves SGs Daddy too!
Stanley had a lot of fun.




Randi Crawford, Knocking on Heavens Door.

Resonance

Whilst reading a touching post, on a blog I have found has many points of resonance for me, I was reminded again, how much we are alike in many respects.



It also made me ponder on the fact, that we often don't have access to those we may resonate with, in the highest degree.



Though this electronic world is giving us much faster access to information, & technology, are we becoming more isolated in ourselves?

We are told we can consult a counsellor, should we need counsel regarding stress, trauma, past injustices. We are indeed, urged to seek out counsel for various reasons.

At risk of raising the ire of good counsellors, I have found most contact, I or my loved ones, have had with 'counsellors' to be less than useless. I realise a counsellor may be the only point of contact, -possible resonance- with someone who might understand your plight. Should you live an isolated life...by which I mean you are surrounded by people, but feel alone, or truly isolated in your thinking... I guess a counsellor might serve a good purpose.


The age of 'going to your shrink' would seem to be an idea which has passed it's prime. Perhaps I am wrong about that, & could stand to be corrected. I am sure there is a lot of help out there, in that direction.


A friend once told me she was going to a therapist who was providing psycho-analytical therapy, plus 'deep tissue massage'. This Deep Tissue Massage, was of course physical. I was deeply shocked, though not surprised digusted, when she informed me some time later, that his treatment had progressed to actual sexual intercourse.


I never expressed my disapproval to her, as she seemed happy about it. I couldn't help but feel it may well have done her a lot more long term harm than she would be aware. She was single, unattached & in her 30's but I still felt it was an abuse of trust of a vulnerable person. Obviously, she had felt troubled enough to want to consult him in the first place.


Perhaps she told me, to gauge my reaction. I was careful to remain non committal about it, but felt anger & revulsion for a person I had never seen. I felt sad for her need, & real anger at his abuse. For a while, I think we really resonated with each other. She moved to another State, & we eventually lost touch.


When people reach out for help, comfort, guidance, solace, it often helps to reach to a stranger. I guess this is why complete strangers will suddenly tell one their life story at the bus stop, or train station- or dentist waiting room, full of strangers!


I still feel the breakup of the family units is a step in the wrong direction for societies. The closeness of wider family can be a bane in a life,- nosey critical prying old biddies etc. But on the other hand, they can also be a source of comfort in times of great stress, having known each other most of their lives, having come from much the same backgrounds.


In an ideal world, we would all have wonderful close families, who get along for most of the time, & only rub occasionally. A friend once said, when they were having a 'hate session' on the old dictatorial Matriarch of their family, "It doesn't hurt to have a good hate session about Nanna now & then. It helps us to keep on loving her!"

I often think of that, & how true I found it to be.


When I was little, I used to go off in tantrums, & sad moods. I would be hostile, telling my mother I didnt like her, to 'go away'. Deep down inside I just wanted her to come & gather me into her arms, & hold me close. She never did. She wasn't that sort of mother.


I became that sort of mother. I would go & attempt to hold & cuddle my children when they went off in huffs, or tears. I never forgot the forlorn little thing I had been, or how I had felt. When our Grandson -& when she was little, our Granddaughter- says to me, "Go away Nanna, I hate you" I always say "That is ok, but I still love you, & I always will." It is surprising how often it softens little tempers, & they soon return to sunny.

I hope my love for them, will resonate in their hearts forever.

The point of this post was initially to make note of the fact that the world of Blogging can offer solace to people, without intrusion into their lives on too close a personal level. It can often offer a measure of recognition, the resonance, an "I am not the only one!" feeling. It can offer comfort to discover you/I/we are not alone in some of our feelings & life experiences.

For me, blogging offers opportunities to make contact with wonderful people, I would never otherwise have the chance to 'meet'. It can offer insights to others lives, so different to mine. It can also offer the resonance of reading the same thoughts, written perhaps by someone half a world away.


**********
We had a family friends afternoon yesterday.
SG had been given the Star of the Week Award at school. He was given Stanley, the class bear mascot, to bring home for the weekend.

What fun Stanley is having. He had a bed made up specially for him with SG's Dinosaur quilt & pillow!
He came to visit Nanna's house. He snuggled up with SG.
We won't tell the class that Honey wanted to play with Stanley, & drag him off!

