Just now had a call from the realtor. The prospective buyers want to have another look at the property before accepting our counter offer. (They made an offer, $34,000 cheaper than we were asking. We countered with the 'meet 'em halfway' offer). So it could be a goer. Gives me flutters in the stomach just thinking about it.
And makes me restless. Just got up and wandered around the house. There's not much more we can do to make it presentable. It is what it is.
After a year and 3 months, is it possible? Perhaps they will decide against it. That is a distinct possibility too.
I can't sit here though. Have to do something. Guess I'll dust. Raked leaves this morning, so that's good. Can clean the shower and toilet this evening. Doesn't need mopping again, just dusting.
Gosh, it could be actually starting to happen!
Monday, June 15, 2015
Sunday, June 14, 2015
Not bad for an old chick
Conquering fear. I am not afraid of heights but I am afraid of clambering over steep roofs, especially slippery iron roofs coated with dust that even rubber soled tennis shoes don't stick to.
We've been having problems with the fire, more smoke in the house than going up the chimney. Last year, because of the possums exploring the chimney as a new hidey hole, sliding down into the fire box (unlit of course!) and being unable to get out again, we placed a wire mesh over the top. Rather we had a strong young man experienced in roof walking, install it for us. Over winter the mesh became encrusted with creosote. Had to come off.
Rang a fellow that's done odd jobs for us before (like lifting huge rocks from the bottom of the goldfish pond - he'll have us to thank for his hemorrhoids in later life) but he couldn't come until next week. What to do.
Well, there's me.
So yesterday I got on the roof and realised I couldn't just climb straight up to the chimney and chisel the mesh free. I got to the chimney but every pore of my body had turned into a suction cup and even then I was sliding down the roof. Not a good feeling. Had to use exposed roofing nail heads to catch (and rip) my tennis shoes on.
Thought about it overnight. If I climbed up the ridge line and then slid down to the chimney I could brace myself either by wrapping my legs around it or propping myself with my feet, to free both hands to work the chisel. Which is exactly what I did.
And I'm very grateful to yoga for my strength and suppleness for of course I had to climb back to the ridge line to get down again. Hooked my hands over the rounded top, hauled myself up, swung a leg over and voila!
Not bad for an old chick.
We've been having problems with the fire, more smoke in the house than going up the chimney. Last year, because of the possums exploring the chimney as a new hidey hole, sliding down into the fire box (unlit of course!) and being unable to get out again, we placed a wire mesh over the top. Rather we had a strong young man experienced in roof walking, install it for us. Over winter the mesh became encrusted with creosote. Had to come off.
Rang a fellow that's done odd jobs for us before (like lifting huge rocks from the bottom of the goldfish pond - he'll have us to thank for his hemorrhoids in later life) but he couldn't come until next week. What to do.
Well, there's me.
So yesterday I got on the roof and realised I couldn't just climb straight up to the chimney and chisel the mesh free. I got to the chimney but every pore of my body had turned into a suction cup and even then I was sliding down the roof. Not a good feeling. Had to use exposed roofing nail heads to catch (and rip) my tennis shoes on.
Thought about it overnight. If I climbed up the ridge line and then slid down to the chimney I could brace myself either by wrapping my legs around it or propping myself with my feet, to free both hands to work the chisel. Which is exactly what I did.
And I'm very grateful to yoga for my strength and suppleness for of course I had to climb back to the ridge line to get down again. Hooked my hands over the rounded top, hauled myself up, swung a leg over and voila!
Not bad for an old chick.
Thursday, June 11, 2015
The Email Bitch
I like to think I'm so mature, so wise, so adult but standing outside and observing my mind obsessing about trivia, about how others may or may not treat me, I realise I am just as immature as I ever was. How disappointing.
Read somewhere, wish I could remember where, about being an 'email bitch'. An email bitch is someone who writes well thought out emails and gets drivel in reply. The article didn't say that email bitches also reply promptly and carefully answer any queries in emails received. It didn't say but it goes without saying. Sad to say, I'm an email bitch. I address an email received, comment on all aspects, answer any questions and add some news (but not too much, don't want to be boring!) of my own - all with a less than 24 hour turnaround. What I get in reply may be days or weeks later, short, relating little or not at all to my email and written without care or enthusiasm.
Enough.
I have had enough. Know it's immature to care what or how other people think but just can't be bothered chasing them anymore. Had the delight of receiving an email today referring to the poorness of our communication !?! If people don't want to put an effort into maintaining a friendship, so be it. Because I live with the almost saintly R who puts a huge effort into maintaining contact with people I felt I was not a 'good' person for not doing the same. But it isn't me. I've always been selfish and remain so. If there is no effort and 'maintenance' going on the other side then let it go, I say. True friends, like W, remain friends because there is interest and warmth and love on both sides. Not just on one side, the one who paddles madly just to keep the 'friendship' afloat.
