Tag Archives: Ged

The last Rebel Yell and Ben’s gift of Balance

by . Posted on
Symbol of Change
14 Sep

I have always been an extremist. Black/white, right/wrong, yes/no – well, let’s face it, mainly no, to any form of authority. Rebel without a cause. Rebelling mainly it seems against myself – making life hard for myself, beating myself up or putting myself on a rack of my own making. Goodness, what a torturous path I have been trudging all these years.

I am a firm believer that children come to teach and heal us. They mirror us so perfectly and show us ourselves, they hold candles to illuminate our dark corners and recesses – those shadowy places where we would rather not see how we are, how we behave, what we show the world.

We ask ourselves where they get their ideas about life and how to behave from, and if we are brave enough, we see ourselves. It’s not pretty. It’s very confronting. Sometimes it is truly horrible. All we can do is change ourselves, our reactions to the world, our interactions, our perceptions. And we can read and listen and learn and try to be better parents, different parents to the way we were parented – less controlling, more patient, kinder etc . . . it all sounds so nice and sweet and obvious – but when the child is tired and hungry and throwing a complete tanty and the mother is desperate to get same child to bed so she can have some peace and quiet, things can degenerate very quickly if the Mum reacts at all. In other words, it’s bloody hard work!

Balance and the middle ground were unknown to me until Ben, the perfect Libran, came into my life and slowly, slowly (and against my knowing) started pulling me from my alternate extremes into the middle – neutrality, balance.

I see so clearly now how swift and sudden my swings can be. The recent cleanse has shown me how much of a role what we eat plays in our emotional and physical wellbeing. Now that I am back on ‘normal’ food I am finding that I miss how good I felt on the paleo primal diet and how many grainy foods really don’t agree with me. Just ask Ged about the first time I had lentils after my cleanse!!

So many grainy starchy foods are convenient and quick, requiring little thought or pre-planning but don’t serve us either in energy, clarity of mind or digestivity (did I just make that word up?) Of course vegetarians have to eat lots of pulses and grains to stay full and get enough protein. They are safe, familiar and filling. But actually, I have to admit, I felt amazing on the veggies, meat and seeds.

But now that I am eating grains again, I don’t fancy meat so much but I don’t feel as good in myself. I don’t want rules around food because as an anorexic and bulimic I have imposed far too many of those on myself in the past but I do want to feel the best I can – body, mind and spirit. I have long known that my vegetarianism was just another way of controlling what I ate and would ‘allow’ myself to put in my body. For sure I just need to relax and have no rules but I think it is important to know what serves me, nourishes me, fuels me. Because as I learn to love myself more I want to give myself what is good for me.

Because it feels like for so much of my life I have been torturing myself – with my thoughts, diet, repetitive running, and other strict regimes. And rebelling against any form of authority with my giant ‘f**ck you’. But in the process have been hurting only myself. Smoking for 15 years to spite my parents (hello?), drinking to excess to spite myself, drugs as my anti-establishment two finger salute, but the only one I harmed or scared or hated with all that was myself.

And I have always rebelled against ‘goodness’. Why don’t I want to be ‘good’, why do I want to be ‘bad’. Or is it that I believe I AM bad and therefore want to hurt myself accordingly, or that because I am bad I don’t deserve good things, or gentle treatment, or nurturing . . . or love?

I rebelled against my cleanse and jumped off the wagon to start supping my tea again. But you know what, my body has been telling me for more than 4 years that I have to give up the black tea. And I keep fighting and reclaiming my last great addiction, clinging to that pommy warming sustenance which actually no longer serves me. Bucking feeling good, clear and bright in the head, and glowing in body and mind. Why? Because I want to have one last vestige from my past life as an addict – because I want to stay an addict? because I want to feel bad? and be stressed and be cranky instead of peaceful and happy?

Wow, this self-sabotage of mine is sometimes mind-blowing. Literally.

I am going back on the cleanse in order to shed this unhealthy habit once and for all. And to let my light shine unfettered. And because tea stresses my adrenals which then hurt and powers up my negative monkey mind, whereas herbal teas make me feel lovely and ‘good’ and happy. I am going to further explore the no grains paleo primal diet and work out how to bring more health-giving foods into our lives and lifestyles, without compromising taste and flavour (I am always up for a bit of a kitchen magic challenge!)

