The banal best of 2018 ... so far

Oh my goodness! 
It's almost the end of February.
A sixth of the year has already passed. That's almost 17%... or 16.66666667% if you're a maths whizz ... or a dork.

I find myself wondering where the first two months of the year have gone.
And then I wonder if I've used the time wisely, or have I squandered it?
What have I achieved?

But as I reflect upon The Year So Far, mostly I find myself thinking of all the good things that have already come my way. 

No, I'm not getting all gushy about love and liberty. 
Sorry. It's far more banal than that.
I'm talking about the little things. 
The everyday morsels that make my heart sing.

Here goes: 

The Best of 2018 Thus Far


Best Garden Find
Pot plants.
At the top of the list.
Who would have thought?
The start of 2018 saw me investing in several indoor plants and I have actually managed to make them grow! 
A lovely lady at the nursery gave me sound advice about soaking from below not watering from the top and my life has been transformed. 
So has my study.
And the bathroom.
And the kitchen benchtop...
So, I might have become a little bit obsessed in the wake of my newly found success, but indoor greenery is meant to be good for your oxygen levels or your serotonin levels, or something like that, so I'm continuing to poke my green thumbs all over the place..

Best Books
Books second because .... well, they're books!

Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine, by Gail Honeyman
I laughed and cried and stayed up late to read it. 
I thought about Eleanor long after I finished the last page, which is my measure of a brilliant book. 
I was reminded of The Rosie Project and A Little Life as I read it - a weird combination, I know, but there you go. 
(This description shows why I'm not a professional book reviewer!)

A Garden of Lilies - Improving Tales for Young Minds, by Prudence A Goodchild (who might have been assisted by Judith Rossell) 
Pure delight in a fancy cloth cover with gold writing. 
Marbled end-papers. 
Beautiful illustrations. 
A red ribbon.
Sigh!
This book of cautionary tales had me roaring with laughter and vowing to buy a copy for every friend as their birthday comes around this year, because who doesn't need a good laugh and bit of Victorian instruction?
Furthermore, I now know what a damson pitter looks like.
I even know what a damson is!

Best Home Decorating Find
Coffee coloured sheepskin
I know!
It's fluffy and it's a delicious coffee colour.
It feels like I'm planting my feet on a little bit of heaven when I get out of bed in the morning.
And I like to imagine sheep bathing in cappuccinos each day so that their wool reaches just the right hue for the rugs.
Olive gives it her vote of approval too.

Olive is not looking relaxed here as she
knows the sheepskin rug is supposed to be a
whippet-free zone.

Best Tradie Tips
Three months after moving into our new house, I'm still dealing with tradies. 
They're all very kind and extremely clever. 
They're also ridiculously late, arriving anything from one to six months after the specified date, and incredibly verbose.
I have become far more relaxed about the extended period of building after accepting the two golden rules for dealing with tradies:

1. Don't hold your breath. 
If you do, you'll pass out and die before they arrive. 
But take heart, they will eventually turn up and, when they do, the job will be completed to perfection.

2. Get ready for a yarn. 
The older the tradie, the longer the yarn. 
There's never enough time to meet the job's agreed deadline, but there's always enough time to spend an hour or two solving the problems of the world. 

Best Movies
Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri
You're sure to have heard of this already, if you haven't already watched it.
This is the best movie I've seen in years and, like the best of books, I thought about it long after it was over. It was full of despicable and complicated characters embroiled in despicable and complicated situations. 
Sounds ghastly, but soooo good and tempered with black humour at just the right moments. 

The Greatest Showman
This one was as light as Three Billboards was dark. 
I tapped my toes and smiled all the way through. I smiled for the whole drive home, too. 
I might need to download a song or two just so I can keep the cheery vibes going.

Best Food
Anything eaten on the veranda with family and friends, while looking out over the hills.
Except for kale.
And I wouldn't really like too much quinoa in my life.
And cheese is better than zucchini.

Huh!
I guess I have come back to love and liberty. 
Friends and family.
The freedom of choice.
Leisure.
Luxury.

Life in 2018 is good.

What have been the lovelies in your life so far this year?

