Projects On-The-Go: Keywords

I'm giving keywords to all my digital photos, so that, for example, if I search for "Mum", all the pictures of my mother will be collected in one place. She's turning 80 in 6 years time, it'll be useful.

But "Mum" is easy, she comes under [PEOPLE] (you put square brackets around it so it appears at the top of the list). [PEOPLE] is one of the top-level keywords I use - it's like a heading for "Mum", "me", "Auntie Pat" and "Patrick".  Also I put in words that mean a person here - like "skipper" and "surfer" and "neighbour".

So currently I have eight of these top-level keywords, based on how I perceive the world, and what I take photos of. They are

• AMENITY - started out as pictures of bubblers and picnic tables and bridges, because I like those sorts of things, but it's turned into anything made by humans that's useful and fixed in the landscape - parks, ferry wharf, fence, gate-post.
• DETAIL - adjectives, like colour. Aspects of things, like exhibit, dead, funny. Other general descriptions of photos, like portrait, group, view, selfie, dud.
• EVENTS/ACTIVITIES/TIMES - Birthday Party, Ted's 40th Birthday Weekend, picnic, swim, sunset, dusk, Christmas.
• NATURE - names of birds (I'm a birdwatcher) and flowers; tree, branch, Lenny (my sister's greyhound)
• PEOPLE - described above, but also including bits of people - finger, eyebrow, leg, hair - if that's what the photo's of.
• PLACES/LANDSCAPES/BUILDINGS - actual addresses, places, countries, national parks, lighthouses, Sydney Opera Houses, motel, cabin; river, sand, cafe, camp-site.
• OBJECTS - things like clothing, book, ukulele, armchair, hat, earring, coin, Lindt bunny -
• TRANSPORT - boats, cars bicycles (I go on cycling trips, there are a *lot* of pictures of my best friend, the bicycle), buses, trains, ferries. I'm a sailor, so lots of boat pictures too.

Problems: 
So there's some things that overlap - is "road" an amenity or an aspect of landscape? What if it's this picture:

I can't not include "road", but it's not landscape, or amenity for that matter either. It just is. (The other keywords for this are "40, Heritage 18-footer Spectator Ferry Outing, Milson's Point, road, sign).

"Driftwood", "pine forest" - landscape or nature? "Tent" - object or amenity?

Then there's things I have no idea where to put. Graffiti? Hole? Rubbish? Rust? Gear? Why am I taking photos of rubbish anyway?! This is where I'm stuck, unless I give in and add a ninth top-level keyword: MISCELLANEOUS.

Coming up soon: Projects On-The-Go: Updating my cassette tape collection!

Blogpost labels: Tedium, obsessed, trapped, insanity, help.

Happy Jar Starter Kit

Someone sent me a Happy Jar Starter Kit, with instructions. It includes some small slips of paper, folded, that have compliments written on them, and I was to put them in a jar and add to them with my own little slips of paper describing things that make me happy, then at the end of a period of time - a month or a year - I was to open them all and read them... and be made happy.

But purportedly have compliments written on them. What if there are mean things written on them? "Under that awful exterior you're ok sometimes.""You should totally write blogs for a living!" What if there are meaningless things written? "You're great with kids!" "It's great how you like flowers!"

What if the slips of paper are blank?

It's mortifying. I've put them in a jar - an old Bonne Maman Raspberry Conserve jar, it's sitting on top of my fridge - and I haven't read any of them, and I haven't added to them. When that month or that year was up, I think it would make me glum to read "The warm sun on my legs as I sit at my computer in my darling little bed-sit, deliciously frittering away a morning" or "Finding an actual Italian card-game iPhone app" or "Bonne Maman Raspberry Conserve boom-tish!" And I considered all these, briefly, and they're all true, in their small ways, but it makes me glum to read them even now. And I have a care for my future fragile self.

There's no conclusion to this. Those little bits of paper trouble me when I remember to dust the fridge-top. Here's a picture of them. Can you see the slips of paper? It's hard to make them out, there aren't that many.

 

Update: OK, so finally posting on this blog has actually made me somewhat... relieved.