I don’t know why I am so scared – I have been caffeine free before and it was great. Maybe it was because I was fat then that I am so scared of getting fat again (hello, that rings true!) I can be caffeine free and slim for sure!

In two weeks I am going to walk the middle way – balancing meat, grains, fruit and veg in healthy quantities (am so loving my huge daily salad). And picking fresh herbs from my beautiful herb garden for tisanes and fresh, healing drinks which nurture and sustain me.

I want to thank Ben who all those years ago brought meat into our lives and instigated the raising of our own meat animals and who shows me myself in all my fury and who is teaching me to love my inner child, the importance of play and relaxation, and how precious family time is together – just the three of us.

Both Ben and Ged have taught me that while it is tempting to rail at the behaviours and actions of others, we can only change, and heal, and help, ourselves. And by changing the way we see and react to the world around us, everything changes – the world shifts and a new paradigm is born.

So here I am, letting go again, free falling into the unknown and trusting that the grass is truly greener on the other side . . . so mote it be.

How Life can change in a Heartbeat

by . Posted on
07 Aug

We have been happy and relaxed and really enjoying being a family again after Ged finally finished stage one of the solar inspections (30,000 kms in 3 months).  I have been revelling in unbroken night’s sleep as he gets up for Ben in the night and I have to do a lot less chop wood and carry water when he is around.  Plus I get to go for a run every day (yay!) so everything was looking rosy.

Then I woke up in th emiddle of the night when Ben woke up and called out as usual.  I felt the other side of the bed for Ged but he wasn’t there so I presumed he was already up for him.  I must have gone back to sleep for a minute or two and then Ben called again and I listened for Ged, thinking ‘where is he?’  And I heard a truly horrible noise.  It sounded like the Thermomix we had borrowed the weekend before kneading dough.  Sort of harsh, grating and groaning.  So I got up and went to investigate.

Ged was unconscious in a pool of blood, sprawled over the bathroom floor in a pool of urine, with his head resting on the side of the bath which had burst his cheek, just under his eye, as he made contact.  His eyes were wide and staring with pupils like pinpricks and I tried to lift him, to communicate with him, to shake him, wake him, to no avail.  Meanwhile I was trying to keep Ben out of the bathroom and calm him down.  Finally (it seemed like forever!) Ged came too and was able to lie down on a towel I put on the floor.  Of course the recovery position didn’t even cross my mind.  I realised immediately that his cheek would need stitching so told Ben we would have to go to the hospital for the doctor to sew up Daddy’s cheek, just like he had to go and get his chin glued up when he fell on the slippery slide.  I set him to packing a bag with toys and books while I tried to sort Ged out.  He was groaning and swearing by this time so I had to try and shut him up!  He managed to sit up and then threw up. I ran a lukewarm bath and he managed to sit in it.  Needless to say I was dosing everyone up with Emergency Essence and, as usual, at my best in a crisis!

Got us all dressed and organised and in the car by about 3.30 and to the hospital by 5.  No one there so he was straight into triage.  They had him on a bed and an ECG within 5 minutes and then discovered that while he hadn’t had a heart attack, his heart was in extreme distress with arrhythmia.  Watching the numbers on the ECG was like watching some sort of random numbers game, 138, 32, 114 etc.  Ben was terrified and refused to stay near the Daddy who was hooked up to all these machines and insisted on returning to the waiting room to read stories with me.  He came in again for a brief moment or two while the young and lovely Doctor (I am definitely getting old – they are all little more than teenagers!) told us that Ged’s heart was all over the place and he would be staying put for the time being.  Ben and I went home.  I was ever hopeful that Ben would sleep and so he did for almost 20 minutes until we pulled up outside the door and then he was awake and adamant that he was not going back to bed, despite being up since 2.30am.

And thus began a surreal day.  Ben got to watch the Gruffalo three times while I did the washing up and ‘thunk’ – that we don’t have insurance for Ged, that we can’t afford to lose him, that we lose everything if anything happens to him, that I want him to get fit and slim and spend a long and healthy life with him . . .

