Three things in one day... thrice!

I am exhausted today. My eyes are red. My hair is unbrushed. I still have my pajama top on (threw on jeans to take Dash to the bus, to present the illusion to the bus driver that I have my act together). My handbag is filled with used tissues and reciepts. My bank balance perilously close to zero.

Why, I hear you ask.

Oh, OK. I'll tell you!

It pretty much boils down to 3 things:

1. We (Mr I, Dash, Violet and I) went to the Big Smoke yesterday.

2. It was a day trip.

3. We went to get all our Christmas stuff. In one hit. Cause I hate shopping.

Any fool who lives this far from town knows that those three things should NEVER EVER go together. If you don't already know this, then get a pen and write it down. Never forget it.

...

It's a simple mathematical equation of timelines.

Ready for some stats?

Here we go:

Travelling = 5.3 hours

Organising 2 children's toilet activities = 1.2 hours

Distracting children so partner can attempt to buy one's gift = 2 hours

Feeding children & partner to prevent LBSCBDO* = 1 hour

Finding parking = 0.5 hours

Attempting to recall sizes of various nieces & nephews = 0.5 hours

Attempting to choose trendy clothing for various nieces & nephews = 1.1 hours

Recovering from headache/heart palpatations induced by above = 0.5 hours

Choosing 95% of gifts in excellent stumbled-upon toy store = 0.8 hours

Giving thanks for above toy store = 0.2 hours

Finding photo store willing to print photos from a USB stick = 0.7 hours

Grocery shopping for the hordes descending in 10 days = 1.3 hour

Purchasing enough alcohol for festive toasting for the western world = 0.4 hours

Running into people from home (who I will see again on Friday) & gabbing on = 1 hour

Calming down husband who would rather do anything but shopping = 0.3 hours

Picking up goods for other people too clever to attempt this madness = 0.6 hours

Checking lists to make sure everything achieved = 0 hours

...

How's your math going?

Mine says that adds up to over 17 hours.

We were away from Granite Glen for around 13.5 hours - so there must have been some serious multi-tasking there in some spots! Keep in mind (when doling out your pity) that this doesn't include:

UNPACKING of groceries (1 hour)

STOWING of gift mountain into bedroom (0.2 hours)

FEEDING of family (0.5 hours)

WRAPPING of photo orders for my overseas readers (1 hour)

and vitally, CATCHING UP of blogs. (not saying!)

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As Bossy would say: keen for a Pity Party anyone?

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And in reading this outpouring of shallow nonsense, I hereby come to the following conclusions:

1. I have a massive mess in my bedroom

2. I must check my lists before turning the car towards home

3. I am very lucky to have the luxury of worrying about Christmas activities.

...

oh... and three more things to be achingly grateful for:

1. The Prado is back ... and going like the clappers (touch wood!)

2. The Nikon in back... come to Mama, darling!

3. You... for listening to such drivel. But enough about me!

...

BB Question to You: What are the "three things" on your mind as we hurtle towards Christmas?

To those who ride with me!

A quick note to those who have taken the time to join my posse ('Who Rides With Me' or 'followers' in the sidebar down lower)...

Thanks for joining up to take my almost-daily rides!

I am stoked (and humbled) that more than 30 of you think it's worth saddling up!

I am trying hard to work out how to show ALL your icons there - my HTML know-how is pretty limited and this one has stumped me! It currently refuses to show more than 18 of you - why I do not know. If anyone out there has a quick fix (that this greenhorn can cope with) then please let me know!

...

Off to organise some more Christmas pressies!

And hopefully pick up the Prado...

Hugs

BB

Something gorgeous... and yearnings for my long-lost Nikon!

I am missing my camera dreadfully...

It's been gone over two weeks and while my husband is enjoying having me focussed a little more on him, rather than simply focussing on him (if you get my drift), I am in severe withdrawals. Have you noticed that I have been forced to use a point-and-shoot (please don't tell me if you haven't even noticed!) and I have even post ENTIRE monologues sans images??

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So as I fidget in barely restrained anticipation of my slightly battered Nikon (hopfeully) arriving back into my lovin' arms early this week, I have dug into the archives to unearth something a little bit special.

