Go West ... ern

Our pony club declared that they were having a "Western Day".  The kids were going to experience everything Western - Western riding, videos of Western horses, etc.  Of course, we were encouraged to dress up too.

I have no idea what possessed me.  A Western shirt and a bandana would have done just fine.  But no.  For some reason, I, not my lovely daughter attending Pony Club, but I ... I got all carried away and decided that I had to make some chaps for Sabina.  Initially I had visions of brown leathery chaps, but imagination very quickly took me towards pink chaps with tassles.  (I LOVE tassles.)  For two days I was like a whirlwind possessed (or should that be tornado possessed?).

Two days - that's how long it took to buy the material (and tassles), surf the internet only to find that free patterns for chaps are hard to come by (but x-rated sites are not!  sheesh!), create a pattern out of paper ("Mama, I'm not going to wear those, they will rip"), cut the material (oh, do be careful, there's no going back), and then stitch it all together (they fit, yay!).

The final product was a hit, but it took me a week to recover from my whirlwind effort.

Showering in the garden of the Gods

This entry was supposed to read something like this:

"Husband has organised bathroom rennovations, which means that all showers in the house have been decomissioned. So he fixed a temporary shower outside. Then, as the weather got colder and wetter, he organised a business trip to Canberra, where he can sit in a hotel shower to his heart's content, leaving us to tremble in the elements."

That's how it was supposed to sound. However, before I had time to air my honest views, I have managed to shower under the above mentioned outdoor shower three times. Twice was enough to change my view forever.

You stand, at the back of the house, under the spray of hot water. Make it as hot as you like. The hotter the better. Right in front of you is the veggie garden, getting soaked in the grey water. At your eye level is the blooming rose garden - lucious green, with splashes of colour. Beyond the rose garden, there is more rich greenery. And if you're really lucky, the face of a cow or a horse peers at you across the fence.

The key is to make the shower as hot as you can possibly stand it, just towards the end. Get your body really, really hot. Then turn the water off. Your body is so hot, that even a light drizzle at 12 deg C feels pleasant, and you can afford to slowly amble towards your towel.

Some might call it "toughing it". I call it "showering in the garden of the Gods".

One more point. So far, I have only showered during the day. But, my husband has installed a light in the outdoor shower. (As you do.) I am yet to try the night time experience.

V/Line

A strange set of events led to me catching the train from Warragul back into town.

My husband dropped me off at the station in Warragul, which was crowded with school kids. They were obviously catching the country train on their way home from school.

The train was quite long, and so most of the carriages were close to empty. I settled into a couple of adjacent seats. But I could have quite easily occupied 8! The rowdy school kids must have gone another carriage, because it was quiet in ours.

The train hooted along, flashing past green paddocks with grazing fresians, and stopping at all the country stations along the way. As we got closer to the city, the paddocks became smaller, and the cows were replaced by horses, the barbed wire by post and rail. Part of me wondered why we couldn't have bought a nice horse property here, part of me knew. The state forest.

When we joined with the suburban train track, the train really started zooming along. I sat in my seat, reading my (Harry Potter) book, glancing out the window occasionally. Just in time to spot the down boom gates, and long queues of cars waiting for my royal carriage to pass. The train driver hooted the horn regularly just to let everyone know, that this train was coming through.

I found my journey "rejuvenating".

I disembarked at a suburban station, and caught the bus home. The bus trip was not "rejuvenating" per se ... "entertaining" is probably more appropriate. There was some lout at the back giving non-stop commentary ... on everything. Everything that caught his attention, be it the ad for zero coke, or the driver that didn't give way, or the sign on the local primary school. And of course, as we drove via the University he got stuck into the uni students as well. But with good humour, and he knew when to stop.

It wasn't a short trip, but I arrived home extremely refreshed, and with a smile on my face. Now to the best part. How much did I pay for all this pleasure?

$3.80.

Harry Potter and the Family Wizards

My reading of the Harry Potter books to my daughter, has not only started a trend. It has started a cult-like following. It all started when my daughter arrived at the table one lunchtime and announced "Mama, I hope I will be in Griffindor".

We are not ones to gape for long, and I replied "I'm sure you will be. After all, I was in Griffindor".

Sabina took my response in her stride, as though it was obvious that I had gone to wizarding school, and turned to Papa.