And every few hours I would ring the hospital where Ged was being wheeled from test to test and seeing specialists etc.  He passed out again when they stitched his face – lucky he was lying down.  Finally at the end of the day they moved him into a private room and out of the Emergency ward so he could sleep.  Ben and I somehow got through an extraordinary day.  The poor child was as much in shock that his mother let him watch TV all morning, than that his father, so recently returned to us, was in hospital.

Suffice it to say we all slept extremely well that night.  And thankfully Ged’s heart was beating better in the morning.  Ben and I decided to visit him after lunch (so hopefully Ben would sleep in the car – ha, ha, this eternal hope of mine is laughable!) By the time we were on our way the hospital had decided to release Ged and he was, according to the nurse, in the ‘transit’ room.  Air side or land side I was tempted to ask . . .

But Ged told me he was being sent home with no monitoring equipment or any guarantee that this wouldn’t happen again so of course I went ballistic.  The nurse knew nothing about his case.  So I called in reinforcements.  I rang Macca and she agreed that he couldn’t come home to the farm without some sort of halter monitor.  She knows only too well what the hospital is like (she used to work there) so she put on her battle armour and said she’d meet me there.  She got there before me and woke Ged up from snoozing in his armchair.  He wasn’t surprised, he knows me well, he just raised his eyes to heaven and said ‘Hi Macca, she called in the artillery, did she?’

Ben and I couldn’t find a car parking space in the same postcode as the Hospital so we took advantage of our 4WD and parked on the grass.  And then walked long, featureless, corridors to find the transit lounge.  Not much of a lounge and not much transiting taking place as its inhabitants looked to have been sitting there long enough to have melded with the furniture.  Apparently waiting for a doc to sign a piece of paper can be an all day affair.  When the very young trainee doc came to sign Ged out with her red stethoscope and matching high heels (I last saw style like that in a B&D Brothel where a friend used to work!) I stated my case for a halter monitor.  She looked shocked to be challenged in her role as benevolent authority and disappeared to find the specialist.  Another well heeled blonde appeared in a pencil skirt and sashayed in front of us to find a meeting room.  Any red blooded man would get better just looking at her!  She was about half my age . . .

I stated my case and she proceeded to bamboozle me with science and medicine which somehow soothed and calmed me even though I cannot recollect a word she said and I didn’t understand most of it.  I think they must learn some sort of hypnotherapy mind control at med school . . . ‘I’m a doctor, TRUST me . . . ‘

At least Macca had some fun reading and talking to Ben, even though she didn’t weigh in to my medical stoush, and we got to take our stitched up, banged up, much loved husband and father home.

We all had our safe and ordered world rocked.  Ben then came down with a five day fever and has been a pale and listless caricature of his former self and we are all trying to get a handle on how, why and will this ever happen again.

Ged and I went to the specialist yesterday who at least gave him permission to drive, hooked him up to the ECG again and ultra sounded his heart.  It all looks normal and sounds steady so now they have to work out if he is stress sensitive, so they treadmill him next week and then book him in for a night in the sleep clinic to monitor whether he has sleep apnoea.  He has to lose weight (hurrah, someone else singing from my song sheet!) but then so do I – at least we can help each other there . . .

And we need to make more time for each other, for holidays, for fun as well as the farm, for play as well as work.  I need to learn to relax and enjoy.  Both Ben and Ged can teach me that.  I have to let them.  And we have to savour every moment, treasure each other, stop taking life and each other for granted.  We none of us know how long we’ve got.

Bush Tucker

by . Posted on
10 Mar

Lord knows we have enough wildlife here that we need never eat meat from the butcher or supermarket again.  I don’t know why it’s taken us so long to sample Bush Tucker.

Last year we shot a goanna – a big one- that saw us as a food source and made the daily trek into the chook house for his eggs.  As Ben collects the eggs and a confrontation between the two of them was going to end in tears and skin tears, he obviously had to go.  It was the first time I saw my husband with his gun . . . he looked so comfortable with it, so at home with it, sure steady . . . safe.  He’s a good shot, my man, more reason to love him so.

That goanna made a run and swim for it and Ged got him as he clambered out of the river on a rock.  Wwoofer Carl and I rowed over to get him but wimped out of hauling him out and cooking him.  This year Ged and the Wwoofers had no such qualms, Ged shot a goanna out of the Jacaranda tree and  it went straight on the new barbie in its skin and there was much excitement at the prospect of Bush Tucker for supper.

