Sunday Scribblings "Covert"

G'Day,
The Sunday Scribblings prompt for this week is "Covert".
I thought I would try to tie my last lot of pictures, taken 2 days ago in with that somehow. Any excuse to show them off:).
I woke up a few days ago and thought what could I do to snap myself out of the mindset that I have been trying to break out of lately. I am a Scorpio and therefore a water sign, it calms me to be near the water. I drove down to Point Hut Crossing which is not far from my house and thought I would take a little walk by my dear old Murrumbidgee river. I guess it was a bit covert of me, I didn't let anyone know where I was going. I know this breaks the first rule of bush walking, being let someone know where you are going and what you are doing , but there you go, I am a fool. Nuthin' happened to me.
Peter and I went back there the next morning early with our dog Rufus to check out the walking track there. The section we looked at goes for 2.2 km, to Pine Island. We went most of the way along it then turned around. It took us a bit over an hour in total. Rufus loved it, he found all sorts of interesting smells to investigate. He became most excited by the bunny scents and remembered chasing them on our walks in Junee. We had to watch and take care that he didn't disappear down a rabbit or Wombat hole. I wonder if there were any mad hatters down those.
The first picture, above, is taken near the bridge at the crossing. I thought it looked like those beautiful promising looking clouds were reaching down from the sky to kiss the Brindabella hill tops. We did not get any more than a spit of rain out of them though.
This is a Wombat hole. There are lots of them along the Murrumbidgee corridor here in Canberra. Can you imagine that there is a tired Wombat hiding covertly inside one of these entrances awaiting night time to begin his next adventure.
Enlarge this sign and have a read and a look at the map.
Under this pretty carpet of leaves lies next springs grass, waiting covertly to pop back out into the sunshine again and partake of the nourishment that the leaves provide.
Off the track here... It will take me a long time to write this today, I have a sore thumb so I keep hitting the wrong keys and have to stop to fix my mistakes.
On the upstream side of the bridge the water was as still and as shiny as a mirror showing reflections of the sky and clouds beautifully.
Down stream showing the crossing.
More of my lovely old river. Still at Point Hut.
The Murrumbidgee flows through Canberra where I live now and passes through Wagga which is where I was born. I have a special link with the Murrumbidgee river, it is special to me. It has often got a mention here in my blog. The Murrumbidgee is not one of the main rivers in this country but a part of the larger Murray river system, well, it flows into it eventually anyway.
Here in Canberra it looks and behaves quite differently to the way it does in Wagga. It is still the life blood of both towns though, and many others along it's course. Winding it's way and cutting through the earth providing water for both places to keep the area alive. Providing for agriculture, wildlife and humans as it travels along. Cleansing and recreational. Bordered here by basalt, red and grey granite and tiny sandy beaches. Shallow and bubbling along over the rocks. Sometimes forming wide calm, deep, pools then being pushed back through the rocks into a narrow, shallow, faster moving stream.
At Wagga it is bordered by red clayed, steep, eroded banks and sweeping bends with sandy patched beaches on the curves. Running deeper, darker and brown- green over its bed, flowing over many big, fallen river red gum stumps in the water. Bordered by many billabongs where the rivers course has changed over the years by cutting off it's own curves. Analogous of life. Most of the billabongs have dried out now, because of many years of drought and human intervention along the river.
My dear old river.
Got to go now.
I have other things I should be doing.
Bye Love Linda.

G'Day,
Today I am not strong.
I am .....
I don't know.
Questioning,
going backwards,
writing long letters
that will never be read
by their intended recipient
because they will never be presented.
Wanting,
wondering about the answer
not knowing if they are the right answers
or just a placate.
Am I right
or am I wrong,
What is right?
Bloody Hell!
How can someone have spent so many years with me and not know...me?
I think my motives are pure, and honest but
feel they are misconstrued
by the one I have depended upon for love and emotional support.
And given same to in return
I want to cry,
I want to tear my hair out
I want my heart to stop aching
I want my head to stop returning and rehashing my pain.
over and over again.
But it won't.
Will it ever go away?
Have I got what I want or need
not in this mindset.
Build a bridge,
I am trying but it is not the way I am wired.
Scared my state of mind will push him away.