"Papa, what house where you in, when you went to Hogwarts?"

"Ravenclaw", replied Papa.

Jokes aside though, when you start digging deeper, how do you explain the picture of my mum with a black cat sitting on her shoulder? And why do we have wizard's robes and hats hanging in the upstairs bedroom?

It also doesn't help that we have a guinea pig named Ginny, and a horse name Lilly.

Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets

So, I have successfully read "Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone" to Sabina. But, where did I get the book from? Well, I borrowed it from a trusted friend. Of course, she happened to have the whole set of books in a box, so she lent me the entire box.

Having enjoyed the first book, I quickly moved onto the second book. I ... moved onto the second book - not the entire family. I didn't want to start a trend, so I read the second book in secret. But, of course, inadvertently, at some point, I left it visible. Well, eyes started sparking, and mouths started watering, when the remainder of the family saw the second book lying around, my bookmark clearly somewhat through the book.

One pleading look from Sabina, and I was roped into reading the second book out aloud. We've had an absolutely brilliant time reading the second book as a family. There has been much discussion about every chapter, what happened yesterday, what clues have Harry, Ron and Hermione missed. We also have a good laugh at George and Fred's antics. (Sabina runs down the corridor screaming "Watch out! Heir of Slytherin coming through".)

My favourite moment was when Sabina actually worked out some of the clues, before they were given away in the story.

So ... it appears ... that I have started a trend after all.

Home stretch

It's another treatment day today.

I waltz into my doctor's office thinking that I have three more treatments to go after today. But not so. It turns out that, after today, I only have a mere two treatments left.

I am on the home stretch. In fact a lot further down the home stretch than I thought.

If I was waltzing going into my doctor's office, then I must have been doing a polka on my way out.

Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone

An innocent post on my own blog about Harry Potter has led to a series of chain events, which have culminated in me reading the book to my 6 year old daughter. While reading the book, I especially focussed on the quality of reading, rather than getting through an entire chapter in one sitting. Having watched the movies, I imitated the voices of all the various characters - getting pretty close with most of them, except for Hagrid.

Sabina loved the book from the first sentence. She was totally mesmerised by the story, and plagued me to read not just in the evening, but during our afternoon siesta as well! Towards the end of the book, when Harry, Ron and Hermoine go down the trapdoor guarded by the three headed dog, Sabina was on the edge of the bed, screaming at me "No mama! They can't go down there!", and "Oh mama, what are they doing?", and "No stop! Don't go down there! Oh mama." I could hardly get a word in edgewise.

I would also like to note, that my husband was an avid listener as well. Whenever he missed an official reading session, he would catchup in his own time. (An unusual activity for him, as he is mainly an avid map-reader.)

We all thoroughly enjoyed the book, and found it a fantastic family activity.

Roast Chicken

"Remember Aussie Sundays, when the chook was worth the wait ..."

Yes, that's right, I've taken to roasting chicken. It's become our regular Saturday night dinner. Why is it that when you cook the different bits of chook separately they come out average? But when you roast the whole bird it comes out juicy, tasty and with crispy skin? Finger licking delicious! We fight over every bit - the wings, the drumsticks, the thighs, the breasts and the wishing bone.

It's also a fantastic family meal, as we argue over the different bits, and trade with crispy skin. The interaction is fantastic, and the kids just put it away.

I pulled a very simple recipe off the internet one day. It goes something like this.

Ingredients
1 chook
1 lemon
salt
oil

Method

1. Preheat oven to 250 deg C.
2. Wash chicken and pat dry with a paper towel.
3. Cut lemon in half, and squeeze some of the juice over the chicken, and some inside the chicken.
4. Sprinkle salt inside the chicken.
5. Put the lemon back together again, and stuff the chicken with the lemon. Tie the legs to hold lemon in place.
6. Sprinkle salt on the chicken.
7. Pour oil on chicken.
8. Rub salt and oil into the chicken.
9. Place chicken in deep, ovenproof dish, uncovered. Chest up. Use bottom shelf in oven.
10. Roast at 250 deg C for 30 minutes.
11. Reduce oven to 180 deg C and roast (uncovered). Roasting time depends on weight of chicken - allow 1 hour of total roasting time for each 1kg of chicken. So if your chicken weighs 1.5kg then you would roast 30 minutes on 250 deg C, and then a further 1 hour on 180 deg C, for a total roasting time of 1.5 hours.

