Today – we tackled the garage.  A long, dark, filthy, cobwebby cave of a place.  Something we have been planning to do for weeks.  This was our first weekend home sans guests, so today it was.  Do you know, it was really therapeutic.  It was an all hands on deck effort – we are all tired, dirty and sore tonight – and by late afternoon whilst the garage looked marvellous – with loads of space for Julian to set up a dark, cobwebby workshop – the back garden was COVERED with the silly, funny, sweet things we’ve collected over the last 20 years.

Yep, 20 years.  And as we dug our way through boxes and giggled, exclaimed or moaned over what we found, it struck me that no matter what position we find ourselves in at the moment, we have had a brilliant 20 years.  Not every day was rosy – there’s been some truly heartbreaking ones – but when I stood there on the back steps, surveying the familiar chaos, I felt so very grateful for all that I have lived and shared with my wee family.  It’s been good, it’s been full of much love and pleasure, and so shall it continue to be …

:: special bits – each one full of stories – many that make Abby wail “Oh mum!”

:: Nana Lyons’ rug – older than me

:: Julian – “why do all the little sneakers have no toes?”  Lily – “because mum would cut them out when Abby’s toes were getting squished!”  Sandal-Sneakers, all the rage in hot Brisbane gardens!

:: so much art – Little Boot and her dad – with golden faces.

:: ginger beer spiders – to match those in the garage.

:: afternoon tea break for fresh from the oven chocolate chip cookies – except the regular old eating chocolate chunks melted when I added them to the warm buttery dough – and then they turned into a chocolate cookie pizza base – hm!

:: she was once taller than Abby

:: someone sneaked into the kitchen whilst we were outside …

:: such a beautifully elegant and slow moment in the day

:: omg!  there’s room to SIT in the garage

:: albeit, under a long row of thrifted bike frames – it’s a boy thing.

:: Abby’s Year 4 project – a soft drink bottle rocket – with silky parachute – stuffed with foam to protect the egg that each child had to place inside – and now it’s in the tree – good one Jules!

:: packing away the must-keep bits – in this old suitcase I see my Nanny Dougall, dressing my bakelite doll Helen, car trips with Nan that went moo, Abby’s second birthday – sitting up in bed with us, wearing a blue eyore nightie, unwrapping a Madeline doll … must keep.

:: years and years of shorts – Abby loved wearing knee length shorts when she was little – I made them in all kinds of colours and fabric – whatever took her fancy – and there’s the red knitted cap I wore when I was 8 – and layers and layers of linen tableclothes, hoarded by Nanny Dougall, inked for embroidery, their edges piereced ready for crochet.

:: monkey costume, the pink quilt my Mum stitched for a dolls’ bunk bed she gave me for Christmas when I was little – it had crisp white cotton sheets, edged with the pink fabric, wee matching pillows and the little quilted coverlets – she even built the bunk.  It was magic – and Hollie Hobby – I WAS a child of the ’70s, of course there’s Hollie Hobby.

:: and some for the thrift shop of course – you can’t keep everything – and I do indeed find, that passing years crystallise for me, what’s really important to keep and what I can let go – I just need to let it marinate for a few years first :-)

Nope, money is certainly tight at the moment, but we only have to look around our home – and spend a fun, exhausting, incredibly satisfying day together – to remember how much loveliness we do share.

You see, we’re broke.  Flat broke.  Going back to university has been all very jolly – it’s been stimulating, challenging, incredibly satisfying.  My results were very good.  And – in my lovely, rosy plans for our future – of living in the country, keeping animals, growing our own food, nursing in a wee country hospital – finishing this degree is paramount.

In reality – that day to day place we live – spending two and a half more years at university with almost no income to supplement Julian’s is hysterical, half-witted nonsense.

We have all those bills you have too – rent, food, school fees, petrol.  And I do appreciate that we have much more than others – and I’m sure some of you will shake your head as you imagine all that fabric I have (and I do!).  But apart from that – and that’s certainly suffered severe cutbacks in the last year – there’s not a lot of fat or extravagance in our lives.  We rarely shop and when we do, it’s not for new things.  We rarely eat out.  We never go to concerts or theatres or galleries.  Hairdressers, manicures, lunches – nuh.  I’m not telling you this to be noble or garner your pity.  And I confess, I’m not brilliant with money – $20 left over from the groceries?  Shall we get some felt Abby and make something lovely?

