I've derived a good new way of fire-lighting. In winter, here, that becomes a necessary skill. When your wood-burning heater is elderly and has its air flue rusted to one position (and no I am NOT trying to fix it until summer. I don't want to have to replace it if I bust it, and doing so could take a while as it has to come over on the ferry.) When my chooks started laying, we found ourselves without many egg-boxes, so whenever we gave anyone eggs it would be on the 'egg box comes back, please' condition. And people being what they are, they put the egg-boxes in dark places, alone, and you know what? They bred. Multiplied prodigiously. And of course the chooks slowed down for winter, but the flow of egg-boxes coming to us did not. The one thing you don't do on the island is to say 'no' when people want to give you things or take you places -- because they will never offer twice. (My poor Indian friends - from a culture where it is polite to refuse the first two offers, in case the host was trying to be polite but really could ill afford it... had a culture shock). And we WILL need egg-boxes again. Just right now they're Ott. The other issue I have is old cooking oil - with one son allergic to seafood, I have to be very cautious about re-using it. It is however, basically diesel - not easily ignited but long burning. So the perfect firelighter is some old cooking oil poured into 4 squares of egg-box. I like to play with my eggs-box. And I have a blackberry too. And some raspberries. Frozen. Who says we live in the past?
Tomorrow we're (Barbs - via her job at the Doctor's rooms) and James and I, via her, going in to a do to meet the new Island doctor. We're a little nervous about this - Barbs will have to work with him, but that is minor, compared to fact that he is going to be the island's doctor. We were spoiled with Sonia and Biren, and Tony who has been locum-ing is a treasure, who understand Islanders and island life. It's a bit different to a mainland practice. It's an island. You can't just go to a different practice. And the Doctor has to live with a tight-knit, quite inter-related community who will affect his quality of life far more than any mainland community... because they ARE a community, and there are very very few things happen here that everyone doesn't know by nightfall.
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
Sunday, July 15, 2012
I am pleased with the latest batch of sausage - which is a lot closer to boerewors than my first attempt, although entirely wallaby. Next step will be dried sausage. We cut wood, fetched some corrugated iron and had a good snuffle around the farm dump for some useable poles and bits of timber for a wood-shed. Norman is hard at work with his pig house, so we may get to pork and bacon again.
Barbs flew back in very vile weather, and we're really feeling the bite of winter now.
Barbs flew back in very vile weather, and we're really feeling the bite of winter now.
Saturday, July 14, 2012
Ok, yesterday we went diving, and now my freezer has its quota of Abalone, all vac-packed and sorted, and also 3 wallaby. We have a new stock of mince for making wors and possibly dried wors. Today we made 8kg's of coarse mince - Wallaby are supposed to be lean meat, but my word these are fat. I seemed to spend forever washing up (OK, it's partly me. I can't handle greasy dishwater, so as soon as it's even discolored I tend to start again. And it needs to be white-hot. I am a bit of a waster of water, but it's at least rainwater off the shed roof, not something that is scarce right now.) James got off on the injured finger. I think I'll injure mine. I'd scrub toilets or change nappies (diapers) rather than wash dishes, and trust me there is no form of housework I haven't done. I don't object to housework, really disgusting jobs tend to be my share (the women in my family do not handle blood or poo easily. I just tune it out. It's like fish slime)I just don't like greasy water. If I was to end up a widower (unlikely, barring the unforeseen, which I hope never happens), a dishwasher I would have to have, or I'd starve avoiding dirtying anything (I actually don't like a grubby environment. I cannot imagine living like so many young guys - and women too, seem to. Up to a point a degree of clutter (especially at the end of a book) is OK, but it bothers me and suddenly I have to clear it. Whenever Barbs goes away the house gets radical putting away of stuff. Not being able to find things is her penance for leaving me behind.
I'm being far too absent-headed at the moment. I just did a batch of rolls without yeast. Had to add yeast and let them rise, put the oven on, forgot to put rolls in. spotted it an hour later and put rolls in... and nearly burned them, forgetting about them.
I'm being far too absent-headed at the moment. I just did a batch of rolls without yeast. Had to add yeast and let them rise, put the oven on, forgot to put rolls in. spotted it an hour later and put rolls in... and nearly burned them, forgetting about them.