Sasanqua-blossom time in Glenview Street

May-time isn't Spring-time, but it might as well be. Sasanqua camellias, mock orange, the last of the frangipani falling, small and unfurled but still lovely.

I was on my way to Five Ways, which is like the Erskineville of Darlinghurst, in fulfilment of my Quest, which is: Get Everything Done before you fly out on Thursday.

Five Days to go...

These are a few of my favourite things!

A famous friend of mine (AFFOM) recently agreed (avidly jumped at the chance?) to do a newspaper magazine supplement feature, Ten Favourite Things. AFFOM found it incredibly difficult not just putting in 10 photos of his/her beloved son/daughter (trying to keep it anonymous here, folks). AFFOM even thought about *borrowing* some lovely things, to make a good impression. AFFOM was telling me about it and said breezily, "I bet you have ten favourite, interesting thing". AFFOM meant things, but I'm no judger. But anyways, as we down-home bloggers say, it got me to thinking (ok I'm channelling Laura Ingalls Wilder), what are my ten favourite things?

I didn't have an existential crisis, as AFFOM may have, but it's not as easy as you think. Anyway(s), to cut a long blether short, here are my ten favourite things. In no particular order. Not counting photos or books. Sort of.

1. My pin-board. Look! It's green baize. Baize. Of course I love it! Baize. Plus I can pin things to it.
1a. I love my computer. Gateway, tool, repository etc. Useful expensive thing.
1b. I *love* my desk. I almost took a real photo of it. I thought, it's the *only* piece of furniture I would ever hang on to, if I won 30 million dollars. But then I recalled my armchairs (2b), shelf (4b), ikea dresser (7d) and my bedside cabinet (8c)

2. my ukulele. I *love* my ukulele. Whenever I look at it a quiet smile of affection ghosts my lips. When I take my clothes off to go to bed, I hang them over the back of the armchair, and sometimes a drawstring or sleeve hits the strings, and a quiet chord sounds. Sometimes I tune it. Infrequently I pick it up and strum 2 or 3 of the 4 chords I have learned since I got it, in 1993.
2b. The armchair is one of a pair that Dad got from the waiting room of where he worked, when they were being chucked. Modern timeless sixties design, original black vinyl cushions.

3. pink flamingo. This was purchased on the Caribbean coast of Mexico at a cost of USD5 back in the days when that was worth $200 Australian. We couldn't afford that! I said to Michael (Other Michael), who bought it. Now it's mine and I never want to part with it. Oops, there's some books too, wasn't going to go there...

4. playing cards. I have a collection of about 50 packs but these are the ones I take away with me on holidays, to actually play. Cribbage, euchre, canasta, scopa, briscola, 500, bridge, pig, murder winks, gin rummy, bezique!
4b. this shelving unit. Another sixties-style piece. Amongst others, it supports 4 books of card games on its shelves.

5. lighthouse lamp. My brothers and I shared this in our bedroom when we were kids. Dad had it in his bedroom when he was a boy. I've been minding it ever since I left home - it's not really mine, if Dad ever wants it back, he only has to say. Thanks for the loan, Dad. The globe, blown out in this picture, has a beautiful cloudy mottled appearance, like a snow leopard, which strangely enough is my Spirit Animal.

6. globe. I always wanted a globe, I used to hungrily spin the one my Collins cousins at Carlingford had, even though the cardboard at the bottom had worn away and it spun super-wonkily. Now I have my own, and though I never touch it, or look at it, or dreamily spin it thinking of faraway places, I could. Whenever I wanted.
6b. Mexican blanket.
6c. clown toy, recently re-discovered. Who on Earth gave it to me? Me? This is the only clown in my life I can bear.

7. Broken bird. I have so many broken birds. 3, actually. An ex I went on safari with in Botswana bought me this, and I treasured it in spite of everything, until one day a curtain flailed and caught my hornbill and threw it to the ground, where it broke into 4 pieces. I was very upset my eyes stung. It's glued together and I love it still, as I love my green bird (21, sorry no pic) that my first ex sat on and broke, and my 4 swallows that hang on the wall that my Mum gave me, that I dropped as I left her house the day she gave them to me...
7b. Stewie (from Seth MacFarlane's "Family Guy") mints tin. I basically *am* Stewie, this tin is *me*, ie one of my favourite things.
7c. cloth. I bought this from a peasant somewhere. I love bright coloured stripes. This is the closest thing to a newspaper magazine supplement favourite thing I have.
7d. ikea dresser. It's really a sweet little piece of furniture. When I lived in my (compared to my current bed-sit) huge one-bedroom flat, this contained all my board-games in it. My board-games are languishing in Storage now, and my beautiful ikea dresser now contains my mending, electrical cables, keys, maps and napkins.