But now, after a year of almost no income, these things are a far away dream.  I get excited when I can pay the gas bill. We have drained our savings.  Our small credit card is maxed out.  We have pennies to last until the next pay (Tuesday – until then, the milk money is stacked up in 20 cent pieces on the dresser).

Aside from the practical considerations – there’s the emotional cost.  Julian and I are bickering every other day.  Abby is stressing about school expenses – which is absolutely NOT okay, she’s at a lovely school with a wonderfully imaginative curriculum, a good strong emphasis on social justice and awesome encouragement for every quirky girl to be herself.  I’m so anxious, I’m grinding my teeth at night to the point of waking up with a sore jaw.  And I’m sad.  I feel overwhelmed, hopeless and sad.  Though that could be because the happy pill script ran out and I haven’t got the money to refill it!

To go back to university this year would mean so much money to spend and nothing more coming in.  Public transport fees have risen again – $8 per day.  The university has reintroduced a student services fee – $200.  None of the textbooks I need are less than $100 each (mind you, I managed without any last semester – thank you library!).  But the biggest thing is – a five day a week timetable with four weeks of full time prac – I cannot find a job to fit in with this.  Babysitting’s all very well – but it doesn’t even pay our transport costs for the week.

So – I’ve deferred.  I’ve cried over this.  Momentarily.  Because as much as I love the dream and the future it promises, I have to live now.  I have to look after my family now. I don’t want a fretful daughter feeling guilty every time she has to bring home a school notice (I’ve been there myself and it sucked).  I don’t want my marriage to disintegrate under the misery of trying to decide who’s responsible for blowing the budget this fortnight.  I want to be able to go to the dentist.  We will need new tyres on the car soon.

This week, in between getting Abby back to school as cheaply as possible (thank you ebay!), eating our way through the pantry and freezer (very humbling and educative at the same time – good lessons on how to do better in the future) and bickering of course, don’t forget the bickering, I have spent hours writing job applications.

Children’s library officer, regular library officer, retail/admin in a gallery, admin officer in a residential college at Melbourne Uni (boarding school for big girls!), admin officer and patient liaison at an IVF clinic … I even thought about applying for triple 0 (emergency call) operator – 3 months paid training but then really shit hours, so I decided not to.  Every morning I look.  Then I frantically try to sell myself – which I might add, is quite tricky when you’re a 42 year old mostly stay at home mum for the last 14 years – until lunch.

No replies yet.  It’s only been a few days.  It will probably be tough.  I’m nervous.

So tonight I’m knitting.  I haven’t felt like doing much all week – which then makes me feel guilty for bludging at home.  But tonight – watching Grand Design repeats with Julian (tv-valium) – I’m knitting the simplest, plainest, most calming thing I could dig out of the cupboard.  A grey scarf in garter stitch.  I began it last year with a grand design in mind – can’t remember what.  Now it’s plainness is soothing and easy.

There you go – that’s a confessional post isn’t it.  Life sucks sometimes.  And it sucks right now.  But what can you do?  Well, apart from knit, light candles, read books together, ring mum, cook the dinner, hang out the clothes and write another job application.

‘Tis another almost forgotten Feast Day today – Candlemas.   A celebration of Jesus’ presentation at the temple following Mary’s purification.  And the candles? Symbolic of old Simon’s dream (resident of the temple) – that in which the heavens declared the babe Jesus to be the light of the world.  And so, folks in later ages were encouraged to bring their candles to mass to be blessed – to take back home into the dark and cold of winter and to find solace in the light and warmth their candles – Jesus – gave them.

As we lit candles this evening and talked about Candlemas and it’s meaning to us, I found myself, as a mother, totally immersed in that notion of our children bringing forth their light into the world.  What this light will contribute to the world.  How the world will respond to our child’s light.  How this light will grow.  How we, as parents, are charged with the responsibility of keeping this light safe – of nourishing it, allowing it to thrive. Will it become richer and stronger, or will it flicker and be almost quenched by the wild forces that sometimes gather outside our doors – or sometimes, those that we let in.