Sunday Scribblings "Worry"

G'Day,
I have been tired this week. Don't really know why because I am usually fairly busy but this week I am tired. Probably the few nights I stayed in Wagga during my daughter's surgery put my sleep cycles out of whack. Her surgery went well, she is young and healthy so is getting over it quite easily. Worried about the scarring that will mark her pretty little flat tummy. Will get her some oil to rub on it. I am taking her back to Wagga today, when she gets out of bed.
How the hell did I raise such untidy kids. Her stuff is scattered all around the house. Her brothers are messy too. I should have been more bossy with them and did less of the housework myself. It was not as if I didn't try to teach them how to be tidy or clean up after themselves. I am a cleaner, maybe that is my life's work. He he. Ah well.
Worry? Yes that is a given isn't it? It is something we all do. No matter how hard we try to fight it, it always comes back to bite us on the bum, when we least need to have it waste our precious time.
I remember when I was 17 I made a trip to Brisbane to visit my sister who was working and living up there at the time. I had the use of her car and crashed it. A big furniture truck was in the left lane and turning left and I was trying to turn right into a busy six lane road. The lights at the intersection up the road were red and there was nothing coming so I thought that I was o.k and pulled out, and crunch, a car was beside the truck, I didn't see and I got it. I had to take the car to my sister and fess up. I had to get a loan to pay for the repairs, my sister had to catch the bus, the lady in the other car got a minor cut on her finger and I did the "what if" thing that drives us all mad when we do something wrong. I learned from that about worrying after the event.
No you can't turn the clock back. You can't go back to the "what ifs" and think If I had just turned left and not right and gone around the block and though the lights instead of trying to turn right. If that truck had not been so low to the ground and I could have seen under it.
If, If, If.....How bloody destructive and self defeating the "what ifs" can be.
How they can make you cry your heart out and still can't change the facts. I vowed then that I would never put myself through them again. That was my most serious car crash. I have backed into a couple of posts and someone ran into the back of me once but other than the Brisbane crash I have been lucky, or was that skill or caution. My kids say I drive like an old lady. They didn't know what a hoon I was when I was younger. He he. There was nothing I loved more than sliding and skidding around corners and spinning around in the mud on the stock reserves.
When I first started going out with Peter he used to sink down in the seat when I drove like that, everybody used to turn around and stare because it was a girl driving and they expected to see a young bloke and not a girl and I thought that was hilarious. Now I shake my head at people who drive like that and say I am glad that it is their tyres and petrol they are using. I must be getting old, he he. Country kids get to play like that and the city kids learn to drive differently. The road rules have all tightened up since I was a kid too.
But... of course , the what ifs always come back to haunt you next time around don't they. In hindsight.

What if I had been tougher,
If I tried harder,
If I was stronger,
If I did it differently,
If I was not weaker,
If I just gave in,
If I had been softer?

A myriad of what ifs.
Round and round in circles,
Biting your own bum,
Gets you absolutely nowhere,
But....what if?

So here is an annoying cliche for you.
"Why Worry?"
It gets you nowhere. But yes we all still do worry. It is human nature.
Better go and get that girl out of bed and back on the road.
Bye
Love Linda.

