My strawberries arrived!

I’d never bought live plants from a catalog before, so they weren’t quite what I expected.  I think I’d imagined a small box of punnets, or little plants in tubes.  Instead, I got a tiny box with two cling-wrapped bundles.  The plants were all bare sticks and wet roots, held tightly together.  I  untangled them gently and spaced them over their new planter box.

I worried about them the whole time I was planting – were they too deep, too shallow?  Did the soil, so black, need more water?  Potting mix isn’t like any real dirt of any place I’ve lived.  And now the black empty dirt had little bundles of sticks poking out of it.

Waiting for leaves makes me think of Robert Fulghum.  When you plant a bean in a cup in kindergarten, the leaves grow up and the roots grow down, and nobody really knows why.  I have a science degree with a far wack of biology, and I know the fancy words for it.  Gravitropism is growing towards (or away from) gravity, and heliotropism means the movement of the leaves towards the sun.  But I don’t know why, either.

Yesterday I looked at my strawberries, wondering if they needed more dirt around their roots.  Three of them have developed little green shoots!

Now, instead of worrying about if I planted them right, I’m worrying about frost and birds and grubs.  But you know what?  The plants don’t know anything about that.  They just grow up to the sun, and down into the earth.  And nobody knows why.

Gazing at the moon, in June…

What are you wishing for, right this minute?  Jamie has asked what we are wishing for in June, and to be honest, I’m a little stumped – I’ve had so many unexpected blessings lately.  I have been offered the promotion I was looking for at work.  The semester has come to an end, so I now have a whole day off work every week to spend however I like.  Ryan’s birthday was mid-May, and the celebrations went beautifully.  How could I wish for anything else?

Of course, I’m human, once you start thinking there’s always more : )

I am wishing that June brings back my health, and with it my energy and my blogging mojo (and my appetite).

I am hoping for good results on my final university assessment.

I am wishing for some blue skies behind all these rain clouds.

But mostly I just want my mojo back.  Leonie has just released a cool e-book about mini-retreats, and I think that’s exactly what I need.  I can’t get out of this funk by lurking, I need to pull myself out with gentleness and beauty.

So happy wish-casting Wednesday, everybody!  I hope June brings you some big wishes : )

8 things I need less of

Brought to you by the lovely Rachelle at Magpie Girl:

Sick.  In the last month I have either been head-ache, sniffly or just plain ill.  I would like it to stop, please.

Late nights.  They serve no good purpose, and I really don’t need to watch two episodes of Cold Case in a row, so I have to learn to get off the couch and take the ten steps to bed.  Earlier!

Paper.  Somehow, I am the person in charge of filing stuff around here.  But it hasn’t happened lately, and somehow in all the piles of paper in all the corners of the room, there bits I actually need are nowhere to be found.

Deadlines.  Only a crazy person would have a job interview, a report due, and a final assignment due all in one week.

Socks.  Somehow, they are bursting out of the drawer, but none of them match.

Gremlins.  Specifically the gremlin that wakes up whenever something good happens, waiting for the other shoe to fall.  I think it should go bother Malcolm Turnbull, instead.  He always looks too smug.

Builders.  I think there’s renovations going on six blocks in our very short street.  As I type this I can hear a brick saw, a reversing truck and several unidentified sorts of large machinery.

Regrets.  I know I’ve been neglecting this blog.  And the house, and my friends.  And I plan to stop doing all of that soon.  If I could just squash the gremlin that says you’ll all hate me for not commenting anywhere lately…

Hibernating

It’s properly winter.  The leaves, so colourful two weeks ago, are now drifting down the street collecting spiders.  We’ve had a few bright, cloudless days, but mostly it’s been gloom.

I’m reaping what I’ve sown in hyperactivity.  My final assignment is due, I have a job interview and I’m sick.  All in one week.

My muse knows it’s winter.  She’s hibernating.  Uninspired, I’ve been ignoring blogging, journalling or any other re-examination of  my thoughts.

More gloom.

Could somebody please wake me up for Remembrance Day?

Growing things

Somewhere on the list, there is something about growing strawberries. I’ve tried, once or twice, only to be thwarted by heatwaves, snails or my own absent-mindedness.  My thumbs are generally black and blue, rather than green.