I thought of Mary – that young, young mother who had already withstood such drama – a rather odd conception, marriage to a much older man, travelling in the last days of her pregnancy, sharing her babe’s birth with a gathering of rather fantastical characters, having to flee in order to save her child from a despot’s wrath, and then, finally, presenting her child to the temple as was the custom, only to be told by some old and wild eccentric that her child was going to light up the world. Oy!

But mostly, I thought of my Abby and her light.  Of the light that I recognised and felt the warmth of the moment she was laid in my arms, seconds after her birth.  The light that we watched grow fulsomely as she strode cheerily through those early, early years at home.  Then the heartwrenching moments as she has made her way – sometimes cautiously, sometimes so brave I stand in awe –  into the larger world, and her light – a light that we adore and admire – is sometimes tipped precariously, other times almost snuffed out.  Then the huge relief, when others – her friends, our friends, her teachers, our colleagues, strangers on the tram! – notice her light, their appreciation drawing it out as it quickens her step, curls her mouth with laughter, adds sparkles to her eyes, allows a rosy glow to emanate from within.

As a mum, I want the light inside my Abby, which makes her the special and marvellous individual she is, to warm her with peace and happiness, to guide her towards her dreams, to attract the love and support of those important to her.

And this year, as we talked and laughed over our Candlemas dinner and later, as we read Abby’s new English novel together, I vow that each time I light our candles and admire their cosy prettiness, I will be mindful of that light within my child, be it puttering timidly, fiercely burning, or richly glowing.  For it is hers with which to light up the world. I, like so many mothers before me and beside me – including Mary – am its most loyal guardian. And that is how it should be.

For the last thousand years or so, it’s also the day when we celebrate the Feast of St Brigid … a lovely Irish lass – born to an Irish prince and a slave woman – who played midwife to Mary ( a la a grand bit of Dr. Who timetravelling), founded the beautiful Abbey at Kildare, is the patron of scholars and protector of animals.

One traditional means of honouring her day is to weave crosses of hay – such as Brigid herself did, whilst sitting by an Irish nobleman who wished to convert to Christianity before he died – and hang them in the doorways and windows for Brigid to bless and thus protect you throughout the year.  Alas, we had no hay on hand, and the thin, green, supple stems we tried using (after soaking them in the bath tub for a day) snapped.

So we made patchwork ones instead.  Five – one for my bedroom window, one for Abby’s, one for the kitchen window, one for the guinea pig aviary and one for the chicken coop. Brigid liking animals and all – we read in a beautiful picture book that a good day for Brigid the little shepherdess – one worth giving thanks for – was one on which all her animals survived and there were no foxes.  Sounds good to us!

Here’s a quick photo tutorial if you’d like to make some too …  the centre square starts at 1 1/2 inches

The finished block is 10 inches (well, 10 1/2 if we’re including seam allowances)

There was an “adding the second bit” photo but it was blurry so we’ve jumped ahead to “adding the third bit” so let’s recap.  Start with your 1 1/2 inch square for the centre (colour 1).  Add another 1 1/2 square to the left (colour 2).  Press.  Add a 1 1/2 by 2 1/2 inch rectangle on top, so we’re kind of going clockwise – yeah? (colour 2).  Press.  Add another 1 1/2 by 2 1/2 inch rectangle to the right (colour 3).

Add the fourth strip – 1 1/2 by 3 1/2 – to the bottom (colour 3).  Press.

Add the fifth strip – 1 1/2 by 3 1/2 inches – to the left (colour 4).  Press.

We’ve added the sixth strip (yep, blurry photo) – it is a 1 1/2 by 4 1/2 inch strip that sits on top (colour 4).  Now we’re moving onto the borders.  Border 1 – Pale (2 1/2 by 3 1/2 inch rectangle) sewn to two 1 1/2 by 3 1/2 inch strips that are colours from the wee log cabin square we’ve just made.  Doesn’t matter which ones as long as they don’t match the colours they are touching.

