Blog Crisis Alert

Have I been a bad blogger lately?

I know that I am guilty of being MIA more often than usual (for me)

from this blog and the comments section of others too.

Apologies. I have been a little preoccupied.

It's not that nothing is happing.

The action HAS been kinda frantic...

Both with non-blog related (and non-bloggable) activities,

AND behind-the-scenes things here too.

I have been re-thinking things a lot.

Wondering if I am getting a bit 'stale 'here.

Wondering if I need to shake things up.

The thought has occured to me that I should stop for a while?

Or maybe attack things from a different angle.

Or something.

Perhaps stepping back a little will help.

Getting a different perspective.

Perhaps it's just time for a little contest to spark things up?

Or something.

Changes.

~

Would you like to see a change here?

Have you changed things lately?

How did that go for you?

Is it REALLY as good as a holiday?

Share some wisdom or wit!

(Lord knows I seem to have misplaced mine)

:-)

BB

Who's that knocking at my door?

I've been away from Granite Glen and should be doing a LOT of other things... like unpacking. And mowing. And washing. Instead I've been navel-gazing this morning. Well, not my ACTUAL navel (hello navel, long time no see!) but at who has been visiting me here.

~

It's yet another way I like to time waste (or as they would say in the ranks of the beaurocratic, 'research'). I like to look at my statistics and see which of my blog buddies and real life friends have been a-visitin'. Do you have stat counters on your blog? It's kinda like a two-way mirror - people can see into my world, but I can sneak a peek back and see their ip addresses and how they found me. I try to work out who is who, and I label visitors - some who have been visiting me forever, like Debby and Dykewife, and others who get my random tags such as 'Rocky Regular' or 'Lurker from Louisiana'.

~

Wanna peer in with me?

This is a page I screen-saved a month or so ago.

This stat page breaks down into percentages what country visitors come from.

The details vary a bit from month to month, but generally it seems that...

~

Americans like me.

Well some of 'em anyways... more Yanks visit me than any other nationality.

Not sure why? Maybe y'all like my fake Texan accent?

~

Aussies don't mind me.

Well a couple of 'em seem to enjoy the piccies and bulldust anyway.

I suspect they are mostly family, checking to see who's (psuedo)name I have taken in vain, but the occasional other fab Oz blogger pops in from time to time too.

~

And Canadians...

Well one or two of the Canuck population also see fit to waste time at this little black blog. Even with the Winter Olympics on.

Go figure.

Something that always amazes me though is when folks from completely non-English speaking nations visit. And then come back. How on earth do they get anything from a completely 'Strine blog? I have regulars from France and Malaysia and Switzerland. Incredible.

So I decided to don my Nancy Drew cloak and investigate. I checked out a Swiss visitor, and clicked away to try and find out how they managed to get themselves remotely interested in Granite Glen, Australia.

And I found a link to this:

It looks like a normal Bush Babe page... but look closer...

I can speak Swiss-German!

Holy cow!

Who knew I was bi-lingual?

Did you know I visited Switzerland once? It's true. I loved it. Very Heidi and smartly dressed people in extremely tidy towns. I tried to read the menus there ... but gave up and pointed to other people's plates. I have to admit I am 'language-ly' challenged.

Except in the magic of blogland.
~

So today I'd love to find out WHO else is there, commenting and lurking? A couple of questions to let me know who goes there/here...

How did you get here?

Was it via another blog or a google search or a link from a friend?

What language do you speak at home?

I don't mind if you use a silly psuedonym - or admit you accidently stumbled here after googling 'vegemite' or 'mathalatics'. And I promise not to be offended if you don't understand a bloody word I say, think I am an uncultured moron and just come over for the photos.

Nein, bitte!

Yodel-ay-eeh-hoo!!

EIGHT

I am currently knee deep in calves. Well, amongst them anyway - it's branding time and I am utterly exhausted with lots of yard work, cooking for hordes and bookwork. But I have a litte something I prepared earlier...

Earlier this week I was 'tagged' by the inimitable Stephen Baird (The Nikon Sniper) and while I usually duck and weave (metaphorically speaking) to avoid these things, this seemed like a relatively easy one to address. Of course maths is not my long suit, so the whole EIGHT lots of EIGHT didn't really hit me until I was about a third the way through.

Cannot begin to imagine why anyone would want to know these things about me - in fact you may need a stiff shot of caffeine to help you stay awake...