But Ryan got all enthusiastic this month… he came home from Bunnings with beans and mint and garlic and onions – all ready to plant in our raggedy collection of pots.  And enthusiasm is catching, so I ordered some strawberry plants…

Diggers is an awesome Australian company.  They sell seeds and plants through miraculous catalogues, focussing on heirloom and non-commercial varieties of fruits, vegetables and flowers.  We don’t even have a garden of our own, but I still get the catalogues.  So that’s where the strawberries are coming from…

To my North American friends – are you confused yet?  It is Autumn here.  And yes, we are weird.  But this is the right time to plant many fruits and veggies in Australia.  The wetter (hopefully) winters will give the plants a chance to adjust and bed in, ready to come out fruiting in spring!

Anyway, I saw that Genie was hosting this weeks wishcasting, and the wish is “What do you wish to find on your doorstep?”

I am wish and waiting for my strawberries.

Any day now!

On writing and writers

You know what?  I am completely loving being a mature age student.  The sort that reads all the lecture notes and the recommended reading as well as the required stuff.  The sort that sticks up their hand in lectures.

I love it.

I think it’s because I recognise this as a luxury.  This is something I saved up for – a chance to commit time and money to learning, reading and thinking.  A commitment to creating.

Part of me is scared it is all a waste of time.  Part of me doesn’t care.  This is living life with my priorities front and centre.  I can live with the background hum of ‘Gosh that’s selfish’.

One of the biggest luxuries in this course is being able to hear writers talk about their craft.  Today we heard from Anthony Eaton, who’s had 11 books published and is just finishing a twelfth.  He’s an honest-to-goodness Australian writer, who has been able to support himself through his writing.  That is a very encouraging thought.  He talked about getting his first novel published, and how he supports himself.  He also showed us some journals from his trip to Antarctica – that was amazing.

Anthony has a PhD, so he loves his research.  And his writing-journals had maps, paintings, sketches, time lines… and a chapter by chapter outline of the book he hadn’t started writing yet.  I thought the journals were works of art by themselves.  It was awesome to have a writer so generously show us the nuts and bolts of their craft.

Last week I mentioned Stephen King’s book On Writing.  In it, King outlines his method of creation, which imagining a situation, populating it with characters and then writing to see where it goes.  It sounded like the complete opposite of what Anthony tries to do.  But then, who said there was ever a correct way to create?

I’m taking away two things from this class.  The first is just to get the manuscript done – it doesn’t matter how rough, or overwritten or clumsy as long as it’s finished.  Once you’ve got a shitty first draft, you have something to work with.

The second is that a writer’s notebook can be many different things.  When I think of journals, I think of Anais Nin or someone like Helen Garner, who basically admitted writing about her friends from her diaries.  But Anthony’s journals were something else entirely.  More akin to an Artists diary, it was a document of the development of a creative idea.  Anthony said it took him nearly two years to find a way of journaling that worked for him.  That makes me feel quite a lot better about my own neglected journals.

Corporate Criminality

Dear Milk Thief,

I can’t imagine being being hungry enough to steal food.  I know that it happens, it’s just a situation I’ve been lucky enough to avoid.  In the current economic climate, I suppose many more people will face the situation of having no legal way to provide food for themselves and their family.  I hope you know that, if you really need it, nobody begrudges you our office milk.

However, in my years working in offices, I’ve encounter many petty office food thefts.  Lunches that disappear from the fridge, fundraising chocolate not paid for, that sort of thing.  Sometimes it’s accidental – a coworker nuked my salad for three minutes last week, thinking it was her chicken tikka.    Many times it’s just mean.

So here’s my point.  If you need milk, feel free to take it.  But two whole crates of milk?  Are you trying to invent a dairy-fueled smart car?  Do you have calves to feed?

I can understand stealing food if you’re really hungry and desperate, but otherwise, it’s just petty.  Petty and stupid – what if you get caught?  Is two crates of milk worth an encounter with the cops (especially if it’s skim)?  Or an encounter with 30 angry geeks missing out on their morning caffeine fix?

And we have CCTV.  We’ve seen the footage of you waiting for the milk truck to leave.  You’d think you’d at least wear a balaklava, or a spiderman mask or something.  That way you could pretend you were stealing something worthwhile.  But really, two crates of milk?

