>a t’riffic Tuesday

>Today was a perfect Spring day in the garden:
catmint in bloom
my first ever successful pot of tulips … really, really small tulips I grant you, but tulips nonetheless … and for my friends in the Northern Hemisphere who possibly find tulips unremarkable – here in Oz most of us have to put our tulip bulbs in the freezer to have any hope of them blooming. These ones didn’t get freezered [because I forgot] so I’m pretty chuffed that they’ve managed such a lovely display
some interspecies interaction between Sophie and Ms Ethel – neither of whom seemed particularly bothered by the other’s presence

Nadie enjoying a break from the onerous task of mother-minding with a Bear, a chai and a spot of Harry Dresden

the only irritants?
those rotten b****y beggars of weeds that are proliferating in my garden as I type. I can HEAR them … plotting to take over … taunting me with their newfound sense of invulnerability.
Well I’m serving notice on the nasty prolific little beasts … I shall not be incapacitated forever. Their time will come!!!
soon!

>Okay, yes, you were right !!

>You all told me to take it easy … and … well… yes. you are all just too smart for my own good :]

Going out to collect the Bear last Monday on a wave of pharmacologically induced wellbeing wasn’t a particularly good idea and I paid for it for the rest of the week [ but I’m glad to have my little buddy home nonetheless ]
Now I’m trying to behave
not necessarily succeeding
but trying
I think it’s generally acknowledged that I don’t do bed rest very well, but I’ve had to accept the necessity for a couple of days, whilst trying to persuade assorted animals NOT to leap up onto the bed by way of my recumbent and achy self… otherwise most of my time has been spent on the couch, either prone or sitting and engaged in the same largely fruitless battle with the assorted furrbabies that want to comfort me by draping themselves about my person.

Speaking of which, I have discovered that a 6 kilo Sophie presses down harder on the sore bits than a 7 kilo Bear. Possibly because her 6 kilos is in a much more compact body.
She is also far more determined and much harder to shift [ especially since I’m not supposed to lift more than 2kgs at the moment ]
Anyway during the ‘sitting upright’ periods I’ve been engaged in an activity that I haven’t done a lot of over the recent past – namely hand sewn [ pieced ] patchwork.

Once upon a time I used to piece almost exclusively by hand – back in the days when dinosaurs ruled the earth and rotary cutters didn’t exist – but these days I would normally head to one of my machines as a first choice.
If, that is, I could actually sit comfortably at the machine or exert enough pressure to use a rotary cutter. Which I can’t. [ and don’t ask how I’m managing to sit at the computer because you wouldn’t like the answer ]

Anyway, it’s been quite restful and also pleasing to discover that those traditional skills haven’t atrophied completely, even if my eyesight isn’t what it used to be
[ and look, look – with all this resting, I have actual fingernails – woot ]


Of course this all looks a bit rough and untidy at the moment

but that’s because it’s not joined together… this is just some of the finished units laid out [ un-ironed ] to give you a sense of where I’m headed.
The block is 15″ finished and contains 141 pieces, so I’m rather glad that I only have to piece this one which is going to end up as the centre of a medallion quilt

>In The Doghouse

>You can tell that Bear has been raised by cats!

As you know, he’s been having a holiday with his mum and sister out at Pete-and-Brenda’s and I wanted my boy home again.
PND and Brenda would’ve been more than happy to drop him off when they come through town on Wednesday, but as far as Nadie’s concerned, there’s that whole issue of multiple cute baby goats to be snuzzled, so yesterday, driving very sedately in order to save my fragile innards, we progressed to Emu Creek and the waiting paws of Mr Bear.
I fully expected to have to deal with a semi-hysterical mamas boy overjoyed at being reunited with his human family.
I expected joyous barking and jumping and … well you get the picture, right ?
yeah!
right!
Can you say “Cold shoulder”?
Like I said, Bear has been raised by cats and I think we all know what happens when one leaves one’s moggy.
One gets ignored … firmly and pointedly
and so I was, until I had learned the error of my ways.
Eventually he deigned to acknowledge my existence – briefly – but it didn’t last very long, and then he was off with the family for some last minute doggy bonding and the ritual chasing of the magpies.
In the meantime, the aforementioned goaties were indulging in some major Nadie-snuzzling
They obviously enjoyed the process because there was a mass attempt to follow us back to the house for lunch – neatly foiled by Brenda and Nadie – while I stood by being completely useless in my current post-hospital inability to lift even a couple of kilos of baby goat, and Pete?
Well, he was otherwise occupied, sitting in with Ms India who was in labour.
[and the rotten little bugger waited until we left to produce her two little does and a buck … so of course, we’ll just have to go visit again next week before Nadie goes home ]

Lunch involved the ingestion of soup, biscuits and home made creamy goats cheese … drool

When it was time to say our goodbyes, and Bear realised that he was going to have to leave his ‘pack’, the ears and tail went down and he attempted to hide behind ‘grampa‘ Pete … I’m trying hard not to take it personally. Maybe he just doesn’t like the car.

