Lental disaster

All this wasteful packaging has really got my goat. Geddit - goat? Sigh, you're right, it wasn't at all funny.

Well, it's now official: My Lent-of-No-Waste has been a colassal waste of time. Try as I might, I cannot escape packaging. It's everywhere! Even the organic wholefoods shop, to which I merrily tripped on the weekend with my hundreds of reused paper bags, has moved most of it's dry grains/pulses etc out of bins and into plastic packaging. Grrr. I was all paper-bagged up with nothing to bag.

Still, I did get some rice, oats and polenta from the bins, plus reused a jar for honey. So if you pop around for dinner for the rest of Lent, expect a meal of porridge with honey followed by boiled rice on polenta. Yum, huh? Whaddya mean, you've got other plans for the next 27 days?

Two Fruits and new bikes

Is excess consumption of Two Fruits reason for divorce? Because, I swear to the heavens above, the Galumph is killing me, and my Lent of No Waste pledge, with it. Saturday morning found me happily sipping a coffee in front of the computer, humming mindlessly away and thinking that all was good with the world when I hear the ominous 'crink-crink-crink' of a tin being opened.

That's right. He'd opened another tin of Two Bloody Fruits. And then had the gall to slosh some on to my Weetbix. The nerve! I don't even like Two Fruits! Maybe I should just give up my husband for Lent, and be done with it (joking, sweetie pie snookums darling whatever hey you yeah you).

So that's another tin to add to the recycle pile, alongside the sardines tin, which the Galumph flung mercilessly into the bin, not the recycle bin, declaring it to be "too stinky to recycle". A-huh. Never fear, dear readers, I fished it out, gave it a wash (he was right, it was frightfully smelly) and put it into the recycle pile.

While we're at it, I suppose I should confess to the rotten nectarine and two tomatoes that also were turfed due to excess mouldiness. And the packaging waste of the two minute noodles I devoured on Sunday afternoon after we did the Merri Creek Circuit. Talk about a dull ride. I needed to those noodles to compensate for the mind- (and knee!) numbing drudgery of it.

Speaking of bikes, check out my new wheels! Sweeeeeeet. It's an Electra Townie 7 gear, and I lovelovelove this bike. It's a strange machine to initially ride - I felt for a bit like I was in Easy Rider, what with my straight back and arms sticking out in front on the handle bars - but after a while it all felt so intuititive that soon the machine and I were one. And best bit is the lady-friendly seat ;-P

2 of 40

Yesterday went quite well. I didn't buy anything, so no new packaging waste was generated, and for lunch we had leftovers.

For dinner we had chilli tomato risotto. Normally I use an 800 g tin of crushed tomatoes in this recipe, but since I didn't want to create any waste, I skinned and deseeded 4 tomatoes, then cooked them down into a pulpy mess, and added that to the risotto. The result: much less tomato flavour (I think I'll double the amount of tomatoes next time, and let it cook down for longer), but pretty darn good nonetheless.

I also started a scarf for my Russian step-mother-in-law. Because it's cool and grey and rainy here, which means that a girl has to knit!

1 of 40

Well, the beginning of our Lent of No Waste didn't exactly start auspiciously. I stumbled into the kitchen this morning to find the Galumph cracking open a can of two fruits.

"What the hey-diddly-hey are you doing?" I yelped. (Actually, I husked. You should hear that morning voice o' mine. Sexy doesn't even begin to describe. Phlegmboyant, however, does come close)
"I'm getting some fruit for our Weetbix", he replied.
"Galumph!", I chatised. "It's supposed to be all about making no waste, and here you are wasting, you... you... waster!"
"Well, I'm sorry, but I did look in the fruit bowl and I must say, I didn't really fancy this" - dangling a sad dried up chilli that had been sitting all by it's lonesome in the vast expanse that is currently our fruit bowl - "on my Weetbix."

Ahem. So it's point, set and match to the Galumph.

However, the rest of the day went splendidly. A friend came over for lunch, so I served up some soup made from vegetables that were hanging around, and red lentils from the bins at the organic wholefoods place (no, not those sorts of bins!), accompanied by cheese toasties. Both bread and cheese only came wrapped in recyclable paper. I could have skipped the paper for the bread, but I was so busy yakking on about nothing in particular that I didn't realise it was wrapped until I got home.

