... easing into semi-retirement, having lots of creative adventures and enjoying being a (relatively) new Granny.

Saturday 31 October 2015

Albert Hall, Canberra 1944


Albert Hall was early Canberra’s community hall. Situated near the Hotel Canberra where many politicians and public servants lived, it was the city’s venue for school concerts, flower shows, live dramatic performances, the annual Winter Ball as well as Saturday night dances.

The warmth of the hall was welcoming after the chill wind outside. As usual, the ladies of the Women’s Comfort Fund had done a wonderful job of decorating with crepe paper streamers and balloons. The dance floor gleamed after its last application of sawdust. Trestle tables around the edges of the hall groaned with the abundance of supper food and large teapots were already filled in anticipation of thirsty crowds.

The young nineteen year old woman sat out a couple of dances on the pretext that her twisted ankle from that afternoon’s hockey match was still bothering her, but she was really wondering whether coming tonight was such a good idea. Last year she and Vera had been regulars at the Saturday night Services Dance but this was her first night out since her brother had been shot down over Germany. Even though she still felt guilty about leaving them, her parents had insisted she go so she went with Vera and a group of other friends from work.

A small group of young RAAF boys approached and one of them, tall and handsome, shyly asked her for a dance. He seemed so ill at ease that she took pity on him and agreed. Dancing was obviously not his forte and he continually apologised for his poor skills but the dance floor was so crowded that she heard only a few of his excuses.

When the bracket finished she thankfully sat down and enjoyed just talking with him. Alick confided his continual homesickness, how much he missed his family and the farm routines, and how he longed to travel overseas with the RAAF.

She responded by talking, haltingly, about her big brother; how he’d gone off to Canada and then England to join the RAF and be a navigator, and how the telegram that came last August had changed her life forever. Now she lived in a house weighed down with grief where she felt that she should be in perpetual mourning and she worried that her elderly parents would never smile again.

The supper break came and went and the young couple continued to chat. She knew that this was a man she wanted to get to know better and Alick was quietly surprised that this sophisticated city girl was interested in listening to his stories.

All too soon the evening came to an end and they parted with promises to meet at next week’s dance. She and the other girls piled on to the 10.30 bus as the young airmen set off on their long walk back across the river flats to Fairbairn RAAF Base.


After that night she was again a regular dance-goer but she always refused to dance until 20 year old Alick arrived. He was always relieved when he reached the hall with his mates and saw her face light up when she saw him. 

Friday 30 October 2015

Day 14 - more flowers

This is a selection of photos of flowers taken over this year.







This beautiful pink ruffled rose flowered earlier this year.



I bought a bag of tulip bulbs in April and planted them. This was one of the successful blooms.







This white tulip was the only other one that flowered. I must make sure I divide the bulbs and store them carefully before replanting for next winter/spring.

































Our daffodils desperately need dividing and replanting - this was the only one that flowered and surprised us.






The pansies tried hard all winter but I think they have now given up the ghost. Next year I will plant more clumps or more in pots for a better effect.








Thursday 29 October 2015

My slow but steady fitness quest

Since mid-August I have been trying to ease myself into a healthier routine because the aches and pains have become more prevalent and I found that Chair Yoga was straining my back too much. I finally decided to start a regular program of walking - one of my least favourite past times - and this is how I have done it so far. 

At first I pledged to myself that I would walk at least twice a week for 20 minutes at a time, and I did that on Tuesdays and Thursdays for 4 weeks. Then I increased to three times a week on Monday, Wednesday and Friday and I did that for the next 4 weeks. Now I have moved on to walking every other day of the week, still for only 20 minutes a day, and I will do that for the next 4 weeks. 

Once I have established a routine of walking every other day no matter what, I may try to extend it to 30 minutes a time, but I don't want to over-extend myself. In the past I have been over-enthusiastic, tried to do too much exercise too quickly, exhausted myself and given up. 

