Home – A photo a day for 365 days………and beyond

The tap

One of my nearest and dearest is achieving a lifelong dream. She has always wanted to own her own home and she is finally on the road to seeing that dream come to fruition. The best thing is, she is building her home. Getting to choose bricks, tiles, windows, flooring, cabinets, fittings, lights, garage door colours…………everything.

It has been an insanely slow process getting the land titled and the building actually started, but it has begun and it is going full steam ahead.

I’m going to try to get up to the block every week and take photos of the progress and try to be a little creative in the process. She is going to have THE best and most creative record of her house being built. No phone snaps here ladies and gentlemen. An artist is at work.

Stuff it!!! I’m going out.

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been three weeks since I took my camera out on an excursion……………….”

Well, bugger it…………I’m going out.

“Yes Annie, I would love to go and see the Van Gogh exhibition at the NGV. Sunday? Tomorrow? Not a problem.”

Not a problem at all if I’m prepared to overlook the fact that my home will be hosting the 21st birthday party for #1 son the night before. Only 70+ people. Just a few decorations to pull down, and rubbish to be removed, and my garage and pergola to be returned to their pre-party state………….and my kitchen to be re-organised, and the floors to be cleaned………………

But stuff it!!! I’m going out!

I have to go out.

I feel like I haven’t been anywhere for weeks. It has been all cleaning and preparing for the main event. I mean……..I have been forced to do a proper clean and tidy and that isn’t something that can be knocked over in half an hour. I washed the front screen door, for goodness sake!!!!

I deserve to go and have a bit of ‘me’ time.

I’m sorry that circumstances prevented you from going to see the Van Gogh exhibition, Annie, but thank you for thinking of me and offering me the tickets. I had a wonderful afternoon in at the NGV admiring the work of a tortured genius.

*** And mum and dad……….. don’t stress………..95% of the tasks were completed before I left and the rest of the post-party clean-up/restoration will be completed tomorrow. xoxo

I’ve sacrificed two days to domesticity

Two days I’ve sacrificed.

Two days of photography. Two days of editing. Two days of meeting people. Two days of fun.

Gone.

And for what?

Neat and tidy lawns, a shiny-clean car and a neat and tidy house.

Where was the gardening fairy when I needed him/her? And for that matter, where was the housework angel? And WHERE was the semi-naked male car-washing angel?????

I don’t think they exist. Either that, or I didn’t ask them nicely enough.

I have mowed, weeded, sprayed, watered, whipper-snipped, washed, dusted, vacuumed, mopped and tidied. And I have stayed away from my computer and camera for TWO DAYS.

I will admit that I am no longer horrified that I might be visited by someone who will see a bomb site for a home. And it is lovely to look at neat lawns and a garden free from weeds. Not to mention, the dogs are no longer getting lost in the lawn in the backyard and poo patrol is a hell of a lot easier.

But all this domestic stuff takes away from my photo time and my social life.

That’s it. Time to make the big decisions.

Does anyone know a good cleaning lady and lawn mowing person?? 🙂

Can somebody please tell me where my quiet weekend disappeared?

I don’t quite know how to get my head around the weekend I have just had. The weekend of the blank diary became the weekend that I was barely home.

Don’t get me wrong, I am not complaining, I just can’t figure out how it managed to turn out the way it did.

My extraordinary weekend wound up with me at a gig in Oakleigh listening to the incredible Gallie followed by an impromptu ‘let’s go eat Greek food’ at a wonderful place called Euro Bites a few minutes drive from the gig……all with a gorgeous girl I went to High School with, her lovely sister and her delightful young son.

As for the shortbread I was going to bake, the Xmas shopping I was going to do, the Xmas cards I was going to have organised, the DVD’s I was going to watch, the photo editing I had planned………… no stress. I’ve still got 6 days. 🙂

FYI….. I wouldn’t change the way my weekend turned out for anything. It was a bloody ripper. 🙂 🙂

I was taken against my will………….

……..kicking and screaming.

NO!!!! No!!!!!!!

I must stay home today and do the washing.

I have to help #1 son with the lawns.

My house needs a thorough clean!!

I have to finish the ironing.

But my cries went unheard. My kidnappers twisted my arm. They showed no mercy. Then they pulled out their ace………I could bring my camera and they would stop at any time I asked them to stop.

I was helpless.

Road trip it was.

But hmmmmmm. What is that over to the left? I’ve never noticed it before. (I’ve never been a kidnap victim before, able to look at the scenery. I’ve always been the driver) Should we go and check it out? It looks like a clock tower. But there’s no town over there. Let’s go and see. We have time. We have no firm plans or direction.

It was a whole other world.

A parallel universe.

A place of order, prestige, money and privilege. A place where the lawns were not just mown, but manicured. Where gardens were tended. A world where everything has its place.

Not at all like the war zone that I had been coerced away from by my happy kidnappers. The war zone that has been given a 24 hour reprieve.

Chores tomorrow. (Unless someone else takes it upon themselves to kidnap me again)

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A woman’s work is never done

This photography and going out all the time is seriously denting the cleanliness and order of my house and home. The lawns had reached the stage where I was losing the dogs,the washing was overflowing the laundry basket, the dogs had begun to wonder who I was and I think my son has given up in complete disgust at ever seeing a meal on the dinner table again.

