Raspberries and driftwood

Apart from a diversion to the Christmas Hills Raspberry Farm, to stock up on jam and hand dipped chocolate raspberries, my week was occupied with some of the driftwood we gathered at Turners Beach last Sunday.

We thought we'd go for a walk on the beach because the weather was clear, there was no wind, and we needed the scent of the ocean. I was so excited that I didn't take either my phone or my camera.

Turners Beach, just west of Devonport and at the mouth of the Forth River, is my newest residential desire.  What a beach! 

There's still a lot of driftwood around the rivers, bridges and beaches from the recent massive flooding. Whole huge trees as well as tiny fragments, dumped on the shoreline.  Someone has been creating pyramids or tepees, from small to massive structures. Love their work, it's also been evident on the shores of the Mersey River here at Devonport.

Whoever you are, I salute you.

I'm sad that I don't have any pics of the beach, but here are a couple of my constructions from the gleanings.

I'd write more, but I have raspberries to eat...

Examples of works, Part II

Examples of works, Part II

Sold

It's been almost a year since I last posted, my bad but life's a bit of a distraction.

I've been working away on the house and the garden, there's been some coming and going, there are plans afoot and I  can assure you they are cunning plans.

I haven't posted any pics of my work for a while, so while the plans are a-hatching here are some pics of what I've been doing...

(sold)

(sold)

(Sold)

(sold)

(sold)

And more fish...

Some other drawings...

And I've been playing with some photography, here in the most photogenic place in Australia...

primary, secondary, tertiary friends....

I was just putting a pic on Facebook about dinner tonight.

I don't usually put pictures of my food on Facebook, but it's been a yummy day and sometimes I just have to celebrate that.

In reading the general comments on the post, I was reminded about something one of my oldest friends talked about a couple of Boxing Days ago, over a civilised champagne and leftovers.

Without giving away too much detail, I've been lucky enough to have some friends in my life for 51 years.  We started primary school together, Year 1A. I don't clearly understand why there was 1A and 1B before year 2, there just was.

Sometimes we didn't see each other for quite a while, (as long as 37 years, in one case)  but when we next saw each other the conversation just picked up from wherever we left off.

These are primary friends, from primary school (or Sunday School, or before). It was the 60's, we couldn't afford pre-primary.

There are friends from high school, again you lose contact for a while, but still sharing birthdays and collective (if growing vague in parts) memories.  These are secondary friends.  Not secondary in terms of importance, just arrival.

Then there are tertiary friends, university, work, other life events after high school.  In some cases, these people have been in my life for 40 years now.  We may not spend as much time together as we once did, but it's still as easy as it was when we were 18 or 25 years old - before kids, partners, life events. And we have lots of adventures to remember - or try not to mention. Sometimes we only see each other once or twice a year but every time we catch up it's special. Sometimes it's only electronically, but still important. Not tertiary in importance, just arrival.

And of course, there are sisters, more like 56 years, and still special. And offspring, mine and everybody else's. If you love your friends, how can you not love their kids?

I've been very lucky to have these all of these people in my life, and particularly lucky in that generally they all get along with each other. I'm really bad at sending cards and calling for no particular reason, luckily everyone seems to understand that. 

Let's all celebrate our friends.

Mid-century sideboard, mine. *Note: no mirror

If you've read other posts, you might know that my friends and I are rather keen on old things (and that I am a master of understatement).  

A friend, who lives quite close by, was out on the trawl for treasures when she came by a mid-century/late deco wooden and mirrored dressing table, alone in the back room of the house which was being cleared. She forked out the requisite dollars (not very many) and hauled it back to her burrow, where she and a friend unloaded it into the garage.

A lick of paint, a bit of sanding, and it was looking very schmick indeed, so my friend and her mate hauled it up into the bedroom, where it faced the bed.



This is Tasmania, it was winter. My friend was complaining that she couldn't warm the house, even with the wood heater and the gas heater and the sun shining through the big windows. Like my house, it has big windows to catch the sun and it isn't a cold house. She started to have aches and pains in her knees.  She started to be woken in the night by a great weight on top of her, or pressing against her, in her bed. She was alone.

My friend's young grandaughter came to change for netball, but wouldn't change in the bedroom any more. 

Chest of drawers, spare room.  No mirror.

Discussion ensued with someone we shall call "Friend 2", who has a certain sensitivity to such things.  Her immediate response to the knee aches was that religion was involved - prayer on the knees and so on.

Further research by Friend 1 showed the dressing table had been owned by a pastor, of the old fashioned brimstone type. 

She decided that the dressing table should leave her possession pretty urgently.  In the meantime, she wanted to move it out of the bedroom. The friend who had helped her carry it in came by to help move it.  Without anything in it, they could barely lift it. They managed to drag it into the hallway, with difficulty.

It was advertised super cheap on Gumtree and Facebook, but no-one who expressed an interest turned up.  After a night, the girls gathered their strength and managed to drag it out onto the front veranda, where it sat, mirror to the wall, sulking.  

Occasional table, no mirror

I went there for dinner on the Friday night, and I can confirm that it was definitely sulking.  I did not want to be standing on that veranda, I felt very uneasy while I was waiting for the door to be opened. My door knocking had a certain frenetic edge, especially since the veranda light wasn't working. There may have been scratching on the door. But inside, it was toasty warm. My friend's knees had returned to full working order.

It eventually sold for a pittance and was removed. It either wanted to go or the people were very strong.  Or it had found out about the plan to drop it into the pit at the tip, where it would go one on one with the big bulldozer.  My money was on the bulldozer.

I still can't look at furniture involving mirrors.