Friday, July 13, 2012
Ok so it is 11.13 PM, and I'm just back from taking the littlest to hospital. He's fine. I made the mistake of asking him to wash the knife he was about to cut the roast with, and as he's not used to this washing thing, he cut his finger. As an ex-medic I didn't quite think it needed a s stitch, but I took him in and they agreed with me. So now I am going to bed and not answering comments, or doing the work I owe O'mike
Thursday, July 12, 2012
Mary was on a mission tonight, more and more complex dances... and the floundering would have been good. I guess I shouldn't have gone dancing. Ah well. It keeps our instructress happy. I made a goat curry - which makes the first time I have knowingly eaten goat. It wasn't half bad, actually, not anything like the chew I anticipated. We had old-fashioned chocolate sponge pudding and the nuts I have been so painstakingly keeping vac-packed and frozen are stale. Moral - check before you preserve, if not before you buy. For us these things are small luxuries that were bought cheap in relative bulk and add a bit of extra variety to food, and maybe a few bits missed in our living-off-the-land nutrition. I am battling a bit for veg at the moment, as we're down to the pumpkin, last few beets, carrots, spring onions, and the only thing that's flourishing is the broccolli - and there isn't that much of it. The peas are producing a last gasp, and the sliverbeet isn't yet growing enough. Ah well, we still have some tomatoes and capisicums which is a miracle, but we'll be down to canned and frozen stuff soon.
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
mad rabbits
Have you ever had a song go feral in your mind, and get stuck there? I've had an old Gordon Lightfoot track turn itself into something that keeps repeating like over-greasy chili sauce. So I thought I'd inflict it on you. "Look here child, your father's pride was his means to provide everybody around with mad rabbits."
Yes it's been rainy and miserable. I spent 2 hours on the 'phone to Immigration about James's Fiance and am no wiser. After my experiences with New Zealand's Emigration (we wanted Flinders, but we were not sure we'd get into Australia, but if we got NZ permanent residence we could also come to Australia after 4 years - the process of applying and acceptance took nearly 3 so, same ball park.) dept. I concluded there was a certain level of pure beurocratic inertia that mere logic doesn't penetrate (NZ - Yes, you have the points to come here as a migrant and bring your wife, if you work in your field. Yes, your wife has the points to come here and bring you, if she works in her field (and there is a large demand). Yes you could come here and write, but only if you are published by a NZ publisher - which would not pay you enough to live on. You could come and be sponsored by a peer organization of sf/fantasy writers, but we don't have one. They would have to put a smallish amount of money to guarantee you would not be a drain on the state. No you can't put it up and in trust so you can't spend it. Gah. Basically, we could have got on an 'plane - as friends of ours did, and -as they had the points, applied from inside the country, and got temporary status fast, and to permanent residence in 2 years. But despite the fact that their own rules said we'd be very desirable citizens, they tossed us about from pillar to post, and the Australian visa came through. And in fact if it hadn't we'd have taken 2 years of Barbs working at radiography job, and got permanent residence, and all they would have gained would be 2 years they'd quite possibly have got anyway. This is much the same, the girl has the points to get a visa - she's a very desirable graduate, in a field which Australia doesn't have enough of, her husband to be is a permanent resident, she's over 21, short of some major impediment (like another husband or criminal record - which she doesn't have) she has two ways into the country. Why then make it complex? Why make her spend 7-12 months of uncertainty -- apart from her partner, thereby making it more likely they'll go there instead of coming here? Yes, I could see the sense, perhaps, if she was 17 year old illiterate coming for an arranged marriage, of trying to slow it down. It's futile anyway, because the people who might take it as an impediment, you want. But seriously, if you're eligible for a working visa, have desirable skills, have a permanent resident partner with desirable skills and a job... why does it need a year? There are no time advantages to doing it right, to doing it from outside the country.
Sigh. Mad rabbits.
I think the wallaby are close enough for me to supply everybody around with.
Yes it's been rainy and miserable. I spent 2 hours on the 'phone to Immigration about James's Fiance and am no wiser. After my experiences with New Zealand's Emigration (we wanted Flinders, but we were not sure we'd get into Australia, but if we got NZ permanent residence we could also come to Australia after 4 years - the process of applying and acceptance took nearly 3 so, same ball park.) dept. I concluded there was a certain level of pure beurocratic inertia that mere logic doesn't penetrate (NZ - Yes, you have the points to come here as a migrant and bring your wife, if you work in your field. Yes, your wife has the points to come here and bring you, if she works in her field (and there is a large demand). Yes you could come here and write, but only if you are published by a NZ publisher - which would not pay you enough to live on. You could come and be sponsored by a peer organization of sf/fantasy writers, but we don't have one. They would have to put a smallish amount of money to guarantee you would not be a drain on the state. No you can't put it up and in trust so you can't spend it. Gah. Basically, we could have got on an 'plane - as friends of ours did, and -as they had the points, applied from inside the country, and got temporary status fast, and to permanent residence in 2 years. But despite the fact that their own rules said we'd be very desirable citizens, they tossed us about from pillar to post, and the Australian visa came through. And in fact if it hadn't we'd have taken 2 years of Barbs working at radiography job, and got permanent residence, and all they would have gained would be 2 years they'd quite possibly have got anyway. This is much the same, the girl has the points to get a visa - she's a very desirable graduate, in a field which Australia doesn't have enough of, her husband to be is a permanent resident, she's over 21, short of some major impediment (like another husband or criminal record - which she doesn't have) she has two ways into the country. Why then make it complex? Why make her spend 7-12 months of uncertainty -- apart from her partner, thereby making it more likely they'll go there instead of coming here? Yes, I could see the sense, perhaps, if she was 17 year old illiterate coming for an arranged marriage, of trying to slow it down. It's futile anyway, because the people who might take it as an impediment, you want. But seriously, if you're eligible for a working visa, have desirable skills, have a permanent resident partner with desirable skills and a job... why does it need a year? There are no time advantages to doing it right, to doing it from outside the country.
