I do not like the cold. At all. Ever. And the Great Urban Ark is Very Cold at the moment. In fact the Government announcement of plans to subsidise the reinsulation of New Zealand homes was met with a somewhat icy “can they do it NOW?” from the resident pre-teen.
After spending a couple of very chilly weeks trying to tell ourselves that two oil heaters were sufficient to heat a m2 house we finally conceded and bought some firewood. This decision was met with relief by the slobradogs, cats, and offspring - all of which were getting sick of being swathed in blankets - and unnerving enthusiasm by the wood seller. The Man of The House is trying valiantly to eke out the wood supplies but is losing the battle against pets, kids and editors and has been recently seen eyeing up the Silver Birch in the front yard....

If we are feeling it indoors it is nothing compared to what is being felt down in the yard. The Henny Penny Gang are so miffed with the cold they have not only gone off the lay but have decided the best spot to be on the entire section is on the slate steps at the front of the house. These warm up in the sun and retain the heat for quite some time. Of course getting in and out of the house when your front step is covered in poultry is not always that easy – or safe for that matter. Apart from the real danger of falling over a chicken, THPG are not exactly housetrained (or steptrained for that matter) and you have to be careful when avoiding falling over the girls to not step in a large dollop of chicken poo, slipping and landing on the very bird you were trying to avoid. And don’t get me started on the mess it makes when one of the two legged residents walks in said poo and then into the house, only noticing when someone over the age of 20 screams “what on earth IS that all the way up the stairs?”
The Indian Runners don’t like THPG taking up residence on the step either. Firstly because Scooter and Wobbles like to sit there themselves. Secondly they are just a teensy bit scared of THPG and would much prefer it if the girls took themselves off to the end of the garden and scratched up my freshly planted alyssum as they normally do. I suspect the Runners think the chooks are a bit wussy when it comes to the cold as for some reason the chook water never freezes over while the duck’s favourite bowl regularly turns into a miniature skating rink ( I don’t know why that one bowl freezes – maybe it’s shape is wrong or something?). This never fails to leave Wobbles nonplussed to discover that instead of drinking all she can manage is a passable Woody Woodpecker impersonation. It usually takes her a good five minutes to figure out the other bowl is available – and she always gets a surprise when she finds THAT bowl ISN’T frozen. Wobbles isn’t very bright.
Oh and if you are into Social Networking you can find me on Twitter as:
denswriter
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I'd love to hear from you!

For now though I have to go and get some writing done - next post I'll talk about The Reluctant Witch - and catch up on the loads of very patient friends and family who are so overdue in recieving email from me. If any of you are watching this - smoochies and know even if I'm slacking at the email at the moment, I'm thinking of you.

Hope in our Hearts

"For what are we without hope in our hearts" - Bruce Springsteen

That someday we'll drink from God's blessed waters

And eat the fruit from the vine
I know love and fortune will be mine
Somewhere across the border

So here I am tonight listening to Bruce sing Across the Border - a song I want played at my funeral just by the by - and that got me thinking about how to get across that damned border(not the one to my funeral lol). I feel as though I've been at the crossing for years waiting for the gaurd to check my passport and want to scream "will ya just get on with it already!"

I'm getting sick of waiting and starting to think maybe the thing to do is to just put my head down and start wading across that damned river. Boy am I full of imagery(or soemthing) tonight.

Tade asked me the other day if I worked well with a routine - and I couldn't answer him. But you know something I'm standing still without one so if it will get me over that bloody border, bring on the routine I say. And if anyone has any suggestions, boy am I open to them.

So tonight's exercise girls and boys is this:

HOW does one set up a routine

and more importantly

HOW does one make it work?

I have the mama thing, the wife thing, the work thing, the second job thing, the write a novel thing all needing to happen and at the moment - they're all just one big MESS. So do I make them all daily or do I give them their own days? Did I mention gym, buddhism, and jelly belly? Or sleeping?

