the Wise Robin

chalk and cheese

105/365

 

 

chalk and cheese these two.

 

 

her magic

104/365

 

 

you're out the door and waiting down front before i've even put my shoes on. i always let you pick which way. today we head up the hill and round the corner. flowering gums, front yard swings, liquid amber spikes scattering the pavement. kaya runs on ahead.  we walk slow. you fossick on the nature strip as we make our way. you're always bringing home treasures. today it was  a magic wand and autumn stars. 

 

her work

104/365

 

 

she brings me her shoes and pulls at my side, motioning for me to put them on. we sit on the kitchen floor together as she lifts each foot patiently. she takes my hand and leads me to the door. every breathing moment is geared toward this. outside is where it's at. and when she's had enough of pottering or following her sister or sitting by me while I dig or plant or weed, she heads to the door again. in, out, in, out. door open, door closed. practising the step in and out. her work. my busy bee.

 

 

103/365

 

spin

102/365

 

 

Just watching my girls do this makes my head swim. There are those things that I loved doing as a kid but can no longer stomach. This is one of them. Swinging high on a swing comes a close second. Niamh loves this, giggling as she lifts her arms up, asking again and again to be swung round and round.

 

autumn garden

 

 

 

This past weekend was the last of the long weekends until the snow flies and the queen celebrates another turn around the sun. What amazing weather we've been having. Autumn weather is always a talking point this time of year. After the scorching heat of summer and being indoors day in, day out, everyone gets out and about cycling, walking, sitting in the sun and we love to talk about it. Strangers passing each other and commenting on the glorious temperatures. People still in sandals and short sleeves, the sun still biting just a little in the middle of the day.  It really couldn't get more perfect, especially for gardening. I've spent the last week outdoors with the girls, digging and weeding, designing and dreaming up our winter vegie patch. I can't begin to tell you how good it feels to still have dirt under my nails at the end of the day. We put the fence up over the weekend, hung the gate and put the turnips & carrots, leeks & garlic, cabbages & celery, cauliflowers & broccoli to bed. Nasturtiums, giant delphiniums and eyebrights have snuggled in too. I can't resist some cottage garden type flowers when I go to the nursery. I've a list of seeds still to order and a couple more beds to dig. I've been falling into bed exhausted, good satisfying exhaustion from being in the sun and having my hands in the earth. Hugh's book arrived just before the weekend and we dove right in with the pearled barley broth, the new potato, rosemary and blue cheese pizza and an asparagus pizza.  We didn't have any blue cheese so we just used feta. It wen't down a treat. I've been gazing up at my  little patch as I stand in the kitchen, taking every opportunity to sneak away and sit up there with the root veg and brassicas. There's nothing more that I love than garden to table meals. I'm already dreaming of cabbage and carraway. 

 

 

 

 

one hundred and one

101/365

 

 

100/365

  

 

 

99/365

 

 

98/365

 

We're past the one hundred mark on the 365 project! A couple of times I've told Will that I'm not going to make it, it's too hard, too time consuming, too all consuming, too challenging, too this, too that, the usual stuff. But he gently reminds me that part of the reason I chose to do this project was because I have trouble completing, sometimes even starting things. They say it's a trait of cesarean babies. So, I'm still here, still pressing that shutter on my growing girls and putting all those unfinished projects to bed. 

 

 

archibald

97/365

 

 

96/365

 

 

95/365

 

94/365

 

 

weekending

 