Add the second border – same as first but with an additional constrasting square of 3 1/2 inches.  See how the arm of the crosses are positioned?  So they will spin.

And the third border – same as the second – note the spinning arm.

And the fourth and final border – so it has a red square at each end.  Voila!

Pinning everything is a good idea – gives you the best chance at getting all your wee corners nice and neat.

And I’m a fierce ironer – just be sure not to distort the fabric.  But keeping it very smooth and flat will help produce a neat block.  Oh – and make sure you butt your seams – much smoother finish – that is, have touched seams folding over to opposite directions.

Quilt and bind.  I quilted my Brigid’s crosses onto scrap pieces of woollen blanketing.  I did really like this wiggly quilting as I did it – some wiggles are smoother than others (as we learnt last week!) – but now that I look at the photo – I think the wiggles detract from the lovely geometric arms of Brigid’s cross.  So no more wiggly quilting for these blocks! Nice and straight quilting that will call out – check out these spinning arms!

Nevertheless, it’s a sweet wee cross – now hanging above our bed awaiting Brigid’s blessing.  I shall finish the girl child’s and wee critters’ tomorrow – and hang them too. Then we shall be well and truly ready for the busyness of this new year.

And here’s some lovely St Brigid’s blessings to share …

St. Brigid’s Blessing for the Home

May Brigid bless the house where you dwell,
every fireside door and every wall;
every heart that beats beneath its roof,
every hand that toils to bring it joy,
every foot that walks its portals through.
May Brigid bless the house that shelters you.

Abby and I read this second one twice – it is especially poignant, as Abby heads off to Year 9 tomorrow.

May St. Brigid bless you and make you
generous in your giving
pleasant in your greeting
honest in your speaking
loyal in your loving
clear in your thinking
strong in your working
and joyful in your living.

I think this might need to be made into a sampler – don’t you?

Mum, Abby and me … we’re such a great trio and I am filled with thanks and love that I get to share my life with these two.

We had a beautiful surf – the water was magnificent and we had such fun bobbing and floating and ducking and jumping as the waves rolled on in .  After an hour or so, we flopped back on the sand, wondering when we should head home for lunch.  But that water, those waves, this here surf mat – it was all too enticing – and back in they went.

What followed, as I stood on the water’s edge, recording it with my camera, made my heart burst with pure love and joy.  This is what life is all about.  The relationships we form and how time, just like those rolling waves, moves through them, changing their shape and rhythm.

I’m sure it was only yesterday that my darling mum held the surfmat for my tiny wee Abby, helped pull her on, reminded her how to best hold it, steadied it whilst they waited for a good wave, sent her off with an encouraging push and then chased her in, to be there with a whoop and a cheer when she careened all the way in to the shore.

And yet now, the rhythm has changed and it’s my beautiful 14 year old out there in the water with her Nan, showing the same love, patience and pleasure as they ride those waves.

Silly old tears are streaming down my face as I write this, back home in Bootville – I’m ridiculously sentimental.  But these photos record such a treasured day … one that I hope we will share many many more times.  One that I will look back on during the long and sometimes dreary winter, when we’re immersed in school and work and university and the daily grind and far away from some of those we love, and be filled with the rich warmth, love, hilarity and fun that was yesterday.

Erica produces the most beautiful vintage cheddar – our favourite is the 3 year vintage which we buy in 3 kg logs.  Just enough to tide us over in Melbourne until our next trip north.

It’s the kind of cheese that when we slice it, it simply crumbles into rich chunks. Mmmmm …..We eat it for breakfast with our toast and jam.  For lunch in our salads. Dressing our dinners.  And for snacks of course!  Abby’s and my favourite is South Coast cheddar piled high on granita biscuits after school.  And Fu loves it.  We only have to bring it out of the fridge and she comes running :-)

As for Tilba – the home of the South Coast Cheese Company – it’s so very charming too. Especially on an afternoon such as this  - with the mist lying low in the valleys, thick clouds snagged on the mountain tops, and the still menace of a summer storm about to strike.  In fact, I think that if you are ever in the neighbourhood, you too should indulge in the getting of cheese.  And a cup of Erica’s homemade icecream as well.