Sigh. Mad rabbits.
I think the wallaby are close enough for me to supply everybody around with.
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
Ordinary people...
Ordinary people... living extraordinary lives. That somehow popped into my head this morning in pre-dawn while I was juggling new story ideas with the one I should have finished already, and the thin trails of cloud were turning from pearlescent threads of whites and greys to bloody with murdered sleep. In so many ways, we are. Maybe touch sharper than the average pencil in the box, with a rather bizarre backgrounds... but solid and, well, boring. We're married. We have two children. We don't have any huge odd physical or mental issues (well, OK I am nuts, but in a very ordinary way). We're actually very staid, quite conservative in a lot of ways. Eat porridge for breakfast.
But we've ended up doing extraordinary things, and in extraordinary places. I have some small success in a field that actually 1:1 000 000 people do. I blundered into it and was too stupid to back away. I've lived in a series of weird places - a Victorian Maternity home, a house designed in a sinstral spiral with no straight walls and secret rooms and hidden door, built by an Irishman named Murphy. It wasn't unique. He built three of them, one every time he moved. A home on a mountaintop, a home on a remote island. All of them picked for very mundane, sensible (at the time) ordinary reasons. Well. Sort of ordinary. We liked them.
Extraordinary places, events and jobs... just seem to happen to us. We never set out to be adventurous. Perhaps God has a sense of humor, and we're a sort of walking practical joke. It's a good life, if you don't weaken. I look at so many people I know still in the same town they were born in doing the same job as 50 000 other people, and probably quite happy with it. And I do have to wonder what it is that sends us off down the strange.
We went to a funeral today. Inga Woolley - who was our first friend on on the island - died. Inga was more like an extraordinary person (two bricks and a tickey high and the boss)living an extraordinary life. She came out to Australia at 17 - alone, with an average grasp of English, just after the war. She was our first visitor, and we loved her Australian-German accent. "I tell you what to do mitt abalone." She came to Island as soldier-settler wife, and they carved out a farm from swampland, with attitude and hard work, and not much more. She, I think better than anyone else, understood just how it feels to be very long way from all you held as familiar, your support system and your 'ordinary'. We're richer for having known her, and her bright eyes and quick curious mind will stay on my memory. Probably live on in some of my characters.
Yep. Some of are ordinary and stay that way in ordinary lives.
And some of us make that ordinary extraordinary. Goodbye Inga. You will be missed. You were never ordinary.
But we've ended up doing extraordinary things, and in extraordinary places. I have some small success in a field that actually 1:1 000 000 people do. I blundered into it and was too stupid to back away. I've lived in a series of weird places - a Victorian Maternity home, a house designed in a sinstral spiral with no straight walls and secret rooms and hidden door, built by an Irishman named Murphy. It wasn't unique. He built three of them, one every time he moved. A home on a mountaintop, a home on a remote island. All of them picked for very mundane, sensible (at the time) ordinary reasons. Well. Sort of ordinary. We liked them.
Extraordinary places, events and jobs... just seem to happen to us. We never set out to be adventurous. Perhaps God has a sense of humor, and we're a sort of walking practical joke. It's a good life, if you don't weaken. I look at so many people I know still in the same town they were born in doing the same job as 50 000 other people, and probably quite happy with it. And I do have to wonder what it is that sends us off down the strange.
We went to a funeral today. Inga Woolley - who was our first friend on on the island - died. Inga was more like an extraordinary person (two bricks and a tickey high and the boss)living an extraordinary life. She came out to Australia at 17 - alone, with an average grasp of English, just after the war. She was our first visitor, and we loved her Australian-German accent. "I tell you what to do mitt abalone." She came to Island as soldier-settler wife, and they carved out a farm from swampland, with attitude and hard work, and not much more. She, I think better than anyone else, understood just how it feels to be very long way from all you held as familiar, your support system and your 'ordinary'. We're richer for having known her, and her bright eyes and quick curious mind will stay on my memory. Probably live on in some of my characters.
Yep. Some of are ordinary and stay that way in ordinary lives.
And some of us make that ordinary extraordinary. Goodbye Inga. You will be missed. You were never ordinary.
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