Spring evening with children

There is a boy to my left and another to my right. Tonight they swing and sway through stages of grumpiness, then they leave the table to chat to friends over the deck-railing.

I'm eating asparagus grilled in butter and garlic, spinach pasta, tomatoes and cucumber drizzled with olive oil and sprinkled with sea salt and sesame seeds, chunks of avocado, cobs of corn.

A horn sounds, more yachts set sail.

Cool breeze, flags sway.

The bougainvillea stretches above the railing, blooming deep pink, and the jacaranda's flowers are showing us their colourful sides.

A cat meows, a dog implores me to feed him. The dog ate a sea-cucumber before dinner: the stench of it wafts up from his muzzle. A cockatoo peers at us over the guttering and a rainbow lorikeet lands on the railing, but he flies away as soon as he remembers that noisy boys live here.

The tide is coming in as Cat Stevens sings from the kitchen.

All at once, this evening is

delicious

fleeting

tender

quiet and beautiful,

If only those two boys would stop

being grumpy

or demanding

or sulking
or whining
or roaring,

at each other, and at me.

That was our evening meal.

Trit-trotting to the Seymour centre... unusual Wednesdays

It was a sunny Spring Wednesday afternoon. Usually at 5.30pm, midweek, I am drifting around my kitchen, thinking about the evening meal, or continuing other daily chores. On that Wednesday though, I was somewhere different. That day I found myself in the big city. I had navigated my way there through the (always heavy groan of) Sydney traffic. If only I could click my heels and be beamed into the centre of town... aaahh well. Perhaps I should start wearing heels.

I sipped tea and nibbled Nobby's nuts before going into the Seymour Centre, Sydney Uni, to listen to a public talk on the role of faith and religion in International Aid and Development.

Was this the sign of things to come? Who can tell?

I'm not going to give you the low-down: you ask your own questions. It was an interesting evening.

The following Wednesday, again, I was not in that lovely kitchen of mine, thinking about dinner. O no. Off I trotted again. Wiggle, waggle, weave your way through boats (or zoooooommmmmm across the water... that Zimbabwean likes to fly), walk to your car, wiggle waggle through the (not so bad this time) traffic and kabam! There I was, before anyone could say "When's Mama coming home?", dressed to the nines (make-up and all!), sitting at a funky little new place in an old place I used to know. And it was lovely! Lala dinner with lovely girls for endless conversation and a spunk of a Danish waiter serving us tea until nearly midnight. When our evening was over it was raining so I snuggled into the guest bed of my mainland "holiday house" and patted my back on the decision not to take myself home.

The feeling was delicious. It was that next morning feeling. I'd been away for a whole night. I'd read my book in bed for a whole 20 minutes before rising, and then had a morning free of cooking porridge and preparing school lunches. When my family met me at the wharf at 8.30am, they didn't even look as if they had missed me! The Zimbo said that the morning was "too easy" and I should do it more often!

I tell you what... Wednesdays are beginning to get exciting.

another day in NZ

Over coming days I'll be boring you with more happy snaps from our recent holiday. Most of our time was spent in Wanaka... o my goodness: how beautiful! The Zimbabwean has been searching Wanaka real estate websites and trying to think of excuses to move there.

Clive and Gen: just in case you're seeing this, this one is for Brian. It's the little church at Cardrona, near Wanaka, with All Blacks flag flying (not so clear unfortunately).

Boys' day. Golf, followed by clay pigeon shooting and a pub lunch. Gosh, they must have lovely wives.

The beautiful toes after the Mamas had their 2 hour pedicures (right before the pigeon shooter trod on my toe, smooshed it, and I howled like a banshee).

Awwww, you lovely things.

We spent loads of time in this here lovely kitchen, large enough for all eight of us at once and a flurry of food preparation.

Springboks v. Samoa

We carried our little springboks all around the city of Auckland. The boys waved their flags and shouted lovingly. The Zimbabwean was on fire - he was loving life. That man loves a Rugby World Cup (this was the third one he's attended).

The air was chilly. There was beer flowing all around us (not a tea in sight!) and there was much good cheer. Those New Zealanders are really a lovely bunch. They have warm souls and are very cheerful, especially when discussing rugby. My little Australian-born Springbok supporters are often confused as to why their friends mostly support the "Wobblies" (Choochie's word, not mine) - this was the first time in their young lives that they have had the company of so many fellow Bokke fans... what a treat. They only wished they had the South African flag painted on their faces (there are only so many things an Australian mama will think of).

What a treat, indeed. I hope our boys remember this occasion: their first World Cup, with their Dad (and Mama, but I don't count when it comes to this game... as you can see in the above snaps, Mama was really there to bring the coats, in case anyone was cold), and in another country to boot. The Zimbo and I felt most solemnly grateful for being able to make that happen.

Unfortunately, the Bok's World Cup 2011 dreams are over. My poor Zimbabwean. He was a sad man last Saturday. Even a Nandos dinner didn't really lift his mood.

I don't really mind who wins: that's just the kind of girl I am when it comes to sport. I mean, Wales - well if the Welsh were to win the world cup, imagine their jubilation! Seriously, imagine it! That would make me smile. France... hmmm, I'm not really hoping for France to win but I could imagine it making 62 million French people pretty happy so that can't be bad. The Wobblies - now don't get me wrong, I was born in the great southern land, I enjoy living with all the sunshine, freedom, liberties and services that exist here. There are plenty of things I like about it, however, drunken, bragging sportsmen (as a breed) is not one of them. And I'm "global-child" enough to not care if I upset the odd Aussie bloke with that opinion. No, really, my hopes are with the All Blacks. They could do with the morale boost and it would make them so proud. And as much as the Z supports his Bokke, he won't be disappointed with an All Black victory either. That's one of the things I love about him.

One day in New Zealand... Blue Pools

A beautiful walk through enchanted forest, stones underfoot, moss beside me,
Children running ahead, heads covered.
A tranquil wee in fresh, cold, cold, mist while
trout tempt a fisherman.
A swinging bridge, lovely company,
Skimming stones being skimmed by little hands and by big hands.
A beautiful place... Blue Pools.
Gnomes must live here - with blankets wrapped around them.

a week of island afternoons: Friday

We have been loving the Spring sunshine.

a week of island afternoons: Thursday

while I wished I was sitting here, or lying there ...
instead I was standing here, folding...

a week of island afternoons: Wednesday

a quiet afternoon in the backyard with Banjo after the little boys were sent to tidy their room (probably for fighting, again!).

a week of island afternoons: Tuesday

a week of island afternoons: Monday

One week in September, this is where we found ourselves each afternoon, while we waited to sail home...