This week I found myself on the brink of dropping my bundle and I just couldn’t find my way back from the precipice. Tears threatened at every turn. I’m not alone and I’m certainly not special - this time of year is hard going for the bereaved. When Bearhands found me weeping into my wine last week, he hatched a plan. We’d steal away from the farm for a night and have some fun - just our ...
Cooking
little Lucy
The Big Sister just got off the phone to my Mum. Mausie and JC don’t have any phone service at their property at Black Duck Creek at the moment. They went into town this morning and called to check in. While we were talking, the Big Sister made it known that wanted a word with Nan, by attaching herself to me like a limpet. I eventually handed the phone over - it’s too hot here for clingy kids ...
salt dough + questioning my sanity
I routinely question my sanity. Yesterday was no different. It was a steamy 31C summer day on the farm. The cicadas were screaming. The frogs loudly predicting a storm. Me? I was sweltering in the kitchen, baking salt dough christmas ornaments for two and a half hours. As you do, when you're completely bonkers. Regular readers know I’m a reluctant crafter at the best of times. Crafting ...
cheesecake dip and language conundrums
The English language confounds me. You can't trust it. So many rules that are constantly broken. It's capricious nature really became apparent while I teaching English in Japan. Why is the 'gh' sound in enough pronounced 'F' ? That was about lesson one and I still have no effing idea. It took me until lesson two to realise how much I truly despised the unpredictability of the English ...
good news + bad news: an update on Flossie Magazine
I have good news and bad news about Flossie Magazine. The bad news is, saving some app-tastic miracle, Flossie won’t launch today. It’s sitting in app store, awaiting Apple’s review. She’s going to be late to the party, which is a bummer because I hate being late. I thought about delaying this post, in hope of a last minute movie-worthy happy ending, but I’ve always been a rip-the-bandaid-off ...
the mark of the man
In the months after David died I was worried he would evaporate. I was terrified of forgetting what his hands looked like or the sound of his laugh. I must have seemed quite mad at the wake when I begged family friends to write down memories of him for fear there was something about David that I didn’t know and would now never learn. I hastily chose photos, had them printed to canvas and hung ...