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It's from a few weeks ago, at a friends place. Actually, you have met my friend W earlier in the year. Well, you've admired her butt. Anyhoo, W had a Body Shop party at her place. We had all gathered under the shady trees between her house and their horse yards, taking in the spiel of our local BS rep. Only there happened to be a little distraction from the sweet-smelling lotions and potions lurking nearby.

...

Wanna meet him?

Oh. My. Goodness.

Is that possibly the sweetest profile you ever did see?

He was only a few days old, and was not wanting to be away from his Mama.
This is W's son, Harry.

He managed to cuddle this delicious, tippy-toed creature just hours after the foal was born, and he really wanted to share the experience with his little mates. So they gathered around in the yard to watch in wonder...

But Little Buckskin wasn't keen.

In fact he was downtight standoffish. His first does of stage fright!

W came close to advise patience, as the enraptured crowd pressed closer...

And Little Buckskin dove for cover...

Patience...

patience Harry...

And finally, finally we have contact!

...
So now, whenever anyone asks me:
'Yeah, but what is so amazing about horses?'
I shall send them here, to this very photo.
To see this expression on Harry's face...
That silent, joyous 'Yesss!'

And meanwhile back at the milkbar...

it's reward time for our Lil Buckskin.
...

Oh, and that earlier meeting of Harry and the Little buckskin?

W has been kind enough to share this pic she shot early on the morning the foal was born.
Harry in his PJ's, in heaven...

Happy Days...

Fairy-tale endings...

Once upon a time..

...there was a young man, who thought he was NEVER going to grow up.
...
As all around him reached higher, ran faster and weighed heavier... he felt like he just stayed the same. He looked for signs that one day, he would be big and strong just like his Daddy.
...
And (sometimes impatiently) this young boy waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Then one day... it happened.
The very first sign of maturity.

Oh how he rejoiced.
He could hardly keep his long fingers away from his mouth...

From wriggling and wiggling and jiggling. Even his mother, with her notoriously strong stomach, felt a little queasy with some of his 'fang manoeuvres. And then...
One morning...
It happened.

And now he thpeakth like thith...

And his mother cannot stop giggling,

and asking him to thay lotth of wordth with eth in them...

And the little man wrote a special letter to a certain Tooth Fairy,

in the hope something magical might happen overnight.

He even scrubbed the perfect tiny tooth.

In case she is a picky kinda Tooth Fairy.

And he drifted off into a contented sleep, knowing full well that today, he was on his way to Being Big.

...

(ALMOST) THE END

...

Oh... and Pam? If you are still reading, here's one just for you!

I am pure evil!

Bwahahahaha!

Calling all cars, calling all cars...

I am calling on you guys today.

I need some guidance.

Some input.

Advice, even.

I have had some sweet enquiries about my photos and prints for sale.

And people have even placed some orders (gasp!).

So I have decided to add a couple more images to my list of options.

It's really hard for me to choose though!

...

It's like choosing your favourite kid.

And we all know that's not ass-ceptible!

(Hands up all Super Nanny fans.)
...

So here are a couple that people have commented on, that are up for consideration.

This is Mr Incredible (SSB for longtime BB readers) riding in the rain.

But it could be anyone.

Could be the Man from Snowy River.

Except there's no snow.

Or brumbies.

But you get the idea...

...

And this is another (very different) photo taken the very same day.

Gum leaves. Speckled with droplets of rain.

I don't know why I like it.

But I do.

It's the greenie in me.

(Jeanie, I can hear you say: Green Meanie. Stop it!)

...

And then there is THIS ONE...

taken on another day completely...

I dunno.

You reckon it'd sell?

...

So what do you reckon?

What should I include?

What's your favourite photo?

Is it one of the above?

(Oh, and people, I AM KIDDING about the Violet photo. I would not inflict that on anyone! It was a lame joke. My sarcasm is one of my many bad points. Sorry.)

...

Do you like the horse bottom photo?

Or arty farty shots of leaves?

Or sunsets or mustering vistas?