Grumbles had grapes for afternoon tea, then for dinner tonight we had caramelised onion and feta pizza, with a green salad. The only packaging there was the flour bag, which is still currently in use.

Waste Summary:

Non-recyclable: None

Recyclable: Paper from cheese, paper from bread, two fruits tin

Compostable: Vegetable peelings and scraps

Waste free for Lent

Tomorrow marks the begining of Lent, which is the forty day period before Easter where many Christians fast, or at the very least give up something they enjoy, like scoffing down a block of Cadbury Fruit n Nut when nobody is looking.

Now, I could do something like that, but I don't usually eat chocolate of any description, so that would be a bit of a cop out. Plus, well, I like a challenge. I thought about going Plastic Free for a month, again, but I feel that Lent deserves something a little more hard core. So, I'm going to give up creating waste.

That's right, waste! For the next forty days, I'm going to try to only bring into my house things that can be composted or recycled, and to cut down on the recyclable packaging to boot.

I came up with the idea on Sunday, when I was lounging around with the Galumph. Excitedly I sat up, and said "Hey! Let's do a waste fast for Lent! We won't buy anything new, except for food, and even then all the packaging must be minimal or recycable. Won't that be GREAT?"

I heard a desolate little sigh from beside me. Turning, I looked over to see the Galumph looking at me with deploring eyes. "Can't we just have a fast where we eat chocolate three times a day?", he begged. "These things you do are always so hard!"

"Oh, pah!", I said, smothering his face with a cushion. "Hard, schmard. I've got it all planned out. We'll ride on our bikes to CERES or the organic grocery, and get all our pulses and grains and things in reusable paper bags. We'll eat heaps of fresh fruits and vegies, and compost the scraps, and everything else has to come in glass jars or bottles that we then reuse for jam. Or cardboard. Too easy!"

"But what about all the things already in our cupboard, like pasta and tins. Can we still use them?"

Listen up, buddy, I told him. Here's the rules:

- Waste creation must be kept to a minimum. If it can't be recycled or composted, it shouldn't be purchased.

- Exceptions are allowed for essential items i.e. medicines. (Galumph: Is chocolate essential?) Plus one or two other items that might be too expensive/hard to buy otherwise. In our case this will be milk, which we'll buy in cardboard, rather than glass. (Galumph: What about cordial? Please, let me keep my cordial!)

- You can eat what is already in your cupboard, but when replacing it, try to find a more sustainable way. For example, buy bread from your local baker in a reusable paper bag you bought from home, rather than in plastic from the supermarket. You'll be supporting the local economy AND helping the environment.

After nutting all this out, I turned to the Galumph and said "So, whaddya say? Are you in? Huh, huh?"

Galumph: "Do I have a choice?"

Me (with perhaps a little too much glee): "Nope!"

That's that what I'll be doing for Lent. And here's the bit where I invite you all to join me. I know 40 days is a pretty long time, so I'm going to relax the rules and let you decide how long you'd like to do it for, be it a week, a fortnight, or the whole hog! And you can be as strict or as relaxed about it as suits your life style/situation. I know not everybody has access to small local shops where these things are possible, but it would be amazing to reduce waste if we could. And don't worry about falling off the wagon, as I'm sure I will at some stage in proceedings.

So c'mon - hope on board the Lent waste-free train! Send me an email if you'd like to join in.

Moan, moan, grumble, grumble

I am having a craptacular week.

Firstly my brother was in a car accident, then my great aunty died, then Grumbles had her first day of kindergarten (a good thing, but still a trifle emotional for moi), then a pimple the size of Mount Vesuvius erupted on my face.

And now, to top it all off, today I came an absolute cropper on my bike, skinning two knees, one elbow and a large section of my leg. Thankfully I stayed within the bike lane. I mean, it's bad enough to fall off one's bike, but then to be run over as you sprawl on the road - geez, now that would be embarassing. Not to mention life threatening.

If anybody wants me I'll be in the bath (leg lifted gingerly out, other knee raised) with a glass of champagne, toasting my bad fortune/drowning my sorrows. Waaaah!

