in the big smoke

The Zimbo and I are recently had 2 nights in the city, ohne Kinder! It was deliciously luxurious. There was some drama at the end, which is why it's taken me this long to bring you the one and only photo I snapped from the entire weekend.

We stayed at the Sheraton on the Park. You know, previously I haven't been a fan of hotels like that one. I generally prefer to be in someone's loved home, or to at least travel with one of my favourite enamel mugs. However, I'm now in my mid-thirties and like to think that turning that 30 corner has introduced me to slightly more sophisticated things. I do now enjoy a haircut every couple of months, for example. One of the other things I also now enjoy is swanky hotels with king beds, crisp white linen, and... walk in wardrobes! Within minutes of arriving, my bag was unpacked and I was taking very happy snaps of the wardrobe.

The bathroom was also quite impressive but the buffet breakfast really was the icing on the cake: bircher muesli with yoghurt, fresh fruit and pastries, an omlette made to order, and pot after pot of tea. Ahhhhhhh.

We had such a fun time. I joined the Zimbo and Ross at the Different Drummer in Glebe for a drink (they had already had many, while I had been unpacking and admiring the wardrobe), had a very late dinner at the dodgy-but-delicious Barbeque King in China Town (The Z's favourite late-night dodgy dinner in Sydders), spent hours the next day strolling through shops and admiring musical instruments, a long lunch in Potts Point, a Sydney Theatre Company production at the Opera House (In the next room. If you are in Sydney, go see it. It was hilarious) and another midnight dinner at the Quay. O the luxury! Who gets to have midnight dinners after seeing a play when they have children? We do, occasionally, thanks to Nana and Grandad. And the boykies and grandparents get to have the island all to themselves, with games of chess and monopoly, fishing, too many treats, too much dessert... just as life should be when Mama and Dada are having a weekend retreat.

A group(ish) photo

Peg, Sugarplum and Fido (not necessarily in that order)

Crayon and Chalkey

Ruby Tuesday Nandos (the pretty little thing)

the night the old girls met the new girls, under the mulberry tree.

One of the first eggs, just before I rolled it up in rice bread and gobbled it for breakfast. (Chicken knitted by Noah.)

Bowaarrrk Bowaarrrkk Bowaarkkk

Chooks in transit

How to efficiently load a subi...

and a boat.

Sugarplum (aka Sugar Ray)

Last week, the little boys and I had yet another adventure of the "island transit" variety.

The lovely Gillian parted with her 3 chookies, which she lovingly hand-raised, and donated them (along with their chook accessories: house and run) to the Island Chook Coop Co-op (an island community initiative). I first met these girls when they were just tiny tots in a box in Gillian's dining room. It is with gratitude that we humbly accept them to add to our young girls.

Now, some would hesitate to transport 3 grown chooks, a chook house and a chook run to the island on a somewhat stormy-looking Monday afternoon after school... complete with children and all that comes with them. But no. I strive to be a girl with guts. So it was, with great guidance and reassurance from Robin (he who can transport just about anything and inspires me in the guts department) that we loaded said chooks in to a box, and tied rather large items to the roof of my trusty subi.

To date, I've found that the Zimbabwean handles arrivals to the commuter dock best if he doesn't have to think about them too much beforehand. That's why I rarely tell him all the details (if any) about what's coming. He's beginning to sigh a whole lot more often, roll his eyes, even place his hands on his hips so perhaps it will soon be wise to change my position on disclosure. Anyway... we all arrived at the commuter dock (Robin had followed me through several Sydney North Shore suburbs to make sure I didn't lose any feathers etc.) where said Zimbabwean was patiently waiting. All was creatively loaded into our boat and off we sailed. The only seat Noah could find was actually in the chicken run. As we pootled to the island, a rainbow quietly positioned itself above us... surely a sign that all would be well and the girls would like their new home.

One week later and they do indeed seem pretty happy with island life. There's the odd scuffle in the chook yard but we do receive eggs every day. Usually only 2 (from 6 chooks? Which four of you are not earning your scraps?) but still, they are lovely, welcome gifts.

Our chook tribe now consists of: Chalkey, Ruby Tuesday Nandos, Crayon (the most odd looking chook), and now also Sugarplum, Peggy and Fido. Tomorrow I'll see if they'll consent to a group photo (don't hold your breath).