8 lots of 8 things about Bush Babe:

8 TV shows I watch (when I remember they are on, which is sporadic)
1. The Mentalist
2. Top Gear (the British version)
3. e.r. (although it's usually too late for me)
4. Grey's Anatomy (I know, but it's fun)
5. Play School (usually by accident, but I do linger when that cute guy from McLeod's Daughters is on!)
6. Iron Chef
7. The Cook and the Chef
8. Any Grand Slam tennis event

8 favorite places to eat and drink
1. Front patio at Granite Glen
2. Little Tokyo (Brisbane, QLD) location of first real date with Mr Incredible - wow!
3. La Scala (Griffith, NSW) location where real pasta and BB fell officially in love!
4. Pretty much anywhere in Venice (Italy) *drool*
5. My SIL A's house (the woman can COOK)
6. My SIL P's house (great house, great food, awesome kitchen!)
7. In the olden days (pre-kids) a little spot called Gerties (the Valley, Brisbane) for drinks, nibbles and people-watching
8. Brett's Wharf (Brisbane) where a couple of memorable Christmas lunches took place (and absolutely NO washing up by Yours Truly - heaven!)

8 things I look forward to:
1. Seeing my children grow strong and confident
2. A more peaceful world
3. Good, regular rain for all Aussie farmers
4. Travelling with my kids
5. Watching the development of our Brangus herd and knowing I might have had something to do with it
6. Seeing my parents move into their new house (no-one deserves it more!)
7. Having Axel actually obey the 'sit' command
8. Losing weight.

8 things I love about winter:
1. The chance to sleep in til 7am without guilt
2. No mosquitoes (we have clouds of the suckers at the moment!)
3. Less guilt about not keeping the pool crystal clear
4. Less mowing
5. Photo opportunities (frosty fences and frozen flowers!)
6. Lack of sweat
7. Lack of need to bare flesh (esp thighs!)
8. Beanies (hiding any hair faux pas)

8 things on my wish list:
1. To really meet my friend Debby
2. To take my family to New York
3. To be organised
4. To see my parents travel to Europe
5. To participate in and enjoy the lives of nieces and nephews
6. To be a tiny shadow of the person my friend Jan was
7. To be more patient
8. To see more good news on the TV

8 things I am passionate about
1. My family (I am the luckiest woman in the world, and I know it)
2. Our cattle - best beef in the world, baby!
3. Photography - could you guess?
4. Aussie farmers (and farmers around the globe) - feeding the world!
5. Being a mother (and trying not make a massive hash of it)
6. The bush (even if it does test you to your limits sometimes)
7. Travelling (I vaguely remember what this is!)
8. Blogging (of course)

8 things I have learned from the past
1. Never to judge a book (or person) by the cover
2. Always to trust your instinct
3. Not all doctors are equal - a piece of paper doesn't always give a person the insight required for every diagnosis. Just sayin'...
4. Not everyone enjoys The Truth (one man's 'keeping it real' is another man's 'was that REALLY necessary?')
5. Most of the time pictures get you into less trouble than words...
6. ...but not all the time!
7. Never to walk a Great Dane on a beach while six months pregnant (yeah, story yet to come)
8. Life is short - and it's up to ME to make every moment count.

8 things I want/need
1. A new Nikon camera
2. A new Nikon zoom lense
3. A bank account to accomodate # 1 and #2
4. More patience
5. About 10 more hours in each day
6. Susannah and Trinnie to dress me properly
7. Arches in my feet
8. Patience (oh, I already mentioned that?)

8 people I want to tag (Let's see who'd I'd like to torture with this one?)

Kate from A Country Girl
Debby from Life's Funny Like That
Scotty from The Frog Prince
Pam from A Novel Woman
Tracey from Trace Elements
Alison from Three Times Kewl
Jenni from Prairie Air
Ree from The Pioneer Woman (yeah, I know, but wouldn't it be funny if she actually did it!)


You know, I don't really expect anyone to do this - but it was fun to stop for a sec and really think about what is important to me (apparently patience, of which I have none). And it's a good excuse to encourage you all to go visit the people listed above anyway! Feel free to have a shot at YOUR eight things - in comments or in your own blog and leave your link here for us all to peruse...

See you on the other side of the stud branding...
Hugs
BB

Moments... and the Miracle of Motherhood.

I feel a little strange today...

Like I need to share something with my blog buddies, but aware that I am not completely in control of who reads my words... aware that sharing something personal on the web is a calculated risk.

But what is life without a little risk?

And what is a story without some real explanation?

And what is an explanation without the pinpointing of pivotal moments?

So *deep breath* here I go.

...

I make comments sometimes in the body of my posts that allude to my past, that assume a knowledge of who I am in the Real World. Which is fine for those who know me in that world. But is no doubt kinda cryptic for my internet friends. Of course Bush Babe is real - a part of me that reflects the bits of me I want reflected... my mother assures me that it's pretty close to the real thing. (I add this just so you know I am not being a total fraud!!) The real me does take lots of photos, does adore her husband and kiddos, does forget things a lot, does strain against rules and authority on occasion.

All this is true.

...

But I am aware that I skim. I skim a lot.

It's easy to let a cute photo deflects attention from the real story ... and I am usually so busy I allow it to happen. I think: I really should explain that a bit better, maybe tomorrow, when I have more time, when seventy gazillion people aren't calling out for my attention on two-way radios and telephones and emails and around my ankles?

