Posts

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Lucky

You’re in luck.

I’d like to start blogging about my garden, as it is dear to my heart and now taking up much of my attention. After going away to see a family member last month, I arrived back to a very overgrown garden.

The plan is to let you go on the journey with me, from jungle to relatively domesticated and producing horn of plenty. The idea is that I can entertain myself by learning about food.

Cutting down on food miles is one way to help the environment and growing my own food is something I’d love to do to help the planet. I’d also like to help the community that supports me, so if I can assist through sharing my own experiences, several aims have been achieved at once.

Plus, maybe I’m just madly in love with Nature.

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Easy gardening

From a neighbour in her eighties, I learnt something powerful about gardening. It’s all about working with Nature and not against her.

For example, it was raining fairly regularly over a number of weeks, and I found my neighbour outside each day, weeding. When I asked her why she was out in the rain, she said it was easier to pull weeds once the rain had softened the ground.

So, the secret to easy gardening, is to employ Mother Nature to do the hard work for us, and allow her to help. She is, afterall, a wise and old helpful lady.

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Impatience

What is one word that describes you?

One word that describes me is impatient. I’m a very impatient person, wanting everything done yesterday. Unfortunately,  I am also my own victim to this irrationality.

Why?

I’m not just a Writer and Author.

I love nature and being in my garden. This means I love photographing and drawing nature, and yes, sometimes I even write about nature.

Music is another hobby. I love to play the piano and am teaching myself the Recorder.

Cooking and sewing are other hobbies I dabble in.

There’s so much to do!

No wonder I’m so impatient.

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Cat

What activities do you lose yourself in?

Molly walked into the Art Gallery with her mum.

It was school holiday time, and the Art Gallery had activities for the children to do.

‘I’ll just be inside, looking at art,’ her mum informed her.

Molly started to cry.

‘Don’t leave me, Mummy. Stay with me.’

But her mum was firm.

‘There’s plenty to do here, Molly.’

And left her.

A friendly volunteer came over.

‘Hi. Is your name Molly?’

Tearily,  Molly nodded her head.

‘Your mum told me you like cats.’

‘Yes,’ Molly whispered.

‘Why don’t you sit here at the table and draw me a cat.’

So Molly drew and painted and crayoned.  This was going to be the best cat ever in all of history.

A tap on her shoulder startled her. Looking around, Molly saw her mum with the volunteer.

‘What have you been doing, Molly?’ asked her mum.

‘Drawing the best cat ever.’

Molly held up her picture. She showed her mum the cat.

‘That’s the best picture ever.’

Molly smiled at her mum.

‘Can we come back tomorrow?’ Molly asked.

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Witches

Are you superstitious?

Rebecca painted her face with green face paint. Next, she stuck on the fake warts and combed black dye through her hair.

Finger nails were next. She delicately painted them blood red. Once the nail polish was dry, she bit into a stick of lipstick, leaving red stains on her teeth.

Her little brother would respect her now, she thought. If he thought she was a witch, that is.

Rebecca stepped out into the night. A full moon sailed close to the horizon.  Now was her chance. She would creep up to Joey’s bedroom window and scare him.

A black cat went scurrying across the footpath as she silently padded towards Joey’s window.

She came to her own bedroom first. A rustle in the bushes caused Rebecca to shudder.

Funny, she thought, I didn’t realise Mum left the broom out. It was leaning against her bedroom wall.

A green warty hand with blood red claw like nails reached out and grabbed the broom.

The cat jumped onto the end of the stick.

‘Thanks for minding my vehicle for me,’ an old voice crackled.

And for an instant, Rebecca swore she saw a lady and a cat on a broom, fly past the full moon.

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Teddy

Gracie stared into the sky. Her mother had bought here a teddy for her birthday, and she was swinging teddy on the park play equipment.

Kelly was Gracie’s neighbour. A slightly older child, Kelly was a bully.

Kelly ripped Teddy out of the swing. ‘It’s my teddy now,’ sneered Kelly.

‘Give him back to me!’ yelled Gracie.

The older child ran away, but Gracie was faster. She chased Kelly around the park, until Kelly slipped on some mud.

Gracie grabbed Teddy, and hugged him tight.

Kelly was sitting in the muddy patch, a scowl on her face, then she started crying. ‘It was my birthday a week ago and no one gave me any presents, ‘ she whimpered.

So Gracie helped her up. ‘We can both play with Teddy, if you like,’ she said shyly. ‘I’d love to,’ whispered Kelly.

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Remembering

It stung, you know, that slap.

