I can’t blog here until I reduced the size of my photos which involves more than can be done on my iPhone and the WordPress app.
But the blogging bug has kicked in. So join me on my new blog about preparing for retirement. It’ll be mainly words with a few pics on my house, garden and adventures.
Yes, that’s right. Lucinda is on her Countdown to retirement
Scarborough is a northern suburb of Brisbane and not at all related to the song or town in Yorkshire except like the latter, it is on the coast and it was pretty fair! It is on Morton Bay, and quite close to my mother’s new home in a retirement complex. No room at the inn for us there, so I booked the closest van park.
Turns out it was a good choice. Constant sea breeze keeping it cool. Fresh sea air. Interesting views. Several places to eat dinner that looked good.
We embarked on a pre-dinner stroll but the wind was cold so we cut the stroll short. Still we got to see the sun setting behind the Glass House Mountains.
We chose to eat at the Morton Bay Sailing Club because I saw they had coral trout on the menu. I don’t see this down in Sydney but had it several times up in Far North Queensland on my Adult Gap Year. It’s a really lovely fish – flakey and soft. The other bonus was the club was right next to the caravan park!
We ate on the verandah. Glad I listened to Mr S and brought a jacket. It was chilly! Still, worth sitting outside to be right in the water and admire the views. Question though: if these boats don’t go out on a long weekend, when do their owners take them out?
We shared calamari for entree. It was perfectly done – crispy batter and soft, soft calamari. My coral trout was cooked in a macadamia and coconut crust with mango and pineapple salsa. Was going to take a photo but got stuck into it before I remembered.
After dinner walk around the point, let the food settle. Back at the van, the rising moon made it magical.
We could easily spend a couple of days here – strolling along the bay, trying other restaurants, heading down the Redbank.
We’ve lost count of the times we’ve driven up and down the the two highways linking Brisbane and Sydney.
I do try to stop at different parks or reserves for lunch. Mr S would be happy stopping at the same place by the side of the road for lunch. Similarly, he’d be happy to stay at the same stop overnight and not make any sightseeing pit stops. Me not so.
This trip I decided we’d go via Toowoomba. I’ve never been before and I had read that there are lots of beautiful gardens. As luck would have it, our trip coincided with Toowoomba’s Carnival of Flowers.
I am so glad we did came. The flowers displays were fabulous!
First stop, the Botanic Gardens. Magnificent beds. How many superlatives can I use? This was beyond what I imagined. The flowering beds of my dreams – massed annuals, ablaze of colour, looking slightly wildish, like they’d grown altogether but clearly the result of planning and lots of ongoing hard work: soil care, planting, dead heading… Especially the blue, purple and white flower beds. I want to copy these. Not the beds with patterns, but the riotous ones, with sweet peas on tripods, delphiniums, snapdragons, poppies, ranunculus. Heavenly.
We popped over the the Cobb & Co museum where we learnt that lamingtons were invented in Toowoomba. Well, Mr S definitely had to have one for dessert at lunch! (One we’d bought on our drive up in Glen Innes.)
Then we hoofed it over to Laurel Bank Park, with cute hedge work, pictures in flower beds that could only be seen from a viewing platform and a wisteria tunnel (which gave me ideas for home!). Even the toilets were cute.
On the morning of our second day in Toowoomba, we visited the University of Southern Queensland’s Japanese Garden. It’s very well-maintained but, oh I don’t know, I’m just not a fan of this style of gardening. Worth a quick wander, and if I hadn’t seen the spectacular displays yesterday, I would have thought this was a great garden, especially when visiting a country town.
We then drove to the State Rose Garden. Now, I preface my opinion by acknowledging I was spoiled by my visit to Woolmers Estate in Tasmania last year. I visited Woolmers rose garden in peak rose blooming season – you could smell the heady rose scent in the car park! Over 3 acres of over 5,000 rose bushes. Look at these three photos from late November in Tassie (note: I’m in layers of jumpers – Tassie is much colder than Queensland).
My other caveat is that, while I find rose blooms beautiful, I generally don’t find the mass plantings of roses so. Roses need space around them, then there’s the thorny issue of thorns, and the bushes themselves are sticky and unattractive. Oh and generally I’d been spoiled by the flowerbeds from yesterday. The State Rose Garden just looked too sparse for me and like it was tacked onto a dry footy field. Still, it is well cared for, has great variety and lots of space for a picnic. Well worth a visit if you come to Toowoomba.