Apparently they are a protected species.  God knows why there are plenty of them around here.  We have a simple rule at Avalon, all the wildlife are safe from us as long as they don’t interfere with our lives and business.  If they stay away they are safe.  We are not the sort of people to shoot a snake on sight.  But a goanna stealing my eggs, scaring my baby chicks, wrestling with Josephine in her nesting box, eating the baby ducklings – yup, that has to go!

When last year’s goanna ate Josephine’s baby I literally felt that biblical ‘an eye for an eye’ feeling.  A rage that only the justice of a death for a death would appease.  My duckling was gone, my duck was suffering, tears were shed by adults and child alike and vengeance was mine.  I did feel regret for the goanna’s wasted death (but only because we didn’t eat it!) but once he was killed my rage at our loss was gone.

Law abiding city folk will be shocked at our lawlessness.  But the law of the jungle, the law of the land, Bush Law is different.  We are wilder because we know nature, we see life and death in every day, we know the cycles and the rhythms of the seasons.  We respect life, we cherish it, and to me it is better to shoot a goanna for stealing and eat it, than it is to buy nameless meat at Coles or Woolworths with no thought to where it came from, how it lived, how it died.

These are far from the killing fields as I don’t like blood shed at Avalon, but if my boys are to eat meat I would rather they knew its name.

Swarm

by . Posted on
01 Dec

I was slashing on a hot spring day on the ‘other side’  and swung past the bees as I often do to clear the long grass around their hive entrances.  Never before have I been stung but yesterday I felt them land on me and I swiped them away.  One protested with a dying deed into the crown of my head and it really hurt!  As I swung past again on my next round they landed on me again but this time I was smart enough to do nothing, still smarting from the last bee’s dying wish.

Today I almost ran into a swarm building on a long low branch of a big she oak along the river flat by the teepees.  Missed it by an inch or so thank goodness!  No wonder they were all so cranky and aggressive yesterday.

I rang Ged who is the bee expert (he loves those bees!) and he got very excited and said he would capture the swarm and put it in the last remaining empty box when he got home from Sydney.  Sure enough when the sun was warm we all drove over to watch the bee whisperer at work.  The swarm had completely changed shape in the intervening 12 hours and was now hanging like a flag down from the bough.  Ged put on his white jacket with hood and veil and tucked his jeans into his pants (they do like to climb up trouser legs) and gave the bough one good shake into the box and most of the swarm had a new home.  A few more shakes and some gentle sweeping with the bee broom and we had captured our first swarm.  It was amazing . . . my husband the apiarist and more lovely runny honey for Avalon.  Yay!

More Midwifery

by . Posted on
05 Nov

Our Alpacas are due and so we have been keeping a close eye on them.  The other day I came home on the tractor at lunch time and noticed Sapphire on the hill above the road and I could see that she was pushing so I raced in to tell Ged and we drove up to have a look.

Immediately I could see that the cria was dead.  Nose poking out and nothing else and so I tried to wriggle my hands in but I couldn’t get any purchase so I made Ged go in.  I don’t know how he got his hands in there let alone made sense of what was there.  It was all so tight and cramped.  He managed to pull while Sapphire was pushing to get the whole head out and some of the neck but then he could make no more progress.

So I had to try with my smaller hands.  It was so hard to feel what was what but definitely something was stuck.  In James Herriot they say to push it all back in and start again so I tried that.  No luck.  It was stuck fast.

I had to try small manipulations to try and make some sort of difference and then pull.  Finally the cria came out.  Ged was not convinced but I could see that it was long dead.  Not in utero, but just from being stuck.  I don’t know how long she had been pushing for.  She is a maiden and this was her first.  I don’t really think she knew what was happening, or what she was losing.  She just knew that she needed help.

Ged tried swinging the cria around but I knew it was pointless.  Then he raced down to the house to get Emergency Essence and Penicillin and to check on our sleeping boy.  Thank God Ben was asleep – I don’t want him to have to witness all these still births. Why is it that we have to help birth dead babies before we can have live ones?  You can imagine how neurotic we are about all the other expectant alpacas now . . . they get checked almost on the hour!