Sunday scribblings "Disconected"

G'Day
The Sunday Scribblings prompt for this week is "Disconnected".
The blog writer Granny Smith was the first entry in this weeks prompt with the sad news that her beloved husband Otto has passed away suddenly. All of the Sunday Scribblings people know her and the extraordinary life that she and her Otto have lived together and I wish to tell her that my heart goes out to her at this difficult time. Dear Granny.
This got me thinking about being disconnected. I thought more along the lines of being disconnected from the things that you love than the things we depend on like power and shelter and sustenance for existence.
I have a friend who has always felt disconnected to where she lives. She is almost in tears every time she brings up the subject. She is from Tasmania where it is green and cool and lush for the larger part of the year and she married a farmer who lives on a dry, flat, drought ravaged farm in the western Riverina. She has been married to the same man for many years, bore him children and lived on the land with him there but she always said that it is not home to her and the antitheses of where she belongs. I guess on on level I can't understand this because I have moved around all of my life and had to learn that a home is not a place where you belong but the sum f the people who live there. But then I think of my beloved Murrumbidgee river where I feel I belong and wonder about that. I am sort of connected to that area. My land, a part of it, where I was born and spent the most years of my life. No I don't own the land there but I feel at home there. The familiar towns and names and places. The smell of the earth and it's colours and plants.
On another level I am disconnected from my children who are living in Wagga.I am going there this afternoon after lunch. A 3 hour drive and my first drive of the new car we brought last week. My daugther is sick and having surgery tomorrow.She needs to urgently have her gall bladder removed because it is diseased and causing complications with her pancreas. Nasty, you can't live without a pancreas, but you can without a gall bladder. I will bring her back here after the operation for a while until she feels better and ready to go back to uni in Wagga.
Another thing that the prompt this week made me think of was being disconnected to your culture.
I thought of the Australian artist Albert Namatjira from the Hermansberg region of the Northern Territory. I think he died in the year I was born or shortly afterwards. Anyway he lived on a mission up there and was taught to paint his own adaption of the European style of landscapes from the area. The style is very different to what traditional aboriginal style arts are. It is a style that speaks to my heart though, with his special depiction of the flora, landscape and colour of the Australian outback of the area.( An area I knew something of from my childhood living in Darwin. When I moved back south with my parents the trees and colours from up there stayed with me.) He became very famous for his work, sharing and teaching other members of his clan and family, similar style art. He was swept up and along in the art world and out of his country to exhibit in Melbourne which was so foreign to him. He suffered in his health with the change from a traditional diet and life style to the white man's way of life and he paid dearly for it. It resulted in heart disease and diabetes. So so sad to lose your culture like that. His daughter Maisie married a man called Benjamin Landara who also became a painter in the same style and I have one of his water colours. I found it in a second hand shop for $20 and couldn't believe what I had found. It, like Albert's work was aimed at the tourist maket of teh time. Albert's teacher was a bloke called Rex Battersby and I am sure he wrote the book about the artist that I got my info about Albert from. It has been many years since I read it, so I hope I remember it correctly.
Albert was disconnected from his country and his culture and paid the price..
I had better get a move on and on the road to Wagga.
Please google Albert Namatjira and have a look at some of his paintings.
Bye.
Love Linda.

Sunday Scribblings. "Healing"

G'Day, Here are a few photos I took yesterday at the Botanic gardens here in Canberra.
Above is a collection of Casuarina seed pods, and my attempt at drawing them. Enlarge to see their fine details.
Sorry the pics are before the story. I don't know how to move them around.
Tree with rainbow python. I spent more time on the border that the tree and it shows. The border is more like what I usually like to scribble.
Some Canberra autumn colour to show off.
I love these gardens, aren't they wonderful. This area is dedicated to Tasmanian rain forest plants.
The bark from weird Casuarina I found with the bearded trunk.Oops! This is upside down. I flipped the wrong way and can't fix it now. The bark should be pointing down not upwards.
The picture below is of the red wattle bird that came to visit me in the gardens. So called because if you enlarge this picture you will see it has two red bits of skin, wattles, on each side of its face. It is part of the honey eater family, they are common but usually shy and have a repertoire of harsh loud calls.


