Meccano Dreamin'

When I was little, around six I guess, my brother, who was eight had a Meccano set.  I thought it was the coolest thing in the whole damn world.  And I wasn't allowed to play with it. I don't think I was even allowed to look at it sideways.

Was it because it wasn't a girl's toy, or was it just that Hec wanted to have some stuff that was just for him:  something my meddling little mitts wouldn't get all into.  Whatever the reason, it was strictly out of bounds.  And I don't remember EVER crossing the line into the forbidden territory.

About 36 years later, I was in a toy shop in Athens pondering what to get Milo for his third birthday.  It had to be something light, something that could be transported easily back to Australia.  Something durable, something deconstructable. Something either age appropriate or something he could grow into... SOMETHING MECCANO!

And so it came to pass that Milo got his first set.  And the first time he played with it, was with Hec.  I think they made the helicopter.  Sure its components aren't metal.  Sure it doesn't have any mechanical bits or engines or pulleys or strings or anything, but still, it's 21st century Meccano.  And that's Meccano none the less.

Today, Milo is a few months shy of turning six, and after school he pulled the bag of bits out of the drawer in his bedroom and asked me to help him assemble the car.  So we did.  He located the parts, I did the construction.

By the time we'd finished we were both too stuffed to even look at the thing.  But the point is we did it.  And together.  And in doing so I fulfilled a dream.

Where did that year go?

It's been a long, cold winter since the last time I wrote. This whole year, actually, has been a long, cold winter.  But with the arrival of this September, little glimpses of sunshine have broken through the chill.  So maybe spring will spring soon.  And maybe this long, cold winter will come to an end.

It's a week short of twelve months since I last wrote anything about the house at Porter Street.  And funnily enough, just yesterday I found myself digging and planting without gloves, which is what my last blog entry was about.  How curious that the universe led me tonight to click on my blog, when it has been so distant from my radar for the last 51 weeks.  

I think I didn't write because I lost sight of inspiration as we settled into preparations for our first full summer in the House at Porter Street.  It was our first full summer with our oddly merged family and its sometimes straining dynamic trying to make sense of itself.

It feels like I can't really say what happened to the summer which took us from 2011 to 2012.  But if I try, I can.  There was swimming in the pool.  

There were blue tongue lizards in the garden.  

There was a wicked storm on Christmas Day that kept our beloved visitors trapped here with a thunderous light show over the valley and torrential, driving rain that was almost more exciting than Father Christmas, his avalanche of presents and all the food we'd consumed throughout the day.  

There was our sunflower.

There was preparation for Milo starting school in February, and then the adjustment to the new paradigm as my baby and I went from constant companions to mummy missing her school boy (with giant schoolbag) having a whole life away from me for six and half hours a day, five days a week.

It all felt like a revolution. Life was happening, and we were all swept up in the fullness of it.

And then the world as we knew it ended.  6.42am on 9 March, 2012.  Because that's when Evie rang to tell me that my brother had just died.  My dearest, darlingest, one and only brother.

And so, right in the midst of a blazing hot summer, when everything seemed to be happening with nothing going on, there began the longest, coldest winter.

Dirt under the finger nails.

The sun shone today, so out into the domain of the spiders and snails did we venture.

A colony of snails, discombobulated by our 

turning of their soil, decided to pack up their 

houses and leave.

Equipped with bags of soil, rescued pots, an assortment of tools, seeds, seedlings and a pair of gardening gloves for each of us we took upon us the task of making a start on our herb garden.


We planted:  mint, oregano, parsley, purple carrots (!), coriander, marigolds and chives.


After much hauling of the extremely sodden soil we'd just bought, heaving of prickly pots, hoeing, digging, root tickling and watering I felt I'd earned the right to stand back and admire the fruits of our three hours hard labour...  

...and realised that the fruits weren't visually that impressive after all.  But it's a start, and that's the main thing.


Besides, we found a hoe in the garden, and how often can you say that?

Something funny happened on the way...

You don't even want to know what's been happening at the House at Porter Street on the way from the last post to today.


Suffice to say, there's been a concussion, a household insurance claim, motor insurance claim, a drowned computer, a new computer coupled with a corrupted  back up, shattered crockery, a badly bruised foot and an unwelcome mauling of our weekend papier mache fun by some rampant, bad mannered possums.  (I say bad mannered because they left a calling card in the shape of faeces on the terrace table in case we didn't know it was them.)