Timing
The best part about roasting chicken is the timing. Here is how it works.

• Sabina and I go for a horse ride, and return tired.
• I leave the little girl with the ponies (she is now old enough for this) and I rush back to the house, preheat the oven, get the chook sorted, and put it in the oven.
• I then rush back to Sabina, crackers and dip in hand.
• Sabina snacks while I unsaddle the ponies.
• I zip back, turn down the oven.
• Then, together, we put the ponies away.
• Then we head back to the house.  I now have one happy child, who has now regained enough energy to play, or help set the table, while I get some veggies ready.

Caveats
Almost forgot. And then we got the electricity bill.

Irritable

Chemo affects your brain function. You experience different problems such as forgetfulness, mind dullness/fogginess, and so on. One of my biggest "brain" issues is irritability.

When I was in the middle of chemo, I was very very irritable for at least two days. I used to bark commands left, right and centre. People around me, usually my closest family, thought their head was about to be bitten off all of a sudden. The irritability came and went, but it was worst just before mealtimes. (No surprises there - mealtimes delivered much needed nutrients. The irritability is just a sign that the brain is low on something).

Now, months after chemo, I still get bouts of irritability. They come at me out of nowhere, make me feel like a very irritated sabre toothed tiger, and I never really know how long they will last. 5 minutes? Half an hour? An hour?

It's really very hard to describe just how irritable I feel, but it's nothing like I've ever felt before I had chemo. Normally when you feel irritated, you feel irritated by something - and if you can remove the source then your irritability goes away. Sometimes you cannot remove the source, but you can remove yourself from the situation. Once again, problem solved.

My chemo irritability is nothing like that. It's not caused by anything. There is no reason for it. I can be in the most peaceful setting, and all of a sudden I just feel very ... very ... very irritated.

At times like these, I usually try and sit in a nice quiet spot, and just think to myself that it's not going to last forever. Sometimes, I have a snack too. But most of the time I feel too irritated to be able to organise a snack. I feel too irritated to be able to ask someone for a snack.

Virus!

So far, throughout my chemo and beyond I have been lucky and haven't picked up any viruses or infections. However, finally, the germs have caught up with me.

My daughter got really sick - running a temperature of 39 deg C - and I, being the dedicated mother that I am (really?), refused help from the grandmothers, and took care of her. And the virus got me too.

At first it wasn't too bad. As I felt unwell, I eased off on my responsibilities (didn't feed the horses), dosed myself up on virus drops, and went early to bed. The next day I still felt unwell. So we sat in my bed with my daughter and watched Black Beauty. It was like one of those emotional tissue ads - but all that sobbing made me feel better.

Then it just went downhill from there. By day three I was running a fever of 39 deg C (that's unheard of in my case!), and at one point almost fainted when I got out of bed. The scary part was that I was no longer able to keep up with drinking enough water - I can now see how people like me just end up in hospital on a drip. In fact, if someone had offered a drip, I would have gladly accepted.

After about 3 days in bed I finally resurfaced. But the virus left me weak, and set me back about 4 weeks in my chemo recovery. Symptoms, such as cracked skin in my nose (ouch!!), which I thought were history, were suddenly back with a vengence. The naturopath increased my dose of vitamin supplements - without these the situation would be even worse.

It's now one week since I have ventured out of bed, following my virus, and I am still struggling. I feel weak and fatigued. I need about two naps per day, the sore throat recurs, and I never know whether the virus is coming or going.

I know that it won't last forever, but it has surprised me how weak I still am, seven months after finishing chemotherapy.

Take a number

Sabina has been really sick yesterday.  She is better today, but still sitting in bed.  And drawing.  And she needs a sharpener for her pencil.  Well, we've just arrived at the farm and I am busy busy busy.  Busy lighting fire, busy unpacking the car, busy putting food in the fridge.  Busy.

"Mama, I need a sharpener", she pleads.

"Oh Sabina, take a number", I say jokingly.  She thinks about this for a moment, then says "so, what number am I?"

For a split second, I am stumped.

"Number 2", I recover.

But wait, it gets better.  A few minutes later, she needs something else.

