Canine quandries...

Oh my Lord...

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The moment I have anticipated and dreaded has arrived!

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Brace yourselves everyone...

Batten down the hatches...

Stow your shoes up high...

Keep your ankles covered...

And your hearts tucked tightly away...

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Their eyes are OPEN...

And they are trying to walk...

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It's the Puppies...

they are awake and (almost) AWAY!
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Our three little three-week-old kelpie-cross puppies have suddenly become EVEN MORE FUN to the residents of Granite Glen. Especially to the children (Dash, The Little Woman and my biggest kid, SSB). I simply cannot keep them away from the birthing suite/laundry mess room, no matter how hard I rouse, and shake my finger and warn of Protective Mother Syndrome.

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These puppies have been picked up, patted, prodded, observed, peered at, squeezed, dropped and dragged. So far, their limbs have remained intact. That in itself is a minor miracle. Despite my dire predictions, Cruel has been VERY patient with them all, and simply hides herself in the rolled up tarp perched in one corner of the room when the room gets too crowded. She also investigates very closely each puppy as they get returned to terra firma. Everything is sniffed and bottoms are thoroughly licked*.

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*If you take just one thing from this blog let it be this:

Never, never let a dog lick your face!

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What's that?

You want photos?

Oh. come on!

My evocative descriptions not enough for you?

*Sighs deeply*

Oh alright then...

Just 'cause you asked so nicely...
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I only hope you are ready...

and don't be sayin' I didn't warn ya!

*drumroll*

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This is the one we call...

The Black One

He's a sturdy little sausage with a bit of a "broken" nose and kinda mournful look about him.

He looks a bit like a middle-weight boxer, or maybe Wesley Snipes...

He's got groovy blue eyes and a laid-back attitude...

Don't ask me why but the name Danny Crane comes to mind?

(Anyone watch Boston Legal?)

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This one is The Grey One...

He's a boofa, a fatty boom-bah, a slug.

Call him what you like, he does not give a rats, man!

Just don't call him late for dinner!

Is it just me or is that whole wall-eyed thing a little off-putting?

SSB is quite fascinated by this little seal pup... how something can be so small and already clearly The Boss astounds me!

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And this one?

Yep, you guessed it.

The Brown One!

He's the littlest (comparitively, but he's still a furry slug)...

He's also a blinker (you know the kind that blink every time you try and take a pic... people do it too sometimes... oh, Hello Jeanie!)

He's quite funny and the most laid-back of the crew... he has actually been known to fall asleep whilst under close scrutiny, upside down in SSB's hands. He also has a kink in his tail. He's a bit of an oddball. In the cutest possible way?

(Ah, anyone recall the Kenny Everett Video Show?)

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So there you go...

are you all still intact that end?
Their eyes blue and a bit unfocussed, and legs not quite capable of actually holding up their fat little torsos yet, but still recognisable as canines (as opposed to vermin).
But you can see our dilemma...
Actually two dilemmas...
1. What to call them?
2. Which one to choose?

Help. Me. Please!

How much wood would a wee woodchopper chop?

This is Dash.

Dash has fallen in love with a new sport...

Well it's probably one of the oldest sports there is,

but it's new to Dash.

It's called woodchopping.

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Dash loves it because:

A) A sharp instrument is involved

B) He can get away with pretending to kill something (a log)

C) His uncle does it and wins ribbons and applause

D) Other bigger boys do it and look cool

E) A sharp instrument is involved.

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Despite being just six years of age and not yet 20kg in weight (woodchoppers are generally known for their robust stature), Dash is determined to chop. As far has he is concerned, points A through E are all very legitimate reasons to take up the sport of woodchopping.

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So when he chanced across his cousin's mini-axe at a recent show, he got this look on his face...

and with a glint in his eye, it was action stations!

No log in the vicinity was safe.

And despite the fact that the "Big Boys" send great chunks of wood flying with every strike of the axe into the log (as shown by Dash's mate E here)

and that Dash's efforts were rewarded with er, small sprays of splinters...

he had a huge time.

Chip, chip, chip

Chip-chip-chip-chip!

Chip-chip-chip-chip-chip-chip!!!

He was a man possessed...
That log was very sorry it happened to be nearby when he found that axe, you can bet!