Oh what a wonderful looong weekend we've had. Then it's only three working days and another longish weekend. It is so lovely having William home for more than two days. I've always thought a three day weekend would do so much more for everyone. A day to do all that running around getting odd jobs done, a day to really sink into the weekend and a day to gently coax yourself out again, get your mind ready for the week sort of thing. This weekend was so full of good things. The sunshine, the rain, the preliminary op shopping  for tea cups to make our easter candles. Normally we make really simple ones from beeswax sheets, but this year we've gone all out on teacup candles.  It's now Tuesday and there's still no sign of the wicks I ordered, so we made simple roll up candles any way. We gardened and lay in the sun like the puppers, full of chocolate and hot cross bun goodness. Fruit buns for breakfast and chocolate buns for afternoon tea. I hadn't done the crazy "oh my goodness the stores are closing for a whole day" shopping thing so come Friday, with no groceries and a hankering for flathead, we hedged our bets on Wests. Surely being a seafood shop and being Good Friday they were bound to be open. The place was packed. While we waited there was a sun storm and the sky was bright and dark all at once.  We took our fish home and caught up on Hugh's everyday veg from last week. I love that man for his passion and humour, his handknits and his farm. Wouldn't you just love to live in that white cottage and eat from that garden?  We ordered his book last week. Zahra's keeping vigil by the mail box with her shop front. She's been open all weekend, selling lambs-ear that sprouted in our front lawn and odd bods that she doesn't want anymore. I think it's mostly trade with the neighbourhood kids, " how about I swap two chocolate eggs for that elastic band bracelet?" I did peek out the window today to see her selling one of her plants to the neighbours' visitor. The lady across the road politley refuses to buy anything but did come across to give the kids choc chip biccies. I occassionally wander down and splurge on a handmade card or some fingerknitting. Apart from the shopping and gardening there was reading in bed. Will gets up for work at five to ride to work so seven thirty is big sleep in for him, at which time he springs out of bed to make porridge and eggs for the girls. There's hardly ever any springing from this end so I was left to wake slowly, roll over and read. I'm easing myself back into sewing and knitting. With my dodgy disks I have to be mindful to keep my neck and back loose and to not sit for ages stitching. I've realised I get quite excited and tense when I'm nearing the end of a project and will sit and keep.on.going. until. it's finished. I stitched the last of the binding on Niamh's birthday quilt and could feel each muscle begin to ping and pop as I neared the finish line. So I tried to make it go more like this. Stitch, stitch. Make a cup of tea. Stitch, stitch, stitch. Eat some chocolate. Stitch, stitch. Stretch back. Stitch, sticth. Pat the puppers. Stitch, stitch. Admire handiwork, don't get excited. Stitch, stitch. Eat some more chocolate. Stitch, stitch, stitch. Ah, all done, nice and calm, loose back, loose neck. It's usually starts out like this, all sweet and slow, but ends up more like  sticth, stitch, stitch, stitch, stitch, nearly done, twitching eye. Stitch, stitch, stitch, ARGH. MUST. FINISH. NOW. It's a whole new way to work I tell ya. The knitting went much the same. Just gotta pace myself. A finished project is still a sweet thing but I think I'm finally getting that whole "the process is more important than the poduct" thing.  We've been working like mad shovelling compost and constructing garden beds so our winter veg is all snuggled in before ANZAC day. That seems to be the gardening lore on winter vegies round these parts. I always overestimate how many seedlings we need for the space we have and am left scrabbling to make another bed or find a space in the garden that the chooks can't get to. I still want to get a bed of garlic, onions and leeks in too.  There was an insane amount of dandelion tea drinking, which Niamh decided to get in on. She's so sweet, bringing us a jumper and a pair of shoes to indicate outside time. It doesn't end well if we're busy indoors. She'd spend all day outdoors if Mama would let her.  But Mama wants to cook delicious things like poached chicken noodle salad and spanish omelettes. I tried to find a link to the salad but no good. All I can tell you is that it's in Donna Hay's Spring 2008 magazine and it is so good. Fresh ginger and mirin, snow peas and green beans, coriander and udon noodles. Mmmm. But what I do have for you is this salsa recipe. If you've never made fresh salsa go get thyself lickety split to the kitchen and make this one. I don't know where I got it, it's handwritten in my recipe journally thing. If anyone recognises it do let me know. Credit where credit's due. It's not really Autumn fare but it's good and you should try it. Goes well with spanish omelette!

