A couple of slightly stressed trees

Because it's been a slightly stressful week.

Firstly, the happy stuff....two trees were made.  A green tree with blue spots which could be raindrops, because we certainly had our share of rain last month.

Every Arboretum needs a blue and green spotted tree, yes?  The contrast is interesting; on its own it is a slightly pinkish tan, but set inside the bright green fabric it looks brown.

This bright fabric wasn't wide enough to cut the 6-1/2 in by 9 in piece for a tree....but it was wide enough to cut two, 3-1/4 in by 9 in pieces and join them using a contrast trunk.  Pat on the back for me too, because I even managed blend the foliage design.  The blue and green fishy print makes a fun contrast.

This week's trees, 73 and 74.  We won't quibble about which is which.

The weekly wattle.  It's difficult to get a close-up on a windy day as those thin branches wave and dance with every puff of air, but I managed.

How has everyone been this week?  We attended the anniversary morning tea at the library on Monday, and Hizzoner duly delivered his waffling rambling (fortunately not over-long, but long enough) speech.  I believe that councillors undertake some media training upon being elected; the mayor has been on council for over 30 years, so perhaps a refresher course would be a Useful Thing.  He and I did not need to speak so the dilemma of what to address him shall, for the foreseeable future at least, remain unresolved.

While there I was introduced to a woman named Joyce, "she's 90, you know".....Joyce started working at the library a few years after I left and continued there for several years.  Every time we hove in sight (or earshot) of Joyce we heard "I'm 90, you know....."  

The following day, Tuesday, was one of my two monthly quilt group days but as my tummy had been feeling a little unhappy for a few days, I decided to stay home.  Kevin wanted to catch up with a few things down town, so took the car and drove off.  Some time later, just as I was about to settle down for a rest, I answered a knock on the door which turned out to be the wife of a café manager.  Kevin had decided to treat himself to a coffee and, while walking from the car, tripped and sliced his hand open, it was bleeding profusely, so off we duly drove to the hospital.  Many hours later, several stitches in the hand, lots of padding and bandages, and we finally made it home again.  Back the next day just to get it checked - I'm not a medical person, I wasn't going to be the one to unwrap it - it was wrapped with new bandages, leave it on said the nurse, see your GP in a week to have the stitches removed, don't get it wet, etc., etc.  It's his right hand, and of course he's right handed, so all the chores which are usually split between two people are being done by one.  Never mind....it's my turn this year, Kevin did the chores last year when my arm was in plaster.

Over the past several years Kevin has developed what I call the Old Bloke Shuffle.  Have you noticed that old blokes don't pick up their feet?  I keep telling him to do so, you'll trip, I say......older women don't shuffle as much as blokes, perhaps because we wore higher heeled shoes in our younger days.  One cannot shuffle in a heel, even a low heel.  Old blokes are also likely, as is Kevin, to be taking blood thinners so a badly cut hand means pressing all sorts of panic buttons.

I still haven't had that rest......

Words have been read, stitches have been sewn and knitted.  (I wish I had taken my knitting or my hand-piecing to pass those interminable hours in hospital.)  Songs have been plinked and sung.  I hunted and gathered all by myself, and hey-ho, so passed the week, stress and all.

We have had some very pleasant mild days, but more rain is forecast for the coming week.  The washing is hanging out in the breezy sunshine as we speak; like many Ozzies I have never owned a dryer, something which to me seems like a useless extravagance.  We use a solar dryer - a wash line in the sun!

"An acceptable suitor.

Parents should always be able to tell from observation and instinct just how matters strand with their daughter; and if the suitor is an acceptable one and everything satisfactory, then, in this country, the most scrupulous rules of etiquette will not prevent their letting the young couple alone.  If the lover chooses to propose directly to the lady and consult her father afterwards he has a perfect right to do so.  If her parents have sanctioned his visits and attentions by a silent consent, he has a right to believe that his addresses will be favorably received by them."

You notice that many of these quotes refer to how the young woman should behave, and very few as to what the man should do?  The old double standard was alive and well in 1885.

Enjoy your days!

Jennifer

Nice

The world needs more nice at present, doesn't it?  So many nasty and sad things happening out there.  So this will be a nice post.

My zygocactus is flowering.  There are much prettier and more spectacular zygocactus in the world, but this one is mine.

 When we bought our last house in 1987 this was left by the previous owners and the pot it was in was disintegrating.  A chunk of plant fell off and I shoved it in this pot, a gen-u-ine orange plastic pot left over from the 1970s.  The original plant died off, the piece I planted kept growing.....but it never ever flowered.  I brought it with us when we sold up and moved here, goodness knows why.....yes I do know.  I wasn't leaving anything behind for our buyer after the hoops she made us jump through.  I had run out of nice by then.  It hangs on our covered back verandah, and has flowered every winter since we came here.

Perhaps one day it might even be planted into a more glamorous pot with new soil........or perhaps I should leave well enough alone!

 My little project is finally finished, a souvenir of last autumn's holiday in Canada.  It's called "Leaf Peeking" and will be used as a table topper.  With the exception of the pale background print behind the leaves it's all batik fabrics.....I love the border print.  It's a very gorgeous green.  Have I ever mentioned that I am quite fond of green?

A few times recently we have woken up to frost, the hill behind us is quite white, and some mornings the shady bits haven't finished melting by 11am.  Well, it is winter after all......the morning walk has been a bit of a trial on such cold mornings, but I am persisting with it.  Cloudy mornings are easier, because the last part is uphill and it doesn't seem to matter what time I go out, the sun always seems to be in my eyes when I am coming home up the hill.  However, I am not getting up at the crack of dawn just to beat the sun.  Mornings just don't do it for me.

So far the fingers haven't fallen off, the difficult chords are becoming easier with the daily (except when I occasionally forget) uke practice.  It's the barre chords which are still giving me trouble.  A barre chord is when you place the left index finger across all the strings at once - that's not so bad if it's only one finger doing the work, but when the other fingers on that hand have to hold down other strings too, well, that can be a bit painful.  At least the narrower neck on a ukulele is easier to barre than a guitar neck, I have never been able to quite get the hang of that.  My fingers aren't particularly short, but just a bit more length on them would make barre chords so much easier.

Ah well, can't change what nature gave us, can we?  If we could I would be a bit taller, my fingers would be a little longer, my hair would not be going grey, I would still have the slender figure of my youth.  At the folk festival at Easter a friend who is a few years younger said she admires me and hopes to be as good as I am when she is my age, she considers me to be a role model.  It was meant as a compliment and I took it as such, but oh my.....I hate getting older.  I hate the way my hair is white round my face but still has a lot of its natural dark auburn elsewhere.  I hate the way my waistline is but a distant memory.  I hate the wrinkles which make my eyes look so small now, when they used to be big.  I hate the way some health issues, thanks to inherited genes, are surfacing.  Bugger growing old gracefully.  As far as I can see, there are no compensations for getting older.  Not one.

Much is made in the media about young women and body image, but what about Olde Phartes?  Are we not allowed some regret for our younger selves, or are we supposed to just be resigned to the fact that our most attractive years are well and truly behind us, be thankful for small crumbs like my friend's compliment, and uncomplainingly put up with our lot in life?

And this was going to be such a nice post.

"Can any one fancy what our society might be, if all its members were perfect gentlemen and true ladies, if all the inhabitants of the earth were kind-hearted; if, instead of contending with the faults of our fellows, we were each to wage war against our own faults?  Every one needs to guard constantly against the evil from within as well as from without, for, as has been truly said, "a man's greatest foe dwells in his own heart".

Indeed, the world would be a nicer place, would it not?

Enjoy your days!