...

I am no less busy today, but thought It's Time.

Time to put a little dent in that shiny, shiny BB facade. Cause Lord knows I am far from perfect. Or shiny. At least in winter (gotta love that oily olive skin!).

...

I mentioned in my last post that I am the person (I consider) least likely to be a parent. This is no throwaway line. I feel it to my gut. It's a role that for most of my life was unimaginable.

...

I was a tomboy growing up: Dad's 'right hand man'. Never wore skirts or jewelry much. I was a very outdoorsy, physical kid - riding horses, climbing, exploring, swimming. And I always had my head a little in the clouds. Always dreamed and yearned to discover what the world had to offer ME. Ached for MORE of something I did not yet understand.

...

So while the girls from my childhood tittered over boyfriends, got married, had children, made homes for themselves... I did not. I barely even had a boyfriend. I don't really know why. I suspect I was quite introverted and unsure of everything except that I needed MORE. I grew up in a family of enormous personalities. I got overwhelmed sometimes. Basically I had not much to offer. I was a stranger to myself.

...

So I ventured, timidly at first, into the Greater World. I studied. I worked waitressing to help put myself through uni. I quit study, found a new passion in my photography and journalism, studied some more. Worked at a job, a career, I adored. Met lots of amazing people, delved into new cultures, travelled, exploring the world and amazingly discovering myself.

...

I discovered I am a fiercely loyal friend. A hard worker. And a half-okay cook who adores Italian food. A lover of good chardonnays and long dinner parties and Aussie Pub Rock. A follower of rugby. A terrible golfer. A fun girlfriend. But not really a Potential Wife for any of those boyfriends who would have been Serious Contenders. Can't put my finger on WHY... it always felt wrong. I just couldn't see myself as a Wife. Or a Mother. Sure I liked kids, but was never the one to whom people passed their babies. I didn't cluck. I took photos, nicely distant from the soft, needy, helpless little souls.

...

My father fretted slightly at my lack of plans for adding to the family line. When was I going to stop 'fluffing around' and settle down? I loved my life and laughed at his less-than-subtle hints. I was busy doing Something Important, chasing my career, broadening my horizons. My mother was much more understanding... I suspect if she had born into a different generation she would have been a full-blown career chick too... she gently gave me the space to be the person I needed to be. Encouraging me to ignore the pressure to wed and procreate until the time was right. I think she thought the time would eventually come when her eldest daughter would succumb to Love and Marriage. But her daughter didn't. Not for a moment.

...

I also discovered along my life's journey that I am physically far from perfect. I don't mean this in a cosmetic sense (although that is true also) but in a very real, functional sense. I won't go into full detail here (another confession on this to come, I suspect) but I suffered from a condition that took literally years to diagnose. It was called Arnold Chiari Malformation. Basically my brain had a sort of hernia, giving me crippling headaches, affecting my breathing, and messing with my hormones pretty chronically. I had surgery. Big Deal surgery. And I slowly came back to 'normal'... but the changes it made to me were long-lasting. The doctors knew very little about the condition (I think I was the second person ever operated on for it in Australia) but I was warned I might have trouble having children. That seemed like the least of my concerns at the time - I was happy to be able to spend a day without feeling like my head would blast off the top of my neck. But that fertility warning would come back to haunt me.

...

Even when I met Mr Incredible, I still couldn't picture myself in the roles of Partner and Parent. Sure I wanted to be with him. I fought that for a while too though... our courtship was filled with passion and great food, uncertainty and independence, seperations and heartfelt reunions. It took years before we both quit fighting it, and settled down.

...

And then one day, in the stressy lead-up to our wedding, I saw something. A moment which would change the way I saw my life's path. An ordinary/extraordinary moment when I saw my sister with her daughter. My darling sister was going through a terrible time, trying to support me in my pre-marital dramas while enduring a relationship breakdown. And her sweet little girl, whose birth I had been present at and who I really thought of as Almost Mine, whose enormous black-brown eyes have always been able to reduce me to jelly. They were there at my house together, helping with something or other. Maybe it was making candles. Or stuffing envelopes. I cannot recall and it doesn't really matter. What matters is what happened in that moment.

...

An 18-month-old 'Salina said or did something sweet for her Ma, her innocent, plump face turned upward, eyes pleading, looking for a response from my sister. It prompted Jeanie to lean down and enfold her daughter in her arms. She had this LOOK on her face ... this closed-eye, lost-in-the-moment, relieved kinda look that said:

"I have you... and that's enough".

...

And suddenly I felt it too. A tug. A glimpse. A glimpse of a world beyond Me. A bigger world. Maybe not better, but different. More. Scarier. But absolutely Intriguing. Certainly Special. Something I could possibly share with the one person I had really let into my life. My husband-to-be. And that warning from years earlier came back and echoed silently around my ears. I held that new vision at bay. I couldn't let myself hope. Hoping for something I had never ever hoped for before...