Happy Mother's Day to all. As you can see from the heading, the Sunday Scribblings prompt for this week is "Healing".
I can vouch that is an appropriate subject to tie in with today being Mother's Day. I have been a mummy for the last 26 years, and will be for the rest of my life, no matter how old my kids grow.
Mummies have special magical healing powers. Just ask any baby or toddler and they will agree with you. They know the magic pain healing quality of a cuddle and a band aid. There is nothing as good as a band aid to sooth a stubbed toe or a squished finger. There is nothing like a cuddle from Mum to quench a timid child's fear, pain or indignity.
One day you are cuddling a baby. The next day you are dusting off dirt from a fall or a crash from a push bike and adding a band aid to a skinned knee. Just a short while later you have the privilege of sitting one of their little school mates up on the kitchen table and doing the same for them. A few quickly passing years later the same boy comes to your house, grown to over 6 foot tall and you think wow! Then you remember with pride putting the band aid on his knee. So special.
Mummies do have special healing powers. I can remember the times when my kids had their falls, their broken bones, their hurt pride and feelings and heart. I was there through it all. Now look at them. Moving onwards and upwards. I may not have always had all the right answers but I was there.
Did you know that daughters, sisters, friends, family, wives and lovers, even strangers have special healing powers too. They are the ones that stay. They are the ones that listen, support, hold your hand and will their strength through their hand into your body to heal and help you and hopefully, when they are ready to let you, you can do the same for them. When they are not there, they are in your mind, or even writing on your blog comments page.
Also consider the healing power of sharing conversation. It can save a life. Even when you don't know it. Just by being kind to someone you don't know, you could be using your power of healing and turn the tables on their state of mind. I had the experience a few months back, and the giver did not even know what she had done for me.
But I remember her.
I also remember the man at the beach who could see I was upset and came over to talk and stayed with me for a while. Healing can be symbiotic, he was on his way to the Dr to get test results. I hope he got good results. Also the lady at the little gallery whom I was speaking with, who reaffirmed my interest in the arts. Something I had forgotten in my turmoil, but something that helped settle me.
The power of healing does not necessarily come from a doctor or a tablet, that is physical healing, if you are lucky. The power of healing what is inside is every bit as vitally important to our fellow man as anything that physical healing can give.And I believe that it is something we all hold in our hands.
I know it is not easy to connect with other people because I am not good at doing that either, but if we were all kinder to each other.......

******************************

Yesterday I took myself out for the day to one of my favourite Canberra places. The botanical gardens. I walked and walked. I sat down for an hour or so and drew. I can't really draw, and am more of a pattern scribbler but it was a nice thing to do anyway. I was thinking of my blog friend Krissie, as she does draw, and I thought I would have a try. So Krissie you have inspired me.
While I was sitting at a table there a red wattle bird landed on the table beside me , not more that 3 feet away, watching what I was doing. Amazing. It was so tame, more likely though that it was looking to see if I had any food to share. When I had my lunch two glossy black crows where hanging around and sharing my food. I guess in the gardens they are confident that they won't be hurt and get bold being fed by the visitors. I also saw tiny wrens flitting through the bushes and other tiny birds that I don't know the name of. I have a bird book somewhere, must find it.
I also saw some strange plants that I had not noticed before on my trips there. There was a allocasuarina inophloia tree from Queensland that had a beard all over its trunk. Weird. Also saw a Banksia whose flower/seed pods were all hanging downwards and not standing up like all the other Banksia flowers I have seen. I thought that was weird too. I took pics, lots of them. In flower were the Croweas. Very pretty. Also Correa, Heath, Grevillia and Banksia flowers galore. I am, sure if I was to go there at any time of the year I would find something different to admire and there would be some other plant in flower. I was considering joining "Friends of the Gardens" a group that helps and supports with the Gardens and does educational things there. Might be good to meet some people and learn lots of new stuff. My gardening experience in the past has mainly been with non native plants and the gardens here are built around all native plants. Then I think, yeah what about time. Oh well. But those gardens. I love them to bits. So beautiful.
That is all today.
Bye
Love Linda.

Tell A Tale. My Childhood Dream.

