Solitude

Ode on Solitude

~ Alexander Pope

 

Happy the man, whose wish and care

A few paternal acres bound,

Content to breathe his native air,

 In his own ground.

Whose heards with milk, whose fields with bread,

Whose flocks supply him with attire,

Whose trees in summer yield him shade,

 In winter fire.

Blest! who can unconcern'dly find

Hours, days, and years slide soft away,

In health of body, peace of mind,

Quiet by day,

Sound sleep by night; study and ease

Together mix'd; sweet recreation,

And innocence, which most does please,

With meditation.

Thus let me live, unseen, unknown;

Thus unlamented let me dye;

Steal from the world, and not a stone

 Tell where I lye.

***

The children have gone off on holiday with their grandparents.  It's strangely quiet without them and there's less structured activity to pad out the days.  It's the catering that I notice the most.  Dinner and washing-up for two.  Cut lunches for two or not at all. Bliss.  No mess on the floor.  No crazy bedtime routine.  No... little faces, little conversations, little books and learning.  No little hugs.  I can't imagine what it will be like when they have grown and gone away.  It's nice for a week but not for an endless period, as it will surely be one day.    Empty children's bedrooms are the saddest places, I think.

Rainbow steps

Rainbow toes for Annie.  

A wander around the Australian Institute of Sport Swim School.

Thinking about life. 

One step at a time.

Reflecting about what is important. 

Decisions.  Hopes.

Childhood.  Aging. 

Constancy.  Change.
Self.  Others.  Friends. Strangers.

Fanciwork

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

{WB Yeats}

Crotcheted Milk Jug Cover

Souvenir Handkerchief

Jaunty Printed Tablecloth

Hand embroidered tableclothes

***

I have all of both my grandmothers' and a great aunt's fanciwork as well as a small collection of retro homewares which belonged to my mother.  I'm glad I've held onto them.  I'm too sentimental to dispose of them in a rush of decluttering but I've no idea what to do with multiple embroidered duchess sets (one large doily and two smaller ones for a lady's vanity table), masses of edged handkerchiefs and assorted tablecloths in a riot of glorious patterns which do not fit any our tables. 

As I am an aspirational rather than practical crafter, I am resisting the temptation to turn the hankies into bunting or make a curtain out of crotcheted doilies or lay an artful table using mismatched tablecloths placed on the diagonal.  It would not end well.  Thankfully as I work full-time, I can't indulge in such whimsy.  This is, as the SSO* would attest, one of the advantages of my being at work.  There's no getting caught up in fanciful domestic projects. I'm sure I would get better with practice.  'I only need time', she says, thinking of the unfinished baby birth sampler for the first-born (which I am aiming to complete for her 21st birthday!). 

I am thoroughly enjoying this final week off nonetheless; pottering to my heart's content, sorting, arranging and planning up to the end of term one on 13 April, interspersed with baking, ironing and abundant free time on the computer (for research and inspiration, you'll understand).    

The modem is my sewing basket.

* Strong, Silent One (Husband)

Poem by WB Yeats.

Motoring to Tuross Head and Bodalla

A Midsummer Noon In The Australian Forest

~ Charles Harpur

"Not a sound disturbs the air,

There is quiet everywhere;

Over plains and over woods

What a mighty stillness broods!

Only there's drowsy humming

From the yon warm lagoon slow coming:

Tis the dragon-hornet - see!

All bedaubed resplendently.

O 'tis easeful here to lie

Hidden from noon's scorching eye,

In the grassy cool recess

Musing thus of quietness."

***

As our holiday and adventures on the Eurobodalla coast of New South Wales continued, we took a day trip from Malua Bay to Tuross Head and the much acclaimed Fish and Chip Shop.  (You can see the focus of our culinary endeavours: drive to the nearest greasy cafe.)

This particular chippie enjoys a fabulous location literally on Lake Tuross with the water flapping underneath the timber boards of the jetty.  I think, however, since the establishment is for sale, it may be on the decline. The outside awnings were broken and patrons had to swelter in the midday heat, the service slow and unreliable and the fish and chips not quite up to the standard we expect of seaside cafes.  Probably flake instead of fresh flathead or the Catch of the Day, and all a bit too greasy. Still what it lacked in gourmet appeal, it made up for in atmosphere.

 ...with a knight in shining armour guarding the fishing tackle and wet suits. Plus the most amazing views across the lake.  Really quirky, and what I expect the cafes on Pittwater which feature in Susan Duncan's books to look like.

Appetites replete, we sped off to the sleepy town of Bodalla, home of cheese-making.

...and patted the poddy calves.  Eeck!  Long tongues and the smell of cow poo!

Lots of views of the Aussie bush.

There's a modest static display with information and memorabilia from the early days of the Australian dairy industry and the efforts of local pioneer, Thomas Sutcliffe Mort.   It looked like the museum and working cheese-making factory for visitors were still under construction.  It should be great when its finished.  There is also accommodation to had on site and a fine-looking cafe for milkshakes and afternoon teas.

The pub across the road.

 

The magificent All Saints church high on a hill overlooking the surrounding area and keeping a watch on the townsfolk.

A lovely rest spot on the Princes Highway.  Highly recommended.

The Banksia Walk and Fishing off the Jetty

"Not very far way a number of Banksia men were sitting
in a Banksia-tree, basking in the sun and planning mischief.

'Bunch and scrunch 'im!' shouted one.
'Hit and spit 'im!' growled another.
'String and ring 'im!' snarled a third.

Then they all jumped about, grunting and chattering
and shaking the bough till the leaves rattled."

May Gibbs, The Adventures of Snugglepot and Cuddlepie

***

On one of our day trips from our base at Malua Bay, we took a detour to do the Banksia Walk at Guerilla Bay.  It was a pleasant, easy stroll until the sharp grasses (under the malicious influence of the Banksia Men) started scratching our legs.  Little Wanna moaned and I had to admit that wearing a sarong and thongs on a bushwalk was not the most sensible form of dress.  (It was only meant to be a twenty minute leisurely stroll.)

We found some strange man-made edifices amidst the natural beauty. 

One of the most special excursions, full of nostalgia for me, was our fishing expedition off one of the Bateman's Bay jetties along the Clyde River.  The quintessential Canberran experience, I suppose.  We motored around everywhere to find a sandy expanse ripe for fishing, and even asked at the Bait and Tackle shop, but couldn't any spots other than the jetties, that didn't have treacherous rocks.  We weren't so concerned about falling in; it was more about losing our lines on snags.  There is only so much re-threading of swivels and hooks that one parent can endure (and it wasn't me!).

Even with our five dollar fishing rods from KMart and a packet of frozen prawns, we managed to catch some under-sized perch and leatherjackets.  We threw them back of course.  That made the whole exercise seem pointless.  The children loved it though.  The thrill of the chase evoking some primal hunter instinct.  The quiet contemplation. All part of the holiday experience, but not a sport I'm about to take up seriously. 

We weren't the only mugs throwing out a line.  There was a fair bit of competition to find the right spot on the jetty.  But as we didn't catch our lunch, we retired to the fabulous Innes Boatshed Fish and Chip Shop.

It was truly scrumptious.