"Mama, you need to colour in the spider.  What number am I this time?", she asks.

"Number 4", I respond.

"Ok, and who is number 3?", she quizzes.

"My coffee!"

At this point, I'm laughing, and add "Sabina, that's going straight to the blog".

"To where?", she looks at me puzzled.

"To the blog", I straighten up.

"Oh, is that where the santonym went?"

Gone paddling

Last night Sabina and I drove up to the farm. Peter arrived some time later, and by that time, Sabina was asleep. This morning, she woke up all excited and asked "where is Papa?". Gone. Gone paddling.

The little girl was undisturbed by this, and went off, merrily to play with her toys. Half an hour later she emerged with her soft toys stuffed into the guinea pig tunnel. "Look Mama", she said, "they're paddling".

Yell for Cadel

 Cadel Evans has won the Tour the France.  Did we watch the Tour every night?  Yes we did.  (Ok, I watched it not every night, and only till 11pm at best, when I would do the classical nod forward.)  Were we sitting on tenderhooks?  Yes we were.  Did we get really excited every time Cadel looked like he had a good chance?  Yes we did.  Did my husband sit up at night at the farm, scanning Tour updates with his phone and then gave me updates when he finally crawled into bed?  Yes he did.

So, when they announced that Cadel will do a celebratory ride to Federation Square, I announced that I am attending.  (I have a really serious aversion to crowds).  The crowd on either side of the designated track was already lined three people deep when I got there.  By the time Cadel rode by, it was about eight deep.

But I did see Cadel ride by.  I saw his yellow jersey, I saw his bike, and I saw his genuine smile.  The crowds were huge, but it was worth it.

Real farmers

Ok, it's official.  We are now "real" farmers.  Six cows - I mean steers (farmer speak) - have arrived at our farm.  They spent the first 3 days sulking at the gate, but now they have discovered grass, the dam, and that special treats come in yellow buckets.

Secret women's business

Oh my wordie lordie yes! My period is back! This is, I think, the best news I have had since finishing chemo.

Before I started chemo, my husband and I went through an agonising few weeks thinking about chemo and it's implications. We had always wanted more than one child, so our family was, (in medical terms) incomplete. The doctors were strongly recommending chemo, but of course they couldn't force me to have it. Ultimately it was my choice.

If you have chemotherapy at my age, there is a 40% chance that you will end up infertile afterwards. 40%. That's really high. If you have Zoladex injections (which I did have), then this is lowered to about 25%. That's still very high.

Ever since I finished chemo, the fertility topic has become "taboo". My husband and I tried not to talk about it, not to think about it, the mothers didn't ask. Fathers stayed positively oblivious. I was left to stew about it by myself. Of course, I know the power of positive thinking. So, I tried not to stew. I tried to think positive. I tried to imagine that this day would come. But still, you have moments when you stew.

So, now that I am staring at ... well, never mind what I am staring at. Now that my period is back, I am absolutely over the moon. I am starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel. I feel I am on the home stretch. Green fields of fertility are stretching out lazily in front of me. Life pumps in my veins.

Whether we actually expand the family, or not, is irrelevant. That was always just half of the story. It's about avoiding osteoporosis (as a horse rider, that's quite important), it's about feeling good, it's about feeling young. It's about having the choice.

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!"

Palomino

Ever since Sabina read the "Silver Brumby" she has, first of all noticed, and secondly fallen in love with, palomino horses.  The palomino has a golden body, with a silver mane and tail.  They are beautiful horses.

Now, palomino reverberates in her play, and in her life.  When we drive in the car along country roads, she spots palomino horses in paddocks miles away.  The other day, she saw a labrador being walked through town - "oh Mama, look!  A palomino dog!".  Cissy is her favourite guinea pig, because part of her coat is gold and white, and that makes her edge towards a palomino.

Finally, one day Sabina ran into the bathroom, then ran out again, smiling.  She looked at me, then said "Mama, I'm also a palomino!".

Kids and puddles

There is something about puddles that makes them absolutely irresistible to kids.  Even if it's just wading through them in your gumboots to see how deep they are.

 But even better if you can take your schleich horses along for a bit of a wade!

Thowra and the foal were also lucky enough to snack on an apple.

While Boon Boon chose to go for a drink.