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Now Dash did start off with an appreciative audience... little mates, sister and cousins all agog at the display of mini-manliness...

But the novelty wore off after the first ten minutes of random hacking into the unfortunate block, and lipstick options began to distract the girls somewhat.

But did Dash care?

Not one little bit!

Chip-chip-chip-chip-chip!!!

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And there is NOTHING more rewarding that being handed a sash by a pretty girl for your efforts...

"Thanks cousin L!

"I'd like to thank Uncle G for donating the ribbon...

"I AM THE MAN!

"LAW's SAKE MA... do I HAVE to pose with my sister?

"Oh, alright!"

And now Dash wants, of all things, an axe for Christmas this year...

Be afraid people, be very afraid!

City goes Country...

We have had visitors here at Granite Glen these past few days...

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It's a wonderful thing, sharing our corner of the Bush with our friends. We have only been (back) here for 18 months and already a great many of our mates have made the arduous journey from the city to see us.

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They came back for my birthday last year three months after we moved in, and have arrived for minor local events and just to see us many times since.

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For many, the five (plus) hours of driving seems like an enormous Mt Everest of a trip. Especially when they have children in tow. How on earth to cope with them cooped up for so long? While their parents negotiate unfamiliar highways and gravel roads? DVD players are employed and regular rest stops implemented to keep all and sundry sane and heading in the same general direction! Some take it all in their strides and arrive ready to attack their stay with gusto and a glint in their eyes. Some arrive all haggard and weary, beaten down by the navigation and unfamiliarity of the task and surroundings.

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I recall as a kid, the same trip being undertaken in a white Valiant station wagon, sans airconditioning and seatbelts. Sans stereo and automatic windows. When you had to stop vehicles during steep inclines to allow them to cool down (and yes, I am feeling old, people!). It took between seven and eight hours - an all day journey with three children on vinyl bench seats. I was a carsick child (a malady that still gets me to this day actually, but I pull rank and commandeer the front seat most of the time!) ... vinyl seats may have been sweaty as hell on my little excema-afflicted legs, but it was great for getting the vomit off. Fun, fun, fun... my mother must've had the patience of a saint.

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A friend of ours (from up here) does this trip to the city without stopping - he and his wife have four kids. The carsick ones are trained to vomit (quietly and without complaint) into a container and then put the lid back on. Toilet stops are negotiated carefully with our friend dropping off his wife and the cross-legged child at the rest stop, chucking a u-turn about 1 km along and swinging by in time for pickup within a 3 minute period. He should have been in the army, I'm thinking. He just likes to get there as quickly as possible - and no-one ever complains. They get the maximum "visiting time" at their destination and it works for them.

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Another friend would turn the five hour journey into an eight-hour adventure, with stops every time their child murmured. They didn't seem to mind the extended travel time, but it was hell waiting for them and wondering when exactly to send the search party out. I'm a first-born control freak and I like to know people are on-schedule and not wrapped around a tree somewhere.

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Horses for courses....

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Over the past month we have had two sets of visitors from the Big Smoke - bringing with them their special company and a chance for our kids to catch up with little buddies they haven't seen for over a year.

They watch their offspring roam the corners of our place getting grubby and tired and happy.

And they revel in the quiet and the stars and the animals. We eat ludicrous amounts of homecooked food and talk late into the night over chardonnays (me!), merlots and rums (SSB and friends!).

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Some thoughtfully bring offerings they think we might miss: a city magazine filled with the latest fashions and restaurant reviews; dips and cheeses and wines we might not be able to buy in our local stores; newspapers filled with the latest news.

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We revel in their company and thank them warmly for their offerings. We are asked all the time what we miss about the city, and I honestly have to think long and hard to answer. 'Not much', I say. (They look skeptical, but it's true). After they are gone I flick through the magazines - I discover I really couldn't care less about an oxygen-heated yoga centre, or the latest fashions, or even a wine our local pub might not carry. We are lucky to have access to everything we really need, and with a little more driving, or a search on the internet, I can order it anyway. There are certainly challenges living out here, and the tyranny of distance is sometimes daunting. But I want for nothing.

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What we rejoice in is not things but people.

It's really their company which is most appreciated and fondly recalled after they go. I love enfolding our friends in our home, and I love just having them here. They bring with them their latest pastimes and teach our children wild and wonderful tricks...