Mr S and I bought a campervan last year. We had planned to go to the UK in our year off but COVID messed with that. So we bought a van and did some road trips.
Oh, I love van life. No worrying about responsibilities. No house cleaning. Tidying the van takes no time. No gardening. No over consumption. You can’t fit much in the van. No worrying about what to wear. Space determines a pared down wardrobe.
As to not having a room of one’s own, I find the van cosy. Mr S often sits outside and I hide from mozzies and midgies inside, so we have our space.
There’s an excitement on hitting the road. Even if we’ve taken that road before. We don’t like to drive for too long, preferring no more than five hours on the road, six max. Audio books make the time pass quickly. We are currently listening to the sixth Sean Duffy police detective by Adrian McKinty. Add in some favourite play lists to sing along with.
We have routines and traditions. Egg, lettuce and mayo on fresh bread rolls for lunch. With a pot of tea. And something sweet for dessert.
We stay in van parks so we have electricity and toilets. Ours is normally the smallest van in the park. I don’t understand those who stay indoors with the air con on. I think we should get a cheaper rate as we hardly use any electricity!
It’s school spring break and we’re heading north to visit my mother. We have taken the New England Highway. Much quieter than the Pacific. For much of it, it is only single lane.
First leg was to Armidale, where we spent the night but no time to look around. Second day, slightly more leisurely, with a look around Glenn Innes. As the name suggests, they play up to their Celtic roots – on the bins, bollards, pub names etc. Love the post office was the Telegraph and Post Office! We always check out country clothing and knick knack stores. Mr S bought some crocs and insulated whiskey glasses. I bought a couple of books from the second hand book shop – I cannot NOT buy books. I have made a resolution: to always buy a book from a country town book shop. They need to be supported.
We stopped for lunch at the look out over Tenterfield. Lamington with cream for dessert. Got to love country bakeries with their old fashioned favourites. We always look out for a bakery and Glenn Innes didn’t disappoint.
The topics in the blog title are not related!
Popped in the back garden to ponder why the seeds I direct sewed haven’t sprouted. I know it could be any manner of reasons. Birds. The suddenly heavy downpour we received just after I sewed the seeds may have washed them away. Brush turkeys. Wind. Old seeds. The way I planted them – maybe I didn’t cover them enough? Maybe I let them dry out on the hot days?
Oh well, there’s always some other life to look at.
Like the seaside daisy (Erigeron karvinskianus). I have a plant that keeps popping up from under the house. It doesn’t care if I pull it out. It doesn’t hold a grudge if I get Mr S to whipper-snipper it. It grows back and shows its beauty. Year after year.
And it has spread to other beds, under the azaleas. Where I take strong action against it as it covers everything else. Among the bromeliads.
And if I pull some it out with roots, I bung it in another garden bed and it blooms there.
Recently I bought a punnet of sea daisy seedlings. I thought I might hurry along a more uniform look with recurrent planting. Turns out the bought seedlings are not as happy as the ones self-seeding or being helped along from their own quarter acre.
So money saving tip: use what is happily growing in your own garden to fill spaces up.
As to bees. They are loving my lemon tree blossoms.
For the last couple of years this tree has been covered by overgrown shrubs and bamboo and some horrid vine. Underneath it was being choked by the almost evil agapanthus.
It was a sad lemon tree.
We’ve cut back so much of the jungle of weeds in our back yard so now the lemon tree can breath and get some sunlight. I have dug out many of the agapanthus so now the lemon tree can get water and nutrients.
You can see on the leaves the old, mouldy, damaged leaves and the bright new growth.
We’ll be getting plenty of lemons soon.
If the cockatoos don’t get them first.
I think I’m back. Spring is as good a time to re birth something – even a Sydney spring which lasts about 3 weeks.
I like flowering plants so pick my plants for floral interest. There’s always something blooming in my garden. What’s in my spring garden?
It’s azalea time in my area. My suburb is full of old azalea plants. Seeing them bloom always makes me smile. I have white and pink ones in my garden.
