Wherever I Lay My Hat

This week's My Place and Yours meme, from Meet Me at Mike's and Myrtle and Eunice is all about what it takes to make you feel that you're really at home. I've been thinking hard about this one. I tried to remember what it was that made me feel a bit more settled when we moved back down to Wellington before Sweeney was born. And it was ...

this frypan, this casserole, this chopping board and this knife. Really. I've had them all for more than 20 years, put out a lot of food from those implements. And you know what?? Sometimes, it's tasted entirely adequate. Hurrah!!

And the calendar-thingy that Kimberley brought back from the UK - that's been with me in all the places I've lived since. Even Transplant House. Actually, the knife and chopping board came with us to Transplant House also.

In other news, our excellent friend Bela came for a sleepover. It was fun, if not entirely to plan. I had a plan, involving a few drinks at a nice local bar, then a panto, then back home for some pyrotechnics and 12 hours of zzzzz.

What happened was 25 minutes at the panto, two children gripping my legs in social terror for the whole 30 seconds we were at Matt's party at the Hawthorn, then a fraught visit to the supermarket before we headed home to watch Watership Down and eat potato chips on the furniture. Look at them, deeply concerned at whether Bigwig would make it or not ...

It's okay, he's all right.

Then, less than eight hours after hitting the sack, they were up again. All hopped up on breakfast, here's what they did for aaaaaaages ...

Realised I'd never thought of a policy about jumping on the couch until today.

Met up with Bela's excellent parents for Yum Char, which was indeed yummy, then we headed home for the droopiest afternoon we've had in a while. Sweeney snoozed for two hours (!) on the couch, and I watched Fred Claus with my hands in my lap. Monumental acting talent involved, and Kevin Spacey looked kind of sexy, in a black specs, cruel kind of way. I put it down to my 5.30am start doing my head in.

When Sweeney woke up, he tried using the camera. Took some great portraits of his toys, the floor, the ceiling, his fingers, a cloud mass through a grimy window.

And this old bat ...

The Heat

What's Hot:

• We had spaghetti bolognese-type dinner tonight, quick to whip up, easy to insert veges into, and Sweeney actually ate all of his. It took him a while to get going, but once he was into it ...;
• It's going to be sunny on Saturday;
• The two P5 parking spaces the council has finally installed outside Sweeney's preschool;
• Sweeney's current fave book is Dr Seuss' I Wish That I Had Duck Feet. Lovely;
• My Jodhpur boots from Minnie Cooper were a bit worn down on the sole, and Sandy not only resoled them, but added on an extra layer of something that makes them tougher and, I think, more comfy. Thanks, Sandy!!;
• I have just another hoop or two to jump through, then I really will have a Proper Job lined up and ready to go. Oooh-err.

What's Not:

• It's really rather chilly here tonight;
• I've been knackered all week and have hardly read anything or done any chores beyond the bare minimum to keep us dressed, fed and kind of clean;
• the Chorus/Telecom vans that take up the P5 parking spaces outside Sweeney's preschool every morning;
• my Capos from Minnie Cooper may have to be retired after nine years of faithful service. Resoled and reheeled multiple times, but now the actual leather has sprung a teensy split and may not be salvageable;
• I'm so anxious about getting confirmation of the Proper Job, I can hardly stand it. Blerg.

More hotness and notness is available from Loobyloo. Always a splendid read.

It's Not (So) Unusual

This one's a series of information bites.

Yesterday was glorious, today it rained all day. Still sort of raining;

• Sweeney ate spaghetti noodles and beetroot for his dinner. In this house, we say nutritional balance is for dorks;
• We went to KimberleyJoeHarper's for dinner last night and took some fruit crumble. Sweeney assembled the crumble side of it, I'd already stewed up our on-the-way-out kiwifruit, apples, pears and oranges earlier. Kimberley turned out totally delish roast chicken, Nigella-style. Which I think means, she roasted two together;
• Last time I parked on Clifton Terrace, about a million birds crapped on the car. Today, they just shook about a ton of leaves, twigs and berries onto it. Cheers!!;
• We're going to a panto this weekend. I haven't been to one since I was a kid. Hoping it has a lot of eye popping and people not seeing things that are right behind them on stage. Hoping there'll be lots of men dressed as women, and rouge from here to breakfast. Hilarious. Hoping there'll be ice creams. With any luck, our sneaky plan to take Bela with us, then ensnare her for a sleepover, will come off;
• Sweeney's in his room singing Twinkle Twinkle like he's auditioning to join AC/DC on the road. I must speak to his teachers; and

here's my entry in the My Place and Yours meme on Meet Me at Mike's and Little Suitcase ...

It's all about finding something "nyoice, that's different, that's unusual" around the house.

These are from last summer. There's a monarch butterfly and a Yellow Admiral in one box, and three million cicada husks in the other. I expect we'll chuck these soon, and replace with this year's offerings. It may not be clear in the photo, but the Admiral's pretty crumbly on it already.

All In This Together

Today is notable for three things. More really, but I'm only going to write about two.