G'Day,
The tell tale prompt for this week is "My Childhood Dream"
The picture used for the prompt shows a girl, lets call her Lauren, about 7 years old sitting at a table with her chin resting on her hand, day dreaming. A sweet innocent face filled with hope and a smile for her future.
Now that I am the age I am, I look back at this age group and long for the innocence of those years. I can not remember all the details but I can remember some of the feelings.
I remember that I wanted to be pretty but never was. I had to learn to accept what nature gave me. Well, I believe that in theory anyway, I still want to be pretty at 49 years of age, but I am dreaming again. That is never going to happen, not now. Instead of dreaming I should have been plotting my course how to get there.
The sweet little girl in the photo has other things on her mind. She has a secret smile on her face I wonder what she is thinking about.
When I was very young and I was asked about what I wanted to be when I grew up I would answer "I want to be a Mummy". Well I achieved that, three times over. That was not easy either. Certainly not what Lauren is thinking about in the prompt picture I bet.
When I think of her, I think about all the things ahead of her in her life. The achievements, disappointments, failures and successes. The getting knocked down and the getting back up that she will have to cope with in her journey through life. And she will do that, over and over again. But for now, she is dreaming of what is to come ahead of her.
Will she love and be loved in return. That is a biggie isn't it.
What sort of work will she choose to do, or what sort of work will choose her?
Will she dance and sing and have fun and lots of friends and good times? What will she be good at?
Or maybe she is just thinking of what she wants to tell her best friend Carla about. Something that happened to her yesterday and made her laugh, and the memory of that laughter is putting a smile on her face.
Remembering how she was playing with her Daddy in the park and he was pushing her on the swing. Then they went over to the drinking fountain. Someone had pushed a stick up inside the fountain and when her Dad leaned down to take a mouthful of water the water exploded out in all directions and drenched his face and shirt.
"Oh boy Carla! you should have seen the look on his face it was fantastic. Poor Peppy our dog took fright when Dad jumped backwards from the fountain, nearly got stepped on, and cried out, tangling his lead around my ankles".
That made her laugh all the more at the chaos the stick poked into the water fountain caused.
"I must remember to do that at the fountain at school and stand back to watch someone take a drink. I hope it gets Nicholas, because I don't like smelly boys and that would be hilarious. Oh! I can't wait!"
Maybe she is imagining the painting she will do about it at school on Monday and how Miss Higgs her teacher is going to laugh about the incident. Oh! I do love Miss Higgs.
She might be an inventor. Smiling at the thought of her success with a super duper whirlie girly waggle toy that she is working on in her imagination. The one that will make her rich and famous and how everyone will think what a genius she is for inventing such a marvelous toy. She might be wearing the dress that she fell in love with when she went shopping last Friday with her Mummy. The one Mummy said they couldn't afford this time. You know.... the one with the purple velvet and lace bodice that was laced up the front with shiny ribbon. Yes that is definitely the one she will wear up on the stage to collect her award and everyone from the toy company and in the audience will clap and cheer her, and she will look SO..... pretty.
I wonder if I am good today, when we go to Auntie Marilyn's house, will my Mummy buy me that dress.
Auntie Marilyn has a new baby and I will get to play with her. Oh I can't wait. I can't wait!
"Lauren are you ready to go yet? Come on baby we will be late, hurry up."

****************************

Well that is my story for the Tell a Tale prompt this week. Hope it is O.K.
This morning Peter and I went to pick up our new car. We bought a Ford Fairlane Ghia. Very nice, top of the line for that model. It is 5 years old but has only 9700km on the clock.Yes really! Still has all the waranty etc. It was owned by an elderly couple who only used it to do their shopping, and from what I could see, has just one tiny stone chip on the whole car. The previous owners sold it because it was too low for them to get in and out of easily. It is white and has a nice all black leather interior, very well looked afer, a bit heavy on the petrol but well and truly capable of towing the caravan for us, which is what we were looking for. I have not driven it yet, but I am sure I will get my turn.I am a bit nervous because it is so big and also because, if I am the first to put a scratch on it.... He he. Now we just have to pay for it. Ouch!

