One of my favourite things about where we live is the twenty minute walk to and from DorkySon’s kindergarten twice a day.
When we’re walking together it’s our time for making up stories, chatting about the weather and the changing seasons, and watching the boats coming in and out of the harbour.
When I’m walking alone it’s my time to think, to appreciate the space and sometimes – like today – to just stop for a few minutes and watch the water.
I have always disliked swimming.
Show me a warm, soothing sea and I’ll happily bob around in it all day; floating for hours as the sun warms my face, diving down to pick shells from the sandy seafloor, and emerging occasionally for a piña colada and another chapter of my book.
But lengths of a pool? Proper swimming? I hate it.
The first cool whispers of autumn are in the air, here in Tasmania. My knee-length cosy cardigan has been retrieved from the back of the wardrobe, and those beautiful sunsets are getting noticeably earlier with every evening that passes. Autumn has long been my favourite season, and I can’t wait to see how lovely this island looks when the trees have turned to gold.
DorkySon has been playing with his boxes of Lego a lot this week. He has a real mixture of stuff – some very new Lego City sets that he has been given for birthdays and Christmases, but also a box that he calls his ‘make anything’ box. It’s a large collection of assorted bricks that has been passed down through my family – starting with my two older brothers before making its way to me and now, finally ending up with DorkySon.
You won’t get any better proof of Lego’s enduring popularity (and indeed how well it’s made!) than seeing a little boy in 2014 playing with bricks that were made in 1978!
There are some things – fashion, crafts, cake decorating – that should really be left to the people who do them well.
I’m going to add gardening to that list. My politics may be green, but my fingers most certainly are not.
Don’t get me wrong. I like to sit in the garden at the end of the day, glass of wine in hand, letting the last rays of the sun ease some warmth into my shoulders. I like to watch DorkySon potter around out there, rubbing lavender or mint or thyme between his plump little fingers, putting them to his face, and inhaling deeply. I like the sweet hum of the bees; the soft beat of butterfly wings, and the way Mr Blackbird watches with one beady eye as I walk to collect the mail. I even like the tiny little skinks that dart out from the cracks in our wall. Continue reading
