Pin cushion

It's treatment day. Yes, that's right. I still have these. Just the targetted drug, herceptin.

Well the nurse tries to find my vein, and she finds it, but the needle won't dislodge. She takes it out, puts a little round band aid on it, then she tries again. She finds another vein, all is looking good, but ... the needle won't dislodge again. Another band aid later, and she's still staring at my hand and arm, marvelling at the finely chiselled veins.

She shakes her head. "Well, two is my limit. I will have to get another nurse to have a go."

She comes back with a helper. The other nurse examines my veins. There's a lot of patting and stroking involved. Finally she finds a vein she's happy with. She asks nurse 1 to hold my skin tight, and in she dives with the needle. I'm starting to feel a bit like a pin cushion, but we're good. She gets the vein, the needle dislodges and we're in business.

The Nimbus 4000

(We've been reading "Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone" to Sabina, so broomsticks and especially the Nimbus 2000 are fresh on her mind.)

This morning we're having a lazy family breakfast (at the ripe time of 11am!). Papa takes this opportunity to bring in my birthday present - which looks like a giant toblerone.

Between bites of egg, bacon and bread, we try to guess what could be hidden in such an odd shaped pakage. "Maybe it really is a giant toblerone?", I muse. "It's not a pair of riding boots, that's for sure." "Can't be a horse rug." "Doesn't exactly look like a book either." "Mama! I know! I know!", butts in Sabina. "It's a broom stick!" Given how much time I spend riding horses, it wouldn't at all surprise me if my husband was trying to divert my attention to riding something else. You know, to diversify. Broaden my horisons a bit.

"Mama! It's probably the Nimbus 2000!", exclaims Sabina.

"But Sabina, I'm not turning 20, or 200 or 2000", I comment.

"Ok then. It's a Nimbus 4000 then", the little girl can barely sit on the edge of her seat.

Having agreed that it's the Nimbus 4000, we open the mysterious package. We were close.

It turns out that the Nimbus 4000 is actually a portable horse yard (Retract-a-Fence), that you attach to your float, or to some other stationary device, such as a fence post.  Then you extend the remainder as far as you want to, creating either a yard, or a temporary fence (for example across your drive way, or in front of your shed).

Full moon rising

It's school holidays. Sabina and I are here, full time at the farm. We have just weathered five days of storm. Howling winds, rain, and hail. It has been so bad, that even horse mad me refused to ride in some of this weather. So bad, that the guinea pigs got brought into the laundry at night.

Finally today, the wind has abated. The clouds even managed to part, and we basked in brief sunshine in the afternoon.

Now at dusk, as the sun sets, I wander outside to feed the horses. As I push the wheelbarrow from the house to the big shed, I am overwhelmed by the calmness. Over the last few days I have been so used to the force of the wind, that now I am surprised by the ease of movement, the effortlessness of pushing the wheelbarrow, the simplicity of walking.

There are so many new sounds too. The gentle crunch of my feet on the gravel driveway. The rustle of my clothes. And the noises of various evening creatures, rejoicing in life. Down by the dam the frogs are ribbit-ing along cheerfully.

As I walk merrily, a sight catches my eye. The clouds in the east are glowing a pale, lonely, cold glow. I stop and put down the handles of my wheelbarrow, and stare. The clouds move along very slowly changing their shape. The source of the light is also moving very, very slowly. Finally, the pale face surfaces from behind the cotton wool clouds. The sight of the full moon. Rising.

Synonyms

"... and that makes them a bit rattled", I said.

"Mama is that a cinnamon to angry?", responded Sabina.

"A what?", I asked, paying attention.

"A ... a ... well you know, a cinnamon", she repeated.

"Well, you're on the right track, but it's not 'cinamon'", I laughed.

"A sen ... a sentiment?", she a asked.

I gazed.

"A san ... a sant..."

"No!  It's not a santa either!  How about a 'synonym'?", I asked.  The little girl's eyes sparkled.

"Yes Mama!  A cinnamon!"