I cloned the apricot pink one by hooking a branch down and burying part of it in the soil. Left and forgot it. And it created a new plant which I finally dug up and planted next to the mother plant. And started the process again.
I also took some cuttings of my favourite pink one. Not sure if it is the right time for cuttings from azaleas. Time will tell.
If any of my past readers are still following, Helloooo! I am also slowly catching up on your lives.
It’s been a wet couple of weeks to end November.
Last weekend, we went for a bush walk, in the rain.
It was lovely being alone on the track. Just Mr and me. We only passed two other couples. Things looks, sound and smell differently in the rain. Some tree trunks are orange and red. The rain muffles all other sounds, except the creek which has turned into a ragging torrent.
Half way through, I realised my Gortex jacket no longer kept the rain out. Well, it is over 20 years old and the rain was relentless. All good until….
Taking off my hiking boots on our front porch, I spied a leech!!! Three exclamation marks are not enough to convey the full horror. I squealed and panicked. “Get it off me!” Then I saw a second one on my pants. More panic. Luckily I had exercise tights on from my morning BodyBalance class. The black slugs couldn’t get under them and were thwarted by the tights from getting higher.
Except the one outside my tights and trying to suck me through the tights. I had Mr S hold the pants away from my leg while I took off my boots and then rolled off the pants.
Three suck marks showed the place where is given leeches a good feed. And they didn’t stop bleeding for hours! Mr S had the evidence of one – high on his thigh a tiny bite mark that also wouldn’t stop bleeding.
After the trauma I needed a long soak in a hot bath with several glasses of restorative bubbles.
I went back to the front porch to see if my clothing was leech free and could be brought in to wash. No leeches. Where do they go?
A few minutes later, in the kitchen, I spied one on my toe!!! How do they hide so well? And attach themselves so quickly? And move so noiselessly? Yes, I squealed again!!!
Yesterday I went to my favourite yoga class. I was a little hesitant as the gym is in a shopping centre. And it’s coming up to Christmas. And it’s the day after Black Friday (whatever that is and why on earth we have to adopt more commercialism). And it’s wet. What else are people going to do but hang out in shopping centres!
Yoga was lovely though I did prefer it when the class started at 9.30 as I was out before the crowds. Now it starts an hour later. Add to this, I popped into a shop to pick up the token Christmas gifts for our admin ladies. When I got to the carpark it was chaos. Very slow. Bumper to bumper.
And damnation. I ran into another car leaving the carpark. My fault but god the man was incredibly aggressive. I offered my drivers licence to photograph and he shouted, “I’ll do more than that!” as he paced around my car, shouting and gesticulating. There goes my zen state from yoga! But hey! No one was hurt and I have comprehension insurance.
Came home and restored myself with a pot of tea and the second book in the Thursday Murder Club. The Man Who Died Twice. I’m loving it.
Then walked up to the local Danish church Christmas market. No market due to COVID but you could preorder things, which I did. And you could have a Danish hotdog with the lot, which I also did. (Not sure if this sausage was a good example of Danish sausages but if so, Germans do better sausages.)
I follow Diane in Denmark on Instagram. She’s a Scot who’s been living in Copenhagen for 20 or so years. For a few months, I’ve been coveting her Danish mixing bowl. Looked for it in the shops. Only found it online. Reasonably priced. But the postage cost to Australia! $95 one place was going to charge.
Well, how lucky am I! The church was selling them. So I got two. I know I will love mixing cakes in them. And whipping cream. They have a rubber ring to stop the bowl slipping on the bench. Very clever.
What else did I get? A 40cm advent calendar candle and a Danish paper wreath in Danish colours.
Home for a nap, chats online to family and ending the night with the movie that marks the Christmas season for me: Love Actually.
Haven’t been decluttering much under the house. The rain has made that impractical and uncomfortable. (Though I have been decluttering around four things a day inside the house – slow and steady, trying to take out more than comes in.)
Haven’t really done any gardening. Though the garden is loving the rain. I sprinkled some blood and bone so the rain this week will soak its goodness into the soil. The flowers below have all come from cuttings from last year. I have had great luck with the hydrangeas! And such a variety from all the cuttings I have taken.