...

Of course you already know the 'end' of the story. We did fall pregnant. Quite quickly as it turned out.... and you've never seen someone more shocked in your life the day I watched that pregnancy test show 'positive'. I must've stared at it for hours.

...

Me? Pregnant? Me? Responsible for a child?

What on earth was God thinking? Didn't He know me at ALL?

It was all some kind of massive joke... the world's least likely mother was up the duff. I was still learning to let one person into my life, and now, here was one that would NEED me 24-7. Scared the beejezus out of me. But there it was. Positively Pregnant.

And was I prepared in the SLIGHTEST for this new role?

Not on your life.

In fact, I had pretty much wasted every SINGLE opportunity to arm myself for parenthood.

Neglected every little lesson offered to me through the 34 years leading up to that moment. And I had no idea where to start studying for this new career. The biggest job of all. A job which would turn out to reveal to me more about myself than any fabulous salaried role ever could.

...

So you see...

When I revel in the tiny moments of connection with my amazing offspring, it's because they are quite literally my little miracles. They were dreamed of rather late. Their mother was comletely unprepared for the challenges and joy they would bring. I never stop being amazed that they managed to enter my world and (despite my shortcomings) make it the place it is today.

A crazy, chaotic, non-perfect, messy, mostly-happy place.

Who'd have thought?

Not me.

Flower confession time

I have to admit it...

I have a strange flower fetish.

It's to do with bunches of flowers...

I cannot leave them mixed.

Our Small Town only offers mixed bunches of flowers

- either lilies-and-gerberas or native-banksias-and-waratahs -

which I purchase and then attack immediately upon arriving home.

I have to carefully separate the lilies

from the gerberas

and the greenery.

Separate vases.

Can't stand them all mixed up.

What on earth this says about me, I don't know.

(And, to be frank, I am not sure I want to!)

So let us ignore my obvious control issues,

and instead let us feast our eyes upon the beauty of the gerbera.

This is surely my favourite flower...

I adore the delicate clean daisy-like formation.

Simple, colourful, striking, non-perfumed.

(I have a sensitive, sneezy kinda nose

- and a it's ludicrous little sneeze at that).

The gerbera were my wedding posy flower - no fuss, no worries.

And you know what - in the garden they are almost indestructible.

They thrive on neglect - utterly my kinda flower.

I predict mass plantings of these plants in the Granite Glen garden.

I am a mass plantings kinda girl too.

Again with the no-mix thing...

Of course the one thing about gerberas is that

when they are done,

they are DONE.

A little like me.

...

What kind of flower rings your bells,

makes your skirt fly up,

or just makes you smile?

Trek back in time...

Are you sick of reading about puppies and foals and bulls yet?

Have my Lovers of Old Stuff abandoned ship in the deluge of all things furry?

Can you still recall how I like to wax lyrical about fabulous old rusty spurs...

and discarded snakeskins?

Do you miss rusty and dried-up and peeling?

(I shall spank anyone who makes a crack about those adjectives describing this blog author!)

Fear not friends...
I have discovered as-yet-unpublished images from the bowels of my external hard drive which I have meant to post here for ages...

...photos that have been gathering dust and growing cobwebs.

Kinda apt, one might say?

This is a window at one of the old pubs in a tiny town near Granite Glen.

It has pink bouganvillea creeping around it's windows and festive lights draped haphazardly along the wall year-round...

I took these shots while waiting for Mr Incredible to pick up a carton of wine from the lovely owners of this pub, with kids asleep in the back seat of the Prado.
It's what I do.

This is the miniscule timber church in the blink-and-you'll-miss-it township where I went to school as a kid. We had Sunday School here, attended church services at Easter and Christmas here. The lawn was always mown and fresh native flowers decorated the alter (usually arranged by my green-thumbed Aunt Bon Bon). This was the place I took one of my first communions.
Cool timber pews welcomed sturdy big bottoms and impatient little ones.

There is no lining on the walls and I was always fascinated by the shafts of light streaming in through the rarely-opened windows - highlighting the tiny particles of dust dancing in the air.

I love that it is unprepossessing - no ornate gold leaf here.

I like my religion unfettered by the grandiose human touch.

Actually, I like lots of things that way.

You might have noticed.

...

How 'bout you?

Are you drawn to the decorative or unadorned?

Excuses,excuses!

It's branding this week - and I am flat out like the proverbial lizard drinking.
...
My daily schedule includes feeding, dressing and getting kids to school and kindy, organising records, vaccinations, scanners, eartags, lunches, then all day at yards, and repeating list in reverse til all are safely in bed, sending up z's at night.
...
Right now I'm sunburned, sore and exhausted.

(Riding a horse was such a great idea! Love ya Yvette!)

