Bad back, Baritone sax and drought

I am sitting in great discomfort.  I put me back out yesterday by sitting down in a chair. I just reached for the arms to pull the chair in to the table before sitting and OUCH.  Simple as that.  I'm loaded up with anti-inflammatory drugs and they are doing the trick so I hope to be up and back on my e-bike shortly.

TLOML today "I like to try to make the Bari (baritone Sax) sound like a flute"  Ok I'll go along with that -Not -  Have you seen how big that thing is? He seemed to know what he was aiming for and in a way I can understand he was trying to get that lilting feel to the music

There has been no rain for many weeks - the politicians are going to meet towards the end of the week to see if a formal drought should be declared.  I am watering the orchard now to try and save the persimmons on the tree which are drying up and dropping off.  Thank goodness for our stream which just keeps tripping along no matter how long since the last rain.  Now if that starts to dry up we will be worrying. No rain in the long distance forecast for the next few weeks either so this year will be a record.

Devonport Food Wine and Music Festival 2013

17th Feb 2013
What a perfect day. Great friends, sun, wine, food, music - what else can soul and body need?

Ed and Sheryl

Avalanche City

Di Wood

 

The Reputations

T

 

Synchronicity and Whispers

"What shall we have for tea?" I asked TLOML yesterday

"Pancakes" he replied from totally left field.

My mouth watered at the thought of them with bacon swimming in Maple Syrup, or my childhood memory of brown sugar and lemon juice. So, blowing away my diet, that’s what we had.

TLOML can eat heaps of pancakes so I cooked seventeen, I had four and he had nine.  I felt smug because I had actually managed to make more than he could eat.

On Facebook today a friend commented that she had eaten too many pancakes.  For a moment, I was amazed that she had had pancakes too but it slowly dawned on me that it was actually Shrove Tuesday.  The one day of a year when we decide to have pancakes turns out to be Shrove Tuesday.  How synchronistic is that?

We had a lesson today on Chinese whispers.  Oh, am I still allowed to call it that?  Maybe just whispers then.

Yesterday Jim Mora on National Radio told a story whereby a photographic studio was looking for strawberries for a shoot.  They contacted a grower and arranged for some, but said, “They’re not very red”  “Don’t worry,” said the grower, “we’ll spray them to make them turn red.”

Jim was wondering if that was normal practice - and is it why strawberries taste so bad recently.

Very concerned, I wrote a text introducing myself, and saying that we have never heard of the practice and would be shocked if it were true.  I signed my name and TLOML’s.

Jim, Bless him, read out our text including our names.

Today our Wonderful Worker said that his wife had heard the programme  and  she told him it said we are starting a programme to spray our strawberries to make them red.  Another friend said exactly the same thing to him. Poor WW was totally flummoxed; he didn’t know anything about it.

Took ages to explain and get it sorted.

How easy it is to get hold of the wrong end of the stick.  That sort of thing could cause wars…

Car cleaning with Breast reconstruction after mastectomy

Car cleaning with Breast reconstruction after mastectomy

I gave my car a ten-year birthday present today. I cleaned it. No not took it through the car wash – I actually cleaned it. Meguiares car shampoo and everything. I even polished it probably for the second time since I bought it about seven years ago.

It has lots of dings and scrapes. None of which I hasten to add did I put there. No TheLoveOfMyLife who for many years after I bought it drove it as though it was disposable caused them. Of course, TLOML drives a Jag so he is used to throwing cars around corners at speed and expecting the vehicle to respond. Unfortunately, the little Toyota Corolla is no Jag and doesn’t handle as well. After many scrapes and scratches, TLOML has finally realised this and so drives it “Like a van” he assures me.

I hate polishing cars and only do so because I like to see the rain forming those little bubbles on the paint. This, however, was the first time I polished the car since the mastectomy and reconstruction. I have an implant of the sort they put in straight after the mastectomy and pump up with silicone over a period of several weeks. Now they did warn me that, because the Pec muscle is stretched over the implant (for some very good technical reason that I can’t be bothered with, just take my word for it, it is) I would lose some of the strength from my Pecs. The truth of it is that – 2 years later – I have almost no strength at all. Wiping down kitchen benches seems to use the Pecs a lot cos that is very tiring and sort of painful in an overworked muscle kind of way. And polishing cars apparently.