Meanwhile, I dream that when the right time comes, and WE buy our own wee farmlet in this beautiful valley, that I might buy us one of Erica’s lovely Jersey girls.  And garner a few lessons in milking and maybe some cheese making too :-)  Until then, pass the granitas Abby!

:: the sun was missing, the wind took my breath away, and the sea churned.  Oh dear, I thought, this is not the day at the beach I dreamt of.

:: I cautioned my daredevil swimmers, tried to calm my overly anxious mind, and plonked down on the sand, wishing we’d gone to a different, quieter, protected beach.

:: then, the clouds shifted ever so slightly, tentative sunlight danced across the waves, my shoulders gently sank as my breath slowed, and the prettiness of this gusty, choppy day started to make itself known.

:: countless bundles of weed, rich with colour and texture, had been deposited up and down the shore

:: little people, oblivious to how the “perfect day” at the beach should manifest itself, danced and played along the shoreline, thrilling in all of its magic.

:: bizarrely enough, the thickly scattered bluebottles were only on the sand, mostly imprisoned in all that weed, not in the water.

:: the air rang with the shrieks and laughs of wetsuit clad children learning to ride surfboards.

:: my mum was there beside me, reminding me of all the days we have spent on windy, choppy beaches over the last forty years – and survived! – and we laughed.

:: they came back in to get me … even though I had nagged them incessantly about not letting themselves float off to New Zealand.

:: and so, I took off my shoes, discarded my glasses, and embraced the moment …

:: it was wonderful!  The best swim I’ve had for ages.  We floated, and ducked, and jumped and raced to shore on mum’s surfmat – we stayed out there in that water until our tummies growled.

:: the wet, sandy ride home was full of laughter and chattering and pleasure.  My initial fretting was entirely misplaced … it was the perfect day at the beach.  Thank goodness I noticed :-)

Looking out the windows this morning, you’d have sworn we were holidaying deep in a valley surrounded by mountains.  That’s how thick the mist was over the sea – the water had vanished and all that remained were the tips of the bay’s mirrored headlands.

And it didn’t clear.  We ate porridge, drank tea, put on an extra layer of warmth, and did what we Boots do really well – pottered around at home :-)  We read, we stitched, we chattered, we dreamed and planned … and then we did it all again.

By tonight, the sky was still thick and subdued with rain, the air was chilly, and the curtains were drawn closed. One of us had finished another feltie in the Abigail Alice collection, and another had started Sarah’s amazing single star quilt. Two of us had planned a baby quilt for an expecting cousin in Canada, and the very cleverest of us had drafted a pattern from my favourite ever sunhat.  The boy of us had researched and planned and replanned and dreamed and plotted how he was going to begin his new close-to-the-heart project, and one of us, whilst cosy in the living room with a gorgeous girl, a beloved mum and the nutty folk of Midsomer, continued to stitch round and round and round and round and round.

We mightn’t have swum or soaked up any sun – tomorrow has declared that it will be 28 and sunny (woot!) and we intend to hold it to its word –  but we certainly made the most of what was offered and it was good.

How do you make the most of a rainy day holiday?

And yet, something I look forward to just as much as being here, is the journey.  I do so love a good journey.  We’ve made this particular trek several times now – across the farmlands of Gippsland, through the deep forests of the southern Wilderness Coast and voila!  We pop out at the Pacific Ocean – the remote wild melding back into the lush dairyland of the Bega Valley and the small fishing communities of Southern New South Wales.

It’s beginning to feel like “our journey”.  The first hour and a half is a bit of a drag – it’s just the freeway – but then we arrive in Traralgon and know that now we have truly left the city behind. We know all the wee towns we will pass through and in the right order, we have our favourite farmhouses, the prettiest copse of trees and the happiest cows.  We’ve found the yummiest bakeries and the worthwhile thrift shops.   We always ooh and aah over the the beautiful architecture in Sale (the rich red brick of the Catholic church and school are my favourites).  We always stop at the huge and lovely park in Orbost – but we don’t drive in, we park beside the road, spread out our picnic quilt and lay in the shade of the magnificent old trees that line the road.  We always giggle (in that ewww way) at the roadstop where Fu vomitted up a 5 inch tapeworm on her first journey (you’re glad I shared that aren’t you!).