I live in hope that writing this now draws a line beneath the horrors that have been the last few weeks.


And we can move on.


The chook shed is being demolished on Thursday (weather permitting) and the remaining garden stumps ground out as well.  I'll let you know how we go.

As is.

Finally.  Here is the rear garden of the House at Porter Street.  A blank canvas of sorts.  I think I need to gaze at this for a few days in the hope inspiration will come.  Wish me luck.

Foggy days.

My brain is whirling, and not only because my head had an epic run-in with the cast iron fire screen last week.  In the delicious haze of pain relieving medications, anti-inflamatories and muscle relaxants blended with my own special brand of confusion, I am mentally grappling with a number of issues which I intend to outline below in no particular order.


The fish are doing so much better but we're battling still to get our pH and other  chemical elements more deftly aligned with the colour scale at the aquarium so we can introduce a third.  To date are graced with Mr X, the stalwart, and Sunny the lemon comet, both of whom are frisky and happy and thriving.  Such good news after the extended chain of tragedy discussed in previous entries.

The garden remains in a state of flux, awaiting the next round of works. Mum recently arranged a quote from a fine fellow called Sam, about whom Mum had good vibes.  I didn't meet him, so my vibes do not come into play in this instance.  His task is to removed the dilapidated chook shed, grind out, by hand, the stumps from the trees removed a few months ago, help us plan a garden, including veggie patch, remove the rubbish and maintain the lawns on a regular and ongoing basis.

I want to develop a vision for the garden.  But am incredibly inexperienced and wholly clueless.  So until I drift off this is where I hope my attention will settle for today.


I still have one more Malm drawer unit to assemble before the furniture element of my bedroom is completed.  My foggy brain has put a halt to any interactions with flatpack.  Rather than my extensive experience giving me the confidence to proceed equipped with just one functioning brain cell, my self-preservation and mental health alert system has warned me to steer clear until  a few more synapses are firing.  By next weekend we would hope this would be the case.


There were a couple of other incidentals requiring attention this week.  Milo's first themed party last Sunday:  Toby's pirate party.  We considered an eyepatch to be an integral component of the costumery until we saw the beard.  

And finally, the man came to complete the pool fence.  Complete? you ask.  Yes, complete, I confirm.


About a month ago, the glass fence man arrived to remove our unsightly, rusty pool fence and gate and replace it with the new and improved minimal version.

He got to work quickly, cutting out the badness and with a little bit of help from moi commenced fitting the new panels.  All good.  Very happy.


And then, a curve ball: he advised he wouldn't be able to finish the job because the factory had given one of our panels to another customer, and we were one panel short.


Huh?


Many questions ensued.  Why did you start if you couldn't finish?  How long for the next panel?  What am I going to do with a party of small children due here next weekend for a party?   


It would be around 3 weeks or so before it could be complete, so after a little urging the company agreed to come back in a few days and fit a timber panel to at least make the pool area safe in the interim.

The giant piniata, the birthday boy, his wife and Milo.
Note panel just visible behind the wing of the chair next to Jane's elbow.

Eventually the pool fence was finished.

Mental note:  do something with that stupid hose.

And the timber panel was recycled into a pin board which I just have to work out how to fix to the plaster wall in the corridor outside Milo's and My bedrooms. It's bloody heavy.

So back to the garden I go, at least in my head.  First task, map it out. 

I may've been a little hasty. Part 2.

When you're walking up the driveway of the House at Porter, if you cast your eye to the right and squint at the dirt of the nearest garden bed you will spy the symbol marking the peaceful resting place of our dearly departed fish. 

It's now quite a school, with the addition yesterday of dear, sweet, quirky Otto.  Otto of the Grotto.  Otto who spent much of his day resting in the hole in the rock in the tank.  Otto who was only with us for ten days.  Otto.

An autopsy was undertaken at "Passion for Pets" in Bulleen, where Otto was acquired.  It seems he may've been unwell when he came to us.  So they're going to give us another Otto on Saturday. And in the meantime we will fondly remember our little, red-lipped friend with the big personality who has swum off this mortal coil.  RIP.