8. my painting of a green shed of Hokkaido, Japan, by my friend Lehan Ramsay. Oh Lehan.
8b. the orange 70s lamp that shines its light on my picture
8c. the bedside cabinet upon which the lamp stands. It belonged to my maternal grandparents, part of their wedding purchase of furniture, then grandad spoiled it and put a new top on it and it was used as a type-writer stand (a type-writer upon the like of which Thoroughly Modern Milly was proficient) and which I stripped and sanded and varnished. Never Again.

9. my bike. another gift from another ex. actually, one of the previous ones. the Botswana safari one. KR.

10. cuff-links. These belonged to my great-grandfather Peter Symington - Da - who wore them on his wedding day. He married his first cousin Nellie Symington - Nanna - but that's another story. I love all my cufflinks: the ones I got in France, the ones Michael gave me, the ones Cathy gave me; and my rings: the one I bought in 1989 with the money Clare gave me to spend in Paris, that I had already spent 3 times; the one Michael (again) gave me that the cleaner stole; the one Trish gave me... maybe I've never bought a ring? Also, my silver chain from Mexico, with the Story. My tie-pin I never wear; my greenstone swirl that fell on the one-bedroom flat's horrible pink and white bathroom floor and broke...
11. my diamond ring
12. my car
13. my Kashmiri scarf
14. my slide projector
15. my artichoke bowl
16. my Coaching Days glasses
17. my broderie anglaise shirt
18. my Camper™ sandals
19. Tanqueray gin
20. my martini jug
21. my green bird
22. oh ok my iPhone, that latterday Junior Woodchucks Manual
23... and at this point I will close by saying AFFOM may have been right.

Transit of Venus

The Astronomy Club had set up their telescopes on the terrace in front of the Quad when I arrived at work. It was overcast and unlikely they'd get a chance to see the transit of Venus in their - or even their children's - lifetimes. But when I came out at lunch, it had turned into a blustery cloudy marine kind of day, the sun flashing out in patches for minutes at a time. So I lined up with the other quietly excited introverts to take my turn at one of the telescopes. And bending down and looking through the eye-piece I saw a small black dot on a smoky yellow background - the telescope had magnified the edges of the sun out of view. There was another viewer nearby, like a camera oscura, that threw an image of a white sun with a small black dot on a round screen. It looked like the dot ball in billiards and the difference in scale between the small black dot and the large white disc was interesting.

Quietly excited introverts.

Someone was giving out sun-viewing glasses, like cardboard 3D specs but with thick brown plastic instead of the blue and red lenses. I put a pair on and looked at the sun - and I was looking at the Sun, our star, up in the sky - but in front of it was that tiny dark circle that was Venus - and it was like the Sun, and Venus, and Earth, were all beads on a string, and I could feel myself looking across space, across all that distance to a planet, and a star, seeing so far. I felt as big as that space, and I was amazed! and I was elated.

Modern Dance

I went out on Saturday night, with an old friend who works in a book shop. She had cheap tickets to a dance thing at the STC - modern dance! I know nothing about dancing - I mean, The Dance - and it was like I was a visitor from 1958*, so Modernistic, and strange, and clever it was. And the music - I mean the accompanying insistent noise soundscape - nearly an hour and a half of it, it must have been the product of someone's conscious thought! All very interesting. I thought, what would King Louis the 14th and his Court have made of this? but I couldn't come to any conclusions. I guessed that Isadora Duncan might have appreciated it a bit more than the Sun King, but would still have been puzzled. I thought if was bloody fantastic.

