All in Good Time

The found plastic we hung on the hook when we took down the kitchen clock.

The bit of scrap paper I stuck on my laptop to cover the clock there too.

I don't know which gardening metaphor I like better: companion planting or self-seeding.

If I were a slug, I would have eaten this too.

But I'm not.

If you live in Central Victoria but don't have a garden of your own, feel free to come and share in our bountiful bounty in exchange for a green thumb workout. We have a listing on Shared Earth. Come share!

Portrait of the blogger as a bandita in her balaclava bought to make the frosty mornings bearable on her bike.

Do Nothing

For the first time in a long time I have started to read a book that's on PJ's reading list and not mine: The One-Straw Revolution: An Introduction to Natural Farming by Masanobu Fukuoka.

I have loved each passage PJ has read out to me, and then when he blogged this quote yesterday I just knew that I had to read the whole book myself:

The more people do, the more society develops, the more problems arise. The increasing desolation of nature, the exhaustion of resources, the uneasiness and disintegration of the human spirit, all have been brought about by humanity's trying to accomplish something. Originally there was no reason to progress, and nothing that had to be done. We have come to the point at which there is no other way than to bring about a "movement" not to bring anything about.

Fukuoka's solution is called Do Nothing Farming. It's not entirely Do Nothing, but is more concerned with nature playing the starring role and not people, pesticides or machinery.

I live in the country because I love the lack of hustle and bustle, but feel that my desire to create, accomplish and be productive has gotten in the way of my ability to be quiet with myself. I have forgotten how to do nothing.

And so, I have decided to start Do Nothing Blogging, where I will blog according to the season of my mood, and not every single day as I have been doing with gusto for the last year and a half.

This has been a big decision that's been coming for a while. It feels good to actually make it.

So stay tuned, and thanks for visiting us here in the Land of Meg.

And So

I posted this photo on Flickr four years ago. (Since then, we three have met up only twice.) Now we are heading into t-shirt weather and my arms are free to air, I am reminded of such friendships and the way they come and go like the seasons.

Here's the explanation that accompanies the image:

We three Aussies got these tats done a few years ago in Melbourne before all heading off to different parts of the globe.

Kerryn loves Kurt Vonnegut and decided to get "And so it goes" (a recurring line from Slaughterhouse Five) tattooed on her shoulder.

Finally on the other side of three decades worth of bad shit, Gil decided to get "And so it was" tattooed on her back representing the past that she has moved on from but that made her who she is.

And Meg, the eternal optimist decided to get "And so it will be" on her right arm as a symbol of the charm of the unknown.

We reunited this afternoon for a few brief hours before we were once again claimed by different time zones.

From here.

Full Tank

Now that I have been blogging for over a year, it's a funny feeling to read back over old posts to see what Meg Before has been up to. How much has changed. How much hasn't.

A year ago today, our 5,000 gallon water tank arrived. It looked like an enormous techno snail shell on the back of the truck that delivered it. I never thought that it could rain enough in my lifetime to fill it.

But rain it did this winter and now our cup runneth over.

Next Blog

I just clicked Next Blog on my Blogger toolbar and this is the first post that came up:

Sleepy Pooh Bear

This is a sweet little clock. The pooh bear on top lights up as a night light and it has an alarm and radio as well. I bought this one at the Goodwill store in Sault Sainte Marie, Michigan. It was stuck in the furthest corner of the store, upside down with a big hunk of clock on top of it. I couldn't just leave it there, so I took it home, cleaned it up, and added it to my collection. :)

From here.

The Time Machine

Someone left this time machine near our house yesterday. I found it this morning as I headed into the bush for my walk. All day I have been thinking about it and what year I am going to visit.

Am I going to go back to before I was born so I can meet my father's father, whom I never met?

Am I going to go back to the night Z was born so I can peer through the window and see what his mum's experience was like?

Am I going to go back to the year my mum cut her finger with a chainsaw so I can call her to say be extra careful that day?

Will I go forward to the next time I see my sister Abby, because I miss her like crazy?

Will I go forward ten years to see what state the world is in?

Or will I stay right where I am, because I'm happy?

Six Days

Seder night at my grandfather's.

Stretching our legs on the way to Canberra.