Basically, this mournful excuse is as good as you're gonna get tonight.
...

And, in advance, I should warn y'all that I might be a little light on the posting this week. Don't love me less please... I do have a little update scheduled on the foals. And I will fire off a quick missive when I get a chance, I promise.

...
Hugs and yawns
BB

Post 300

Can you believe it?

This is officially the 300th post for this little black blog!

It seems like yesterday that I took the fingers to the keyboard, after some serious coaxing by my darling blog-addicted sister, to try my hand at blogging. In fact it was almost exactly one year ago, that I decided to really bite the bullet and put my snaps and thoughts into the wide blue yonder. I think this might have been my banner...

And not a single person commented on that very first 'real' post!

An auspicious beginning, to be sure.

The next did no better, when I snapped some emus while keeping my tenuous hold on my 'Mummy Mania'.

...
But I never really minded, to be honest, about how many comments I managed to garner from blogging (it still amazes and delights me that people take the time to leave their thoughts here).

A wise friend advised me, early on:

Don't blog for the hits,
for you will surely be disappointed,

blog for yourself.
And that has really been my motto.

That, and

"Crop the Crap out".

...

But why do I blog?

Well, I do this to share my images, and my love, of this land.

I do it to share the moments that make my heart stop a little...

I do this to record little snippets and snaps of my children being bush kids...
while they are still my bush kids...

I do this to remind myself of the beauty and grace of living so close to Mother Nature...
And occasionally, to keep it real, to bring myself back to earth with the harsh reality of being farmers of the earth, and keepers of it's creatures.

...

I originally did it for our family and friends to keep up with our goings-on. I know they check in every so often, but in the end it has been for my own needs. My own expression. My own desperate desire to do something with the gazillion photos on my hard drive!

...

The unexpected bonuses have been many and varied:

I have felt connections with people from all over the globe, despite my geographic isolation.

I have formed friendships with people I would NEVER have met, let alone shared meaningful time with in my non-virtual life.

I have learned incredible life lessons through their blogs, after they have miraculously discovered mine amid the mountains of blogs in all of blogdom, leaving their sweet comments as a crumb trail for me to follow.

And I have been inspired by them all, in a million different ways.

...
So to those who bother to check in with me every so often:

THANKS for sharing my joy and grief over my bestest doggie friend,

the amazing much-missed Cosmo...

THANKS for sharing your amazement at the things you don't see every day (unless you live in the bush!) like the proud old man kangaroo who checked me out one day...

THANKS for laughing with me at the antics of Dash and Violet...
And the crazy animals we surround ourselves with out here..
And putting up with my fascination for all things old...

and all things sundrenched and silhouetted ...
Y'know, after 300 uploads, you'd think I'd be almost out of ideas for blog posts, wouldn't you?
Scarily, I think I have just dipped my proverbial toe in the water.
And despite the frustrating limitations of my archaic internet speed (or drag) and the lack of actual time I have for such pursuits (hence the sad neglect of housework round this joint) I am still raring to go... not an hour goes by I don't think:
Gosh, that'd make a great blog post!

And that just spurs me on to do more...
Sorry, that was a terrible pun.
It really is sad that I crack myself up so easily!

Too much sun...
...

So I guess I'll catch you on the other side of 300.
Although how I'm gonna follow that spur crack, I have no idea!

Bush Babe bares all...

OK... just so as all the loons who just googled "Bare Babes in the Bush" (or something equally outrageous) know, this is not really THAT kind of blog. I was just having a little play on words.

It's something I do. It's an affliction. Alliteration turns me on.

Oh, stop it!

...

Now where was I? Oh. That's right.

I was tagged by Pam at A Novel Woman to share some of the facts you don't already know about me... and while I am not very good at these kinds of games - ask anyone required to play a board game against me - I tend to cheat. Or 'short cut'. Or completely change the rules. It's my father's fault. He's a stretcher of the rules too. And it is a fault that seems to be hereditary. That's my story, and I'm sticking with it!

SIX THING YOU MAY NOT KNOW ABOUT BUSH BABE

...