I have moved to the Country with a capital 'C'

Merry Christmas!
I'm writing this from my new home in the hills south of Bendigo. 
I have, at last,  moved to the Country. Yes, Country with a capital 'C', because we travel up 3km of gravel-and-dirt-and-dust road to get to our property, we have tank water, the house runs off solar power and we have so much land that mowing the lawn involves borrowing a herd of cattle or a flock of sheep.

'I am moving to the country!' I've been telling everyone. Even the people who couldn't care less. 'I am moving to the country!'
It sounds like the name of one of those lifestyle shows on TV: 'Tune in at 7.30 pm on Friday for our new series, I'm Moving to the Country.'
And, stupid as it now seems, I imagined that the entire transition from town life to country life would run just as seamlessly as an episode on the telly. There'd be a slight hiccup or two, just for laughs, but by the end of an hour (perhaps only forty five minutes once we fast-forwarded through ads), we'd be settled and smiling. My house would be looking like something from the cover of Country Style magazine and I'd be sitting on the veranda, sipping tea from a stylish Marimekko mug while dinner roasted in the oven - a leg of lamb, pumpkin and rosemary potatoes. Heck! There was probably a self-saucing pudding in there too. Chocolate. With a baked custard on the side.

Oh deary, deary me.
There are disadvantages to having a fertile imagination.
Unrealistic expectations, for starters...

We moved on a weekend where State Emergency Services were forecasting monumental flash-flooding. It fizzled to an inconvenient drizzle but the lead-up to the move was a little stressful. Especially when they were telling everyone to stay indoors and keep off the roads. Didn't they realise we had a piano and six thousand boxes to shift?

In unpacking our boxes, we unleashed a plague of earwigs that would have done Moses proud. The earwigs have since been joined by a plague of millipedes. These nasty little critters seem to be vying with each other for the best places in our beds and underwear drawers.

On Day 2, the pump had a hissy fit, depriving us of running water. I went without taking a shower or flushing a toilet for quite some time - far longer than is socially acceptable, even in the most relaxed circles.

The fly-screens aren't yet finished (which goes some way to explaining the ongoing supply of earwigs and millipedes). Nor are the bookshelves, the solar-power system, the access to the shed or the drainage behind the house.

I spend my mornings spraying poison on blackberry bushes half the size of our house, rather than running through the hills singing like Julie Andrews.

A tornado-type storm blew through  two days ago, felling a large branch across our across our driveway and multiple branches across the lane way. It also blew one of the shed doors off its tracks and put out telecommunications in the region for twenty four hours.

And it was many, many days (not just an hour!) before I had the time to sit on the veranda. When I did, I flopped, moaning and groaning, into the chair, squashing dozens of earwigs into the wicker beneath my bottom. I didn't even care - about the carnage or the stain on my shorts. I settled down to listen to my bones creak and felt a pang of regret that  we didn't even have the makings of a Vegemite sandwich in the pantry. And I drank wine because, frankly, tea seemed ridiculously inadequate.

Reality versus fantasy.
It's a killer.

But don't get me wrong. It hasn't been all plagues and storms and unflushed loos.
Despite the hiccups - or maybe because of the hiccups - there have been many wonderful things for which we are grateful.

The big move (furniture and boxes) was made light and cheerful by the help of faithful friends - those happy to sacrifice a precious weekend and work up a sweat. Just for us. That's priceless - and practical! We feel very blessed. Very loved.

Our first meal in our new home was not a roast with all the trimmings, but something far better - a picnic, brought to us by a dear friend and eaten, mid-move,  with the other dear worker-ant friends. We nibbled and chattered and giggled amidst dusty boxes, mountains of scrunched newspapers, bubble-wrap, homeless crockery, earwigs, muddy footprints and half-assembled furniture. The mood was happy and relaxed and celebratory. I cannot imagine a better way to host our first dinner party.

The seeming catastrophes of pump and storm and creepy-crawly plagues have made us realise that, unless someone is hurt or in imminent danger, it's okay. Take three deep breaths and smile. We live in a civilised country and stuff gets sorted ... eventually. Showers. Who needs 'em?

And we are, at the end of the day (and all day long, in my case), dwelling in paradise - in a beautiful home on the side of a hill, with magnificent views, rich bird life, mobs of kangaroos, peace, quiet and fresh air. Because the pump now works and we can flush whenever we like!

Stay tuned for Katrina's Adventures in the Country - coming to you in 2018.