It's being used, when they are in the mood and 'need' me for validation on how important and wonderful they are, a service I was happy to provide, but with little or no emotional renumeration in return.
And I know, I KNOW! how futile this is. How puerile. Someone wrote a self help book years ago, again I don't remember who. They spoke about the futility of expecting to be 'stroked' in return for the strokes given. Or, on a more metaphysical level, why is my happiness dependent upon the opinion or actions of others?
Indeed.
But because I am not wise, nor transcendent or even particularly mature I have stopped being an email bitch. I'm just being a pure and simple bitch. I write them still but I'm in no hurry and I write pretty much how I feel. Which, for them, is not much.
Read somewhere, wish I could remember where, about being an 'email bitch'. An email bitch is someone who writes well thought out emails and gets drivel in reply. The article didn't say that email bitches also reply promptly and carefully answer any queries in emails received. It didn't say but it goes without saying. Sad to say, I'm an email bitch. I address an email received, comment on all aspects, answer any questions and add some news (but not too much, don't want to be boring!) of my own - all with a less than 24 hour turnaround. What I get in reply may be days or weeks later, short, relating little or not at all to my email and written without care or enthusiasm.
Enough.
I have had enough. Know it's immature to care what or how other people think but just can't be bothered chasing them anymore. Had the delight of receiving an email today referring to the poorness of our communication !?! If people don't want to put an effort into maintaining a friendship, so be it. Because I live with the almost saintly R who puts a huge effort into maintaining contact with people I felt I was not a 'good' person for not doing the same. But it isn't me. I've always been selfish and remain so. If there is no effort and 'maintenance' going on the other side then let it go, I say. True friends, like W, remain friends because there is interest and warmth and love on both sides. Not just on one side, the one who paddles madly just to keep the 'friendship' afloat.
It's being used, when they are in the mood and 'need' me for validation on how important and wonderful they are, a service I was happy to provide, but with little or no emotional renumeration in return.
And I know, I KNOW! how futile this is. How puerile. Someone wrote a self help book years ago, again I don't remember who. They spoke about the futility of expecting to be 'stroked' in return for the strokes given. Or, on a more metaphysical level, why is my happiness dependent upon the opinion or actions of others?
Indeed.
But because I am not wise, nor transcendent or even particularly mature I have stopped being an email bitch. I'm just being a pure and simple bitch. I write them still but I'm in no hurry and I write pretty much how I feel. Which, for them, is not much.
Sunday, June 7, 2015
'Alone, alone, all all alone', so says the Ancient Mariner and so says me. At least for today. R has gone to Toowoomba to catch up with a friend. Don't often have a chance to be on my own so am
enjoying the freedom of time squandered just as I please. I have pleased with a ride, reading (The Good German by Joseph Kanon, a whodunnit set in postwar Berlin), yoga, lunch (leftover vegan caesar salad followed by five! homemade - by moi - almond meal cookies), while listening to the Swoon Countdown of the Top 100 on ABC.
Coleridge's quotation from the Ancient Mariner. Am more than a third of the way through memorizing it. And it's true, the brain is a muscle. Still difficult to learn each new stanza but not nearly as hard as before. Every day or so I recite it from the beginning. Do omit the occasional quatrain or put them in the wrong order but generally not too bad.
Began this as an exercise in memory but it has had unlooked for benefits in that I am daily transported to the horror and beauty of the Ancient Mariner. Because I have to buckle down and really think about it I am getting much more from the poem than I did from the first casual reading.
American education, at least the education I had in public schools in Michigan and Florida, is not heavy on the classics. Remember being envious of a boy in my homeroom class who was taking Latin. Girls weren't allowed. Now I very much doubt Latin is taught at all in public. Am Australian friend of mine said each semester they studied a different Shakespeare play. I never studied Shakespeare. We learned about the man, touched upon some sonnets and moved on. Never ever cracked a book on Coleridge. Or Wordsworth or Byron or Shelley or Donne. Guess it's never too late.
Just danced (because I can) to the Flower Song from Lakme. It amazes me that we are capable of such beauty, beauty bordering on the divine, at the same time as we seem to prefer and seek out the ugly and profane (and by profane, not being Christian or religious I don't mean it in a religious sense, but as an affront to Life and the Living Force which animates us). Wonder what the Cults of Hatred would do if they thought about their Breath, and the cessation of such. Anyway. Not going to dwell on that here. Was just nice to let the music fill me with Life and Love and dance like no one was watching. And no one was, except for Matisse and he didn't care one way or another.