1. I am a daredevil. Correction: I WAS a daredevil (before #2 and my family happened). Among the daredevil-ish things I have done (in the course of my job as a photojournalist) include:
- firewalking
- chasing bush fires
- flying over Noosa in a motorised hang-glider (held on by a lap belt only)
- flying in a hot-air ballon over a forest (the single scariest thing I have ever done)
- spent time with Steve Irwin. In an enclosed space. With snakes.
.
2. I walk with a limp. I have had multiple knee surgeries. Because of my Great Dane. That's a very long and strange story. Suffice to say: despite having fabulous doctors, the surgeries didn't work. I don't run at all. But I don't really let it worry me too much. I try to get everyone else to do the running for me. Isn't that what kids are for?
.
3. I hate bananas. We are not talking a small wrinkle of the nose here. We are talking DESPISE the blinkin' things. Never eaten one in my life. They stink. I would go very close to starving if they were the only thing left on the planet to eat. Seriously. Now, in a freaky and cruel turn of fate, they are also the only fruit my daughter will eat. But not whole. She requires that I peel them (she won't actually TOUCH them) and make smoothies (with no lumps!) before she deigns to imbibe. So I have to smell and feel the blessed revolting things. And I suck it in (not the smoothie, gross!)... I suck in this chore, knowing that the goodness of the banana supercedes all the nerve cringing that goes on in my being during this process. I am a better mother for doing it. I hope she appreciates this when puberty strikes!
.
4. I was originally planning to be an architect. I actually studied it for 18 months. Then I met my first Nikon. And fell in love with photography. And remembered how much I loved writing. And the rest, as they say in the classics, is history.
.
5. I have a tattoo. Not going to tell you where. Won't tell. You can't make me.
.
6. I am four years older than my husband. And darned proud of the fact. I'm his 'older woman', he's my 'toyboy' and I live by the motto: You are only as old as the man you feel. (Sorry Mum!)
.
7. I have double-jointed fingers. All of them. My freaky joints are half the reason my knee has never come good - darned thing won't hold still!!

.

8. I miss this dirty thing...

and the device that took this photo....Oh, you already knew that?

Well did you notice that this list was supposed to have only six items... I am completely unable to follow rules. It's just how I roll. Now, I am also not going to tag people - although if you do try this then please let me know in the comments so I can come over and see how weird YOU are!

Instead, I am going to ask this:

WHAT IS THE MOST STARTLING & FREAKY THING ABOUT YOU?

C'mon. Share.

It's very cathartic!

Changes... Incredible Changes!

I've been thinking... and watching movies with my daughter while I fold a MOUNTAIN of clothes. It's a dangerous combination of chores.

.

Someone mentioned to me the other day that the names I have chosen for the Cast of Characters here on my blog are kinda mixed-up. They were suggesting it would be easier to have single names for my husband and daughter, rather than three letter acronyms. After all, 'The Little Woman' and 'Serious Sexy Bloke' (while apt) can feel a bit bizarre mid-conversation.

But this person said that 'Dash' was the absolute right name of my little man. Fitted him like a glove!

And I thought no more of this conversation... til today.

.

Then this afternoon I was watching The Incredibles with The Little Woman. It's easily one of my favourite movies (we watch kids' movies a lot at this stage in our lives!). And as we watched Violet peer through her jet black fringe, I looked at my daughter.

Her (admittedly blonde) locks were in their usual disarray and her twinkling eyes peered out through the veil of 'bwonde haiw' at me. And the super force-field of her Mad Face came to mind. Hmmmm, I thought.

.

And then, as I pulled burrs from socks, I noticed how Mr Incredible was blond (like SSB) and big (like SSB) and quite handsome in a super-hero-kinda way (like SSB).

Not that SSB wears tights.

Or lifts steam engines for muscle-building.

Well, not often.

Double Hmmmmm.

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And I thought:

Well, my butt is certainly bigger than it was in my Early Action Days.

Just like Elastigirl's...

And although I'm not as flexible as I once was, I DO have double jointed fingers.

That counts surely?

And if not, then the irony and sarcasm of such a connection would be worth a giggle!

Triple Hmmmmm....

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And I wondered:

Can one change the names of one's loved ones mid-blog?

And if not, why not?

Will y'all cope if I throw this kind of spanner* in the works?

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*Where spanner = changing names

Where Mr Incredible = Serious Sexy Bloke (SSB)

And where Violet = The Little Woman (TLW).

And where ElastiGirl might sometimes be Bush Babe in disguise??

(Cause a girl can never have too many aliases!)

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Oh, and I got a new sign-off.

It's not actually my real writing.

But I wish it was.

(Thanks for the idea Cher and Shirley!)

Yours in Super Hero Fantasy...

Bush Babe goes all 'Corporate'!

Well, no not really. I used to be corporate - hell, I wore court shoes and Cue suits and had neat hair and rushed around and advised Important People on a daily basis. I organised logos and events and press conferences. So I know corporate. Bush Babe doesn't really do corporate these days (or pumps for that matter, but that's another story!). I love that I'm mostly a corporate-free zone these days...

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What I am trying to get to, in my convoluted way, is that I have decided to allow an ad on my blogsite. Why? Well it's just to help cover the postage on my Mystery Photo prizes really. And Blogher promises not to put anything too offensive in the little window to the right. So I'm trying it on to see how we go. Let me know if it works for you guys.

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For the record, I have absolutely no intention of stopping my little Mystery Photo segment - my readers have some of the funniest and most vivid imaginations I've ever stumbled upon. And I really need the laughs at your outrageous interpretations of my whacky close-ups of Granite Glen "stuff". It makes my week really.

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So in the interest of proving my point, I shall post a mystery photo up later today.