I stayed with Sapphire and reikied her and talked to her and waited for the placenta.  I needed that placenta before I could think of leaving her.  She took her time but finally a long almost skin like, grainy stocking came part way out so I reikied and waited some more.  In the end I very gently and slowly pulled and the rest came away.  It looked intact but I was worried she might have prolapsed with all that pushing.

We left the baby with her for the rest of the day so she could get her head around what had happened.  She didn’t leave him.  At the end of the day I took him away and told her what I was doing and found a resting place for him (beautiful bright white boy baby).  I told her to go back to the herd.  But she refused to leave her birthing spot.

By the morning she was back in the herd and I was able to catch her at feeding time to inject her with penicillin.  I also checked out her nether regions and saw maggots in her vulva so a hasty call to Ged and then to Pamela for help for the morrow because clearly I needed to clean those out.

Pamela came and somehow managed to get her 2WD over our hill (some people just won’t listen and stay at the gate to be collected!) and we herded the alpacas with some difficulty into the house paddock and then up into a corner where we built a makeshift fence to keep them in.  Pamela held the head end while I got into the other with a jar of hydrogen peroxide, a worming syringe and my fingers.  Ugh!  I hate maggots at the best of times and this was definitely not the best of times.

I had to find each one and get it out.  It looked like she had a tear from all the pushing (I know about that!) and the baby maggots were in there so I had to flush and pick them out.  Then I found one huge maggot worming its way inside her vagina (OMG!) and then just kept picking them out until I could see no more.  I don’t know that H202 was a good idea in that delicate area but I probably overreacted at my horror of maggots.  I am squirming just thinking about it.

Dr Google has just informed me that maggots are essential for healing and only consume necrotic or dead or infected tissue and leave in their wake fresh, clean tissue so maybe I should have just let them be and let Mother Nature do her own sweet healing.  Clearly it is only my antipathy to maggots which forced my own intervention, and my abrasice techniques may well have made Sapphire worse.  I don’t know that she will ever conceive again.  She has had Penicillin for almost a week and now won’t let me near her with the needle (so surely she is feeling better?) Time will heal and tell.

Here’s hoping for live alpaca babies soon.

Two Dead Lambs

by . Posted on
02 Oct

We have been waiting and waiting and waiting for our big ewe to birth.  Checking her udder every day and saying ‘surely it can’t be much longer’.  Every day as Boo and I drive past I have said ‘What is she waiting for?’ and 2 year old Ben has replied ‘Christmas’.  I hope not . . .

This morning when I went for my run at about 6 she was standing on her own obviously labouring.  I went back to the house and googled sheep birthing schedules and positions.  After my experience with Daisy I determined not to get in there too early so I decided to go for my run and check on her when I got back.

She was still straining when I got back so I consulted google again.  I should have got in there a lot earlier (hindsight is such a wonderful thing!)  Ged went up to the office (she had returned to her favourite spot under the office) and said there was a nose poking out so we grabbed the camera and Pickle and walked up to the office all excited, expecting to see a lamb or two at last.

But when we got there it was still just a nose and it was definitely time to go in.  So we hung up the camera and I put my hand in.  Bush midwifery – no antiseptic, scrubbing or gloves!  The head was stuck and the lamb was definitely dead but I couldn’t get any purchase and couldn’t get my other hand in.  Ged took over and I do not know how he got both of his big hands in there.  After some manoeuvring he pulled out one huge dead lamb.  My poor child witnesses too much death on the farm.  One can only hope that what he learns  is that death is a constant part of the incredible cycle of life.  Natural, inevitable, not to be afraid of . . .

I sent Ged back to the house for the Emergency Essence, Bug Buster, Penicillin, hot water etc.  The lamb smelled pretty bad and had obviously been dead for a while.  She knew she was birthing death.  When he got back Ged wanted to go back in in case there was another lamb.  I said ‘surely she would still be straining’ and was convinced that the size of the first lamb precluded another.  But when I felt along the flank I agreed that there was probably another and this time he soaped up before beginning his grim task.  The squeamish should turn away now . . . I am sorry to say that the lamb came apart in the process (long dead).  We shielded Ben from the gruesomeness.  He kept saying ‘I don’t want a dead lamb’ . . . neither did we.