I will have to try to get some ink to print photos for Stanley's diary! My printer is out of coloured ink.
Stanley has a better social life than we do! He is a very lucky, & loved little bear.

Seals & Crofts. Diamond Girl.

Cheating

I feel a bit of a 'cheat', by adding the "Quilting Bloggers" Badge, to my blog.

I seem to have been doing very little quilting myself of late, & even my stitching has slowed.



I wanted to add the logo with Links though, so others could check out the wonderful world of Quilters. If you click on the Logo on the sidebar, you can find all the quilters your heart could desire. I have not been so presumptuous as to add myself, since I don't often have much quilting content.



Others do, & I have been wasting valuable sewing time spending some time enjoying seeing all the wonderful projects & quilting of others.



We have had a week of rain, which was dreary & grey, though of course, good for the garden & countryside in general.

Today is a better day, fluffy clouds, & some blue & sunny patches.



********

Back to Doctor for Blood pressure monitoring. Improved, with further medication, & I suspect I feel better for it. I have also been prescribed a new ointment, which has tamed the itch to a dull roar. At least it has also reduced the ugliness of some of the lesions- caused by my incessant scratching- too, so I dont feel I look quite so 'spotted'.



My daughter has a client who is days away from her 100th Birthday. She was born in Scotland, & is an amazing lady. She still has all her marbles, & also, amazingly, her own teeth!



I have blogged in the past about dentists, & matters dental. I am a devout coward over my teeth. I finally had to give into the truth of time, & had my top teeth removed. I had spent thousands of $$$$$s on them over the years. I am sure when I went to visit the dentist's I could almost hear them rubbing their hands in glee! Especially once they realised I was a New Zealander.



Kiwi's seem to have notoriously bad teeth. A New Zealand born, & trained, Chinese Dentist I consulted once, told me he was given a job in London immediately, on the strength of his nationality, as they knew he would have had plenty of experience!!



My mother lost all her teeth when she was about 15, she told us they were chalky, & she could scrape them away! She also had a lot of broken bones, which would seem to indicate she was seriously lacking in something. They had a house cow, & she loved the fresh milk. Her mother was a good cook, who was very conscious of providing a good balanced diet. There was, of course, no such thing as 'junk food', nor was there money for sweets!



I have never believed in the theory that milk is good for teeth, or bones. I loathe milk myself, which probably has something to do with my 'whacko' beliefs. But I have often pondered the peoples of the world who have no milk in their diets. They don't seem to have bad teeth, or weak bones. Pacific Island peoples have traditionally never had milk, but they seemed to posses some of the strongest frames.



I am sure I will find people who disagree. It is rather like the elephant theory. How does it go?

If you have something pink, you won't be plagued with elephants.

But, there are no elephants.

See, I told you it works.



Once when I was arguing against Hormone Replacement Therapy, a Doctor told me it prevents Osteoporosis.

When I told her I had already been daignosed as having Osteoporosis, she then told me it would probably be much worse, if I stopped HRT.



What? Fewer Elephants?



************

This is the Queen's Birthday Long weekend. Monday is a holiday, for many. It means an influx of 'tourists'. Judging by the sound of some of the traffic, the hoons are alive & well.

I wonder if they will still be so well, come Tuesday.



In spite of their youthful hoonery, I hope they stay safe.





Joan Baez, Daddy You Been On My Mind.

Once Upon Another Time

Today has rained, with little let-up. It has been miserable, grey, leaden-skied, & damp feeling.

We have not felt particularly cold, but is it just depressing, & coldly miserable. The colour of the day, makes the colour of the mood!

But, doesn't this look cosy? Gom, sitting on the sofa, surrounded by hardly identified dogs. They are cosied about either side of his relaxed body. He is unaware I am taking his photograph. The dogs are indistinct, unreconisable in the photo.

My stitchery is upon the shelf. His beloved Japanese artefacts are about him. He is relaxed... he is "at home."

He came in, to view proceedings. Where am I? he declared. When I pointed out the location in the photo, he went away, laughing. "Oh, the Bald Head!" he said, & left.