Winner (as usual) gets their choice of print from images anywhere on this site.

See you soon!

BB

Holy Cow, Big Bulls... and who ARE you people?

Hello ... I'm back.

Did you even know I was gone?

See... schedule a couple of posts, use a very dodgy broadband connection at a motel for about 10 minutes each night and no-one is the wiser. How I love modern technology and Scheduled Posting for the Lazy Blogger (henceforth known as SPLB, that's how lazy I can be!).

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You may already know that we had packed up and taken off (Pagi, SSB, me and the kids) to do a little bull sale-ing. Hmmm. That came out wrong. What we did was we travelled for a number of hours (in a dodgy vehicle, post on that particular adventure to come) to attend couple of bull sales near a major Central Queensland town/city over a 48 hour period.

And I learned a couple of things.

I'd like to share them here (if I may):

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1. It's WAY easier to attend a bull sale as a BUYER rather than a VENDOR (tension factor about 10% doing the former over the latter). I am seriously considering never holding a sale and being a professional bull buyer. It's fun. I just need a little bankrolling!

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2. One must always ensure that one's offspring are sufficiently entertained in the thoughtfully-stocked sandpit near the sale arena prior to bidding on a bull. It's quite tricky bidding and answering urgent questions about sand in your child's underdaks at the same time. Possible, but tricky.

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3. Always ensure that one's father hands over the bid card prior to the sale commencing.

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4. Always ensure that one's father has both hands sufficiently immobilised during the sale (after securing the bid card) in order to prevent what I like to refer to as rush-of-blood-itis. Those bulls always look soooo much more tempting in the sale ring than they did in the yards out back. It's a little known fact. Just in case you ever need to know.

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5. While it may be entertaining to watch a very lean, very spry (very wry) man in his 60s leap through the rails of the sale ring when one extremely large, fast-moving bull gets a bit close for comfort (he was heard to crack as his hat stayed behind in the ring: That'd be right, damned thing is the biggest part of me!)... it is NOT so entertaining to see a 20-something girl get butted by a different large bovine beast. The fact that, within a minute of limping out to catch her breath, she returned to the sale arena to show the next lot of bulls through , very nearly had me on my feet applauding. Except it's way not cool to applaud that kind of thing in Australia. But on the inside I was clapping til my hands peeled!

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6. Two bull sales in two days is quite enough for two children under the age of 7. It's pushing the boundaries of the relationship asking them to sit quietly, play nicely, and not kill each other (or any other children in the vicinity) for approximately three-hour periods of relatively unsupervised time over two consecutive days. They deserve medals really.

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7. Don't freak out if one child befriends a man in a wheelchair with a snappy little pooch on the fringes of the sale ring. Said man might just be a fabulously successful cattleman with lots of amazing knowledge of this complex and sometimes difficult industry. And said man might be really, really lovely and patient as one's son lights up while gaining the nervous little dog's trust. (And it's that last bit that really impresses this mum!)

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8. Don't freak out when one returns finally to Granite Glen to log into blog and see that HUNDREDS of you have been visiting while I have been away!!!! Eeeeekkkkkk!! What happened? Seriously. Jeanie, in all her blogging wisdom, taught me how to find my "stats" on Statcounter a little while ago, and I can kinda see who is visiting... and over the past 3 days this humble little blog has had over 400 hits and 280 unique visitors. Gads... I feel a little shaky!!

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As you know, I'm no Pioneer Woman, Dooce, or Bossy (and about 8 months ago didn't even know of these talented, funny and sometimes downright crazy people who steal precious time from my day with their popular antics!) and to be honest have no real ambitions to go there in the Biggest Hits Department... I love my little friendly group who visit and comment and giggle and chide me for my silliness.

But who are the rest of these people?? Should I say YOU people?

Hellooooooo...

*looks over shoulder, wide-eyed*

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I tell you: I'm a bit nervous.

What's going on with all you lurkers out there?

Have one of you got a bid card?

Or is there a bloody great bull somewhere behind me, about to bring me back down to earth with a thud?

And how come I got "popular" while I was actually AWAY?

Totally bizzaro... think I might give up Statcounter and stick to SPLB.

I'm still such a greenhorn at this game!

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BB Question/s:

How did you first find me?

And how long did you lurk for before you 'came out' and commented?

C'mon... share! The water is warm and the people are friendly...

Ode to equine nose hair

You may have guessed by now how much I am motivated by my senses...

...that the little things that might pass others by, rivet me, stall my steps, divert my attention, soak up my time. Things like a ray of light on the bark of a tree, a butterfly alighting on a manure-covered denim-clad thigh, the angle of my child's cheek as they silently pose a question.

My husband's chambray shirt melting into the blue hills of the horizon as he canters off down a dirt track. Fascinating...

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It's the frustrated artist in me - although I do not think of myself as an artist.