*1858

Dream Camping Trip

Last Friday at the office, so weary, but all set for the camping trip: esky, camping gear, clothes packed, knew where I was going. Then first thing in the morning, "A" emails me with an I-know-it's-late-notice-but invitation to a fabulous Disaster Movie themed birthday party the next night. And I said no I couldn't go I was all set for this camping trip.

Then I see on twitter that Donna Summer died, which made me sad about my ex and me, nostalgic I suppose, he used to play her a lot. So I got a bit teary, and as the day wore on I found I wasn't excited about the trip, but was determined to stick with it - cos I never know when to stick with a plan or when to give it the flick - so I stuck with it, and Lolly Sherman said I'd feel a lightening of spirit once I was on the Open Road, but the first half hour of the Open Road got me down the Princes Highway as far as Rockdale, and though it got better after that it was just driving, in the dark, for a long time...

And I got to the National Park, and had trouble finding the entrance from the highway, no signs, just a gap amongst the shadowy trees, a dirt track disappearing into the dark...

yes I though Deliverance, I thought Cabin in the Woods as I  drove down it to the camp-ground, negotiating the 4wd track at 15kmh, the camp-ground when I reached it a series of clearings on a final loop of the track, on hillocky ground amongst the trees; and all of spots seemed filled up but it was hard to tell in the flickering light of one big bonfire surrounded by 3-4 guys all staring at me with beer bottles in their hands - staring at my car rather, as it slowly circled them - and it was the sort of place where the anti-government the-NPWS-is-idiotic my-farther-(sic)-and-grandfarthers-(sic)-fought-for-this-country (rough quotes from a 4wd website about this camp-ground) crowd liked to gather; and one of the big tents had a sofa out the front, and there was no moon and it had taken 5 hours to get there instead of 3, and I didn't want to put the tent up in the dark and my spirit hadn't lightened on the Open Road, and as I finished the loop by the bonfire one of the guys mooned me as his mate slapped his thigh and guffawed, and I felt a little despondent.

One aborted stop-off at a flood-lit Tourist Park, where everyone was asleep; a nightmarish walk onto the beach there in an attempt to get into the being-awayness, but it was pitchy dark, and cold, I couldn't see, I almost walked into the surf, it was strange and weird and unfriendly; and dinner the packet of squashed-fly biscuits I'd fondly imagined having for afternoon teas over the weekend, eaten as I drove home without stopping, slapping myself to stay awake from exactly 11.11pm.

Houseminding in Glebe VI

Tuesday: day 12 of 12

Hola jet-setters,
thanks once again for the use of your place, I loved being there although, actually, I was hardly ever there.

Coupla things:

• I chucked the keys back through the letterbox, hope you found them.
• On Saturday I heard a thump from upstairs - the picture had fallen off the wall and tumbled to the floor, taking out the little chest of drawers and some bracelets. The little china box, miraculously, didn't break (ok perhaps not miraculously - luckily?).
• Couldn't work out how to water the back garden - EMBARRASSED. Did the under-cover bits this morning with a saucepan. I *did* water the ones on the porch.
  
• There is a load of sheets in the washing machine that needs drying. I cleaned the towels and bathmats that are in the bathroom.
• I didn't end up using any of your food or drink, except some margarine and sugar - and not at the same time.
• I thought it was too risky to open the back gate so I left the recycling in the kitchen. I walked my little bag of rubbish out the back before I left. (Too awkward to do this with the paper and glass)
  
• I ended up only using the big computer in the living area, and only really to surf the web. I tried to work on my "movie" but stalled right at the beginning.
• I had a series of #fails last night which meant I couldn't make the cake I was going to leave as a thank you - so IOU 1 Claudia Roden orange cake, ok?

Well that's eight. Let's catch up soon!

moikl xxx

http://mickmccabe.blogspot.com/2011/12/houseminding-in-glebe-vi.html

Houseminding in Glebe V

Friday: day 8 of 12
Erm.. oh yeah. No. Um. Dragged ma lazy slut body out of bed, watched a baby huntsman in the bathroom, drank coffee, went  on the internet. Mornings have a pattern here.

Went to three Xmas parties, the last one just up the road at the Different Drummer. I used to go here in my courting days, which I don't really recall.