I had to call for reinforcements today. The parents. Just to help me to get the lawns and yard back to something above the look of a rental property. Had I attempted the task on my own I would still be out there on my hands and knees pulling weeds and trimming dead flower heads from the Agapanthus.

So I have washed loads of washing, folded loads of washing, trimmed edges, pulled weeds, sprayed weed killer, edited photos, sent emails, played with dogs, spoken to the #1 son and baked a loaf of bread.

Now if someone could just pop over and do the housework and re-make my bed I would be very appreciative.

From live shows to laundry

I’m always amazed at how one’s life can change in a very short space of time.

Take the last 24 hours as a prime example. Yesterday at 8pm I was sitting in my seat in the Spiegeltent waiting for Limbo to begin. I was dressed up and I was excited. There was a late dinner after that which was a catch-up with friends. I had already had a wander around my marvellous Melbourne with my new Nikon D750 at the ready. Even as I climbed into my bed at 2am I was thinking that life was good.

Then today the polish was taken off that feeling. Today I had to endure household chores. Housework.

Suddenly, life was not as good as it was at 2am.

Four loads of washing.

One bed stripped and re-made.

Removing the carpet of pug hair that had turned the parquetry into wall-to-wall shag pile.

Remove the layer of dust that was threatening to turn everything a boring shade of grey.

Wash the floors.

Put away the little piles of paperwork that were growing on every vacant, flat surface.

All this horrible boring domestic stuff that kept me at home all day. Nobody came to save me. I had to suffer on my own. The only thing that made it bearable was the need to edit the photos of my Friday night visit into Melbourne.

I think I need to hire a house cleaner again. Be damned the expense!!

I wonder what the next 24 hours will bring?

Urgh……….ironing

Yes. I still do the ironing.

Yes. I dislike doing the ironing.

Absolutely correct. I could save myself the anguish of the ironing pile by not doing the ironing.

……..But I won’t.

I like pulling on a pair of ironed jeans.

I like being able to go to my wardrobe and grabbing something off the rail that doesn’t look like I’ve slept in it.

I am fully aware that I will be sleeping in them, but I love the feeling of clean, ironed pyjamas at the end of a long day.

To me, there is nothing nicer than laying your tired head onto freshly ironed pillowcases that first night that you’ve changed the sheets.

However, I will continue to avoid doing my ironing.

There will be a large pile of ironing in the spare room on a regular basis.

There will be days when I have to raid the ironing pile for the matching pillowcases or something to wear to work.

There will be such a substantial pile of creased material that it will take me the length of a movie to complete all the ironing. (Today it was ‘Hairspray’)

I will grab those items that need ironing but are still damp and on the clothesline and add them to the substantial pile.

I will iron the still damp items while I am on my ironing mission because I would like to enjoy the feeling of there being no ironing pile. I need that feeling to last for more that an hour.

I will happily put the iron and ironing board away, confident in the knowledge that I do not need to see either of them for at least a week.

The bees are buzzing. :-)

September 1, the first day of spring in the southern hemisphere and a truly beautiful day here in my marvellous Melbourne.

I’m going to hit you will all the clichés. The sun is shining. The birds are singing, The flowers are blooming and the bees are buzzing. I’m sure if I ventured into the city and her parks and gardens that I would be able to add to the list of clichés. There would be lovers holding hands. There will be people walking barefoot on the lush grass. And I have no doubt that there are lambs cavorting somewhere.

I’m not going to get too excited though. I know my city and her weather too well. Winter has only loosened her grip, she hasn’t let go. She is simply allowing us to bask in her promises before she slaps us with her honesty.

But for now, I am happy to delight in the cool, spring sunshine and take my macro lens attachment (attached to my trusty Nikon D5100) outside to the blossoming apricot tree. The bees are also enjoying this glorious sunshine and are busy collecting and pollinating.

Hahahaha. If I thought taking photographs of fireworks was tricky, I had underestimated the level of difficulty involved in getting a sharply focused macro shot of a busy, working bee.

Happy birthday my marvellous Melbourne

180 years old and looking pretty good for her advanced years, my marvellous Melbourne is celebrating her birthday.

But 180 years of age is not old. Not when compared to cities like Athens, Rome, Jerusalem, Damascus and Jericho. Melbourne is still in nappies and breastfeeding in comparison to these old towns. Our history barely fills a page.

Melbourne has had its good and bad. Good decisions. Bad decisions. Good politicians. Bad politicians. Good suburbs and those not so good. Beautiful buildings and eyesores. But overall Melbourne is a wonderful place to live. After all, one doesn’t get voted the World’s Most Liveable City five years in a row for nothing.

We have the best people, the best coffee, the best restaurants and take-aways. We rightly claim the title for having the most passion for art, the arts, theatre and sport.

We don’t take ourselves too seriously. We are not pompous or big-headed. Melbourne is a city that just gets on with it.

Melbourne at night from up high on the Melbourne Star

Love you my marvellous Melbourne. Kick your heels up and twirl those skirts. Happy birthday to you.