The first is that it's the thirtieth anniversary of the Erebus disaster. This is my blog, so here's what I think of when I think of Erebus. Mrs Marsden from our high school's photocopy room, was on the flight, a dream flight for herself and her husband. She painted in her spare time, and always signed her paintings with a rose - her middle name was Rose. She was nice.

Her daughter, Janine, was suddenly an orphan, and she went to live with the Headmaster's secretary and her husband. She got School C by aegrotat, and the last time I saw her was when I was in hospital in seventh form for appendicitus. She was there, too, recovering from a burst appendix. But I always remember seeing her just after they'd confirmed there were no survivors. She was a hilarious, easy-going person, and here she was, the stuffing knocked out of her, remote, lost in her own thoughts.

The next thing about today. I worked with Helen at the shop today, and a chap came in, with his mum, his wife and his ten-week-old son in train. So far, so gorgeous. He got down and took his mum's shoes off and helped her get our ones on. Three times. His wife sneakily paid for them while he did it. The ten-week-old snurgled on in his stroller. They were all funny and nice and didn't appear disfunctional at all. When I popped out to get coffee for us later, I saw them walking verrrry slowly down the street, him carrying all her bags from ladies' clothing shops. Chatting and giggling together. Gorgeous.

When we got home tonight, Sweeney took my shoes off for me. I know it's just because he likes to undo the buckles, and because he thought I wouldn't notice, so it'd end up being a hilarious prank when I stood up and my shoes came off, but I got a little teary at just how nice he is sometimes.

And I stood up and pretended to be amazed when my shoes came off. He damn near exploded on the spot with glee.

I Just Can't Stand It

I realised, when I was writing my Hot / Not Hot list, that it's hard to recall the garillion things that enrage me every day. Missing my turnoff, Sweeney dithering about getting into the car, the cat running in front of me all the flipping time, birds crapping on the washing ... it's a long and stupid and embarassing list.

I mean, I marched against the All Blacks tour of South Africa in 1985, for god's sake. I used to get well fired up about issues, politics, international relations, blah blah blah. I was well-informed, and appropriately indignant about it all, all the time.

All this is nothing compared to the fury that flares up in me when there's too much treble coming through the car stereo, Sweeney's kicking the back of the passenger seat again, and the chap in front of us is coasting at 30kph.

I've tried hard to remember that little pocket of time in order to share it with the world. Really what I'm doing is congratulating myself that I forget these atrocities pretty quickly, and they rarely pop up in my brain henceforth.

So, here's a nice picture of kittens ...

Heatwave

What's hot ...

• I made a list of chores that needed tending to, and spent all day Monday in a concerted effort to address them. Got lots done, but the list is still so long ... ;
• my red sandals from Minnie Cooper. I don't think the photo on the link does them justice, though;
• John Street Motors. I think maybe Mr John Street Motors has some sort of condition that means he really can't smile, or laugh, or respond to humour in any way, and he certainly never makes a joke himself. But he does do stuff on the car for a reasonable price, and it's ready by the time you agreed it would be, and nothing's fallen off that wasn't supposed to fall off. If you're in Wellington and you need stuff done on your car, lots of people recommend him as The Chap;
• the bunch of sweet peas David cut for me and Sweeney, from his garden today. They made the car smell great until I got home, and now my bedroom smells great;
• Little Dorrit - loving the BBC version at the moment. Feeling some Dickens creeping towards my reading list;
• football - Sweeney and I went down to the carpark last night after dinner and kicked the ball around for what felt like hours. Long summer evenings - aren't they the best??;
• the 6-pack of Spiderman undies I found in the Coin Save shop, just the right size for a small boy not too far from here; and
• our neighbours, who picked Sweeney up from preschool today, gave him two of his favourite foods for dinner - sausages and cucumbers - and let him run riot with Frank and Arthur until I got home. You are so hot, chaps!!

What's not ...

• Sweeney hollering and getting out of bed many, many times before he finally fell asleep tonight;
• getting blisters from my old black slingbacks, the first time I wear them since January;
• people complaining about how hot it is. Yes, it's hot, but it's going to get hotter, and crikey, this is Wellington, folks - not a New York heatwave or anything ... ; and
• going to sleep before Sweeney the other night. Saddo, yes, and there's not a planet in the universe where that's hot.

That's what's going on at our place. Check out LoobyLu for other tabasco-flavoured links ...

Collectioneering

I've tried to only collect things that have a purpose - like these Crown Lynn bowls and cast iron pots. I use them all the time. Some of them are Creuset and some of them aren't. I got the frypan at a garage sale in 1987. My flatmates thought I was mad - none of us had a clue how to use cast iron. I've built up the rest since then.

Today I cooked our dinner in the biggest pot and stewed fruit in the next smaller one. The teensiest pot has been brilliant for turning out an individual rice pudding when required, or for turning rice bubbles into a Surprise!! breakfast under the lid.

And yes, I really do manage to keep those shelves looking tidy like that all the time.

