I DO like our winters...

Winter is (finally) here.  And I welcome it.  I find it such a relief after the unremitting heat of summer and I admire the elegance of naked trees silhouetted against the sky.  I can snuggle into bed at night, and don't become a sad and soggy mess within minutes of going outside.

We are lucky here and while (by Australian standards) we get cool weather, the skies are usually blue.  Sunshine and frost go together beautifully.  And I also love the softer foggy mornings.  Which is lucky, because I can't change any of it.

That said, I am also looking forward to spring. 

In my obsessional way I bought far too many spring bulbs.  Again.  Just as I did last year and the year before and as I almost certainly will next year.

As I have whinged, bitched, moaned often, I am as supple as a brick.  I find getting to the ground difficult, and getting up again worse.  I have crawled across the lawn before now to pull myself up using the front steps.   Not only is it difficult, it is painful.  Which makes gardening a challenge on the days I am feeling polite and multiple expletives difficult on the other and more common days.

However, I am as stubborn as stains.  I love my garden.  Playing in it eases my soul and there is always something to do.  Usually a lot to do.  So I have started rehabilitative physiotherapy.  Whose sole aim is to give me some flexibility back and allow me to play in the garden.  More safely and more easily.

I have some twenty exercises to do.  I have indicated to the physiotherapist that she must take sadistic pills with her breakfast because I don't think that the malevolence she displayed in designing them comes naturally.  She laughed - which supports my theory about sadistic pills.  Many of the exercises make me sweat.  Some make me swear.  None of them are easy.

BUT THEY ARE WORKING!!!!

I have finally finished most (but not all) of the weeding, and have squeeeeezed the last of the bulbs into the ground.  I have focussed on colour and on scent.  And lots of the bulbs are starting (too early) to poke their way through the ground.

These are photos from earlier springs.  I am hoping for bigger and better displays this year.

And today we have gentle, blissful, lifegiving rain.  Which will help the bulbs in the ground.  And will make it easier to put in the 120 liliums which the smaller portion (not me this time) succumbed to, and which arrived yesterday.  Next week perhaps...

Its starting

Medical mayhem part one.

We went to the pre-admission clinic for the skinny portion's next surgery yesterday.  He is blase, I am worried.  There are decided risks to this surgery.  Yes, I know, all surgery involves risk.  Some of the risks discussed yesteday are beyond scary.

We have a definite date of February 4 - unless they change it.  He will be in surgery for between four and seven hours. Unless it is longer - which is apparently more than possible.   A minimum hospital stay of ten nights.  A slooooow recovery.  And then, all things being equal, another operation in three months time.  Joy and bliss.

Today it is my turn.  I have an all day pain management clinic.  Which makes me hurt thinking about it. 

His sister is coming to stay for the duration.  Which means that I have to reclaim (again) the spare bedroom.  Not fun.  I have been using it for a depository since she left last time.  Most of the books I have greedily acquired are on the bed.

I also need to get our tax ready so that I can take it to the accountant, and so that he will not be needed at that appointment.  I don't play spreadsheets often enough to feel comfortable with them.

Aaaaargh.

So, the limited time in the blogosphere starts now.  I will be thinking of you all, and will drop in when I can.

Mostly Reading

The skinny portion is visiting his sister so I am home alone.  This means that after the needs of the cats, the birds and the fish have been met I can suit myself.  Luxury.

We are also in the middle of a heat wave, so suiting myself has meant hunkering down and reading.  Also sleeping.

I was given many most excellent books for Christmas and indulged myself shamefully and bought nearly forty more between Christmas and New Year when the book stall at my local shopping centre closed.  How I will miss that book store.  She had a wonderful collection at very affordable prices.  Which she further discounted for me (probably because I bought so many).

When you laugh before you have completed the first paragraph of a book it has to be a good sign.

'It is neither flat nor truly hilly, but gently rolling, its patchwork curves spread and rounded like the breasts of huge, reclining, naked women.  Landscapes are best not likened to men, as occasional pylons can then cause embarrassment.'

And it lived up to its early promise.  Not literature by any means - but fun.

I am currently gobbling two of my Christmas books.

This book was given to me to further indulge my Mitford obsession.  The Duchess of Devonshire is the last surviving Mitford sister and, while I suspect I would have little in common with her (quite apart from the obvious class and wealth divisions) she is fascinating.  Not likeable precisely, but fascinating.

This book is a collection of her occasional writings - mostly vignettes.

'I have reached the stage in life when I wake up earlier and earlier in the mornings.  The wait till breakfast time has forced me to put a kettle and toaster in my room, so I can help myself to their merciful productions whenever I like.  I advise all early wakers who have fallen for this plan to buy a clock with a minute and second hand of immediately recognisable lengths, or you may have my disappointing experience of last week.  Waking at 6 a.m., I made and ate my breakfast, only to discover that the clock's similar-looking hands had played a trick on me, and it was in fact only 12.30 a.m.  Too early even for me, but too late to pretend I hadn't had breakfast.'

I laughed, but did think that a digital clock would solve her problem.

The other Christmas book of the moment is very different.

The author, Fiona Houston, was apparently in the habit of denouncing our modern diets and was prone to ranting about the evils of supermarkets.  She said that people in Scotland were better fed at the end of the eighteenth century than they are now.  She admits herself that she was becoming a bit of a bore on the subject when someone called her bluff and dared her to try living as they did at that time.

So she decided she would.  And that she would do so for a calendar year, to experience 'the realities of all seasons'.  I haven't got very far, but am thoroughly enjoying her diary - complete with some recipes that I will certainly try.


Matters not related to reading:   It appears likely that in early February the skinny one will have the first of two operations which are needed to reverse the ileostomy he currently endures.  This is the 'big one' to repair and re-join his bowel.  If all goes well three months later the ileostomy will be reversed and he will be returned to a bag-free state.  Exactly what he/we went through unsuccessfully last year.  He is gung-ho.  I am worried.  I imagine (but have not been told) that his sister will come to stay with me again.  He is a truly rotten convalescent at the best of times and I am so not looking forward to this (while understanding completely why he has agreed to the surgeries).

I have just started a new medication to reduce the pain which has been waking me up shrieking at night for longer than I care to remember.  So far on the pain front it has made a HUGE difference (and about time too).  The trade-off is low level nausea (most of the time) and headaches (ditto).  So far it is worth it - but I am very glad to have my home alone time to come to terms with it.  I also intend to get my relaxation in while I can to prepare me for the ugly months to come.

While he is in hospital and I have a house-guest I will be very much a fly-in, fly-out blogger.  And I know from my experiences last year how much I will miss you all.