Saturday: day 9 of 12
I wake up late. I seem to have all my clothes on. It is surprisingly comfortable sleeping with one's shoes on. I don't feel too bad, but I probably can't string two words together. Sadly, no one asks me to.

I go up and have breakfast at Mano. I have a toasted ham cheese and tomato croissant, some mineral water, and a long black. They make good coffee. I read one of the Australian's inserts, then I order a 2nd breakfast - Turkish toast with peanut butter, and another coffee. Tap water this time. I stop being hungry but am not any less stupid.

I spend the day at the house, doing nothing. I had PLANS! Ruined by having fun! My Xmas card would be late this year. I manage a rough sketch, on the back of my registration confirmation for tomorrow's swim. At about 4pm a loud noise from upstairs - a picture has torn its hook from the wall! This is the most exciting thing to happen here all week.

Quiet evening watching tv at the ex's. I am a little less stupid, though not perceptibly to others.

Sunday: day 10 of 12
Coffee and the last of my "organic honey" on a dry sandwich, is breakfast. *Carb-loading*for my swim today, man. I pack a banana too, to eat a little later. I leave the house, reflecting that I'm only ever here to wake up, or go to sleep. Or, like yesterday, somewhere in-between.

After the swim (1.5km at Bilgola; time: 30:07; place: 148/317) Dave drops me off outside. First thing's first: I make some coffee and look at Facebook.

I shower and change and douse myself with a litre or two of Acqua di Giò from the barrel in the bathroom cupboard. I look and smell so pretty! I go to a farewell at the Welcome Hotel in Balmain. A lesbian compliments me on my shirt.

TV at Clare's, we watch 3 episodes of Season 3 TrueBlood! Buttock count: 37.

Monday: day 11 of 12
I have only got up early ONCE while in this house, to go to Canberra. Maybe it's the sound of raindrops on the roof that is so soporific? Maybe it's staying up until 2am every night?

So laying in bed, listening to the pitter patter, I read a text from Liesel crying off from dinner tonight. I am secretly glad as somehow I had double-booked having Liesel over with CLEANING THE HOUSE AND PACKING ON MY LAST NIGHT.

I go downstairs, make coffee, wash the dishes, get dressed and write an email to Jenny Smith. I notice the Herald's TV guide, unread on the coffee table, and meditate on the fond and foolish hopes I had held at the beginning of my stay, imagining cosy nights in watching tv. I haven't switched the box on once. I probably can't, I've forgotten Deb's instructions. I looked around, and see the clutter and disarray I have made, and really *really* hope Deb's email had got it right when she said they'd be returning tomorrow. I would hate to come back to all this. Except I will be, tonight. Sigh.

Later: epic series of fails this arvo. TWO false alarms at work, forgot my keys, forgot to bring a laptop home, stayed too late, shopping fail, eftpos fail, cake fail, dinner fail, club newsletter fail, gin and tonic fail - dispiriting. But I have packed, and swept, and put the mail neatly on the coffee table, and got some laundry done, so ready for a 4.30 wake up call, eh!

Houseminding in Glebe IV

Thursday: day 7 of 12
Um... oh yeah. This morning I cooked those sausages I bought in Canberra, now or never. I ate two for breakfast, and cleaned the bbq. Like I knew I would. It was great, I thought, bbqing before work, this is great! Then I went to work smelling of bbq'd pork fat.

And I WALKED to work!

Thursday was my night at home, watching tv FINALLY and, you know, having a bit of "me" time. Hi stranger, how you doin'? Yeah, no. I went to dinner at my last houseminding gig, and said hello to the cat there, and listened to 3 months of overseas travel stories, and drank gin and ate. And then it was early, so I went to Alex and Lars's gig at some boîte on Crown Street, where the beers were $8 (note to future reader - expensive, but not criminally) and the first act was a nicely made up girl juggling (note to future reader - is she, as I imagined she might in 40 years, mouldering in a mental institution?)

Houseminding in Glebe III

Wednesday: Day 6 of 12
I saw a dead leaf under the front door as I walked from the hall into my dressing room, and I thought, "I must sweep the dead leaves out of the front pebble-garden". I was passing a built-in hall cupboard and I thought, "I wonder if the broom to sweep up dead leaves from the front garden is in there?" I opened the cupboard and it was full of BLANKETS.