And here's the rest of the song, from The Ghost of Tom Joad album

Across the Border - Bruce Springsteen

Tonight my bag is packed
Tomorrow I'll walk these tracks
That'll lead me across the border

Tomorrow my love and I
Will sleep 'neath auburn skies
Somewhere across the border

We'll leave behind my dear
The pain and sadness we found here
And we'll drink from the Bravo's muddy waters

Where the sky grows grey and white
We'll meet on the other side
There across the border

For you I'll build a house
High up on a grassy hill
Somewhere across the border

Where pain and memory
Pain and memory have been stilled
There across the border

And sweet blossoms fill the air
Pastures of gold and green
Roll down into cool clear waters

And in your arms 'neath open skies
I'll kiss the sorrow from your eyes
There across the border

Tonight we'll sing the songs
I'll dream of you my corazon
And tomorrow my heart will be strong

And may the saints' blessings and grace
Carry me safely into your arms
There across the border

For what are we
Without hope in our hearts
That someday we'll drink from God's blessed waters

And eat the fruit from the vine
I know love and fortune will be mine
Somewhere across the border

Playing with my blog

let's see if I got it right

Let's Talk About Belly Dancing, Water Tanks, and Teenage Musicians

After an exhausting week of Biz Expo and covering the Biz Support Awards, I was looking forward to Queen's Birthday Weekend.  

Saturday I took the resident teenager over The Bridge to record his first EP with his band. I am so very very proud of him - he has shown a dedication and passion that few adults have, let alone teenagers.  He's a bit disappointed that I haven't yet listened to the tracks - still in their raw state - but the truth is the water tank and the belly dancing interrupted things. 

So having spent Saturday on the shore in my manager/mum role I spent a lazy Sunday taking my time to get moving.  In the afternoon I took the aforementioned teenager to do the grocery shopping and have a coffee - it was a nice way to spend a couple of hours.  I enjoyed laughing with him.  Anyway once home I set about making a dinner of fish cakes, mashed potatoes, peas and was even convinced to make a sticky chocolate pudding.  Oh boy did I score big on the Mama scale.  Kids snuggled up warm with full tummies to read books under duvets - and that's when it went to custard.  And not the sticky chocolate pudding kind either!  Somebody flushed a toilet and there was the awful gurgling sound that on the odd occassion I have experienced it has left me wondering a)why we still haven't put an indicator flag on our water tank and b)how is that we go through that amount of water when I struggle to get at least two of my offspring into the shower or the tub?!  Hot on the heels of these thoughts was the stomach sinking realisation that we hadn't yet done the dishes.  Plates, pots, ovendishes - covered in mashed potato, fish cake, and sticky chocolate pudding were setting hard in the kitchen and there was neither dishwasher nor sink to be used.  

Monday morning was that kind of brilliant cold that seems to shimmer - you can just about see the air it's so crisp. The kind that ices over the duck's water dish and makes them sound like woodpeckers when they insist on trying to drink it.   So porridge was a must - and that meant making it with milk because there was no water.  The kids thought it was Christmas and of course now want it made with milk every day - but hello - 5 cups of milk every day?  Sorry guys - not gonna happen.  But I digress - we discovered there would be no water delivery since here in NZ, yesterday was a public holiday (Happy Birthday Queen Lizzie and all that jazz).  In the meantime we'd filled my biggest stock pot from the garden tank and set it to boil so we could dispatch some of these dishes.  It took forever to boil but when it did..those plates were hospital quality sterile!  So were our hands.  Luckily there is a public loo just down the road so that took care of THAT problem and hot milky cocoa took care of thirsty family members.  I threw some frozen vege stock and soup bones in the crockpot - not literally you understand - added some fresh veggies and left it to turn itself into soup while I made bread with thoughts of fresh bread and soup for dinners.  Leaving the dough to rise, I piled everyone in the car and took them to the big public (not to mention FREE) indoor swimming pool in town and we all had a swim, then lined up for hair conditioner and showered in the changing rooms.  As is often the case in these situations we had a ball - racing the kids around the pool and pretending to jump on jellyfish.  But there was a surprise waiting at home....remember the bread dough?  Remember we have labradors?  Well I had forgotten that part.  We got home to steaming hot soup, an empty bread dish and a very guilty looking black labbie.  I did manage to pull together some scones to have with the soup but I didn't speak to Fitzy for the rest of the evening. 

This morning the water was delivered and toilets are flushing, showers are running, teeth can be cleaned and dishes can be washed.  Thank heavens. 

So off to jelly belly I took myself.  And for once I actually could do some of the steps and didn't feel like the great white whale galloping around.  I even - shock, horror - enjoyed it.  It's a weird thing - what looks like a simple swaying movement is actually a really complicated, mapped out move and somehow my camels all go backwards, my figure eights want to be figure 32's and my hip lifts look like something Miss Piggy might do.  But I have to admit - I have yet to find a workout that is more intense....mind you that could be coz I'm doing it wrong  and spend all my time racing around trying to catch up!