I made a few little rules to keep me honest, such as, if I miss a day because of bad weather or lack of time I have to make it up the next day, and so far I have kept to that plan.I also allow myself the smug satisfaction of recording in my diary when I walked, how long I walked and sometimes a note of where I actually walked, and that definitely works for me. 


An added bonus of my walking regime is that I can watch these
grafted 
white and pink blossoms come into flower.

I have found that walking as soon as I get home from work and before lunch is usually the best time for me: I mentally prepare myself on the 10 minute drive home and by the time I arrive I am motivated to walk. Also, the thought of lunch always spurs me on to do my 20 minutes as soon as possible. I know that if I put off the walking until after lunch it would be much easier to find excuses not to go.

So far I have been a tentative walker, rarely venturing far from home, content to stick to familiar paths, but I feel I am becoming more adventurous as my walking confidence builds. Today I even found myself imagining a walk along the banks of the Wollondilly River, something quite out of my comfort zone, but now that I have thought about it I may well do it one day. The walk I am thinking about follows the riverbank from Marsden Weir to Riversdale, definitely not the full 18kms described here.

Wednesday 28 October 2015

Spring comes to the garden - 6 photos to celebrate

This week I have decided to try and vary my blog posts by interspersing writing with recent photos. Hopefully this will add interest to my blog and allow me to showcase some of my other creative interests.


The wisteria flowered early and made a beautiful display

The Chinese Weeping Elm has gone from strength to strength as well

The garden is rapidly coming to life after a particularly cold winter (including snow!) and I have enjoyed taking photos as the flowers begin to bloom.

Apple blossoms taken in early October

Another view of the same apple blossoms

A wide awake daisy, October 2015

This photo took a long time to take.
I had to fight not only a flighty bee but also an annoying breeze
that kept swishing the lavender stalks as I snapped.

Tuesday 27 October 2015

Seven word Sunday (on Tuesday)


Gray sky and rain
Glimpsed through skylight.

Flag flaps on building as storm builds.

Music as background to idle cafe chatter.

Red waratahs contrast
With green agapanthus leaves.

Kitchen clatter signals
It's nearly closing time.
 11.11.13

Monday 26 October 2015

Best of GrandMarg week one(ish)

I've been doing the 30 Day Blogging Challenge since Saturday of last week. Here's a round up of the posts I have published so far, one a day, every day for the past week.

Day 1: Describe a grandparent - memories of my grandmother Daisy
Day 2: Crown - a fairy tale for my grand daughters
Day 3: Millie - talking on the phone
Day 4: What I started over again - my 3 exercise bikes
Day 5: What I know - an unnumbered list of some of the things I know
Day 6: A memory associated with a bicycle
Day 7: Bushfires - travelling through burnt out country
Day 8: Taste - what is it?

These posts have all been based on writing prompts that I have addressed over the last 3 years.

Never miss out on another blogpost, subscribe here http://grandmarg.blogspot.com.au.

Sunday 25 October 2015

Taste...what is it?


I can feel the spicy after taste before I even bite into the dish but that does not deter me.
Perhaps I hope that this time I will be able to have that taste and enjoy it and not suffer from heartburn afterwards.

Taste is definitely a strongly developed sense in most people. We can know and recognize a taste even if we cannot put a name to it. 

The sense of taste can transport us back in time so easily – a taste of crunchy peanut butter and I am back in the school yard having recess under the gum trees at Kywong School.

With a piece of chocolate cake, any chocolate cake, in my mouth I still taste Mum’s chocolate cake - firm but moist, always with her own chocolate icing sprinkled with coconut. 

On rare occasions I taste Wendy’s wine and I go back to the bad days in my past life when I would struggle home at the end of another traumatic day and drink one or two large glasses of Merlot before I could even start cooking tea.

Sometimes smell and taste are closely linked; I can often smell something and immediately taste it. 

When I cut a lemon or even think about cutting a lemon I immediately feel the bitter taste on my tongue. 

The smell of a pizza shop makes me imagine a fresh pizza, crisp and tasty, warm and waiting to be wolfed down immediately.