Today, the last Sunday of November, I have done several hours of work for work to do. And some potting and reading and walked up to a local bike shop to buy an e-bike for me for Christmas. Quite surprised at myself. But then I haven’t ridden it yet.
Three weeks left until My Adult Gap Year. From then you’ll find me blogging on my other site. I wonder if there’ll be a change of pace? Or a change of tone?
Do you hang onto things for sentimental reasons? Or because of gift-receiver guilt?
Mr S is very sentimental. And part of that involves holding onto things FOREVER. Here’s some of his reasons to not let go of things for sentimental reasons.
You can’t throw that out:
Recent things, Mr S objected to my decluttering:
The cummerbund and matching bow tie he wore at our wedding. It’s such a classic 1990s Laura Ashley floral print. It has never been, and will never be, worn again. Except for fancy dress. Surely you can remember the day without the clothing? Which you can’t see anyway as they’ve been kept in a box under the house for 15 years! [Result: given to school drama department for costume wear.]
Eldest son’s baby tooth. I found it in my drawer. Asked son if he wanted it. He threw it in the bin just as Mr S walked in, knowing something was afoot. “But you’ve had it for so long. You can’t throw it away now.” I don’t need parts of his body to remember him! And hanging onto the tooth because I’ve never tossed it earlier doesn’t make it more valuable. “But I have my tooth stuck in my baby book.” [Upshot: son felt guilty at upsetting his dad so took the tooth out of the bin. But a week later, tossed it again.]
Two money tins. But they were gifts for the boys from Carl Murphy. And you can’t get them anymore. The boys don’t want them. Carl is dead and even if he wasn’t, he wouldn’t care (or remember) if the boys didn’t keep them for 20 years. And you can pick them up off FB Marketplace for $5. [Result: gifted on the FB Buy Nothing site.]
My advice to Mr S on how to deal with sentimental clutter?
When you don’t see the clutter around you, and we’re not talking about not being annoyed by it, just not “seeing” it, you’re clutter blind.
I put my hand up to temporary clutter blindness. If I have people coming around, I see it. Or maybe it’s partial clutter blindness I have? I have hot spots that collect stuff but normally they’re in my peripheral vision where they don’t register.
Mr S is one step on from clutter blindness.
He has clutter dementia. This includes clutter blindness but also has an inability to accept stuff is his or remember where he put it.
I’ve given up on clearing the garage which was a challenge I set myself last year, but have started under the house. My house is on stumps. Our land slopes away so at the front, it’s only about 30cm from the ground while at the back, you can stand up.
Mr S put things there. Things he wants to keep. Things I lose my shit over as they’re cluttering up the house. Things he doesn’t want to deal with. Things he thinks may come in handy in the future. Things he doesn’t know what to do with.
Mr S calls me unsentimental, cold-hearted even, as I don’t believe in keeping shit stuff. Which isn’t entirely true but the stuff he hangs onto, well it’s too much, and includes rubbish as well as valuable stuff. All piled together. My view is if it is valuable, then treat it well, put it somewhere safe or on display. Not in a box with rubbish under the house to go mouldy and dirty. (I will put a separate post about so-called sentimental stuff.)
We’ve lived in this house for about 15 years. Mr S has resisted all attempts to declutter. Soft requests. Tantrums. Rational appeals. All were ignored.
Until now.
For the month of October, we have been clearing out under the house.
What prompted this call to action? What lifted the veil of clutter blindness?
We’ve been talking about getting renovations done in a couple of years. I pointed out that builders wouldn’t work around piles of stuff. Nor would they move his rubbish.
Mr S declared there was no rubbish under the house. It was all his stuff and he knows what was there.
“The bottles in the crates?”
“What bottles?”
See! Clutter dementia.
Mr S used to brew beer. In our old house. So over 15 years ago!!! He had a dozen or so crates all full of large beer bottles. He’s unlikely to ever brew again. While he made great beer, our life has moved on. So why keep the bottles?
Well, he forgot all about them. He asked me how I knew they were there? As if I forget things, just because I can’t see them.
He brought the crates out and I’ve slowly been putting the bottles into the glass recycling bin.
As luck would have it, at the same time we were having this round of our latest battle about rubbish under the house, we had some workmen over to clear the overgrown shrubbery around the pool. The chief poolman said, with a nod and a wink to me, “We’ll get rid of the rubbish under the deck too.”