Or something else completely?

What works for you... and why?

I really wanna know....

BB

Courage...

I've been thinking a lot about courage lately.
It's a word with many meanings.

It comes in many forms.

It inspires, it intimidates, it empowers.

...

I have seen courage up close and personal since I can remember.

My father wears his courage like a whip.

A natural part of him, quietly coiled upon his shoulder until needed to CRACK someone (himself or others) into action. It's something he has never let go of. He cannot. He will not.
...

As I walked into the world, my chosen work (in the media) forced me into uncomfortable proximity to the kind of courage that made the news.

The kind of courage that destroys and scars in the name of honour.

The variety shown in terminally ill children that brings world-weary rock stars to their knees.

The kind that sought attention for their cause, braving the threat of scorn.

...

Still later, as my world shrank down into a family of my own, my son taught me so much more about courage that the sum total of those that had come before.

His brand of courage saw him stalwart in the face of unimaginable, inexplicable, inconsolable pain. To emerge victorious.

Uncowed.

Bright-eyed.

His courage is innate and unconscious.

Spontaneous. Apparent just in living.

Even though he doesn't yet understand his own brand of courage.

...

And my darling Violet (TLW)...

whose courage is in her strength of will...

an intimidating weapon she has yet to master.

Her courage is also in her choices of accessory...

And her conviction that shoes must ALWAYS be on the wrong feet.
...
I have been honoured to stand by friends who have invited me to help them document a time when they were forced to find that unspeakable courage to let go.

When letting go...

...was the last thing they ever wanted to do.

..
And lately I have been inspired and wrenched by more courage.

From people I have never met.
People I may never meet.

(Although not if I can help it).
...

People like Alison...

Who has risen above the ashes of almighty tragedy, not once, but twice.

Able to poetically share her story, her kewl kids, her journey.

Able to still breathe.

And to live with understanding and hope in her heart.

...

And people like the beautiful Debby.

A woman who lives at the other end of the earth from me.

Yet whose life seems intertwined somehow with mine.

Whose words I inhale daily.

Whose courage and eloquence and raw ferocity in the face of her current foe floors me.

(Her incredible generosity is another story, for another post, another day.)

...

For Al and Deb and the countless others who find the courage to share their tales (both happy and sad and tragic and joyful) to inspire us all ...

Thankyou.

This last image is for Alison.

Just because she loves it.

And it's all I can really offer her at the moment.

...

Here is a quote offered by Scotty (thanks!) which must be shared:

Courage doesn't always roar.

Sometimes courage is the little voice at the end of the day that says

I'll try again tomorrow.

~Mary Anne Radmacher

A day out ... golf, adventures and reflections

I know very little about golf.

I should really say that up front.

I have held a golf club about three times in my life. It's a frustrating game - both to watch and to play. Or attempt to play. Now rumour has it that I actually wrapped a club around a tree once. I can neither confirm nor deny such an outrageous claim. I think I was seeing a whole lot of red at the time.

...

And yet last weekend, there I was. At our local golf course, complete with stands of sturdy sprawling gum trees, deep sandy bunkers and a picturesque dam. We had been invited to a social golf day hosted by the local stock and station agents. A day of much-needed relaxation for many hard-working souls involved in the local cattle industry. People who also know how to party. And some who even knew how to play golf.

...

In spite of my well-known aversion to the game, I had been roped into a team. Three friends - a footy-type bloke M, who claimed to have little golfing ability, his sweet wife L who had never played before, and her easy-going brother - nervously waited our turn to tee off. We had already allowed a number of other groups to take to the greens before us - we suspected our progress might be a bit, well, steady.

...

Finally we girded our loins and stepped up. There I was: white shoes on, gripping a strange iron stick, sweat beading my brow, small white ball balanced precariously on a piece of plastic. As I lifted the club in what I imagined was a copy of Carrie Webb's textbook drive (or whatever that swing is called) I wondered if bluff might see me through this challenge. I wavered between feeling momentarily confident I would be able to nail this thing, to feeling blatantly ridiculous. But that nervous anticipation was nothing on the brand of ridiculous I felt a second later, as my big swing made a satisfying whoosh right past the ball.