I put a load of washing on when I realised I had no clean undies (I had to wear my emergency pair again today). I used soap flakes! I have never used them in a washing machine. I felt like my grandma, except alive. There is borax too, for my whites, but I think if I use it, my whites will be sent back 140 years in time, and will come out all yellowed and Miss Haversham-like.

No luck with parking this time, had to stop in a 1-hour parking zone and move the car later. Except I FORGOT. No ticket luckily when I went finally to move it to another 1-hour spot, before my lunchtime swim. On my return it I saw a nearby free-time spot and ran and fumbled with my keys like Audrey Hepburn in "Wait Until Dark", and there it's staying tonight, as I'm catching the bus in to see Tony and an AADA student play. I honestly never thought *parking* would be an issue during my stay in Glebe.
---
Home again, remembered as I came in the door and saw a Xmas card in the letter slot, that I don't have long to make my Xmas card! Let alone the Geralaina Xmas party movie. I want some cocoa but too full from a disgusting "Wagyu beef" burger from the Criterion on Park Street. I drink a lot of water instead. I sit at the huge computer screen and look at Facebook and play scrabble, and follow links from twitter, and email David about the Ocean swim on Sunday, and browse some other websites. I stay up late! Late enough for my stomach to settle and allow me my cocoa, which in my amusing twitter quips last night I called Some Enchanted Evening. I might have had gin on the rocks but there was no ice. No ice!*

It's been raining all day. It's still raining. I'm staying here to water the plants. I'm here under FALSE PRETENCES.

*There was ice.

Houseminding in Glebe II

Tuesday: Day 5 of 12
I wake up feeling not exhausted, at a normal time. I shower, and make a coffee. I have an hour to spare before I need to leave for work. I feel like life is getting back on track. I play scrabble on Facebook. I look at twitter and follow interesting links. I write to Jenny Smith. I write how I *must* cook the enormous rump steak, which I had planned for 2 or 3 meals, and which I bought in Canberra, tonight, or it will be Too Late. Though the sailing club committee meeting I am attending at the Taxi Club tonight might be an impediment. I drive to work, and find someone leaving a spot as I arrive in Arundel Street.

I finish work at 6 and park the car in front of the house. There's been a spot there each time, though sometimes the car in the spot in front, which is next to a giant fig tree, parks 5 foot out from the kerb. There are two items of mail in the front yard, scattered. I feel this is my fault for closing the mail flap this morning on my way out. There are a lot of fallen leaves. I wonder how difficult it would be to sweep the low maintenance pebble parterre clear of them. I go inside, drop the mail on the pile behind the door, go into the lounge room, empty my back pack of my so-far-this-week-unused swimming gear, then head up St John's Road to the fruttivendolo. I have heard good things about this place and I am pleased to say they had not only a great variety of fruit and veg, but unusual varieties of, for example, tomatoes, and potatoes! There were Nicola, which I had never heard of, and Bernadette, which I remembered from my childhood last century. I bought English spinach and onions, giant bananas, and from the Foodworks bread and milk.

I feel like a glass of wine but I have none, so I drink some water. I unlock the back door, for the first time, and the back gate. It takes me a while, in the dark, to work out there is bolt that needs to be drawn. There is a light over the bbq, and I put the onions on to fry with a spot of oil. I get the steak from the fridge. I unseal the plastic and try not to think about what the smell I can smell might mean. I decide to take a risk, and put the steak on the grill. I stand there, stirring the onions, wishing I had a glass of wine to drink, but I don't, so instead I drink large glasses of water, which later in my amusing Twitter quips I call Chaste Bachelors. 

So I use the bbq, and I think I will clean it later as I pull the lid down, and I certainly mean to clean it, it would be terrible not to. And I go inside and spoon on the spinach I had steamed, next to the giant piece of grilled rump steak piled high with brown fried onions, and I get the salt and pepper cellars, neither of which grind really well, and I eat my dinner at the dining table, which is otherwise covered with clutter from my back-pack - busy-bag clutter, not swimming gear clutter - and read my book.