POSTSCRIPT:
the visit may have been just a little premature and I’ve been paying for it today so the next day or so will involve nothing more strenuous than the ingestion of David’s birthday cake [ version two ]

>I’m not convinced it’s ART but…

>Back in May, when I was told that the two surgeries I was expecting would need to be augmented by the big”H”, it was something that I wasn’t expecting and a whole herd of emotions were unleashed.
There were the ones that any sentient being could have predicted but also some long buried griefs that had more to do with the fact that I was feeling vulnerable and Marc was no longer here. Clearly I should have anticipated that one but, in any case, once I realised what was going on, I accepted it as a perfectly normal, albeit greatly delayed, part of the grieving process and gave myself permission to just be sad for a couple of days.

That was when I decided that perhaps I should make myself a journal of the emotional journey.
Okay
I’ll admit to a momentary worry that I was being a trendoid.
Jumping on the bandwagon
Being self indulgent
and then I asked myself what was so wrong with a wee bit of self indulgence anyway?

so

A nice new sketchbook was purchased
and then it sort of sat there
looking at me
all white and blank and full of … foreboding

Obviously it needed breaking in, so I covered the front with rich red paint and a voluptuous red rose.
My feeling was that this was going to be about my female self as opposed to my feminine self and I am SO not a pink, girlie girl but that lush deep fleshy pink/red was hugely symbolic of whatever was ahead.

I painted up the first dozen or so pages and over several nights, poured out all the angst and fear and frustration and grief. I allowed myself to feel the self-pity that is usually kept tightly under control.
For once I allowed myself the luxury of ‘why me?’ and you know what? the answer is, as it has always been … well … why not me ?
the words poured out much more easily than the images. There were false starts and rippings-out, but eventually I realised that it didn’t matter because this was for me so I let the pages just be in whatever state they evolved

The journal was largely laid aside up until the night before I went to hospital.
I sat down after choir with a nice mug of chai and read through all that I had written, looked at the drawings and paintings, really, really looked at them, and then one by one fed them to the fire
and let them go

I can highly recommend it as a therapeutic practice

>Hippo Birdies Two Ewes

>My special young man is 31 today
We will be celebrating in stages because DS#1 can’t make it up until Tuesday
but David’s birthday [day 1] starts today:

there will be cake – even if his sister has to go buy one from the supermarket!

NOTE: the lifeforms of genus cakeus subspecies birthdayeii are involved in a symbiotic relationship which humans that require seasonal patterns of ingestion for the realisation of their full cosmic potential …
Also I’m reliably informed that birthday cake is remarkably efficacious in post-operative blood replacement …
however
I feel it is my duty to test this one out because I don’t think there’s enough empirical evidence to form a firm theory as to cause and effect.

>she’s in da house

>So my loves, what do we know now that we didn’t know 8 days ago?
…well, for one, we know I have some dear and good friends IRL and on these here innernets
– no, wait
– I knew that!

…that my daughter is a fabulous woman ?
– definitely knew that

… that small country towns are supportive wonderful places to live ?
– no, wait
– knew that too!

… that having three major surgeries in one hit is a wee tad unpleasant?
– think we all called that one, yes?

… oh yes, I know!
– finding out you have an adverse reaction to morphine after you’ve been on it for 6 days and throwing up your toes the whole time is never going to be a good thing [ the Hospital Pharmacy Director’s reaction when she updated my ‘adverse reactions’ file was … “you’re onto page 2 now!” Probably not how I best want to be known LOL ]

yup that’s about the sum of my insights for this week

except for this addendum – if you want a realistic yardstick of how I was doing:
– It took me 6 days to get out my knitting bag. What does THAT tell you ? Even when Ms Tara came for a visit and knitted on her gorgeous lace shrug, even then … nada… niente …. nuzzink