The worry now was the poor ewe.  The uterus was obviously infected and she was exhausted.  I administered Emergency Essence orally and over her head, Bug Buster orally and a penicillin injection.  We cleaned up the vagina but it didn’t look good.  She was so weak and tired.  I gave her water too and we got her some food.  She had a huge drink but she wasn’t interested in food.  Ged didn’t think she would make it and certainly it looked very unlikely.

We walked home and I left a message for the vet to call us and rang the sheep breeder for any tips or advice.  He had nothing to offer us but luckily the vet was more helpful.  He told us to go to the Dairy and borrow syntocin to encourage uterine contractions to expel any retained placenta or other debris.  And also to borrow Ketol for energy and prevent pregnancy toxaemia.  And keep up the massive doses of penicillin.

We did as we were told and she made a truly miraculous recovery although she was pretty depressed for the first week.  We knew how good she was feeling by how difficult she was to catch!  Ged’s rugby tackles improved significantly in a week but he sustained some decent bruises in the process!  She’s a big girl!

We were all pretty depressed that our first foray into sheep breeding had delivered such sorrow although we have to be grateful for opportunities to improve our livestock knowledge and midwifery skills . . .

Two weeks later we awoke one morning to two live lambs huddled by their proud Mama.  They are now frolicking in the fields as one would expect for a lush spring at Avalon.

As Sticky taught me long ago and as farmers have been saying since time began ‘Where you’ve got livestock, you’ll have dead stock.’  Such is the nature of life.  Witnessing the bright brilliance of birth and the sweet sorrowful surrender into death is the privilege and humility of the farmer’s life.

And unto us a son is born

by . Posted on
29 Sep

‘And unto us a son is born.  Unto us a child is given’

I can’t claim an immaculate conception – we all know I’m no virgin!  But the whole process has been pretty miraculous.  And after a week of waiting, waiting, waiting (and not being very patient) for this baby to finally wend his way out of my womb and into our world, we finally went into labour at about 10pm on Sunday night, starting off fairly easy and relaxed so I called the midwife and agreed to talk again in an hour.  While I went to bed and rested between contractions (or waves as we prefer to call them!).  At 11.30 we agreed that she would slowly pack the car and make her way over and got here about 2am.  I was still saying we should all go to bed and try and get some more rest but she sent Ged and I on a walk under the stars on the river flat and after that things started speeding up.  I spent hours in the birthing pool and we had a candlelit night enjoying ‘Pachelbel in the Garden’ on CD (thanks, Mummy!) but when day broke it was time to get out of the water and move into the next stage.  Another walk down the paddock and the pushing began in earnest and then 3 hours later we had a baby in the bathroom.  Ged was essential to every stage of the process and I hung off him with every wave and our midwife, Macca, was just amazing – no internals, no judgement, no directions – she just allowed the birth to progress as it would, giving us no timeframes or expectations just peace and serenity, encouragement and useful suggestions.  Just the three of us, birthing our baby, at home, at Avalon, where we wanted to be and are safe and loved and held in the embrace of the land.
It was a beautiful day – brilliant sunshine, and Benjamin was born at 12.18.  Just over 7lbs and 50cm long (19.68 inches).  He is breastfeeding well, sleeping beautifully, and is pretty peaceful to be around.  We are all a bit tired, and taking it very easy for the week.  Macca is staying to make sure we are all under control and know what we are doing and generally helping out.  So here he is . . .

Missing Mischa

by . Posted on
11 Aug

We are very sad here at Avalon today.