A completely differnt perspecitve to mine.

I still see the man I married.

I still love him.

Warts & all....



Bob Dylan, Not Dark Yet

Once Upon a Time...

Once upon a time, when life was simple, before full hormone riddled teenage-hood had struck I had turned 13, my mother was probably one of my best friends.

I know now, that she always was, but your mind becomes blinded, round about the time you become riddled with hormonal changes, & rebellion starts in your confused, teenage heart. There begins a time when everything, from your misshapen -in your eyes- body, to your pimple ridden face, is all down to your mother.

It is also her fault you are so thick at maths. Her fault the boy you had a crush on, seems to have a crush on someone else. Her fault that your younger brother is the bane of your life. The list of things that are her fault, grow with the advance of confusion, & burgeoning bodily functions, & breasts that poke out when they are badly wanted, but not necessarily enjoyed, or comfortable.

Of course it is her fault your father has gone from your life, her fault he has found another 'wife' to bear his further children. Her fault she has to work, to support you. Her fault she is small, dainty, & short, & you, ..you are like some giant from another species. You are tall, ...& lumpy. Where did you come from!

I digress. Back to pre- teendom. She had finally managed, to teach me to knit. I was left handed, she was not. We danced many a tussle filled dance, with me trying to master the art, & she, valiantly trying hard not to lose her patience.

I had my Grandmother to try to instruct me also. She was the more patient of the two, but still, the art eluded me. I can still see my Grandmother propped on pillows on her bed, to rest her stiff leg, plying her knitting needles, & trying to instruct me on the intricacies of the art of Knitting.

I did manage to master the art, finally. I knitted right handed, which may be why I had trouble learning. When I eventually taught myself to crochet, I taught myself lefthanded. I went on to teach several neighbour children, & adults, to crochet lefthanded. I learnt with my Mother, who by then, I recognised for what she truly was. My best friend. I used a mirror to follow the pictures, in the right-handed instruction book, & it was very successful.

Once I had learnt to knit, I had to try out the fancy stitches. Dropping stitches, being frustrated, but learning how to pick up the dropped stitches. How to create the lacy patterns, the fairisle colours. I loved knitting.

When Winter came around, in those early teen years, my mother & I would embark on a trip together, to the closest city, with the large woolshops, with a huge selection of wonderful yarns, to choose from. Hand knitted jumpers, cardigans, boleroes, vests, were all fashionable. Every one was wearing them, & hand knitted was desirable, & sought after.

I can still remember the excitement of a trip. My mother would have the day off. Perhaps I would be taking a day off school, to make the trip. We would set off, just the two of us, my mother driving her little car. A small heater in the car, providing some warmth for our early getaway.

The choosing of the lovely yarns, to knit a jumper, or cardigan. Fashions changed, colours came in & out of season. A creamy flecked yarn, my fondest memory of a cardigan we knitted together. I did the sleeves, my Mother the back, & the front which had a pattern. We shared that cardigan, through bitter times & happy. It finally wore out, holes in the elbows. I think we both realised the value in that cardigan.

It represented a traumatic, stormy time we lived through. It represented good times we lived through, close, & great friends. Later, myself, a hostile & nasty, hurt & bitter person. Hurling cruelties at the my mother, in verbal form. goodness knows, sometimes those barbs hurt most of all. I cringe at the memory. But I still remember the sharing of that cardigan, even through the bitter times.

I still get a warm memory, when I think of how we chose the yarn, together. How we shared the memories of the creation, & the occasions, of wearing it, having it admired. Acknowledging each other's contribution to it's creation. It was another tie that bound us.

In our later years together, we often talked of that cardigan. Talked of how it had become a sort of benchmark for our love for each other. The love that had been woven, knitted, into it's creation, stayed, long after the mere garment had ceased to be.

It left a legacy of thought, pain, joy, & love. I am so glad we had Once Upon a Time, to build up our later relationship. Loving & generous. You can't ask for more than that, from your life.



Seals & Crofts, I'll Play for You.

Sly Memories

The tricks the mind plays are sometimes hilarious.
A Riverside Nightclub, over-looking the Avon River, in Christchurch, New Zealand. Many years ago!

