The best time to plant a tree was 20 years ago. The second best time is now.
There’s something intrinsically satisfying, for me, about watching my garden grow. I acknowledge gardening is not everyone’s cup of tea. For many, it’s something to be out-sourced along with the annual tax return, but I love it. I’ve come to realise that it feeds my soul.
(WARNING: no pics. Just thought you should know, as apparently all highly successful blogs should have pics. BUT there is riveting, action based video).
Speaking of meat (oops. Bec H started that conversation 3 months ago… Nonetheless, I take mine medium rare thanks), Dougal and I recently enjoyed our first date night in… in…, actually I’m not sure how long it has been, but it has certainly been a long time (I read about those couples in magazines who say ‘they make sure they have an evening to themselves once a week/once a fortnight/ one a month/ once every six months, with great astonishment. Who manages to DO that??!!).
Date night came about because my parents were visiting for a week, so it was then or never. Not quite ready to opt for ‘never’, our first night plans dissolved into exhaustion, as a day in the paddocks fixing fences in the rain led to us piking. After another day in the paddocks (at the end of which we discovered we had been fixing the wrong fence, let’s not go there right now), our window of opportunity was quickly shrinking so we somewhat reluctantly, but determinedly, set off on a dark, cold, rainy Wednesday night, for a 35min drive to Taree. Continue reading
Well lookie here.
There’s a photo of me in a magazine! Not a magazine with a huge readership I grant you, but a magazine nonetheless. (That’s me in the blue shirt, bottom left of the page.)
… one from the SBS studios in Sydney, Australia, and one from Brazil.
Yes, I’m the one who’s a long way from home, in the land of the Samba, Carnivale, caipirinhas, and futebol.
Joining Hubs, who is working over here, The Kid and I came to Brazil just in time for the first game of the 2014 World Cup. Thankfully and excitingly (for a family whose schedule is dictated by the global cycle of football), it turns out that at 5 years of age, The Kid is more than happy sitting in a bar watching football game after football game. His Dad is relieved, happy and very proud.
Bugs. Life is full of them. The good ones…
And the bad ones…
One bug’s not so bad. Thousands…? Not so good. Excuse me while I have a little itch just thinking about them.
Bugs are the bane of my summer living. I should be acclimatised by now, swiping them off my fevered brow without a second thought, but quite honestly, the feeling of one bug on my skin is magnified 20 times so that I begin to imagine I have stepped into some kind of Hitchcock horror movie, where I am eventually devoured. Yes, in terms of bugs, I am a little like the Princess and the
Pea Bug. Continue reading