We have been away.  We left on Thursday just after lunch having filled up all Mischa’s bowls with mountains of her favourite dried food and left a light on for the stay-at-home child and then Ged, Phee and myself drove away, leaving her leaping around the garden and stalking the ducks.  I dropped Ged in Sydney at the motel near the airport at around 7ish and got down to the Grippers in Kangaroo Valley about 9.30.  Ged flew to Perth on Friday morning for his Reiki course with my old teacher, and employer, Barbara McGregor (sounds like she hasn’t changed in the intervening years!) while I caught up with some much loved and much missed Valley friends over coffee, tea and a lovely dinner at Cafe Bella as well as having lots of snuggles in bed with the gripper children in the mornings.  Angus made me tea and then we all snuggled up to feel the baby move and listen to him swimming in his watery environment.  Good times.
I left the Valley at 10.30 yesterday morning and drove straight up to the airport to pick up my husband with the newly acquired Reiki hands (Benjamin is very happy!) and then I had a meeting at Girraween with CRT to get this year’s orders for Think Fly and Feed Bowls (luvverly jubbly!) and we went to check out pre-fab Cedar sheds and guest accommodation before heading home via Steve and Cherie’s so they could also check out the bump and make plans for a visit after it has landed.  Then it was the long road home in the dark.
We got home about 11.30 and were surprised to see no Miaowing Mischa leaping off the verandah and celebrating our return.  But then she loves curling up on top of the mattress or sofa in the shed surveying the mice population so we figured she was there.  We called and called but no sign and her bowls looked untouched, the house tidy and no little muddy paw prints leaving a trail to where she was hiding or where she had been.  I climbed in the bath to elevate my swollen legs and then Ged came in in tears.  ‘She’s dead’.  He found the little angel long gone in a crawling position near the shed she loved to lord it in so much.  She must have left us that first night but we have no clues as to what or why.  She was in fine feline fettle when we left, full of bounce and curiousity.  The only  odd thing was that Pheonix had been trying to shag her for three days so I wonder if there was something going on with her that we didn’t know about.  But she was eating and drinking and acting totally normally.  And for her to have gone so quickly surely it can only have been a snake bite or poison?  It’s just a complete mystery.
She was only with us for such a short time.  She was so lovely and full of character and mischief and Phee loved her as did all the animals and she was such an integral part of our life here.  Raiding the pantry to get her claws into her bag of adored cat biscuits (even though her bowl was full!), stretched out, belly up, on the sofa next to the fire; making herself at home on each and every chair and sofa and claiming them all as her own; climbing up on the rim of the bath to play with the bubbles and then drink the water; treating Phee like her Mummy, suckling and kneading his chest for her morning cuddles; climbing under the covers between Ged and I to stay warm on the coldest of nights; clawing my furniture til we all yelled out ‘MISCHA!’; curling up on the baby belly for a cuddle; supervising activities in the shed from the top of a stored on its end mattress; playing with the feathers around Tinkerbell’s feet; chasing macadamia nuts around the wooden floor; sitting watching ‘The West Wing’ with us with as much avid attention as we give it; generally getting the best of Phee in their mock fights;  and always, always, curling up on her beloved Daddy who rescued her from a life of poverty and neglect in Comboyne and brought her home to where she revelled in the warmth and comfort and always knew that she had died and gone to heaven when she came here.  Well, now she has.  And I only hope she is as loved and looked after there as she was here.  We miss her very much.  She was here for so little time, but she brought us so much joy and laughter.  And she was definitely ‘Daddy’s little Princess’ so say a prayer for him because he is so sad.  Rest In Peace, little Mischa, we loved you so very much.

Cleaning up the Bachelor Pad

by . Posted on
12 Nov

The deluge has continued and so there is nothing to report. Ged says ‘didn’t you do anything silly last week at all?’ Not that I can remember . . . .

We have had good soaking rain, and so all the creeks are running well into the river, and the river height has fluctuated by inches but it’s never gone all the way over the bridge. I have been coming in and out the long way round (THREE gates to open and close, plus all the puddle jumping!), but Ged has been parking on the other side and winging his way across in the Flying Fox.

We started clearing up his place at the weekend. Filled the back of the Pajero with bags and bulk for the Charity Shop and started cleaning and burning and scrapping. It reminded me of cleaning up polo yards! We had a big fire and pulled about a thousand weeds and then I started planting and re-seeding (my grass in the Angle Creek paddock is looking very lush after all this rain). We just got the paperwork through from one of the Environment Agencies as we have been looking at logging Ged’s heavily wooded 400 acres before we sell it. So we’ll see what happens with that. In the meantime, the pre-sale clean up continues . . . .

