Here I am …

The ache for home lives in all of us, the safe place where we can go and not be questioned.

—Maya Angelou

There have been times – many of them, I think – when I have felt strongly that someone was about to hector me about something. Not Chic: he hectored me on so few occasions that I can no longer remember them. This feeling goes back to my youth – to my home and my school. Why it wraps its hood around me at this stage of my life is pretty weird and says a fair bit about me, alas.

But now …? Now I still experience the daily early morning waking up believing myself not alone, just for a second or two; but the – ahh – haunting hectoring :) has gone. Deo gratias (there had to be some usefulness obtained from my Catholic upbringing !). Just as well: it used to enrage me that a woman of my years could allow herself to shrink from being lectured again, just as she was 60 years and more ago. Seems to me that the greater part of my childhood was spent in having fingers wagged at me. Sighh …


The point I’m getting to so obliquely and slowly is that I’m in seventh heaven in my new place. I sit in any one of my recliner chairs with my laptop – once Lui has gone back to bed, this is – with the sun pouring in through the front window and the little side yard that has all my pot-plants in it deriving as much pleasure from this as do I … I put all last night’s dishes into my wonderful little Domain dish-washer and it’s just finished; I’ve had my second coffee for the morning from my totally excellent Breville Dynamic Duo – earlier than usual; I’m amusing myself with inserting all these unpaid ads, sort of; my doted-on handyman is coming this-arvo to hang all my photos and put up towel-rails and hand-towel rails; the MACS handyman has just brought back my rubbish-bins from whatever place they were taken to last evening …

Tomorrow I start taking photos. Be warned.   :)

Ah ! – life is good. La vita è bella, vero. It matters not that I am ancient: there is much joy to be found in the most ordinary, everyday things. I am finally home.


Back to Basics

When a post from a followed blog – – pointed to Lucia’s Fig Tree and her Vintage Walrus design, I gasped: if that isn’t a summation of everything glorious about motif crochet, I don’t know what is.

Such beauty !

One can say “such colours !”, but any colours would do: the original for this beauty is almost monochrome, and it still looks wonderful.

Am I going to have a go at it ? – what do you think ?!

It’s going to cost a motza for the yarn, because what would be the point in creating something like this from mediocre material ?

Anyone similarly struck by this blanket / throw / afghan / article of joy should follow my link to Pippin Poppycock so as to find out about its creator, the amazingly dual-nationed Lucia (would you believe Italian and Scottish ?!), whose output one wishes were twenty times as great.

(Can’t even contemplate buying yarn until the despicable previous agents release my bond: there’s a hearing set for the end of this month, after which life will once again become liveable.)

On with Life !

Jim Lahey, I thank you ! – even if my smoke detector went off every time I had to open the oven (thrice: once it had heated and I put the pot back in containing the dough; once to take the lid off after half an hour; once to get it all out !) because of having the heat setting on roughly 260C.

I watched the famous video again last night, and decided that IT MUST BE ABLE TO BE DONE. Meaning that some years back I simply couldn’t get the dough to the right consistency, in spite of much advice from Jim himself by email. And I did it !

I can say without fear of being found wrong by a single soul that it was my wonderful, enormous kitchen that helped: never have I had so much room to spread stuff !

My AUD45 cast iron pot is going to get used, after all.   :)

Hmmm …

Things going well, but my mood not so much.

Have had to submit a claim via the Victorian Civil & Administrative Tribunal – referred to only as VCAT – to try to get back my bond from the previous unit. I took back the keys on Thursday of last week, and followed up with an irritated email of enquiry, but still nothing. Just, like, nothing. So I applied to VCAT to get back my bond. Had this email from the agent later that day:

I replied within the same minute:

and have heard, since then, not another word. So my application stands, and if/until the agency signs off on the entire amount, there is a VCAT hearing listed for the end of this month. Meanwhile I’m short of over a thousand bucks and am going to have to borrow from friends (again).

Life seems to be nothing but this kind of shit. My ISP keeps right on invoicing me regardless of delay in service. How is it that suppliers can do this and get away with it; but if a consumer tries it on s/he is served with legal notices ?

Why is it that I can’t seem to stop whingeing ?

Sighh … I read other people’s blogs and they aren’t stuffed with references to the first person – only mine. “I” and “me” and “my” and “myself” – JESUS H. ROOSEVELT CHRIST ! This writer is going to have to adopt the Dickensian style of self-reference, friends: from now on no more first person pronouns, OK ?

Well, as few as possible, anyway. (As for the above, this writer would’ve had it as one sentence with a colon in the middle. Or is it just that with advancing years the colon takes greater precedence …?)

So there.

It’s all good. Mostly because a shower’s in the offing, and then maybe some yarn sorting.   :)