I do like me some stripes

Is this the must knit of the year? I sure think so!

It's from the 2007/08 Winter Vogue Knitting. Oh my sainted aunt, I can't wait to get my paws on that magazine, just for this pattern alone. It's got stripes! AND puffed sleeves! It's totally bringing out the Anne Shirley in me. I'm actually heavy breathing, I want it that badly! Must.....get......Vo-hooooogue.....Knitting!

What's everybody else planning on knitting this season?

Ow ow ow ow ow

Do you ever find yourself in one of those strange coincidental curses? For example, you tell a friend you've never been stung by a bee, then the next day one comes along and stings you?

Well, yesterday I had one of those, big time.

Grumbles and I have a little dishes arrangement, where I hand her the knives and forks that I've just dried, and she carefully puts them in the drawer for me. The big sharp knives, however, don't go anywhere near her. Instead, she points to the knife block and tells me to put them in there.

So, as we were doing this yesterday, we were having a natter about how she can help with the cooking when she gets a bit older, but she's not allowed to touch any of the big knives, because they are big! and sharp! and you could cut yourself! and you might bleed! and that would really hurt!

Fast forward to later that day. My best friend has come around for dinner so I'm manning the cutting board and gasbagging away. The cutting goes a little something like this: onion, onion, onion, finger, ow!

Best mate whisks me off to the bathroom, cleans up my finger (she's training to be a nurse, and a darn fine one she'll make, too!) and then Grumbles wanders in to watch. She looked at the mess, then calmly informed me to be "Careful with big knife, Mum!" before heading back to her trainset.

So there you have it. I completely and utterly cursed myself. And then I drank too much champagne to forget the pain in my finger (anything over, um, nothing is too much for me, old fart that I am), so now I have a sore finger and a sore head. I am such a duffer.

Crazy and paisley

I've been beavering away, sewing up a pair of summer jimjams for Grumbles. Because that's how I roll: I knit her cardigans at the end of winter, then make her summer pjs at the end of summer. Pathetic!

Fingers crossed I'll get them finished today, if I don't make any more colossal stuff ups. I'm not even going to tell you what I did wrong, so elementary was it and therefore all the more shameful. Let's just say that, as always when rushing, I find myself falling into traps laid for young players. Sigh. Time to hunt out my quick-un-pick...

Bald monks and dry beds

Three dry nights in a row! Go Grumbles! I followed Nichola's advice, and got her up for a twinkle before I retired each evening, and that seems to have done the trick. To celebrate, we headed out for lunch downtown today. Nori rolls all around (or worry-wolls, as Grumbles would say!)

Downtown. Such a cute word, but one I very rarely use. Once I had a lecturer ask a friend and I out for lunch "downtown". We laughed for weeks over it. "DOWNTOWN!", we'd snort. "How affected!" He also told us the graveyards were perfect places to make love, especially to red-haired young maidens. My friend (a natural redhead) and I (an obviously false one, back then) didn't quite know what to make of that, especially since he was our lecturer, he was old, and he had a bald patch/hairstyle just like a monk in a bad movie. Still, he was an affable enough sort of chap, really quite harmless. And he did have a lichen named after him. I was always quite impressed by that.

The pegs are grumpy

We've just started night time toilet training for Grumbles. Oh my sainted aunt, the washing! It's never ending, at least two loads a day. The pegs (new chant: If we see one more doona, we'll go on strike sooner!) are making rumbles about calling in their union, claiming that it says in their contract that bedsheets will only be hung out once a week, max. Tough luck, my little wooden friends.

My personal favourite is when she manages to wet the sheets, the doona (all the way through), her pillow and various assorted stuffed animals. Thank heavens for mattress protectors.

On the plus side, two nights out of six have been dry. Is it bad to give chocolate as a reward?

You're the voice, try and understand it

Well, hello dear neglected readers. Happy belated 2008 to you all!

I feel I should explain the post below. I've decided that, for me, 2008 is going to be the year of writing. In order to do this, I need to find my writing voice. Now, I already have a writing voice, but I feel I need to get to know it well. What makes it tick? What is it about this voice that makes it undeniably, unmistably mine? Does it prefer marmalade to nutella? Radio to silence? Downhill to cross-country? Does it even want to come out?