I love this feeling.  I love gathering these places in my heart and mind and holding them there as part of our journey.

Our absolute favourite spot is the old railroad just outside of Bruthen.  There’s almost nothing left of it but the name and an incredibly rickety wooden railbridge that stops in mid air. Now it’s a horse riding and walking trail.  One day we might complete it.  For now, we love the huge thicket of plum trees that gather a few hundred metres in from the road.  Just above a field where the sweetest, inquisitive cows live ( I do so love cows).

The very first time we found this spot – on our journey from Brisbane to Melbourne 2 years ago – Julian and I hung out with the cows awhile, took lots of photos and ate a few plums. Last year, we missed it – we came home a stupid way – following the Snowy River along 90 kilometres of hairpin bendy dirt road  - never, ever again – and plums were the last thing on my mind as we limped, carsick, through Bruthen.

This year, as we returned home after New Years, we collected 6 kilos of plums!  Oh my – they were so delicious.  Tart and wild and sweet all at once.  They nestled in a bag at my feet for the rest of the journey home and I did eat a few.  But three kilos were made into jam the next day, and the rest into spicy plum sauce soon after.  Wild Bruthen Jam & Sauce for our pantry. Part of our journey spread on our toast and eaten with cheese.

Yesterday – it was hot and bright.  Our ears were filled with the screeching of insects and the white dust of the path simply hung in the air where we kicked it up, it was so still. The plum trees were still laden with fruit but so high up (I told you we would need a ladder Julian!) and frankly, they were a little over ripe.  Good for eating on the spot – which we did with the few we could reach – but no good for preserving.  In amongst the plum trees are a couple of apple trees – unripe of course and a wee bit manky – we’ll have to try them at Easter.  And this time – heading into late summer – we noticed the blackberry brambles.  Abby half filled my hat but disappointingly, we needed our rock climbing equipment to reach the masses of ripe berries.

Yes, I do love the journey just as much as the holiday.  Travelling along familiar roads, feasting our eyes on familiar sights, stopping to enjoy a small bit of what each town has to offer, remembering the different experiences we’ve had in familiar places.

Eeach time, making it that little bit more “our journey”.

The afternoon – hot!  - each of us sprawled out in front of a fan, sucked on frozen juice pops, drank lots of iced water and tried not to move to much.  But by 6pm, the heat dissipated and we were left with a long, soft, mellow, sweetly lit twilight.  Ahhhh … out into the garden!

After a few chores, I finished off the painted frame I showed you yesterday – with mouse mesh!  I’ve been looking for such a frame amongst local hard rubbish for a few months and this one, found last week with Abby and Sacha (they just love cruising the suburb for hard rubbish – ha!) was the perfect size.

It is now a cross stitch canvas.  I’m working my new header (have you seen it?) “Bootville” onto it and we shall hang it on our front porch.

Instead of wool or cotton thread, I’m using 1 inch strips of fabric and a very large needle. Rules were established very quickly – no more than 55 centimetres long – otherwise it frays atrociously.  Nothing thicker than cotton patchwork fabric – thicker and it just will NOT pull through.  You cannot carry the “thread” any distance at all – because everything shows up through the mesh.  And taking care to not split the thread takes on a whole new meaning.

As a way to spend a long summer eve in the garden, this meshy cross stitch was just lovely.  I sat out there until the light was almost gone and the mosquitoes were gathering upon my arms.

By the way – I have all these scratches on my arms from my feathered girls -

They rush up to me, hunker down at my feet and beat their wings for me to pick them up. They then have a lovely relaxed cuddle (one at a time) – I keep their wings tucked in firmly and have one hand under their belly with my fingers spread apart for their legs – they seem very comfy and are happy to be stroked for as long as I want to.  But when it comes time to put them down, no matter how careful I am, they always flap about and scratch me as they throw themselves back to the ground!  Silly girls!  Any ideas on how best to gently lower ones’ chickens to the ground?!