Not shaving for a week.

Spending time with PJ's gorgeous family.

Secret handshakes with the gang.

Feeling incredibly lucky.

The Get Go

Two of my nieces stayed over last night and are again tonight too. Just before bed this evening, Indigo asked me what my favourite part of the day was.

My answer felt like such a grown-up's answer. I didn't say the bushwalk or the two hours on a neighbour's trampoline, or the colourful drawings we delivered to all the mail boxes in a nearby street. I didn't say picking wild apples and grapes or watching Mary Poppins or going on the flying fox, or meeting some friends up at the skate park. I didn't say playing mums and dads (why do I always have to be the naughty cousin?), or eating corn and cucumber fresh from the garden, but I did say the quiet breath I inhaled before any of this.

When I got up this morning, it was to the two girls and Z sitting quietly in the living room. They were writing all the activities they wanted to do on little pieces of paper, which they then picked out of a hat and completed one by one throughout the day.

My answer felt so goddam diplomatic. And although it was true, it was also because I just couldn't decide.

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H-a-p-p-i-n-e-s-s

That's me on the left when I had short hair. I'm holding a dish of cookies, as drawn by Loobylu.

Today on her blog she has a competition for her readers. She is asking for people's favourite Internet recipes. Hers, she says, is for Princess Meg’s Birthday Celebration Cookies, which she blogged about just after she and I worked together.

My entry: 

Oh how things change in seven and a half years!

I used to love anything with dried apricots in them, but now I love anything with ginger.

This is currently my favourite recipe:

http://www.taste.com.au/recipes/13627/gingerbread+love+hearts

My stepson is 6 and is learning to read. We like to make this recipe together and use our alphabet cookie cutters to spell out our happiness we then eat.

The Garden of Self Defence

On the opening night of TINA, PJ was invited to be on a panel called 2020: Arbitrary Figures & Advocating Real Cultural Change. The panel was made up of people who run festivals or write books or host radio programs about the arts; people whose opinions influence change, but who were not invited to take part in Mr Rudd's 2020 Summit.

Many of the questions were about how young artists can find alternative sources of funding.

"Do we have any Climate Change or Peak Oil deniers in the audience?" PJ wanted to know.

"Is there anyone here who thinks the Government is going to save us from environmental catastrophe?"

He asked: "Why not take responsibility for ourselves and not rely on Government for funding or survival?" He asked: "To have more time to make our art, why not grow our own organic food?"

I am thinking about this because of two great articles my Mum sent me. One is Dirt cheap – Step one in the battle against soaring food prices: Start your own recession garden and the other is Sweat Equity Put to Use Within Sight of Wall Street, and also because PJ launched his blog yesterday, from where the above picture of our broad beans comes.

Having Time

Three years ago I phoned my sister K and asked what I could give J, her second eldest daughter, for her birthday. She told me time, and suggested I come up and spend a few hours with her as my gift.

K's answer jarred me; I wanted my nieces to take spending time with me for granted. And so I decided to leave Melbourne and move up here to be closer to them.

Today J celebrated her 5th birthday with a gorgeous prince and princesses party. 

Afterwards, Z and I went for a bush walk to burn off the effects of the party food. It was hot and we were keen to walk the loop road quickly. But for Z that meant climbing retaining walls, trees and embankments to find a good stick, an old can, some newspaper and what he thought looked like a wallaby bone.

There's a line in Capote's In Cold Blood that kept coming to mind: "Nancy Clutter is always in a hurry, but she always has time."

Motion Sickness

I am about to begin a month-long contract. Usually I work on projects for a shorter time - a week at most - editing or writing content. I am looking forward to immersing myself in the work, but also have reservations.

One of the habits I have happily unlearnt during my time living away from the city is scheduling. Working full-time doesn't just mean that your job takes up the most productive hours of your day, it also ensures the commodification of the rest of your hours, and the need to plan your unplanned time.

I don't want to live like that. I don't want to be busy or managed or pencilled into appointment books. I don't want my business = my busyness. I don't want 24/7 scheduling or accountability. I don't want quality time or me time. I don't want to have it all.

I just want dead air time - the silence that I used to avoid.

I mean really, the only timetable we need to live by is the seasons.