In order to answer these questions (and probably quite a few more), I'll be doing a lot more writing this year. I'm even going to bore you all, and put some of it on the blog, inbetween newly made dresses and blathering about knitting. Hopefully some will be a tad more cheery than the one below. Even I'll admit to being a little disturbed by that one.

Feel free to let me know what you think of it. Criticism*, even when it pinches hard like a bastard and leaves a bruise, is always thought-provoking, and probably just what I need to bang down walls and improve.

*Although don't be too mean - I am a sensitive soul, after all!

Incidents involving blood during a 9 month gestation period: a true story.

(i)
I fumble my way into the bathroom, heading towards the sink, mentally trying to prepare myself for the morning hell that is cleaning my teeth. My body, once so well known, is now an alien place to me - I feel weak, with wobbly legs and aching joints, my head continually feeling like it’s about to split open, my stomach churning with a never ending nausea. The radio announcer gaily informs his listeners that it’s going to be a fine sunny day, with a top of 33. These facts no longer mean anything to me, when I can barely move from table to couch to chair to toilet without throwing up. I am two months pregnant.

I lean over the sink, and squeeze out some toothpaste onto the brush. I gingerly put it into my mouth, and gently begin to brush. Within seconds the act of opening my mouth just so combining with the peppermint taste of the toothpaste conspire to make me gag before throwing up what little breakfast I had managed to force down. With a light head, I notice the blood mixed in with the toothpaste mixed in with the vomit. The tiny part of my brain still functioning in a normal manner idly notes that I’d never had bleeding gums before falling pregnant. I lean down, wash the vomit from my toothbrush and splash my face with water, then lower my head further to cool down on the porcelain sink. I feel like death. This baby better be worth it.

(ii)
I’m in the shower, soaping my growing baby bump. It’s sometime in March. Reaching up, I squirt out some cleanser, then proceed to wash my face. Suddenly I feel a sharp pain in my nose. I open my eyes, and see blood pouring down my body, mixing with the hot water to produce torrents of red that flows quickly down the sink. I lose my head and begin screaming for my husband. He rushes into the bathroom and is confronted by me standing naked and horrified in the shower, blood everywhere, screaming “What have I done? WHAT HAVE I DONE?”

(iii)
I am lying on the bed in the labour ward, legs still encased in the stirrups. My husband is holding our newborn baby girl, who hasn’t yet cried, but did make squeaking sounds, like a door without oil. A midwife is over me, pummelling my stomach in an effort to extract the placenta. Nobody is aware at this point that the placenta is actually embedded in the uterus. Unknowingly, we are dancing with the devil. After pummelling some more, the midwife gives up, and with a sigh, reaches in and pulls it out. In doing this act, she creates a gaping wound in the uterus, and within seconds the blood is pouring out, landing on bed, floor, legs, nurses. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!” mutters one, as the room suddenly becomes a hive of activity. I hear a code red being announced. In my dazed state, I only realise it’s for me when the room begins filling up with people, one warning another not to slip in all the blood that is amassing on the floor. They begin cutting off my singlet top, trying to transfer me to a trolley, organising the theatre for the five hours of emergency surgery ahead, not bothering to hide the panicked looks on their faces. All I can feel is the cold coming in. I am terrified of closing my eyes. Against my will I begin to die.

I could have gone for tinsel, but who can resist the Grumbles?!?!

Ahhh, the wonders of the urban jungle! First solo bike ride - rawkin'! Merry Christihanukawanazmass, all you wonderful readers. May your holidays and the coming year be full of joy, happiness and the occasional estactic bike ride.

Lotsa love,
Jorth and co (i.e. Grumbles and Galumph)
xoxoxoxoxo!

PS How cute is that concentration?

Too whit! Too whoo!

"Oh dear!", sighed Mr Dottlepanger as he scrutinised his rather bespottled legs, wings and torso. "I do hope I'm not coming down with the measles. That would put me in a spot of bother!"