Glaring at her, I rubbed my cheek. It was the first time my Mother had ever raised a hand to me. A teenager, full of rage and uncertainty was leading me into trouble. As an adult, I now feel I deserved it. That’s how I was feeling right now.

In the Nursing Home, my Beautiful Mother was wandering the Dementia Ward. She had forgotten that slap, but I hadn’t. It had been a turning point in my life. I’d arrived at adulthood much more certain, much more grounded and appreciating all my Mother did for me.

I placed the bunch of flowers in the vase, fussing over how they were arranged, until a famillar figure came ambling into the room. Picking up the vase, I carried it to the private bathroom that was attached to the room. Half filling it with water, I listened as Mum clambered into bed.

It was a moment I’d been dreading, when she would forget my name, and who I was.

Then I heard a chuckle, as I came back out, and positioned the vase on the bedside table.

“Remember that time when I slapped you? You were so furious. Sometimes I wonder how I managed to raise a daughter like you, who even visits me everyday, no matter how crazy I am. My how the tables have turned.

Happy to have her lucid today, I returned the chuckle.

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Drat!

I had this system for getting exactly what I wanted out of people.

My tail would curl skywards, my eyes take on a particular pleading quality and my meow would sound proud but starved. It worked every time.

Today, my victim was the family’s three year old. 

Recently, I’d been watching him with Karl, the family dog. Charlie would get the scoop out of the second drawer in the kitchen, follow his father out of the house and to the big tin bin. Stan would then take the lid off the tin, and Charlie would dig the scoop into the dog biscuits. With a squeal of pure joy, he’d pour the biscuits into the dog bowl as Karl would watch on.

It got me thinking.

What if Charlie could get me food?

Today was my day.

Sauntering into the kitchen, I saw Charlie alone. With my high pitched I’m hungry mew, tail curled at just the right angle, my pleading eyes fixated on him. His beatufiul blues fixated on mine.

“Cat, hungry?”

Yes, oh yes.

He smiled, then used a chair to climb onto the kitchen table. Pulling a bowl of cereal off the table, its contents spilled everywhere. My eyes darted to the Weet Bix and milk, sloshing all over the floor.

It was not what I wanted. I wanted my cat food. Glancing up to the bench, I noticed an unopened tin. 

It was then I realised my mistake.

Charlie didn’t know how to use a tin opener.

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Happy Mother’s Day

She smiled as the clay whirled underneath her skilled hands. The pottery wheel hummed as the Artisan worked, spinning the lump of dense soil into a vessel. A dusty stool helped her crouch over the knee high tool, allowing her to sit close enough to work without hurting her back.

Inside the Artisan Shop, fine pots, mugs, plates, dishes, tyreens, and all sorts of crockery filled every surface. Some were the dull red of the local clay, many were glazed. Centaurs played alongside elves while unicorns frolicked across wide serving platters.

The hessian sack, hung in the doorway for a little privacy from the street, flicked aside and a young boy ran inside. “Aunty, Aunty…” he panted, before coming to a halt in front of the pottery wheel.

Footsteps hurried after him, and a girl child crashed into him.

“He stole from me, Aunty,” she sulked.

The boy turned his back to the Potter and the Artisan saw his tongue poke out at his sister.

The humming of the Pottery Wheel ceased, and she turned her attention to the two children.

“What happened. You two were playing so nicely earlier. What is this confusion?”

The girl and boy talked all at once, their voices bubbling with fact and fiction.

The Potter stood up and beckoned to both children.

“Have you forgotten your manners? Tell me, why were you sent to me in the first place.”

Hanging their heads, the boy blushing, the girl sneaking a sideways look at him and clasping his hand to comfort him, they fell silent.

The Artisan continued, “Isn’t it Mother’s Day? What present have you both?”

Silence greeted her.

“Out of all the items you see in my shop, which do you think your Mum would like the best? Work together you two.”

Brother and sister walked around the shop together, heads together as they whispered, working on the task at hand – picking the nicest gift for their Mother.

Finally, after several laps of the little front room which served as the front of the business, the boy reached up and reverently picked up a humble red teapot. Shyly, he peeked a look at his sister. She nodded.

The Artisan Potter smiled at her sister’s two children.

“I’m proud of you. You worked well together. Take it to your Mother as your gift to her.”

The boy wrapped his palms around the little teapot, securing it even more by holding it close to his small chest. His sister led the way out past the hessian sack.

The Artisan sat back at her wheel. Job done, she was content to finish the dish she had started. The humming became louder as the wheel picked up speed, clay whirring between her wet palms once more.