I'm far too practical for such a lovely, whimsical title.

I was brought up with Time and Motion as Gospel, and Daydreaming a Deadly Sin.

And, I always have been able to adhere reasonably to the former and resist the latter. But it's a battle to keep the focus on the Practical sometimes.

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One of the things which has always entralled me have been horses.

And luckily, horses and Time and Motion achievement have been twined nicely together here at Granite Glen since time immemorial. Mustering cattle on horseback and all. But my attachment to these creatures is really much greater than a strictly working relationship.

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For those who have not had the chance to experience any kind of equine affection, it's kind of a hard thing to explain.

It's really something you need to feel... and soak in... and hear... and smell.

It can be gentle and serene,

or furious adrenaline-fuelled action.

But even if you never, ever climb in a saddle, horses can be the loveliest things.

Take Rob Roy, for instance.

Sure, he's cute at first glance but let me tell you: this horse has got small man syndrome, big time. All red-headed Scottish temper and little bloke outlook.

He's a foot or two shorter than his buddy, the fabulous Trooper, but no-one's been game to tell Rob Roy! He's what you might call a bit bombastic - especially if you ever dare to come between him and his feedtin. It ain't pretty! He's even been known to nip unsuspecting humans (around his height) who take him too lightly.

Eat?? ... this pony NEVER STOPS! He's a machine!

He may be the wrong side of 10 hands, but what he lacks in altitude he MORE than recovers in attitude.

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And while none of these attributes is entirely endearing, he's just, well... gorgeous!

I can never really put my finger on why we forgive him his naughty little mannerisms so easily...

then I watched him with TLW the other day, and it dawned on me...

it's all to do with his HAIR.

His nose hairs, to be specific.

Yeah.

I know that sounds a bit, well, arty farty.

But you'll see.

Look.

Under that little pale, trusting human hand...

The sweetest, softest, tiniest nuzzliest all-over-the-nose hairs in the world.

These nose hairs are among the many arty farty reasons my ironing remains unironed.

Bush Babe's Olympic effort

Aren't you glad the Olympics are over?
I sure am.

Not that I don't have my favourite moments (personally, I couldn't go past our blond Aussie pole vaulter pretending he couldn't jump anything much until the last moment, then scraping over to win GOLD, then backing up nonchalantly to notch up an Olympic record to boot! I wonder if he plays poker too?).

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And it's not that I didn't love the fortnight of flashing of perfect human form - think Michael Phelps abdomen ...Dear Lord, is that thing legal?

...and the Jamaican Bolt's incredible thighs, our sweet gay Aussie high diver's perfect lil' butt... (reminds me of my grandmother, who was a saucy old thing, gazing at the swimmers during the Brisbane Commonwealth Games and declaring: "My, they DO have dear little bottoms!" to her slightly stunned granddaughter) ...and the super slow-mo's of the volleyball girls and the marathon women's fat-free legs as they leapt gazelle-like and ran ludicrous distances in the name of Sport. And Voyeurism. Ah, the Olympic spirit!

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I had a horrible moment myself, when I briefly contemplated what my thighs might look like in slow-mo. A ripple of Olympic Closing ceremony proportions...

*shudder*.

So I turned the TV off and started on an Olympic event of my own.

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One that I really should have put in some serious training for.

Because God knows that I am badly out of shape, for all events except the Olympic washer-to-dryer lift and dishwasher-unload. I'm starting a campaign to have those two events added to the 2016 games.

Anyone with me?

...

No, really, the event I decided (in a rush of Olympic-inspired blood) to take on was...

The Clover Spraying.

By hand.

With a 12 litre backpack pump.

Made for a bloke about a foot taller than me.

And to top it off, I decided to add pink dye to the spray, to see where I had been.

Very practical, no?

Hmmm....

Well my friends, today, I look out over my lawn and imagine the inviting lush green of a clover-free summer yard. And I do my level best to ignore my bruised shoulders, from 10 loads of clover and bindii poison. I ignore the abdomen muscles shaken rudely from years of hibernation with my four-and-a-half hour spraying stint. I ignore the sunburn around my neck (it's Winter here, I forgot my sunscreen, OK?). I ignore the aching leg muscles and shaky wrist from holding the spray nozzle in a certain position for hours on end. And I ignore the fact that I was so dog-tired after this unanticipate physical activity that I couldn't even keep my eyelids open to see the start of the Closing Ceremony. I ignore it all.

Yes I do.

Do so!

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I ignore all these factors, and overcome my badly out-of-shape physique, and look at this:

Yeah.

Whole new meaning to painting the town red, eh?

Painting Granite Glen pink.

So can you see how it might look in a few weeks?

All verde and even and lush?

You've just got to use your imagination!

Luckily mine is in tip-top shape...

Ripped, you might say.

Your Olympic candidate for Imagination .

BB

Question: What was your favourite Olympic moment, and why?