Determined to cheer himself up (after all, too much negative thinking can make an owl feel rather dotty), he perched in front of his favourite sewing machine, and gazed out the window, hoping to spot his favourite animal, the lesser-spotted quoll. Having no luck with quoll spotting, he decided that a spot of elevenses would be just the thing, and made himself a lovely big mug full of tea, accompanied by a jam drop or two.

Things I am loving

- The above rather spiffy Jorth fambly portrait, done by the awesomely talented Aunty Cookie. Cheers, Shannon!

- The fact that the parcel containing a Marimekko fabric dress for her wee little one plus a little something for Shannon finally arrived, although it took it's sweet time about it, and had me in constant conniptions in regard to it's whereabouts. Phew.

- This biscuit recipe. Yum-o-rama!

- That Grumbles has declared that for Christmas she would like a beard. So I knitted her one. Mo ho ho!

Tradies

I've had quite the morning dealing with tradies. The first fellow, who came to fill in all the ceiling gaps, wasn't exactly Mr. Talkative, but he seemed nice enough, and did a good job. He even offered to vacuum up afterwards (admittedly after I'd vacummed), so no complaints. A chemical headache, but no complaints.

But the guy who came to replace a couple of cracked windows? Um, cracked in the head. Big time. I can handle eccentric, but when eccentric comes with extraordinarily loud and continued swearing in front of Grumbles, and ends with my discovering hundreds of tiny glass shards all over her bed, then that's when it becomes ridiculous. Not to mention unprofessional.

I was going to spend this blog post ranting and raving in a very cutting way about him, making hilarious but snide comments about his personal hygiene etc, but then I remembered that golden old rule: If you can't say anything nice about a person, don't say anything at all.

So:

However, I shall say this - don't expect too much from people wearing Jim Beam hats. I'm not saying, I'm just saying.

Paper, cotton, leather, linen, wood!

On this day, 5 very short years ago, I married the Galumph!




The bride wore green, and a big goofy grin. The groom wore the darkest of blues, and an even bigger grin. And they both carried hearts full of joy, and a promise to walk together in the many days ahead.

Who are the nutters in your neighbourhood?

Grumbles is going through her 'whhhhhyyyyyyyyy?' stage. It was slow to start, and for a few blessed moments I thought that we might have escaped it, but alas, no. It's taken off with a vengeance! I wouldn't mind so much if she actually listened to my answers, but she doesn't, and it's driving me BARMY.

So I began, at the end of the question thread, when no more possible answers were possible, to say in my best Grover-on-speed voice "Because I say sooooooooooo!"

And I've completely and utterly created a rod for my own back, because all she wants to do now is make Mum do that crazy voice, so it's all "Why? Why? WHY?" But who could blame her? It's highly entertaining, especially when I team it with a mad muppet run and up and down the hallway, bellowing "Because I say soooooooo! I'm the Mum, and I know best! GAAAAA-RAAAAAAHHH!". Sometimes she laughs so hard she has to lie down in order to recover.

*********************************************************
In other thrilling news, I'm going on a date tonight. Eeeeeeeee! It's been so long since I've done one of those that I'm no longer sure what to do. Any suggestions, o peoples of the internet, for a night out in old Melbourne town that costs less than $50?

Holy schmoly! I should probably point out I'm going on a date with my husband. Phew! Just imagine that kerfuffle I might have caused if I didn't clarify that!

Doing the photo thang

Firstly, thanks everybody for your good sleep suggestions. Breaking the caffeine habit will be the hardest, I suspect. Such a vicious circle: can't sleep, feel tired during day, have a coffee, too much caffeine, can't sleep and on and on we go. So no more coffee after 11, as suggested by Jo. Also, a good pal told me about the breathing she learnt during her hypno-birthing classes, so each night you'll find me lying in a relaxed position in bed, working that tummy up and down as I breath in correctly. Or so the theory goes.

But really, you don't stop by my little neck of the woods to listen to me blather on about my sleep problems. You're after madcap adventures! Crazy schemes! What new adventure is that loony Jorth embarking upon now? Well, I think I might just enrol myself in a photography course. Stop the old brain from rusting, etc etc. Plus I like to be really good at things I do regularly, like sewing and knitting and now taking photos. So that's the big plan for next year. Photocity, here I come!