Then there is taste as in “good taste” or “bad taste” – who decides whether something is tasteful or not? I think it is really only whatever the society of the day deems to be acceptable.

Another taste I love is freshly made toast with melted butter and Vegemite and the feeling of being cared for that goes with it. 

Sometimes when we are not sure of whether or not we will like something we will ask for “just a taste”.


Several weeks ago David brought us some persimmons. I had never really tried them before but was willing to try. 

I found that the taste is similar to a tomato but sweet, and the texture is similar but smoother. 

I think it’s an acquired taste but I don’t think I've acquired it yet!
12.7.13

Saturday 24 October 2015

Walking Meditation

The air was still -
the sun had gone down, 
but it was still light
and the atmosphere was charmed.

Four people walking the length of the yard,
stopping and then walking back,
all the time mindful of each step,
each making the effort to walk slowly,
step by step as slowly as possible.

Three gongs in the background set the scene:
tinkle of the owl chimes
thunk of the bamboo chimes
intermittent boom of the metal gong.


For 25 minutes
we were unaware of anything or anyone else;
just concentrating on one foot after the other,
lift up then place down,
feel the tension in one leg,
and the lightness in the other.
14.12.13

Friday 23 October 2015

Bushfires


Travelling along the highway through bushfire devastated country.

Road signs blistered from the heat of the fire.

Trees on either side of the road now ghostly skeletons in a powdery grey moonscape.

Smoke haze thickens as we approach the burnt out area.

Thoughts of travellers caught on the highway in a 20km long traffic jam, uncertain of where the fire was.

Were they in danger?

Were their homes safe?


What about their pets at home waiting for them?
21.10.13

Thursday 22 October 2015

A memory associated with a bicycle


Whenever I trim my toenails and try to tidy the horny bits of nail on my little toes I remember the day my foot slipped on the pedal.

I used to ride and ride everywhere I could around the farm. Around and around the large circular driveway of almond trees, down to the chook yard and across to the cow shed.

My bike was red, possibly a Malvern Star and almost definitely second hand. I don’t remember learning to ride a bike and I'm sure I didn't ever have trainer wheels. It was just something I could always do (or thought I could.)

One day, pedalling fast, my foot slipped on the metal pedal and ripped my little toenail.

Furious pedalling back to the house, blood streaming from my foot, at age seven I imagine an emergency trip to the hospital 17 miles away.

I finally reach home and rush inside to Mum: she comforts me, bathes the foot with Dettol and bandages the toe.

Emergency averted, all over, no need for panic.

The toe healed, a new nail grew but only a short while later the same thing happened again, this time to the other foot.
 19.10.13


Wednesday 21 October 2015

What I know

"What do you know? Put in everything you know. Forget about what you do."
(Natalie Goldberg. Wild Mind p. 142)

What do I know? 
What is everything I know? 
How can I write it  all down in 20 minutes?

I know: 
  • that the sky is blue.
  • how to use a computer and trouble shoot basic problems.
  • how to drive a car and fill it with petrol.
  • about gardening, when to plant certain plants and how to protect some from the extremes of weather.
  • about companion planting.
  • a lot about my family history and I am keen to learn more.
  • how libraries work and I understand how much goes on in their management.
  • know about managing staff although I am not a manager (I prefer to be a cooperative underling).
  • about raising children and I know I would have been a more confident mother if I knew then what I know now.
  • about keeping pets, especially cats, as I have been responsible for quite a few in my adult life.


As I write this I begin to wonder how I know all of these things...
Some I have learnt because of an interest in the subject, some like parenting I have learnt out of necessity, and still others I have learnt almost by osmosis, by being around others like my parents and picking up knowledge.

I know that I have several strong food aversions - veal, rabbit, artichoke, offal; but now I wonder, "did I ever try these foods and dislike them or have I just made up my mind that they would be offensive?"

I did a Reiki training course recently and the teacher helped me to identify that I am not CLAIRVOYANT but rather CLAIRSENTIENT - I don't see things, I just know them. 

This discovery was a real "aha" moment for me because until then I had always wondered why I sometimes feel psychic but can never see the things I know are there.