A Corporate affair, tickets available to make up the numbers. Would we like to attend?

Friends to be present. What is to refuse?

Dress for the occasion. Young, slim, attractive. Part of the 'set'. Of course, we will attend.

I should, perhaps, stress, Gom & I are still much in "young" love. Something like 10 years married. Happy, blissful. Young children. Still excited by each other. Mysteries to unfold, explore. We really were, so happy!!

Sitting at a large table of guests. Some new aquaintances.
The man in the white suit asks me to dance.
Accepted, gracefully.
Dancing to the happy band's beat. The sudden realisation of ...an 'intrusion'. What the Heck?? An innappropriate erection?? "Raging" one might say?? Moving away, curving the body, to indicate, "This is not invited!!"

Begging sudden tiredness, a faintness, over heated, need to rest.

Gom laughs about it, to this day. Oh, he could be so damn smug!
As if to say," you are mine, & that is that!"
I admit we still laugh about the 'white suited man'.

*******************
Travelling back to childhood memories.
Living on the edge of a farm. Climbing over the back fence to investigate the farm paddocks.

The wonderful exotic fruit tree. Loquats. A delicious, sweet, fruit, that grew on the neighbour's farm, down by the cattle yards, & the water troughs.
Those sweet yellow plum like fruit. The sunshine they contained. Ashamedly, I admit to stealing those fruit with cousins. The dear lady who owned the tree, was gently kind to us, when we lied about the reason we were hanging about the tree.



We told her several differing versions of why we should be down there, stealing the fruit, or rather, in close proximity of her lovely Loquat tree.

There were water troughs, & they attracted frogs, who laid their eggs, to become tadpoles. Which, of course, became frogs eventually. We were not lying about the attraction to the frogs. We did find them fascinating, & we were never cruel to them.
This frog resembles the one we saw when we were children. I don't ever remember being repelled by frogs-though I know girls were supposed to be repelled by such things.

This is a little Green Frog I photographed in our garden. I was so thrilled to see it. The pic is very blurry. Taken before the new camera!
It is true, that memories can warm you, as you age, ...or chill your soul.

**********

I tried to find a photo of the Pines, that dominated the camping grounds of my childhood, but I couldnt find any.
I need to go back, & capture the rich floor, of pineneedles, the tall trees, spooky, creaking, & creepy, pines, of the camping ground atmosphere.

It is hard to describe the smell, the dark sunlit, filtered light, of the camping grounds of those long ago days.

As a child, they did seem particularly spooky, & surreal, in a way.

Our mother worked for the "Public Service" which I think, meant a Government emplyment, & as such, she was entitled to Public Service Holiday Accomodation. She had to book for a chance in the queue for her turn. We spent several nice, holidays in the "Public Service" premises.

One such, was a caravan, in a holiday camp, at Papamoa Beach. Off we went, Mother, 2 kids, & lots of hope. A very spooky Caravan. Under the Pine Trees.

Thick pineneedles underfoot. A not unpleasant smell, though rather dark. A friendship struck with neighbour children, in another Caravan.

I never did find out if they were 'Public Service' also. The friendship with the son, Clive, of about my age, was very strong. We ventured daily, to the ocean front, to swim, & cavort in the smaller waves. We loved the surf, we loved the ocean front. We loved the excitement of finds among the seaweed. The driftwood forms. The shells. The endless sunny days of frolicking among the foaming surf.

I always had a 'fishy' love of the ocean, the surf, the breakers, the foaming tide, washing upon the salty sand. I adored it all. Paradise.

Running over the sand dunes, among the Lupins, in full flower, their scent heavy in the salt-laden air. The smiling flowers of the yellow 'Pigfaces', the succulent plants with yellow flowers. The smell, as we carelessly crushed their stems, flowers...under our running feet... how could be so careless??

The surf, pummelling the beach front. The huge log, rolling in & out with the breakers. Shall we dare to ride this log??

Or course! Why not? We are daring!! & young .... & ignorant.... & ...well, ....young.

So, we jump upon this log, tossed so roughly by the wave motion. Out, out, into the breakers...
I am on the top, triumphant! Woo Hoo! Look at meeee.....

Swept under by the log! It rolls & rolls, & I am still under..... I am drowning! Help help, who will help me...........help........