I hope something more worthy and interesting comes along for you soon.  A life of milk stealing isn’t something I’d wish on anyone.

Yours sincerely,

caffeine deprived geek

(not quite so caffeine deprived that I will drink my coffee black)

Books are my friends.

I have always been the sort of person to hide away in a book.  When I need to retreat from the world, I re-read old favourites.  When I need inspiration, I go looking in books.

And on blogs.

At any one time, there’s probably four or five books I’m reading, and several more on my wish list.  So when Jamie asked what I wish to read, I was spoilt for choice.

I wish to read Momma Zen, because I still haven’t got my hands on it.

I wish to read Zen to Done because Leonie made such an awesome poster and now I’m curious.

I wish to read The Moonstone because a friend cannot recommend it highly enough.

I wish to re-read some Stephen King novels because I’ve just finished reading his book, On Writing, and it blew me away.

Oh, and mondo beyondo, I’d love to read my name in print.

What are you reading?  What would you wish to read?

Remembrance

Yesterday was ANZAC Day.  It commemorates a battle in Turkey in World War One. A landing of Australian and New Zealand forces on the wrong beach.  Under the command of English generals, they fought and took the beach with tremendous casualties.  Then they held their position for a horrific eight months, before being unceremoniously evacuated.  It wasn’t even a particularly useful position in the first place.

The whole thing was a senseless waste of life.

ANZAC Day comes at the end of autumn, usually just after Easter.  It’s cold.  It’s an odd sort of commemoration, a reminder of the horrors of war, while lionising those who carried them out.  It sits uneasily with me.  There’s a whole undercurrent of blood sacrifice – “They died for your freedom” following on so soon from “He died for your sins”.

Every town in Australia has it’s memorial.  In some towns, that’s all there is – pub, cornerstore, memorial.  Simple plinths, on one side they have all the boys names who died in WWI  and all the WWII on another.  I think we forget how pervasive those wars were.  We’re an unceremoniously patriotic lot.  We may not sing the anthem at football games, but when called, we signed up in droves.

The memorials sit idle for most of the year.  On ANZAC day they are the focus of everything.  There’s a dawn service and there’s a parade, both ending with the laying of wreaths.

ANZAC Day was a big day for my grandfather.  It was for mourning lost friends, marching for them and holding space for them.  I started going to dawn services just before he died, but after he no longer felt strong enough to attend them.  Dawn services are short and to the point.  Wreaths, a short talk, the last post and silence.  “We shall remember them”

In Canberra, the dawn service is different.  It’s huge and slick, with huges bleachers set up in the weeks before.  Limousines deposit VIPs of all types, but particularly politicians.  An order of service is handed out, so you know who the speakers are.  The wreaths are more ornate, and there’s generally no school children.  Thousands of people attend, but there’s little acknowledgement of local boys, local units.  It’s thoughtful, and respectful, but it’s all about the nation, and nationhood.  It leaves me cold.

But then, maybe I’m missing the point.  The Canberra service is held outside the National Memorial, which does double duty as both shrine and museum.  It wins prizes as a museum and tourist attraction.  When you visit, you can look up your relatives in the Archives and copy their service records.

I don’t go the National Memorial much any more.  Since my grandfather died, it makes me cry.

Uh oh, now I’m accountable

Everybody left wonderful comments on my wish for an accountability group.  Jamie paid some beautiful compliments about my writing, and then she caught me:

An accountability group would be marvelous. *And* I also bet you have something right now that you could send. Make us your interim accountability group and take a first step. You can do it.

Uh oh!  Now I’m stuck!  You lovely readers have become my accountability group.  I talked the talk, so now I have to walk…

It didn’t stop there.  Carla offered tips, and Mother Henna and Hybrid J gave good advice.  Lisa told me about a friend ‘collecting’ 100 rejection slips, and I think that idea is going to stay with me.  Jamie kindly came back with a link to an awesome podcast about getting personal essays published.  And to top it all off, Pamela offered to be a beta reader.

I am amazed and excited by all this practical support.  You guys rock!  But I’m also kind of scared.  Because now I have no excuse not to start sending out submissions.

Thanking you kindly,

and wondering what I’ve started,

k