Had two lots of people view the house in less than a week. First couple totally unsuited. The less said about them the better. The second couple, very suitable. Best of all they are interested. The usual thing however, their house has to sell before they are in a position to buy ours - somewhat similar to the position we're in!
Happily however, I've stopped stressing so much about it. Went through a period (or several periods) of wanting the house to sell too much. Was even going to write a post about it; is it better to just Let Go knowing all will work out as it should be, or should one utilize quantum mechanics and think (knowing thoughts are things) one's future into being. A question for another time.
enjoying the freedom of time squandered just as I please. I have pleased with a ride, reading (The Good German by Joseph Kanon, a whodunnit set in postwar Berlin), yoga, lunch (leftover vegan caesar salad followed by five! homemade - by moi - almond meal cookies), while listening to the Swoon Countdown of the Top 100 on ABC.
Coleridge's quotation from the Ancient Mariner. Am more than a third of the way through memorizing it. And it's true, the brain is a muscle. Still difficult to learn each new stanza but not nearly as hard as before. Every day or so I recite it from the beginning. Do omit the occasional quatrain or put them in the wrong order but generally not too bad.
Began this as an exercise in memory but it has had unlooked for benefits in that I am daily transported to the horror and beauty of the Ancient Mariner. Because I have to buckle down and really think about it I am getting much more from the poem than I did from the first casual reading.
American education, at least the education I had in public schools in Michigan and Florida, is not heavy on the classics. Remember being envious of a boy in my homeroom class who was taking Latin. Girls weren't allowed. Now I very much doubt Latin is taught at all in public. Am Australian friend of mine said each semester they studied a different Shakespeare play. I never studied Shakespeare. We learned about the man, touched upon some sonnets and moved on. Never ever cracked a book on Coleridge. Or Wordsworth or Byron or Shelley or Donne. Guess it's never too late.
Just danced (because I can) to the Flower Song from Lakme. It amazes me that we are capable of such beauty, beauty bordering on the divine, at the same time as we seem to prefer and seek out the ugly and profane (and by profane, not being Christian or religious I don't mean it in a religious sense, but as an affront to Life and the Living Force which animates us). Wonder what the Cults of Hatred would do if they thought about their Breath, and the cessation of such. Anyway. Not going to dwell on that here. Was just nice to let the music fill me with Life and Love and dance like no one was watching. And no one was, except for Matisse and he didn't care one way or another.
Had two lots of people view the house in less than a week. First couple totally unsuited. The less said about them the better. The second couple, very suitable. Best of all they are interested. The usual thing however, their house has to sell before they are in a position to buy ours - somewhat similar to the position we're in!
Happily however, I've stopped stressing so much about it. Went through a period (or several periods) of wanting the house to sell too much. Was even going to write a post about it; is it better to just Let Go knowing all will work out as it should be, or should one utilize quantum mechanics and think (knowing thoughts are things) one's future into being. A question for another time.
Monday, May 25, 2015
Rupert the Healthy Lorikeet
Rupert released himself this morning. Yesterday I left the door to the aviary open all day (but closed it for the night) in case he wanted to fly. He chose to lurk around the shelter, the one place that isn't exposed to the predatory gaze of overhead predators. Even standing at the door rather than flying away he flew in.
This morning was different. He had 8ml at 7am. At 8:30 I went out to give him a top up. The door was open. As yesterday, I brought him out to feed him. After 4ml he didn't want anymore. He became a little agitated, climbing around my jacket and around my neck. I was standing at the door but when he took off he went around the aviary and disappeared over the dam paddock. I've seen him take a victory lap and have heard him since but he hasn't come for any food.
I am hopeful that he will join up with the two semi-regular adult lorikeet visitors who can show him the ropes and also help to protect him while he adapts to life in the wild.
He is such a dear little fellow, quite talkative and affectionate and if I believed in birds for pets I would not hesitate in turning him into one. Fortunately I believe birds, the ultimate symbol of freedom, deserve just that.
Go Rupert!
This morning was different. He had 8ml at 7am. At 8:30 I went out to give him a top up. The door was open. As yesterday, I brought him out to feed him. After 4ml he didn't want anymore. He became a little agitated, climbing around my jacket and around my neck. I was standing at the door but when he took off he went around the aviary and disappeared over the dam paddock. I've seen him take a victory lap and have heard him since but he hasn't come for any food.
I am hopeful that he will join up with the two semi-regular adult lorikeet visitors who can show him the ropes and also help to protect him while he adapts to life in the wild.
He is such a dear little fellow, quite talkative and affectionate and if I believed in birds for pets I would not hesitate in turning him into one. Fortunately I believe birds, the ultimate symbol of freedom, deserve just that.
Go Rupert!
