A photographic essay exploring the crushing of creativity under the weight of drop sheets and paint trays. (And dead cars). Or in other words, why I neglected this website and wrote NOTHING last year. But I’ve finished the house (yay!) and am determined to let creativity flourish – or at least come up for air – in 2024.
Farewell, Mr Tibbs. We made the tough decision to say goodbye to the puss last week. He was nineteen and a half years old and had several health issues. While it was sad to say goodbye, I’m glad I was able to give that old cat a comfortable and caring home.
Four and a half years ago, I realised the scruffy old cat I kept glimpsing in my yard was actually living under my house, starving and frightened. He would hiss at me and run away if I got too close, but I gradually won him over with food – fresh chicken fillet his favourite. The vet was able to trace his previous owners through the microchip, but they didn’t want him anymore, so I said I’d keep him. I didn’t think a scruffy, ancient, half-wild cat had many other options.
I got something of a surprise the other day to walk around the corner of my house and see a red-bellied black snake wriggle away across the concrete. I’d seen the occasional snake out on walks, but never in my own yard. Or heading towards my back door. Or slithering under the bar fridge right next to the back door! Hmmm, what to do now? Well … panic, of course.
I’d left the back door open but with the screen door shut. I had sudden visions of Mr Snake managing to squeeze through the gap at the bottom of it, as the local lizards always do. The thought of a snake in the house was terrifying! I ran back to the front door and let myself in, then dashed through to the back door and shut it tight, locking it for good measure – just in case the snake might stand up and grow hands, I suppose.
Continue reading “A slithery visitor”
So I’ve had lots of time lately for quiet contemplation, as I watch my thumb turn various shades of green and purple and practise wriggling my fat little sausage fingers.
What started out as an early-morning dog walk on a frosty day ended up as a three-day stint in Bega Hospital having surgery on a broken wrist, which involved a plate and some screws to put it back together. Serves me right for wishing that I didn’t have to go to work that day. My son and his girlfriend were visiting and I would rather have spent the day with them. As it turns out, I did, but not how I’d expected to. Be careful what you wish for, hey? Luckily they were there to drive me up the coast to the hospital, and then look after Tilly and Mr Tibbs for a few days.
Continue reading “Ouch!”
It’s the first day of the New Year, and I am writing by candlelight, while my dog and cat snooze at my feet.
Yesterday, after an eerie dawn revealed an ominous glow along the coast, I continued my fire plan by watering around the house as I watched sinister black leaves slowly drift to earth. They were very elegant actually, falling in graceful spirals, but I wondered about what was to follow. The smoke worsened, and my neighbour appeared in the gloom and said we’d been advised by the Country Fire Authority (CFA) to leave, because Karbeethong was on fire. Karbeethong is the area of Mallacoota to the north-west of my place, and I turned around to look at another orange glow in the sky.
Fire ahead of me, and fire behind me – it was time to go.
Continue reading “Facing the monster”
We’ve been living in this house for months, now. Finally, I feel like it’s starting to come together after our many settling in ‘issues’.
One issue became apparent during this winter’s first thunderstorm, when I had just sat down on the couch, and was thinking how good it was that I’d finished unpacking and could finally relax. The rain was pelting down. “Gee, that rain’s loud,” I thought. “Like … really loud. Oh – that would be because it’s raining in HERE!!”
Continue reading “Raindrops keep falling … in my house”
Ah yes, the new house. I did say it would have its quirks, didn’t I? Well, that sure was an understatement. I’ve moved right into the middle of Quirkville.
This new home of ours is taking a little getting used to. The ‘rustic’ kitchen is distinctly barnlike, except for the bench, which is more minimalist in style. As in, there’s barely any of it. An old chimney in the kitchen expels drafts of freezing musty air. I’m sleeping in the dining room. The shower’s in a cave (makes a change from a cupboard), and what was extravagantly called the third bedroom is a cold draughty room about the size of a large wardrobe. The heating duct in that room produces as much heat as your average birthday candle, and the roof leaks. A lot. Over the last week or so, I’ve spent a goodly amount of time either up a ladder or on my hands and knees (and not in a fun way). I’ve been high on Nifti for days on end.
Continue reading “Welcome to Quirkville”