 22.10.13


Tuesday 20 October 2015

What did you start over again?


I have owned a total of three exercise bikes in the past eight years and I have sold or gotten rid of a total of three exercise bikes in the past eight years.

In my mind I am a capable athlete able to run effortlessly, swim lengths of the pool easily, walk for an hour a day and return home invigorated.

In reality I am none of these things and no matter how much effort I put in I know that I will never achieve more than a mediocre level of fitness.

My first exercise bike was bought in 2002 after a visit to the surgeon who advised me to build up my fitness by cycling before having a hip replacement operation. I rode this bike dutifully for some months until the operation was due. The continuing ache in my knees and feet and buttocks was becoming too much to bear and I gratefully stopped before sheer exhaustion overcame me. That bike came with me to Wendy’s in 2007 but it was relegated to the back veranda, was never used again and soon found its way to the tip.

The second bike had been my mother’s and it sat in our lounge room for about six months, unused except for the occasional draping of nearly dry washing that needed airing. I don't remember whether I sold it or gave it away, such was my lack of dedication to that bike.


I bought my third bike from a friend in a fit of fitness frenzy as I approached my 60th birthday and vowed yet again that I would ride every day and build up my fitness, as well as numerous other impossible goals. This time I rode dutifully for some four weeks, noting each day’s distance and time taken as my fitness record. 

Then I turned 60, went to Tasmania and became a grandmother and of course my fitness regime went out the window. I never really settled back into the routine and yet again my aching legs and general exhaustion gave me a handy excuse to not start again. After a couple of years of attempting to ignore the bike trying to tempt me back onto its seat, I finally advertised it and turned this failed project into some ready cash.
30.10.13

Monday 19 October 2015

Millie


She wants to talk on the phone nowadays
And I lap it up...

Fantastic stories
With ridiculous time frames
Are shared with me ...

"Next week when I am five
I’ll go to big school."
And, "poor my sister is so tired
She'll keep sleeping for
A thousand years."

Other amazing facts
Of Nature and Anatomy
Are served up
From this sponge-like
Four year old brain

And my grandmotherly heart
Swells with love and pride.
26.7.15

Sunday 18 October 2015

Crown


This story is for my 2 grand daughters who love princesses.

Every princess has a crown or a tiara, so because I have several crowns I must be a princess. These crowns are secret and so well hidden that only one person can ever see them properly, and twice a year I go to visit him so he can check that they are still safe.

My crowns are small, well made and sensible; not showy or bejewelled, but they make my life much easier. They are made for everyday use, not just for glittering balls and other special occasions.

Surprisingly, many people have similar crowns, also well hidden, so there are many, many secret princes and princesses in the world. You could pass a person on the street and never know that he or she was also a member of royalty.

Perhaps the truth is that only the showy, extroverts wear their crowns on the outside for all the world to see. The rest of us are happy to be secret royalty and keep our crowns hidden.

I am participating in the 30 Day Blogging Challenge to try and limber up my creative muscles...https://www.facebook.com/groups/30DayBloggingChallenge/.. and this is only Day 2!

Saturday 17 October 2015

Describe a grandparent


My grandmother Daisy was always an old lady to me; perhaps because she was around 65 when I was born. I could never imagine her ever being young.



Why did I think she was old? She wasn't particularly wrinkled and never seemed to look any older.

Maybe it was because she always walked with a stick, the legacy of a broken hip in her 40s which never healed properly.

She was a tall woman, always standing erect, using her walking stick to maintain her balance.

Looking at photos I can see a distinct resemblance between my mother and Daisy and her mother Hannah.

She always wore glasses and was always well dressed. I can’t remember ever seeing her in pyjamas (or nightie) and dressing gown with her hair dishevelled, but I must have at some time.

What colour were her eyes? I don’t remember, but I imagine they were blue because her father was Swedish.

Her face was covered in soft peach fuzz and sometimes I notice in the mirror that I am developing the same look and I remind myself that I am nearing the age she was when she first became a grandmother.