We have been costing a factory made cedar cabin for an office or a hand-built one and finally have decided to build our own which means we get exactly what we want for less money, but more work. So we are placing the orders for all the frames, trusses, cedar cladding, doors and windows this week and are determined to get it up and operational by Christmas (please God!) I’m going to have a big painting weekend this weekend since the sun will be shining again . . . (yet again the solar has held up amazingly through the dark, dull, drizzly days of the last two weeks – amazing!)

Now that the sun has made a welcome return, so has George so you can expect more interesting tales next week! He split open his tyre on a stupid concrete drain on the steep bit coming up from Angle Creek this morning so he wasn’t in the best of moods when I drove him round to the other side to collect his tractor!

The Jacarandas and Illawarra Flame Trees are ablaze, and driving anywhere on the roads has become an entertaining exercise of calf dodging so spring is really here!


JACARANDA TIME IN THE ‘HOUSE PADDOCK’ . . . (NOTE ‘GIRAFFE SHED’ IN
FOREGROUND!!)

The ‘C’ word . . . Commitment!

by . Posted on
10 Sep

I have had lots of queries from you all about Ged so I suppose I’d better come clean.  He’s 38, 5’10, blue eyes and a reasonable head of hair except the Prince Charles bald spot at the back (but he is definitely going to look like Phil before long).  He is incredibly kind and sweet and loving and for some strange reason thinks that the sun shines out of my a**se (which, considering he works in the solar industry, is a real worry!)  He loves Phee and Tom and the horses and copes well with all their unique foibles – Phee trying to shag him, Tom regurgitating fur balls with monotonous regularity at the moment, and Tinkerbell using every wile and cunning at her disposal to break into the feed (again!)  Good thing I have one perfect Baby . . .

He has forsaken his Aussie meat pie and three dead animals a day diet and completely embraced my limited one.  He says he doesn’t miss the meat, wants to learn to cook the stuff I cook and has lost weight and is looking better for the shift. At this point my Mother will be screaming ‘quick, don’t let him get away!’ and quite possibly getting straight off a plane from The Rockies and on a Roo bound for Down Under so she can chivy things along!!

He’s completely house trained – does the washing up, washing, pegging clothes on the line etc.  He’s also a builder which is a bloody good thing at the moment and a farm boy which means that none of the realities of life on the land worry him one iota.  In fact he has 400 acres just up the road.  We met when he quoted me for the upgrade of the solar system here and during the long process of the purchase we talked regularly on the phone.

He doesn’t seem fazed by any of my foibles (burping, farting, scratching and snoring!).  Someone revive my Mummy!

He wants the 4 C’s – commitment, chaplain, children and did I mention commitment?  Now that’s one C word that I have an exceptional amount of difficulty with so I have been running around in ever increasing circles looking for a way out because it all seems too much, too soon, too unexpected.  And, of course, having been single for so long, I am used to my own company, my own space, the solitary silence that I share with the animals and nature and the peace of the solo sleeper in the double bed . . .

Am I too old and entrenched in my ways to make room for someone who looks after me so thoroughly?  Or do I just need to keep running a little longer til I realise that there’s nowhere to go, nowhere to hide, and that what’s good enough for the rest of the planet might just suit me too?

Luckily Ged (short for Gerard) is patience personifed because we all know I’m not!  In some ways we are very alike but I guess in the important things we are polar opposites.  He knows I’m a complete worry mutton, and he doesn’t (apparently I look very peaceful when I’m sleeping!)  He knows I always have a plan and normally just fits in with it .  He doesn’t drink very often (like me he had a battle with the bottle and can take it or leave it) he doesn’t smoke although he once did so snap there.  He’s also a Gemini which scares me witless and two generations back his family on both sides came from The Emerald Isle (Catholic) . . . .  smelling salts for my Daddy!

He insisted on taking me to meet his family this week which was pretty terrifying.  His father is a blue eyed farmer whose family came from Kangaroo Valley so he great tales to tell and we had mutual acquaintances to discuss.  His mother is a much harder nut to crack – wary, suspicious and assessing so I might have to get a spade and dig deep there if this goes the distance.  Mind you she reads Maeve Binchy and Dick Francis just like me so the heart beats true!  And she’s got the complete works of Banjo Patterson so I will need that spade after all . . .

Running, running scared . . . . . .