And fire their imaginations anew at the possibilities of the world...

They make us remember the things that define what country living is, as they exclaim over our garbage disposal systems or how far we are from town...

And they laugh with us and make the world a better place...

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And our friends?

I hope their memories are as filled with colour and delight as ours ...

Not that kind of wedding...

You know how you go to some weddings and wonder what on earth the bride and groom were thinking? Whether they have a clue what they are getting themselves into?

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Whether the smiles are forced?

Whether the love is real?

Whether the vows are heartfelt?

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Well...

this wasn't one of those weddings...

I was freaking out taking the photos at this wedding...

I was a worry wart - it's not a good look!

The bride, on the other hand, was cool as a cucumber...

Beautiful and cool...

And joyous and happy..

And the groom was handsome and delighted and relieved that he finally had his woman!

And everyone had one hell of a party...

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The best kind of wedding...

OK OK: puppy pics for those who have been good...

I have not gone mad.

Three posts in one day...

But I thought perhaps you might like a puppy pic...

For a reward when you have done the ironing, mowing and folding.

Well done!

I shall have to look later...

Much later...

A cool change...

Winter is coming to Granite Glen...

The mornings are getting nippy and we have had our first frost for the year.

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I'm not that keen on frosts - I have enough of a hard time dragging my butt out of bed at a reasonable hour at the best of times... when it's frosty outside, my butt demands to stay exactly where it is.

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Sad that my rear can have so much power over my mind really.

Perhaps that's because its bigger?

(I suspect it's a self-perpetuating thing... but let's not delve into that too closely! My breakfast is still digesting.)

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Where was I? Oh yeah, Winter.

Fogs have also started setting in at Granite Glen.

Fogs can be kinda surreal and special to wake up to.

(Somehow softer and gentler and easier on reluctant butts than their colder cousins, the Frosts).

I feel like I'm living in a black-and-white print ...

There is a real danger of getting all artsy-fartsy (as one of my co-workers once put it) on mornings like this.

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Then I look at the folding, ironing, housework and mowing to be done.

And I snap out of it.

*Sigh*

The fog lifts and reality sets in...

No green thumb...

Today's confession:

I am a terrible gardener.
This is not a claim I make lightly.

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Don't get me wrong...

I love plants:

agapanthus, lavender, roses, gerberas, poinciana trees...
Among my very favourite things in the world.
Sadly, they don't love me.
Or more specifically:

They don't look after themselves as much as they need to if they are going to survive in my garden.
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I plant them, all enthusiastic and filled with good intentions..

Then I simply get distracted with other stuff...

...kids, husbands, houses, cooking, animals, puppies, photos, bookwork, blogs...
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And one day I glance up and BAM!
... my garden has descended into crispy chaos.
Lack of water, lack of fertiliser, lack of love.
*sighs dejectedly*
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I inherited a lovely collection of rose bushes.
They have been my mother's pride and joy for years.

Here is one - photo taken before we moved in!
Currently, the same rose bush stands almost as tall as the house.
Black spot has made its ugly presence felt on the leaves of this majestic bush.
It needs some serious TLC.
I get a tad intimidated by rosebush pruning.
It's thorny and scary!
I need my Mum!

(The fact that I am a good seven inches taller than my Mum means absolutely nothing when it comes to roses: she can wrassle them down with nary a blink of her huge blue eyes. While I am curled up weeping quietly in the corner. I'm a sook. It's just something you should know.)
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So you see my point, I'm no Green Thumb. No Don Burke. No Jamie Durie.
(Actually, Jamie, if you are reading this, pop on over - I need a makeover! In my garden first, then... ahem!)

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It seems rather miraculous when something actually survives through all my neglect.
I feel like handing it a medal.

And when a plant actually manages to bloom...
Well I think it deserves to be honoured in the only way I know how.
I therefore present to you:

The Summer Lily *

I think I'm in love...

This plant gets watered by me, oh, twice a year.

It's leaves die right down and I think its gone...

'Another one bites the dust', I think ...

(Queen anthem in the background)

And then it rises from the rubble and I look up from the laptop and ...

BAM!

White and elegant and beautiful.

All by itself!

I think I might need a mass planting pronto!

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*This may not be it's correct name, but it's what we call it... feel free to educate me!