Chillean Celebration

Life has accelerated, the spring sunshine must be activating the ‘busy’ molecules.

In the last ten days I have:  been helping with house moving, had lunch with visiting friends at Cullen’s, a birthday dinner at the Tav, an afternoon tea at Voyager, received  news of a new baby, attended the open day for the 20^th anniversary of the Margaret River Community Centre, held the first pizza gathering of the year, attended the farmer’s market, dealt with Telstra (again), walked with the girls, visited a friend with the flu and, sadly,  attended a funeral. I have also been at work, made 60 jars of various creams and driven hundreds of kilometres. They are the memorable events. Most were happy ones, some frustrating, and others unbearably sad.

The list of things to do gets longer every day. What has happened to time? Is it really moving faster or is it because the world has become a chaotic and complicated place in which to live? Looking over my list, I can see that I chose to spend time with people in my life I care about. Who cares if the cobwebs still dangle from the ceiling or the bags of sheep poo still haven’t been spread?

Watching the Chilean miners appear from underground after so long, seeing the joy on the faces of their family and friends has given me heart, faith in the way we can come together to support each other in times of need and respect for those valuable connections we share. When I saw the joy on that small boys face as he saw his father after an agonising wait, I remembered that in matters of the heart, time stands still.

Each day I am grateful to wake to the sound of chickens and birdsong.

The views from all the windows are green and at night I can see the stars.

Hide your ironing in the cupboard and enjoy the moment!

Mothers Day...

I have just read a list entitled 'What real mother's want for Mother's Day.' It was the usual mixture of the mundane and the ridiculous.

Mother's are forever. Whether you are six or sixty, each May, we are presented with the dilemma of how to acknowledge our mother.
 
Nowadays it is a reminder of how much time she has played that role for me and an attempt to show my thanks for the advice always on the end of the phone; all those clothes washed; lifts to the station and the endless meals shopped for, cooked, served and cleaned up afterwards.

As my mother ages, I find our roles are beginning to reverse and I often take the role of caregiver. While she was visiting recently and I was cooking dinner for everyone, I overheard her remark to a friend that I was 'a treasure.' That she has the same opinion of me that I have for her is the best gift this 'real woman' could receive.

I hope all you mothers (and fathers) receive one as welcome,

Happy Mother's Day,
nirala

P.S Fresh flowers, tickets to tropical islands and phone calls are also welcome at my place!

Busy, living in paradise

The girls walk at the beach every Monday. Today there was grey sky, lightly drizzling. The 3.5 metre swell of the weekend has been replaced with a calm smooth ocean and piles of shiny brown seaweed. The bins were full and the beach was empty apart from a lone swimmer and a figure in black practising yoga on the sand.

We have just hosted a week long surfing carnival here. The main street, the road to the beach and the bakeries that open early have all been extremely busy. Wicked vans are camped in every secluded spot around town and the ones not so secluded act like they are invisible.

Saturday night saw a concert held on the town oval that lasted nearly eight hours. The stamina of these kids that subsist on a diet of pies, juice, early mornings, extreme sports and late nights, often accompanied by alcohol, is awesome. Sunday morning all to be seen of the hundreds of party goers were a few asleep under bushes around town and a few more buying juice at the supermarket.

This is a phenomenon that happens in Margaret River at least twice a year. The locals not smitten by waves batten down the hatches and stock up on bread and milk the Thursday before while businesses keep extra staff on call.

I used to resent the intrusion to 'my town' and while the noise and rubbish do annoy me, I have come to appreciate these events that many of the local teenagers look forward to. Being three or more hours from the city, they don't often have the opportunity to party in large groups, meet new people, hear new bands and blow off steam. There is definitely an air of excitement all week - a buzz in the air from all the gorgeous young people having fun.

Today, the pace was slower. The sound disturbance from the concert had been negligible, the marquees on the point are being dismantled and the shire had extra people out on the litter run. The occupants of the last van in the car park had woken by the time we had finished our coffee and were enjoying their breakfast with the best view in the world. The one we are lucky enough to enjoy all year. We can go back to being a sleepy country town now, until Easter, any way!

Meanwhile, the garden and I are enjoying the rain,

nirala

Not so scrappy after all

Behind my armchair I have a mountain of bags and boxes that are no longer hidden. They threaten to topple over the back and I fear that this would be the end of my yarn buying for a while. They contain various yarns for projects in progress, leftovers from projects past and for projects not yet imagined. I am a compulsive collector hoarder of craft materials and shiny things.