...

"Good Shot darlin'!" came the wry comment from a green to my left. Bugger. Mr Incredible was watching - just my luck! With some whispered encouragement from my team-mates, I squared my shoulders and lined up the ball again. Whoosh-Thlunk! Well. I connected. And sent the ball about 15 metres. Still, a hit is a hit...and I took it. My hubby chuckled at my pathetic hit as he swung his club and sent HIS ball high over the tree. Blinking show off.

...

I won't bore you with all the sordid details, but suffice to say our team managed to complete two holes, scampering like puppies after tiny white balls which refused to stay on our section of the course. Our kids were sent into the undergrowth to retrieve the more challenging finds. All the while the long-suffering team behind us studied their fingernails while waiting for us to clear out of the way. The end of the second green just happened to coincide with the club house. The siren call of the chardonnay carton and beer dispenser drowned out the less dulcet tones of the remaining holes. I think each of my poor team were more than happy to call it in. Golf, we had discovered, was very thirsty work.

...

The remainder of the afternoon passed very pleasantly, as we called out encouragement to those more stalwart golfers passing by the clubhouse. The chardonnays were nice and chilled and the company lots of fun. Kids scampered around the practice putting greens nearby, rolling down the manicured hills shrieking with laughter. I was feeling very mellow.

...

After a BBQ dinner, my friend L, my sister-in-law A and I arranged our tired kids (a total of 10 between us) at L's house. We left the men in charge (of offspring and an esky of refreshments) and headed out to the local dance recital. I had wanted to share the experience with Violet... my own little almost-four-year-old dancer. However the ball-chasing and hill-rolling activities of the afternoon had put paid to her stamina levels, so I left her watching TV with her little buddies. It was the first time I had ever been to this well-known annual event... and it lived up to its repuation as a night to remember. We only caught the second half, but it was fabulous, featuring the cutest little self-conscious kids and amazing adolescents with their budding confidence blooming.

...

We all hummed the Abba finale songs as we drove (well, my sister-in-law drove!) back to L's place. Noting it was almost 11pm, we wondered aloud how the men had fared with the children. Then out of the corner of my eye, I spotted what looked for the world like a charging Brahman bull. Grabbing A's arm, I soon realised the white thing careering towards out vehicle was not a bovine, but a... golf cart.

...

What the?!

As an esky lid flew high over the roof, I saw at least four men clinging onto the small white vehicle. They were enduing a very bumpy ride, as the cart belted through the paddock. I was hugely relieved to see my husband was NOT among the cart-riders, and was soon shocked into a bemused silence as they drew alongside us. The group of recognised party animals were laughing raucously, with one proudly showing the tyre-marks across his stomach earned in an earlier stack from their vehicle.

...

With our offers of assistance politely refused, the group climbed aboard once more, thanked us for showing them where the road was, and headed smartly off into the darkness. Down the hill, towards the road and the distant lights of town. We tried not to think about the ability of those driving to get them to their destination safely. We decided the lack of headlights and available speed would keep them from serious harm. And we laughed til tears ran down our faces.

...

We arrived back at L's home, to find all children happily passed out on various couches and beds. The menfolk shared the adventures of their evening (complete with visiting rogues) as M cooked up his brand of evening snacks.

As he threw down a dinner plate piled hight with steak strips, pan fried and served with a generous sprinkling of salt, I pondered out day out.

...

For a brief moment, I thought of all the fancy tapas offerings I had enjoyed with my fine wines on nights out as a city-dweller.

.

I thought of hiring strangers as baby-sitters when we planned for a night out, then called up the day's mental images of my children rolling pell-mell down lawned slopes.

.

I thought of the huge range of pricy shows offered every day of the week in the city, then of the earnest efforts and delighted faces at the performance I had witnessed that night.

.

And I thought of the gazillion rules and regulations attached to most sporting venues in the Big Smoke. Then giggled again at the antics of our local wags.

...

And as I grabbed a steak strip, I came to two conclusions...

1. I love where I live.

2. Golf is most definitely a game for madmen.