Saturday, May 9, 2015
Rupert, the Sick Lorikeet
Yesterday while taking the bird seed out to fling on the driveway for the pigeons and doves who can't compete at the feeder with the galahs, I heard a 'plop' from off to the left in the paddock. Was going to ignore it but realized it didn't sound like a branch falling and the huge silky oak tree growing there doesn't bear fruit. So what could make that ripe-fruit-falling sound? Upon investigation I found a juvenile rainbow lorikeet. He'd fallen from the tree and although screeching and trying to 'run away' by flopping his wings, it was obvious something was seriously wrong.
I don't know what's wrong. Nothing is broken. He's in fair condition, not emaciated but not plump either. His eyes are liquid, not overflowing and they're clear, but they look too wet, if that makes any sense. As lorikeets have liquid droppings anyway and I no longer have microscope to look at poo samples, I can only guess what's wrong with him. I've put him on coccivet which if he has coccidiosis, a distinct possibility, will help, and if he doesn't, won't hurt him.
Yesterday looked for food and probably had about 10 mls during the day although I noticed a tendency to head shake, as if taking in the food bothered him. This morning, with much work, managed to get 1ml down. Had to wrap him in a towel to make him concentrate.
When I returned from riding, I glanced at him while leading Balthazar to the yards. He looked dead; all stretched out on the bottom of the cage. Well, I thought, we tried. But when I came up later, he had moved. I'd made up my mind that if he didn't willingly eat I'd crop feed him, as, if he's going to overcome what ails him he has to keep his strength up and he's noticeably weakened since yesterday. But lo and behold, he took 3ml, albeit slowly. Perhaps all it is is coccidiosis. I pray that it is for it's very curable. Possible too because we had all that wet weather, conditions which seem to bring it on.
He's in the sun during the day and at night I've got the terracotta pot over an incandescent, ie warm, light bulb. We'll do the best we can.
I've called him Rupert.
I don't know what's wrong. Nothing is broken. He's in fair condition, not emaciated but not plump either. His eyes are liquid, not overflowing and they're clear, but they look too wet, if that makes any sense. As lorikeets have liquid droppings anyway and I no longer have microscope to look at poo samples, I can only guess what's wrong with him. I've put him on coccivet which if he has coccidiosis, a distinct possibility, will help, and if he doesn't, won't hurt him.
Yesterday looked for food and probably had about 10 mls during the day although I noticed a tendency to head shake, as if taking in the food bothered him. This morning, with much work, managed to get 1ml down. Had to wrap him in a towel to make him concentrate.
When I returned from riding, I glanced at him while leading Balthazar to the yards. He looked dead; all stretched out on the bottom of the cage. Well, I thought, we tried. But when I came up later, he had moved. I'd made up my mind that if he didn't willingly eat I'd crop feed him, as, if he's going to overcome what ails him he has to keep his strength up and he's noticeably weakened since yesterday. But lo and behold, he took 3ml, albeit slowly. Perhaps all it is is coccidiosis. I pray that it is for it's very curable. Possible too because we had all that wet weather, conditions which seem to bring it on.
He's in the sun during the day and at night I've got the terracotta pot over an incandescent, ie warm, light bulb. We'll do the best we can.
I've called him Rupert.
Friday, May 1, 2015
Rain rain rain. Twelve mm yesterday, just a warm up. Today is the real deal. Water is starting to pool, soggy galahs sit disconsolately on the wire, lacklustre and quite odoriferous whippets lay in damp beds. But no complaints. Tomorrow it will clear and this rain will keep things green, if we're lucky with a bit of follow up, all through winter. I do need to take the whippets for their poop walk in a few minutes. No 6km walk today. Just to the end of the bitumen and back. Long enough for them to hopefully do their business. If not there will be soggy Mr. Whippy poos to spoon on to a shovel tomorrow morning.
Today is the anniversary of our marriage 25 years ago. Time is a funny thing. In some ways it seems like yesterday, in other ways much longer. I've been lucky to have him. We've managed to stay loving and on course for all this time. What course? The partnership course. We've remained best friends and companions. I'm always in his corner and he's always in mine. Can't ask for much more than that.
He's away at a funeral. A doleful day for it. His aunt. She's been non compos mentis for years. Finally freedom from a failing body. It's a chance for him to catch up with The Clan.
Today is the anniversary of our marriage 25 years ago. Time is a funny thing. In some ways it seems like yesterday, in other ways much longer. I've been lucky to have him. We've managed to stay loving and on course for all this time. What course? The partnership course. We've remained best friends and companions. I'm always in his corner and he's always in mine. Can't ask for much more than that.
He's away at a funeral. A doleful day for it. His aunt. She's been non compos mentis for years. Finally freedom from a failing body. It's a chance for him to catch up with The Clan.
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