Now I don’t know if other forms of reconstruction are better or not. I do know that I have thought about removing the implant because it is a bit debilitating but seemingly it’s not that debilitating and I am too vain because I haven’t done it yet. So if anyone happens to read this and is considering this type of reconstruction, that is my take on it. Oh and I have gained weight a bit in the last two years – well more like when the reconstruction was done I had lost heaps of weight from all the stress of cancer and I am now back to normal. Trouble is its all gone into my other boob which is now bigger that the reconstruction. In addition, the reconstruction doesn’t move around like my natural boob, which results in my clothes slipping across the still one, sitting skewwhiff and sliding to one side, which is ugly and annoying.

PS

If anyone reading this (which is unlikely) wants any info on anything about breast cancer and breast reconstruction feel free to contact me I am 

Nest Update and high Tea at the Langham

Nest Update and high Tea at the Langham

The Nest is empty today. It doesn't look disturbed so I think the babies have left.  They looked just about ready the other day. I feel like a proud Mom even though we were also almost their destruction.

The Langham Hotel, advertises itself as Auckland’s plushest hotel but I really hope it’s not.  Oh, it’s nice enough, an elegant classical décor tastefully done but it is ageing now.  The carpets blue background is dotted with a few flowers. Very tasteful but now rather stained. The food was OK in general and a few pieces were stunning but it had things like a club ham sandwich – which is just that. What can I say? – it was cut small and not a crust in sight but it was, in the end, a club ham sandwich. The macaroons stuffed with blue cheese were delightful though. 

The service was a good adequate, we didn’t have teaspoons to serve the Jam and Whipped cream to go with the scones and we had to ask for them.

But, I am not here to be a critique – life is more exciting than that.  The girls were great and we enjoyed each other’s company.  Turned out Cushla was the only New Zealander in the group – we were all Pommes. The topic of being a zero generation New Zealander came up. We all felt that we were now neither British nor New Zealand but somewhat lost in between. I surprised the others and myself, when I realised that I still felt that way, even after all these years.  I love my adopted country but England is where I was born, it is where I can stamp my feet and say

“Here I stand and generations before me, this is the land that bred and birthed me, here I am tangata whenua”

Sparrow Nest - A story of survival

THE BIRD NEST Jan 2013 

The whoops of joy from the garden told me that the boys had been successful in their bird nest hunt. To my relief Mason declared that it was empty and left it dropped on the lawn. He had been hassling us for a couple of days to get a nest out of the tree. Ed finally conceded and went out armed with a stick to knock it down. It was a sparrow’s nest, a covered mass of twigs and grasses accessed by a small hole on the side. The nest lay forlorn and forgotten on the lawn for several days. We kicked it aside to mow around it but otherwise left it alone. One afternoon I was lying on the couch having a cup of tea looking at the garden. The long hot summer was morphing into a drought, sick of the endless sunshine we were hiding inside in the cool with all windows and doors wide open to capture any breeze. I saw a little bird pecking at that old nest and marveled that nothing goes to waste in nature as it was raiding that nest for recycled building materials. 

 The grand-kids returned a few days later and the peace and tranquility of the garden exploded in kids’ cries and energy. Suddenly they all approached the house, the four year old cradling something in his hands. A small fledgling lay there trembling with fear. 

 “Let’s put it back where you found it and its mummy will come and look after it.” I said trying to sound calm and in control 

 “But it was in that nest and Mason broke it open” Said Emma pointing to the one on the lawn, concern on her eight year old face. “There were two birds in it and one is gone and we can’t find it” 

 “Let’s kill it” was Mason’s ten-year-old ADHD impulsive reaction, which I ignored as calmly as I could.

I looked at the abandoned nest on the lawn and realised what they were saying was true. It had never been empty and that bird wasn't stealing the grass. It was mum, dad, or both feeding their babies. Now it was broken in half and we only had one baby. I grabbed the nest and put it back together as best I could. Gentle little Ryan then popped the baby bird back in that makeshift case and I made the kids back off. I gave them a lecture about Gods living creatures while memories of my own childhood and many cruel experiments haunted me.

Yesterday, a day later, the garden was once again child free, and the sparrow was carrying food to and from the nest. Relieved that she hadn't abandoned her remaining baby I couldn't resist a sneak peek. There inside were both her babies snuggled together looking fat and well. Clever Mum. Now they are safe – as long as Mr Rat or Mrs Stoat don’t come roaming – but they haven’t yet so I hope…