When I make muffins tomorrow with that stewed fruit, I'll mix them in the biggest bowl. It really is a whopper. I nearly died of happiness when I found that bowl in a dusty warehouse full of crap. It reminds me of Nana's enormous china bowl, and I think she had some smaller ones like mine.

Sweeney's building up some collections of his own. Generally, they're strewn throughout the house - Hot Wheels, pieces of train track, figurines of small farmyard animals that fit perfectly into your instep on cold mornings. A nice one that he's only just noticing is his collection of Maurice Sendak books. I started stockpiling the Pierre series and Alligators All Around when he was really teeny, and of course one of his first books was Where the Wild Things Are. His dad would read them to him when he visited - lovely rhymes and the opportunity to use a range of voices and growls. And the icing on the cake - one of us found the stories with French text, but Sweeney couldn't bear it when we'd read them - he thinks French is just silly.

Check out Meet Me At Mike's and Foxs Lane for links to more glorious collections ...

Open Book

I haven't posted much recently about what we're reading here. Currently, the fave junior read is a book that arrived in the mail from Sweeney's Nana, called Willie wants to Wee Wee!. I've read it to him at least twenty times, and he still wants more. He can just about rattle off the story without me anywhere near.

Further proof that I really have no clue how his mind works, he took to this book instantly. Just about has to have a toilet break himself, he laughs so much as the story progresses. It's not a good story for winding down for sleep, that's for sure ...

I picked up The Lovely Bones this morning, and a hundred pages later, figured I should go downstairs and feed Sweeney some breakfast. Enjoying it, looking forward to going to bed for more reading.

Well, without further ado etc ...

The Weight

Two weeks ago, Dr Jan told me that I was her seventh cervical smear patient for the day, and I really struggled for something to say in reply. In my defence, I was struggling to prevent Sweeney from wandering into the curtained area and catching sight of something nasty at the same time.

I know the odds of having cancer are teensy really, but I still felt pretty chuffed to get my letter today, telling me my results were normal. Crazy, no??

Who'd be a GP? I remember when Martin was having gastric banding procedures at the hospital, and one of the nurses told us that they did "down-the-throat jobs in the mornings, and up-the-bum jobs in the afternoons." Who'd be a gastroenterologist? What's the most awful type of doctoring, do you think? To study your bum off for all those years and then every work day consists of tumours or cysts or pus or poohs, or telling people terrible news about their bodies and lives - surely you'd question your choices at some point.

A friend of mine, Sally, has just got the news, five years after getting through treatment for breast cancer, that some microscopic cancer cells have been found, and she's up for more surgery and more radiotherapy. She's relieved that the week of not knowing what was happening is over, and she's positive that she's going to come through okay. Her prognosis is good. Go, Sally, go, go, go!!

In other news, the prognosis for my vacuum cleaner is not good. It's only 18 months old, for god's sake, and this morning it made a small bang! sound and then ... nothing. And I still have the northeast corner my bedroom to remove three years of dust balls from ...

Oh, and Kimberley showed me last night that she can do the Crane now. Inspired me to up my yoga game. Also want to drop 10kg by my birthday. Watch this space ...

Hot Hot Hot

What's hot today ...

• the weather. Long may it not rain;
• the delicious - allegedly chicken - dinner that Kimberley made for us tonight;
• the Hataitai Hot Bread Shop. Truly a great bakery, although there was no nutmeg on my custard pie. Just not traditional;
• the folks in Homewood Ave - an ... affluent street in Karori - are having a fair on December 1st to raise funds for the Save the Children Fund. Go, you rich people!!;
• Harper and Sweeney sorting out their own garden furniture this evening after dinner;
• my elderflower cordial. I'll post more about this one day soon, because it deserves it. It also deserves to come with its own dental plan, it's so freakishly sweet, but that's another posting in itself ... ;
• Robert Heinlein's The Moon is a Harsh Mistress. Who saw geeky sci-fi coming anywhere near my Hot list?? Not me, but I'm somehow absorbed;
• Nurse Jackie. I found it a little annoying when she was holding everything together, but now, she's coming undone and it's much more interesting. You just don't see enough adulterous high-functioning drug addicts on the telly ...

What's not so hot today ...

• the house I was in today, situated two blocks back from the beach, where they were building a huuuuge swimming pool. Crazy;
• that I still haven't got the hang of chain stitch crochet. Must. Get. The. Hang. Of. It.;
• Robert Heinlein's The Moon is a Harsh Mistress. Not Hot because it's made me realise Iain M. Banks isn't the super-original brainiac genius gigagod I thought he was;
• me teasing Sweeney's friend Noah for the terrible bottom smell as we were leaving preschool tonight. Once it was just me and Sweeney in the hot, hot car in clogged traffic trying to get to KimberleyJoeHarper's, I realised it was all Sweeney. All. Sweeney.

*snurrgh* Sorry, Noah.

More Hotness than Not Hotness, and that's what counts. Anyhoo, check out Loobyloo's lovely blog for more people's Hotness and Not Hotness.