At this, Mr S’s head shot up, “What rubbish?”
All the old pool toys, floating devices, perished pool hoses, dead cleaning equipment.
Mr S has been using under the house as an alternate landfill, but now saw it with different eyes. Not my perspective. A stranger’s.
Again, luck was in my side. The coming weekend was council cleanup. Mr S dragged a tonne of stuff up to be taken away. Neighbours commented. We normally put out so little.
A further prompt came when I asked Mr S about a large box under the house. Mr S said it belonged to one of our sons and so he claimed he didn’t know what was in it. Turns out it was Mr S’s box and full of stuff Mr S brought home from his latest workplace – but at least one year ago. Next to it were boxes from his old workplace – one he left nearly 8 years ago. Pens. More pens. Printed material. Desk accessories. Little toys and fidget things. Stickers. Photos. Stuff. Stuff. And more stuff.
Of course, sometimes among the stuff is something of value. Something that can be used. Something that is of emotional value. Something that someone else may want. So the stuff has to be sorted through.
We’ve been spending an hour every weekend sorting and tossing. An hour is enough for a hoarder. Sometimes Mr S wants to go longer but I see the signs. He gets irritable and says “just toss it in the bin”. But I know he will regret it, and accuse me of making him toss important things. And, crucially, he will regress – stop any further efforts and add to the clutter.
Clutter blindness can return. You cease to see things when you walk pass them every day. And when stuff is out of sight, clutter dementia returns.
The only treatment: slow and regular decluttering and celebration of creating space!
Once allowed out of our Local Government Area, Mr S and I headed off to a walk I’ve wanted to do for a while – the Old Northern Road built by convict chain gangs. The recalcitrants, the wrong ‘uns of the wrong ‘uns, were sent to clear a path through trees and bush, up a vertical cliffs, so the colony could reach the plains of the Hunter Valley.
The walk has plenty of information points so the steep climb is relatively easy. Some info plinths have recreations of artefacts, like the leg irons Mr S is wearing below.
Flannel flowers abounded. A clever sign of spring. I’d say there were fields of them except they were growing out of vertical rock faces.
The road was quite wide – two cars could pass easily, though it’s closed to traffic, only walkers and bikes allowed. Most amazing was the culverts, drains, buttresses and curved stone walls supporting the road. Imagine! All this carved from solid rock, by hand, on a diet of flour, tea and, often rancid, meat. Colonisation was brutal on the colonisers too.
The view across the Hawkesbury River was beautiful. Spoiled by the noise of the masses of motorbikes on one of the favourite weekend motorbike routes.
The plan was to do the gentle walk, up and down the same road. But we decided to do the loop and return via the narrow road that was the first attempt by the surveyor to create a road, until the governor, rightly, declared it too steep and the second attempt was made – the track we took up.
Before we hit the down hill (read down cliff), we walked along the ridge. An interesting walk with views west to a swamp and through bush, where we saw a goanna and a lyrebird, and masses of Gymea lilies.
Then we hit the downhill track. Oh my god. It was steep and more like a water channel for stormwater run off. A goat track maybe. It was hard going. Lots of unsteady footfalls with loose rocks and pebbles.
From the bottom of the track we had 2km to return to the ferry. Mr S volunteered to walk the extra distance to our car, so I waited for his return. I’d done nearly 10km. But it was the downhill goat track that did me in.
After crossing back to the Wiseman’s Ferry side of the river, we had a little picnic.
Oh it was lovely to be out and beyond our LGA. And amazing to know that this wild beauty is only 45 minutes drive from home.
One woman's meanderings around gorgeousness, health and organised living.
A blog about life in Wellington, New Zealand
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there is an art to the everyday
One woman's meanderings around gorgeousness, health and organised living.
Solo hiking is an amazing challenge. Let's go... and keep going!
Sewing, Crocheting, Knitting, Simple Living, Minimalism
Financially Independent, Retired Early(ish) at 57.
A simple, sustainable life
Dreams. Goals. Plans. Retirement. Travel. Life.
- crafting a simple, sustainable and organised life -
One woman's meanderings around gorgeousness, health and organised living.
Walking blogger exploring London's hidden gems, parks, bridges, landmarks, sights and history!
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