Then I do the dishes. And after I stay up late - to midnight - on the internet. Facebook and twitter and gmail. The History function on the Firefox browser is turned off - nothing is recorded - so every time I want a web-page I must type the whole of the address, or find out the address from a Google search! I consider turning the History function on, and I recall all those websites I've looked at but haven't mentioned here, and I decide not to turn the History on.

I go up to bed. It's cold - damn you la Niña! - and I need blankets. I go down to my dressing room and look in the cupboards, but they are full of Christmas decorations and copies of Deb's books and camping gear. I gingerly open some of the larger drawers a crack in the bijou dressers upstairs, and I glimpse baseball hats (in the male dresser) and pink knitted wool (in the female) but no blankets. I put on my polo-fleece vest as a jarmie top again and snuggle up with Mrs Ames anyway. She is my book. After I turn the light out I lay there an hour, not falling asleep, not getting warm. My pulse is slow. I am no furnace.

I forgot to mention that cute guy across the road!

Houseminding In Glebe

Friday: Day 1 of 12
I come in late and stonkered after an unusually long day at work and dinner at the Eathouse Diner. I have brought, a suitcase packed for the weekend and the bag of extra toiletries. I wish I could travel light for all my house-minds, but actually I'm going away for the weekend: I'll be back on Sunday night.

I am dismayed: the place is immaculate. Proper clean at the end of my stay will be in order. Deb had protested of course that the place would be filthy. Ha!

I brush my teeth and go straight upstairs to the cosy dormer bedroom. I admire the cotton coverlet, decorated with lavender roses, and strip, fall into bed and fall asleep.

Saturday: Day 2 of 12
Off to Canberra. Up at 5am and out by 5.40. I have a shower and am concerned at how steamy the little bathroom gets. Glebe slumbers as I drive off into the waxing day. I get lost and my friend Sally must wait for me, but that's another story. A fine day... the last.

Sunday: Day 3 of 12
Rain accompanies me home to Sydney, and stays for a week.

Stopped in at my sister's (my house-mind "resting") on way back and pick up the rest of my things - clothes, kitchen, computer, cameras... at Glebe, unload the car and fill the small front room with this essential impedimenta. The house smells like my shampoo. Am I going to Clare's for tv? Much incomprehensible texting. I check my Facebook on the huge computer screen. Later, after dinner with Clare and her mum and auntie, I nearly fall asleep on Clare's Jason recliner, and later still drop straight into bed when I get back here. Yes I don't think I even brushed my teeth.

Monday: Day 4 of 12
I get up late, and shower - the steam is a concern again - I spy a vent high up under the ceiling, it looks like it has moving parts hiding behind it - I find the switch at last, it is in the bathroom cupboard. Who knew. I shave my 12 day growth off with two blunt razors. I look less dashing, younger and fatter. It is novel to look in a mirror while shaving, it is not so novel looking less dashing and fatter. The last house-mind had no bathroom mirror. People's houses are all different and interesting.

I start a shopping list. No "lazy coffee at a cafe on the walk to work" for me! I drive to work - because the street outside is 2 hour parking only, but so is the street around the corner, and the next one down, and all the streets in Glebe. The nearest free parking is in Arundel Street, which is where I park when I go to work anyway. Incredibly, there is a free space at 9am. At 9.02 I am in the office.

Twelve and a half hours later I leave work, it's wet and windy and rainy, I do NOT ride my bike home, as planned. Plus I must eat, so I drive home, eating takeaway on the way, like in an Edward Hopper painting (I fondly imagine). I worry about the steak I bought in Canberra on Saturday, but it's just too late and wet to bbq it tonight. I get home, pick up some mail hiding behind one of the pots on the porch; inside I brush my teeth (praise God!) and go to bed.

I reflect that I am not spending much time in this lovely little house. I reflect that Deb's instructions on how to run the air-conditioning are probably not going to come in handy as I zip up my polar-fleece vest and, huddling under the light coverlet - embroidered with lavender roses -  and cotton blanket, hug an embroidered pillow to my chilly chest.

