suburban excursion

Saturday afternoon Bunnings trip with a tired Poet and Vampire Che (who wore a pirate flag but will have his very own cape & mask set come Christmas). 

First stop is always the paint aisle where, on almost every visit, I hear the ubiquitous discussion about white paint. Usually the paint buyer is completely baffled by the fact that white doesn't exist and then proceeds to explore the many options including, but not restricted to: eggshell, old lace, magnolia, ghost, porcelain, vanilla, snow, ricotta, marshmallow, ivory, lightbulb, cloud and my personal favourite 'simply white'. Che always grabs a few colour cards (perfect for the craft cupboard) and then we make our way to the brooms, mops, bins, washing baskets and door mats while Daniel peruses the tool shed in peace. 

We spend so long wandering the aisles that we stop in the outdoor furniture section for a snack break and then Che runs off to the park. From there we wander past the gnomes and odd looking cement figurines to the garden centre where I always get chatting to a sweet elderly couple about their vegetable garden triumphs and failures. I buy a few seedlings and remind Che that yes, he can choose a plant but it must be edible and he has to look after it. 

Conversations on Saturday included a doddery old lady complaining about the fact that she's always buying thyme. "I grow it and dry it out and then I can never remember where I put it." Her husband's response? "You can't buy time, dear."

We came home with a beautiful lemon verbena plant and a few strawberry seedlings. Che is dreaming of an abundant strawberry vine but somehow I don't think he'll grow quite enough fruit to whet his appetite (he's a punnet-in-one-sitting kid).

41/52

"A portrait of my children, once a week, every week, in 2012."

Che: "Look mum, the light!" - the night before this glorious sun-drenched morning I lay next to him in bed and he said: "Mum, I have so much love in my heart right now."

Poet: I call her Raggedy Anne. 

I've been spending more time thinking about the book that I'll make with these once-a-week portraits. Whilst these photos are a beautiful documentation of the way Che and Poet have grown through the year there's also so much more to the story. So, on each page of that final bound book there will be other photos from our days - the food we ate, the places we visited, the corners of our home. Feeling completely inspired by Ronnie's project life.

52

spring, where are you?

Winter has returned with a sharp, cold wind; there's snow on the mountains and the southerly is icy. 

So, here I am today, with my scarf and slippers and ginger tea, watching the gums violently sway right outside my window, wondering where oh where has spring disappeared to. With low grey skies and cold fingers I'm feeling slightly unmotivated. Poet is sleeping in the big, warm bed and I'm tempted to join her and nap all afternoon. 

I'm planning a big pot of vegetable soup for later on; leeks and corn and broccoli too. Tonight I'll light my beeswax candles and cuddle under a blanket with my new book and a cup of tea (the perfect way to use the last sliver of just-picked-from-the-tree lemons).

Wishing you a warm, nourishing weekend. What tea will you be drinking? 

scenes

Glimpses of my morning: the violet view from my coffee spot, cleansing tea of camomila, lavender and calendula, a brown paper package.

Observing the little snippets around me is essential to both my sanity and creativity. Right now, as I write this, my keyboard is squashed in between my diary, numerous pens, a pile of travel magazines (work, not pleasure), a measuring tape, a glass of water, two notebooks and the foil wrapping from mint dark chocolate squares (it was a late one last night). Daniel has placed a big piece of yellow tape down the middle of our shared trestle table/desk - my ephemera is not allowed to wander into his territory. In a comic I would be depicted as a lonesome writer with glasses, hovering over the keyboard, tapping as I type, looking very much like a collector to some, a hoarder to most. What's most comical about this picture is that I can't stand mess or clutter. But right now, as I tread my way through the endless tasks I ignore the mess and just write. 

It's quite liberating to accept that full-time work and a perfect household don't coexist. Balance, in this regard, is not possible. But next week, when the deadlines have been met and there's space to be, I'll spend a few days doing things around the home. The words will be waiting but the beds will be made.

"little tienda - a little shop from mexico", is offering Che & Fidel readers 10% off with the code OCTLOVE...valid till October 31st. Happy mexican bohemian shopping...x 

conversations at dusk

Tonight the sun will set an hour later which can only mean one thing - summer beckons. I do love summertime dusk; lazying on the verandah before the mozzies come to visit, lingering for an extra five minutes before I get dinner started. I've been unintentionally surrounding myself with hues of buttery yellow; roses now wilted, Moroccan vases, wooden beads - an attempt at distraction from the ever-increasing amount of work that needs to be done. 

Stepping away from the desk is easy, forgetting about all those stories is not. Sometimes if I'm struggling to write I'll go for a walk or have a shower or immerse myself in mundane housework and most of the time, the words come. They creep in one at a time and join together effortlessly, sentences become finished pieces and I tick another story off the list. 

It's only in the past few weeks that I've recognised a distinct rhythm to the way that I work. A few months ago I wrote best at night, in the quiet dark that settled after the children were tucked up in bed. Now, as the days grow longer I find that mornings and early afternoons are best; short breaks between long stints a necessity. Sometimes it will take me days to find the essence of the story and in those times I'm like the struggling artist, without the stereotypical cigarettes and wine.  

I take comfort in knowing that the story always gets finished but I'm unashamedly attached to my words. Sending each story on to the editor requires a deep inhalation and a few lingering concerns. I can choose my words and dictate the flow but I can never control the editing process nor can I predict how the reader will approach the story. With that in mind I try to write like I talk; conversational and friendly; simple words that express ideas succinctly. 

Years ago a friend of mine gave me the sweetest compliment about my work. "When I was reading it was like you were talking to me, like I was listening to you chat about this and that. Weird but lovely."

I suppose that's what I hope for you when you visit this space. That you're listening to me talk about work and home and family while you sip your tea or coffee or wine. Perhaps this is the best time to thank you for all your beautiful comments; essential for a good conversation and always received with much gratitude. 

I hope your Sunday dusk is filled with warm words...x

40/52

"A portrait of my children, once a week, every week, in 2012."

Che: He dreams of travelling to New York City, Mt Vesuvius and then London. 

Poet: On the table. Always on the table.

Isn't Che's pillow fabulous! The perfect 5th Birthday gift, purchased from the wonderful Cath

52

wool, paper, string

...and strawberries. Party celebrations left me a little weary so I've been pottering these past few days; drinking tea and catching up. Strangely I've also decided to switch the children's rooms around. There's a bigger floor space in Poet's room - and Che needs it for lego construction and grand imaginary cities. We moved the beds yesterday but there's still the books, artwork and clothes to go. Hence I'm relishing in the quiet and calm of these photos because my house is anything but.

Che was spoilt with thoughtful gifts this week and I'm wondering where they will all live. Later today we're going to sort through his books and take some down to the op-shop. I've already passed on his too-small clothes to a few sweet little boys who wear those tees and shorts oh so well. But the growing collection of toys, lego and miscellany is challenging my desire for simple and uncluttered...what to do?

Thankfully, Poet's scenario is a little different (although she's had significantly fewer birthdays). Gifts arrived in the post this week...the sweetest rabbbit tee from tabitha & hugo and the most glorious handknit from happy circus - in a moody charcoal with wooden buttons, it's going to be perfect for next winter.  

My Heart Wanders arrived too and was wrapped so beautifully by the gorgeous Pia that I admired it for a few hours before untying the string. Yesterday, once the kettle was boiled and I had a cup of tea in hand, I snuck into Poet's room, closed the door, and indulged in stories of cities far away. And then I napped - for the first time in months - and I remembered the beauty of sleep.