Clive to the rescue! How he managed to get me from under that log, I will never know. But he did!

Suddenly, there is an adult male there, asking if I am okay? Yes, yes, I say, Clive has saved me.

We rush back to the campsite. My mother disbelieving of the drama. Though later, I see she is shaking, has come to believe I may have drowned...

I never forgot that boy lifesaver. I never forgot his name. I think he is the first person I ever fell in love with. I remember the town he lived in. I remember a lot of details. He was just about perfect.

Neil Diamond & Barbra Striesand, The Way We Were.

Simple Pleasures.

It is nice to discover, the older I get, the more pleasure I seem to get from simple things.
The smile of my Grandson, when he comes to visit. The happy smile from my Granddaughter, when I unexpectedly encounter her at the local shopping centre.
The warm & happy huge hug from my son, when he comes to stay, & we collect him from the station.

I love the *Sweety* animal photos that friends send me in emails. I am a real sucker for the happy dog/cat/pet pics.

Perhaps such pleasure denotes the size of my shrinking mind?? haha.

A cup of herb tea, a good book, a patch of sun, to warm my body.

A great fabric find, meters of brights on cloth for a mere dollar!

Waiting for the iron, now that it is washed, & the colour has stopped running.
It will make a sunny back for some quilt, yet to be made.



When I was a small child, I never had a 'Special' toy or blanket. Perhaps my Teddy bear would have been my best friend, but I left it in the garden, & a local dog made short work of it, & my mother told me I was not getting another.

I did have imaginary playmates, but it is not so easy to cuddle or cling to a figment, is it. Not that she seemed a figment, but she was certainly less accessible than reality.

My Brother had a 'Cuddy'. It was a fleecy cotton blanket, they type most babies have. It was just one particular blue & white cuddly rug. It was his best friend, & when our mother used to sneak it into the wash, there would be roaring tears, when he discovered it, with my Brother clinging forlornly onto the corner of it, until it was dry, & could come in off the line. No clothes dryers about in those days!

I am not very sentimental about clothes as a rule, though I have saved some of my babies' clothes. A small dress I gave my granddaughter, thinking she may like it one day.

One thing I am rather sentimental about is an old cardigan I have. It is about 24 years old. I rather resembles a badly wounded, &/or dying old dog. It has a mohair/wool/synthetic composition. It has camouflage colours. Gom gave it to me for my Birthday one year. I had admired it every time we passed the shop, where it had been on display.

The buttons have all gone cracked & changed into a navy colour. One button has come off & one of these days I might get around to replacing it. It is grey, green, navy, brown, white, & cream. It is the colour of lichen.

It is like a type of Talisman. If I am feeling gloomy, or chilly, I get out the old 'ABC', as it is known in the family. There is a pattern in a strip which goes around the fronts sleeves, & back, which resembles the ABC television logo. It is an old Comfort. It is very warm, & even after 24 years it still fits me!

It has been admired by friends, & rellies. I no longer wear it in public, but that is not because of it's condition. It is still in remarkably good condition, considering it's age. No holes, no defects. I throw it in the machine to wash it. Admittedly, it does not get worn every day. It languishes in the back of the wardrobe for most of summer. Yet, every cool day, it springs to mind, as just the ideal garment.

It has been so handy to lend to sad grandchildren, to wrap around themselves & cuddle down. The soft fabric of the knit is so warm & embracing. It is almost as good as a warm hug from your mother.

Cardigan.

Even the very word conjures up 'old' images. Old men in sagging cardigans, with bulging pockets. Old women in knitted lumpy cardigans, with woollen skirts hanging like ropes about their old lumpy bodies.

Who remembers Cardigan Twinsets? Those finely knitted, plain jumpers, with short sleeves, & matching long sleeved cardigans. I remember Kiapoi brand in New Zealand. Fine woollen knitted garments. Reeking of moth balls, since moths loved those fine woollen garments, & so the moth balls were scattered among the folds, to keep the moths away. How they smelt! I think they took them off the market, because they were poisonous- not only to the moths!

This post has been brought to you by gloop, & sticky sentimentality! And niggly winter chills.

Roy Orbison, In Dreams.