Orchard Swallowtails

As I watched these two butterflies in the garden of the house I'm minding, I imagined I was Bobby Helpmann in that movie he was never the romantic lead in, where the choreographer, who loved the woman he loved, quit his show so he'd fail, and Bobby had gone into the garden to weep, or groan, or die, but instead he saw these two butterflies, and was transfixed, and transfigured and inspired! And then there was a MONTAGE of the butterflies, his shining face, rehearsals long into the night, seamstresses making 50s style modern butterfly costumes, scenes from the ballet Butterfly Battle, rapturous applause, the shining light of love in the prima ballerina's eyes, who had finally seen what a cad the choreographer was, then a sexy clinch during the final curtain-call.

*I* would have gone to see it.

Cottage Rock

We came back to Cottage Rock on Saturday, sailing in before the rain and wind began. Picked up a mooring and then rowed in to the little slip of yellow sand.

The two little waterfalls flowed coldly off the cliff, wildflowers flowered and a couple of Sydney Rock Warblers flew about. I approached the back side of Cottage Rock, where a long unbalanced step from a high rock covered with oysters - don't look down - a knotted rope and a fearless arm got me up on the steep slope of Cottage Rock at last.

There were orchids growing up there, and a great view of the bay, but the water was too shallow to jump into, so I climbed down again, exhilarated like a 14 year old.

We dared each other to swim, and the water was refreshingly cool, unlike the waterfalls where we showered afterwards. Delighted, we dived and splashed and whooped.

One of my favourite places in the world.

Lady in the Snow

My beautiful Auntie Margaret lives in Tasmania. She's not the lady in the snow, but one of mum's sisters. She married a forester and moved there in the 50s. In April it was her turn to host the family reunion.

I spent a week down there. At the family reunion, my cousin Sue was maliciously funny and a lot of young cousins fussed over their babies and toddlers. Before that I tooled about the island in a hire car, stayed in cheap pubs and motels, had a dip in Wine Glass Bay, and in the Huon Valley ate the most amazing apple of my life.

She was the Lady in the Snow, with the whitest flesh I'd ever seen, and crisp! She tasted of sherbet, of champagne, of Fruit Tingles™!

Lady in the Snow was but one of many beauties. If I'd grown up in Tassie, I reckon I wouldn't have waited until I was 29 years old to eat my first apple.

Spring back

Yesterday was a trailer for summer. A good one too: I got a real sense of what summer is about, but it didn't give anything away. Can't wait.

Today it's crisp and sunny. Jasmine's still out everywhere, freesias are amock, azaleas running riot, mock orange and wistaria just starting. Good times.

freesias amok.

Summer breeze

I stood by the pool at lunchtime, pretending to stretch but really just basking in the sun, enjoying the warm breeze and listening to someone play "Torna a Surriento" on the piano that they left there after a Festival of Sydney a few years ago, while in the next lane a Greek god in speedoes adjusted his goggles.

These moments don't go anywhere, but moments don't need to.

I lost my shirt

I hung my shirt out on Quest's lifeline to dry, and when I came up from lunch it was gone! My shorts and undies were hanging there, still damp from the rough passage up from Port Jackson, but my bright blue shirt, unpegged and wanton in the gusty breeze, was somewhere in the deep water of Coaster's Retreat.

That week - last week - I also crashed my car, into a car; got very sick; continued packing my flat up; and spent even more money on my three-month trip to Italy.

17 January

I went for another run, and the same thing happened! I came over all light-headed, and had to walk for a bit, and then had to sit down. Then I felt sick, then I went hot all over. It sounds like what happens when you take a drug, but instead of then feeling blissful, I just felt kind of weak and light-headed. A man walking by said hello, and asked me how the run was. I am never non-committal. Not so good, I said. Just feeling a little faint (I wasn't, but I didn't think of the expression "light-headed" until afterwards). He stopped and was concerned, asked if I needed any help. No, no, I said, I just need to rest for a bit, thanks.  It was hard to think of even those words. Light-headed.

I kept on my route, walking slowly, which took me past J&N's place, and who should be putting out their rubbish but J! "Hullo Luvvie!" she said. "Do you have a banana I can borrow?" I replied.

After a banana, a litre of water and a pleasant chat, I was on my way. Run run run. But what caused this malaise? I have a theory. Both times it happened, I've run past a witch's house...