My daughter recently gave birth to our fourth grandchild. I have always welcomed the new babies with a handmade cot blanket. Never knowing the sex in advance, they have always been patchwork, multicoloured and bright. With a recurring family allergy to wool, they are usually made from cotton and bamboo or ramie blends of yarn. I can’t throw away the smallest pieces, the colours are so lovely, and these balls are a great way to recycle scraps. They are soft to touch and lightweight and they wipe clean with a damp cloth. The youngest children have either a ball or a cot toy made from off cuts and others have gone to jugglers and other peoples cats.

This is what you’ll need:

Newspaper

5 ply wool or knitting cotton scraps

A ball of scrap wool and a bodkin

Method:

1. Scrunch up the newspaper into tight balls. One double spread of The Australian is enough to create a large ball, a quarter of a sheet, the smallest.

2. Take the scrap ball of wool and begin to wind it around the newspaper ball, taking care to keep the ball as round as possible until the newspaper has disappeared under an even layer of wool. Tuck in the end securely. You should now have something that looks like a ball of wool.

3. Using the bodkin and a 5 ply thread, begin to chain stitch around the ball, fixing the stitches into the wool. When you come to the end of a piece of thread, finish it by threading a few running stitches across the winds of wool.

4.If you find that the wool is slipping as you embroider it, you can run some lines of running stitches over them at any time to help keep them in place.

5. Continue to embroider close rows of chain stitch to cover the ball. If you want to hang the finished ball, leave the ends of three rows as loose thread in the same spot and plait them together when the ball is finished. Trim any loose ends.

6. The balls are easily reshaped by rolling in your hand as you are working, so don’t worry too much if they don’t seem completely round.

During the last few difficult weeks, the process of making these little balls, their soothing roundness and the comforting repetition of the simple task of embroidery have allowed me a place of calm, of softness and quiet normalcy. They now fill a bowl on the table, their bright colours a happy focus in a time of sadness.

nirala

What colour is your Christmas?

The Christmas season is a riot of light in the northern hemisphere, cheering the long dark nights and acting as a reminder that the sun is beginning its return south. White snow, red berries and the green of the conifers are the colours of winter, associated with Christmas since creamy white beeswax candles glowed red in a German fir tree.

Today instead of the gentle glow of hazardous candles, lights strobe and flash in strings, lanterns and ropes in computer generated awkward and irritating sequences. Tree and time consuming handwritten cards have been replaced by flashing electronic ones sent and received by email and holographic papers flash from under every artificial tree. The colours of Christmas now include hot pink, lime green and purple, mostly created in plastic.

Driving through the Capes region in the past week, I realised that the colours of Christmas in Australia are green and gold. During the long days of brilliant sunshine, in the paddocks the West Australian Christmas tree, nuytsia floribunda, is astounding in its brilliant yellow blooms and if you are lucky, on the road verges you will find the straggly St John's Wort with its lemon yellow stars that magically colour everything red together with wild mullein and evening primrose. On the sandy ridges there are lime green kangaroo paws and banksias with their slender yellow candles.

Whatever the colour of your Christmas, may it be joyous and loving.

Travel safely, eat well, drink wisely, have fun and let someone else do the dishes.

nirala

Fowl weather and the ETS

As Australian politicians enter the final few days of debate over an emissions trading scheme, all over Australia the weather is breaking records for the wettest, hottest and driest November, depending on where you live. Here, after a confused yo yoing between winter and summer the warmer weather has arrived and spring has been condensed into a few days in between.

The response of everything here has been amazing; the enzyme cleanser is bubbling away on the window sill, the sourdough is ready in four hours instead of twelve and rises right to the top of its tin, every green leafy vegetable has suddenly bolted skywards and we have had ten baby chickens hatch - a hundred percent success rate for the first time ever.

The easterlies from the desert have begun and the noise of dripping rain has been replaced with the crackle of gum leaves under foot as the trees begin to shed. Our town has has already had one serious wild fire that has threatened homes and left four hundred hectares of coastal heath blackened and ugly around one of the most popular beach side settlements.

In the rush to clear our gutters, plant summer vegetables, reset the irrigation and look towards fruit crops and all consuming madness of Christmas, it seems as if we are always running out of time.

My Christmas wish is that our pollies enter this debate with their eyes open and look to the faces of their children and grandchildren for guidance. We can't afford to run out of time this time.

Nirala.

Peace...is it so difficult?

Walking on the river bank this evening, listening to the ocean beating on the reef and watching the sun's last molten rays blazing into the clouds I wondered...Peace...is it so difficult?

Nerys