 

YUMMY GOOD SALSA

Toss all these ingredients in a bowl

2 cups of fresh tomatoes

1/2 cup white salad onion

2 garlic cloves minced

1 chilli

juice of 1/2  a lime

1/2 cup chopped fresh coriander

season with salt and pepper

 

 

 

click

95/365

 

 

94/365

 

Normally I stick to photographing anything that doesn't move really. Anything that will stay put for as long as it takes to get the shot. Clouds don't really count or plants bobbing in the breeze, Miss Kaya who sits on command, the odd food shot.  This project is anything but that. Two girls, one camera shy and constantly on the move, the other co-operative or not depending on that nearly nine year old mood. It's challenging me in more ways than I imagined and I'm loving it. Learning how to work with constantly moving, emotional and sometimes camera shy subjects is somedays frustrating beyond measure, but it's pushing my creative thinking, altering the way I use my camera, giving me deeper insight into my girls, extending me beyond my comfort zone.  Pushing these boundaries feels good for my brain. I'm nearly a third of the way in!

 

 

long weekend

93/365

 

 

little sleep and a long day

 

 

autumn light

92/365

 

 

 

these girls

91/365

 

 

 

 

90/365

 

90/365

 

 

light::dark

88/365

 

 always going somewhere this one

 

89/365

 

i love all of her, even those beauty spots she already says she doesn't like. she's eight. 

 

i've been a bit slow getting back in the 365 saddle. a week off turned into two. maybe it's the post holiday come down where i find myself back in the familiar landscape of my everyday, which has of late bordered on the prosaic side. or perhaps it's the energy of autumn that brings a certain slowness to the days. i've been thinking a lot about happiness lately and then i came upon milla's words. they struck a cord. from this i realised i haven't been noticing the small things. those moments of pure contentment where everything is ok, no matter what is going on in my life, where it all just falls away and everything is good and well and ok. i don't know if i just haven't been noticing those small, seemingly inconsquential things in the rush of everyday or if they just haven't been happening at all. so the past few days i've been taking it slow, taking it in, simplifying and noticing. noticing myself mainly, a little self reflection. how i go about my day, the first thing i think when i wake, the last thing i think before going to sleep, how i move, what i say, how i say it, body language, thoughts, dreams. taking stock of where i'm at.  the first thing that struck me was how long it's been since i've reeeally stopped and just, you know, sat with myself. it almost feels like a luxury these days. second to that i started compiling a mental list of things that i used to do, that i loved doing, that i haven't been doing recently, for lack of sleep and time and energy. simple things like reading in bed before lights out or first thing in the morning, letting my body wake by itself, listening and dancing to favourite music, journaling and walking in the bush. i long for these things, simple as they are, and i'm making a concerted effort to bring them slowly into my day again. i remember reading once that being a mama to newborns and very little littles it's akin to being cast adrift in a boat. you're far from the shore, just you and your babe. you can see people standing on the shore, your partner, friends family, waving to you. but they're beyond reach, you're beyond reach. essentially it's just you and this little person drifting together until such time as the boat slowly comes to ground, as it will. while you're out there alone with this tiny being you lose part of yourself for a time, because it's all consuming. there's little time or space for the small things that make you who you are, bring joy to your day, fill you up, so you can keep on waving back at your partner and friends with a genuine smile playing on your lips and resentment for losing yourself for a time, playing out far, far away in another land. i then realised how important these small things are, their cumulative effect, their contribution to keeping everything ok. and then i'm wondering why it's taken me ages to realise this. probably because i'm so busy waving and trying to smile. mental note to self: don't dismiss the small things. oh and letting go, letting your sea legs take over, as imperfect as they may be { because there's beauty in imperfection} also helps. i'm so conscious of how hard i find putting my feelings into words. taking them from the feeling realm and translating them into something slightly comprehensible to others. it's something i aim to be better at. and gosh, if it means i have to wear my heart on my sleeve here from time to time i'm going to do it darn it, for the sake of self preservation and that never ending journey of a lovely thing called self development.  really all this means is that my sea legs are wobbly, i'm going to pick up a book every other night before my eyes close involuntarily and i'm gonna get my groove on. as for the waking gently with the sun, that will have to wait a little, while my little is sorting out her sleep.

 

 

 

swing

87/365

 

 

 

ten

 

 

playing along with erin today. ten random things.