Good night.
Love Linda.

Sunday Scribblings "Confession"

G'day,
This weeks Sunday Scribblings prompt wants us to make a "Confession."
The first line came straight to my mind, but I have to build it into something. Lets try.

I must confess I am a mess
My hair needs a cut and brushing
My housewife skills are not the best
Some of my clothes need tossing
The work I do could make some spew
And maybe leave you laughing
But I am fine and happy with mine
So look to your own
Each to his own
And stop your damnable knocking.

Never said I was perfect. he he.
Confession. Um, nothing else I want to put out there at the moment. All too personal and what I choose to write in here is my choice so there you go.
I am still sometimes struggling to heal but am getting better at trying to move on with love. Looking forward and fighting to trust and stay positive, I am staying. Just yesterday I fought down some bad feelings and beat them back and was shown that those feelings were wrong.

This morning I cut down a conifer that had died in the back garden due the the drought. It was in a stupid place and never looked right where it was anyway. I reckon some fool must have been given it in a pot for Christmas several years ago and decided that they would stick it in the ground anywhere there was a gap without planning where it should have gone. It looked like that to me anyway. I have a couple or blisters on my hand from the secateurs and my handy little pruning saw. So I must confess I have retreated back inside to my biggest time waster, the puter. It is bright and sunny outside today but cool inside so I am being a selfish consumer of our resources and have the little fan heater blowing on my legs. The temperature got down to 1 degree last night so the cold is here and I have been moving my plants all around to try to stop the frosts damaging them so badly like they were last year. There is autumn colour everywhere around Canberra at the moment with all the deciduous trees in their yellow and red and orange cloaks. So at the schools and in my back yard there is lots of leaves to chase out and pick up. I use them as mulch at home, you are not allowed to burn them anymore like I used to love to do when I was a child and play fire bug. That was o.k though and a big bonus to my parents because I used to like doing that and they got the leaves cleaned up for them easily. He he.
This afternoon I am going to make some anzac bikkies just incase the visitor we are expecting turns up and then I will have something to serve with a cuppa. Better go do that eh!
Bye
Love Linda.

Tell a Tale. "Silence."

G'day,
Here is my second go at the "Tell a Tale site. This weeks prompt is the word Silence.
Silence. What is that? Is it the opposite of noise?
Is it some strange thing that we imagine there is, but is never quite real?
What is real? Sometimes I don't know.
Even in a flotation tank where you are meant to be able to hear nothing from outside, inside you can hear your own heart beat and breathing.
Maybe there are different types of silence that are not so noiseless. Like the silence you hear from the person you are talking to after saying something stupid and their silence tells you that you have just made a dumb mistake.
Or, the silence you get when someone feels unable to tell you the truth.
Or, the silence you hear when you walk into a room and everybody who is talking stops dead and looks around at you and you wonder what you did or what they were saying that they did not want you involved in.
Or, the silence that comes to you after you have the house to yourself after not having a minutes peace and it is pure heaven to hear. But you know it is only temporary and that you will welcome your loved ones returning and breaking the silence again.
Or the type of silence that you seek for solace in the bush, and revel in, even though you can still hear the music of life going on around you. The wind, the trees, the birds the rustle in the grass the far off voices of people, the insects buzz.
The silence of loneliness, or of boredom, or the still of a night alone, or social isolation, the silence of a tiny animal in terror, or your terror.
Or the deliberate silence given when someone wants to hurt you.
Or the silence of waiting to see the result of your deeds.
The relative silence of clock watching for a longed for event or an end to come, whatever the conclusion may be, a beginning or an end.
The silence of waiting and not knowing and wanting, unrequited.
Or maybe it is the inability to hear, either physically or mentally what is being said to you.
The end result of the loss of one of our most dear senses.
There is never silence even in an empty mind.
Silence. What is that?