The healing room

Sinéad sings of a healing room inside me, but my kitchen is a damn fine healing room itself.
Honey-coloured timber
funny, hanging, oven in the centre
a handful of nooks for note pads, ipod, fruit bowls, tea tins,
a view of trees and water.
I even like that I can't see the kids in the backyard. I can hear them (o yes, there's a problem if I can't hear them), and they certainly fly, skid, wrestle, whine, sneak their way through the kitchen often enough. But my view is one of trees and water. On the day that the photos below were taken, it was raining outside, grey and misty, but warm and dry inside my kitchen. Ma Rainey was playing on my ipod (how very appropriate!).

Here's a peak at the view from the heart of my home. There after comes a peak at our Autumn table, celebrating the beginning of this beautiful time of year, followed by the O So Exciting moment of... the first egg.

Peace and love to you.

a rainy weekend

On Saturday, the Zimbabwean and I assured Noah that there would be no decent fishing to be had with muddy water and pouring rain. In the end, (it didn't really take that long to convince him) the Dada did indeed agree to take 2 little boys fishing in the rain. Noah baited his line by himself, cast his line out by himself, yelled out "hey Dada! I've got one" (almost immediately), fought the fishy by himself ("he gave me a good fight Mama!"), brought him in and did a happy-joy-bursting-with-pride dance on the jetty. We really don't see this dance very often so it must be relished every time. The brim was then brought home and Noah learned how to gut him, prepare him (with garlic and butter), fry him up and we all ate him for lunch. What a lovely event for my boy.

And to finish off this week, a Rainy Day activity tip: grab your raincoats and children and head down to your nearest communal jetty. We found several boats which needing bailing out and this offered at least one hour of muddy, wet fun for my kiddles. I was clever enough to take a cup o' tea with me AND found neighbours to have a chat with so everyone was a winner this weekend.

some recents favourites

Choochie's "scuba-diver" kit for the day.

Choochie's favourite sunny spot, the day he was in "scuba-diver costume".

a favourite which requires no explanation. Who wouldn't love an Oliphanty?
this one was grazing very close to the Zimbo on his last fishing trip (Sept 2010) on the Zambezi.

first Tiger fish, caught on the Zambezi River, said fishing trip.

a little corner of our top deck, after my weekend alone. Yes the bar and bbq are much better over this side.

Noah's favourite King Parrot. He comes to greet Noah almost daily and is very beautiful. He brings his wife but she's not nearly as chatty. Noah has named him many things. This week he's called Jerry. (Why is Chooch running along the deck railing?)

back on the blog horse

Well, I lost my blog groove there for a while, after Choochie's fall knocked me off my perch. Let's see if I can get it back (this one's for you Gillian xx).

The air has changed slightly. It is still warm and very humid in our neck of the water, but the clarity of Autumn is beginning. You know, when the air just seems clearer... crisper... more like crystal. What a beautiful weekend we're enjoying.

Yesterday afternoon I awoke from 24 hours of excruciating head pain and could hear bang bang banging coming from the wharf. I often struggle with self-disgust after hours wasted, unable to function with strength and joy due to migraine. So I lifted myself up, dragged my sorry arse down the stairs and chopped up enough melon to feel like I was contributing to the community event taking place. I donned a big hat and sunglasses to shield me from the light, and with large melon platter in hand, headed down the hill. What a lovely sight. Apart from the usual amazing view of Pittwater, there were 11 men from this island community, in water up to their bums, working together to build our new commuter pontoon.

The existing pontoon is old and broken, sagging into the water on deflated floats, and with planks of wood missing, wobbling, or poking the wrong way. Boats are usually tied up to the old girl three or four boats deep and when the tide is low, all boats on one side of her are stuck in the mud, often unable to be pushed out. The new pontoon is loooong, and stable, and will be placed further out into the water so that all boats should be still afloat at all tides. She is coming together beautifully, even more lovely because of all those hands working together on a Saturday and Sunday afternoon.

Over on the ferry pontoon there was just as much action: kids jumping, swimming, water bombing and fishing. And many people standing around just having a chat. As luxurious as your own private jetty would feel, I like the community that thrives around a public jetty.

The working bee continues down there today (I'll try and snatch a photo for you). We've just enjoyed salad and barbequed flathead and a long skinny fish which were yet to identify - freshly caught by the Zimbabwean this morning. While he was fishing, and Noah and Chooch were playing rugby/soccer/cricket/fighting, I've managed to slap the undercoat of paint on to the old bathroom window, continue a couple of sewing projects for newly born little ones, and even paint my toe nails.

Ahhhh, the serenity. Island life is good. Remind me to tell you about the first time I brought myself home by boat at night.