1.  i can't pick just one favourite smell. i have many. woodsmoke in autumn, rain soaked earth, percolating coffee, a baby fresh out of the bath, eucalypt forest, christmas trees, freesias in the spring, fresh baked bread, tackrooms and horses.

2. wanting, dreaming, hoping to have bees one day

3. i feel that i belong in a different country and a different time

4. i'm a cat and a dog lover

5. favourite colour right now...yellow

6. this close to cutting off all my hair

7. excited about starting a winter vegie garden

8. apparently i have a dodgy C1-C2 disk, which means for the moment there is no knitting,no sewing, no slouching, and supposedly no computer (oops). i have a cardigan, almost finished staring at me. my fingers are itching

9. i have a crush on hugh fearnley wittingsall. his farm, his job, his handknits. i know, i know, very uncool. but i can't help it.

10. like erin, i am also afraid of not having enough time to do everything i want to do in this lifetime before i die

how about you? will you play too?

 

 

 

wellies

86/365

 

 

new red wellies

i took a break from 365 over the past week to unplug and spend some time up north with my family.  i kinda felt like i was breaking the rules, but hey, there aren't any rules that say " i must take a photo every day for 365  consecutive days".  i'm making this up as i go.  sanity and rest, much, much more important than pressing that shutter each and every day methinks. 

 

 

 

south & back

 for my pop

 

 

grief is a strange and complex thing. it has many faces and bubbles up in the most unexpected moments. sometimes it's a look or what someone says, a smell or a rising memory that calls grief's name. this past week has had me smelling the percolating coffee in my grandparents house, taking my shoes off and placing them neatly on the mat by the front door, listening to my Poppy chuckle and watching him in the garden. i have revisited every room in their house and dug deep for every memory i have of him. his clear, sharp, grey eyes, his hands that are the spitting image of my mother's, his love of horses which he passed on to me.  the way he dressed in his best clothes to go into town. nan in her twinset with her handbag and heels, him in his suit and bow tie. the soft yellow of his woollen jumpers and his smoothed down hair. how he rolled up his overalls when working in the garden and how he wore one of those davy crockett style caps in winter. his love of a good timepiece and cameras, his back room where he made saddles and polished his shoes, the smell of leather always strong and sweet. the way he read with a magnifying glass instead of his specs. stories of the war in London, sailing ships, south africa and the ocean. he loved the ocean, the rougher the better he would say. he joined the merchant navy at just fourteen. the way a vw beetle is a poppy car to me and my sister because our poppy drove one. dahlias, roses, carnations, peas and passionfruit.  she is a comfort some days, this friend grief. allowing tears and sadness, precious memories and an emptying that is soothing and relief. other days grief is a dark shadow that brings anger and blame. he lived long, my pop, ninety seven years. that's almost one hundred summers and winters. whether he had a good life i'll never know. there was a lot he didn't talk about, a lot we weren't allowed to ask. staying in someone elses house when finding out my pop was gone was incredibly hard. but being by the ocean that he loved so much, that's where i was meant to be. i'm so sorry you didn't get to meet your youngest great grand daughter and that  i didn't get to say goodbye in person. thankyou for teaching me all that you did and for the precious memories.

 

 

 

teeth

87/365

 

 

teething.  

poor baby girl. it's been one of those days. her expression sums it all up really.

 

 

 

toddler

86/365

 

 

now that niamh is walking more and crawling less, being outdoors in the yard is a completely different experience. she's traversing our sloping yard much easier, which means i can stand back a little and potter in the garden while she goes about being the busy bee that she is. also means i gotta move quicker when she gets too close to the high retaining walls or steps. feels good getting my hands back in the earth after such a long time away from gardening.

zahra headed north today with her meme for a little holiday of her own. the house is so quiet without her. we'll be joining her later in the week, but for now it means there'll be no 365 of her. 

 

 

 

 

 

south

 

85/365

 

 

84/365

 

 

 

 

83/365

 

 

 

82/365

 

 

 

 

81/365

 

 

 

 

80/365

 

 

 

79/365