a change of beat
a shift of gears
a different whirl of the wheel
that’s what’s going on around here
I’m looking forward to it
a time for being, doing and enjoying
that change of beat
******
Happy Christmas to all and I will see you in 2012
xxx
I went sky diving when I was nineteen years old. Jumped right out of a plane. Attached to a man, who was attached to parachute.
Whoosh!
I don’t like heights, so how I ended up jumping out of that tiny plane I really don’t know. A friend had convinced me it would be fun, we were both leaving the area and moving on to greener pastures. A final farewell.
Bon voyage, adieu, auf weidersehen… see you later mate.
Realistically it was probably the umpteen tequila shots beforehand, that had made the idea seem like a good one. But I locked it in, committed and booked. The weather was bad on the booked day and my friend had to cancel as he couldn’t make any other day. I nervously said, oh sure, of course I still wanted to do it. Love to jump out of a teeny tiny plane from a great height.
The day comes. I get in the plane. A plane about the size of a small tin can coffin. The pilot seemingly running with his legs to take off, Flintstone style, with two jutting out stumpy looking wings to aid our flight. It really did seem like a good idea at the time of booking.
The plane kept climbing up. So did my heart. We reached the desired height. My heart reached my mouth.
Too late to turn back? I’m not sure that I wore the right socks today…ahh, well let’s go back down and try again perhaps another time.
No?
Right. Door was opened. Wind rushes in. My long hair flys in every direction. It looks like Cousin It is flying with the team today. Probably should have brought a hair band, but no time to think of that now as we are perched on the edge. Long hair being enjoyed by my tandem jumper.
The edge.
Edge of a fast moving open door plane, flying at a billion feet above the solid earth…and I paid money for this? I can’t look down, actually I can’t breathe. My sky diving partner yells some last minute instructions into my ear. I can’t speak as a 500km wind is flying into my mouth and draining it of any necessary saliva needed in order to speak. I nod, sort of and tilt my head back on to his shoulder. He enjoys a full head of Cousin It hair flying into his face and then tips forward.
I don’t jump, I don’t need to. My tandem partner has done that for us, and I’m now hurtling towards the ground somersaulting towards a sure death. I let out a piercing long scream that seems fitting when death is just the corner.
I don’t die though, not just yet, we stop spinning and…. I’m flying! I’m really flying! The world looks so pretty hurtling up at you. I can’t stop smiling, which is a bit of a problem as the wind is still rushing into my mouth, flapping my cheeks at 500km an hour.
This is great! This is so much fun!
Over too soon and the cord gets pulled. Our parachute gets ripped open and with a jolt, we continue our descent a quite a bit slower. Adrenaline pumping, I try to create some saliva to speak again.
That was fantastic!
Which was closely followed by …actually I don’t feel so well.
You’re fine mate. You did well,” as we floated our way back down towards the small airstrip.
No… I really don’t feel well, I think I’m going to faint.
And so I did. Fainted that is. Waking up just in time to vomit into the grass as we landed, legs buckling under me, and our parachute elegantly fluttering behind. Thankfully I have it all on film for my kids to enjoy down the track too.
What can I say?…
It seemed like a good idea at the time.
Celebrating the everyday.
Crowded bus on a grey drizzly evening, Full of anonymous people all plugged in to their own technology. Young girl steps on with her protective mother, clutching a home made card and wrapped present. “Happy Brithday” it said beautifully written out in a nine year olds hand writing. A cut out head of Bruno Mars made up the picture. In that anonymous crowded bus ride I loved that miss spelt card and the effort the young girl had put in.
Holding hands with Little Monkey, as we walk to school to pick up Monkey Boy. Soft rain falling, our rain coats squeaking as we walk. A warm little hand that still wants to be held by mine. Love that quiet moment.
Big rounded belly with soft kicks from inside. Trying to capture that time, as it will surely pass.
Loving listening to this album.
Stolen moment chats in my foyer stairs. With a wonderful friend that reminds me to celebrate the every day, as some people simply don’t get to have the everyday.
What’s been happening in your everyday?
In my kitchen…
is some beautiful camomile tea…
perfect to go into my new tea cup, given to me by a lovely friend. I’m sure things taste better when you love the cup you are drinking from.
In my kitchen… is sitting a birthday book, Cake Wrecks…. oh some of these are lip biting.
In my kitchen… sits a gorgeous bunch of flowers. There is something quite lovely about finding a bunch of flowers waiting for you on your door step.
In my kitchen…. sits the latest Sanctuary magazine, fittingly focusing on green kitchens. Helps with the dreaming this one does…
In My Kitchen is a monthly post done by the favourite foodie on her street- Celia at Fig Jam and Lime Cordial
*****
Now for something a little bit different
cityhippyfarmgirl unplugged
I’ve been tagged by the lovely Choclette from Chocolate Log Blog to answer a few questions
I’ve just celebrated another birthday rolling around. Time spent with lovely people, delicious food and lots of happy moments.
I’ve also been thinking of another that is no longer here.
Thinking of my grandfather who left me with a head full of happy memories, that I frequently bring out and go through. Flicking through those memories like a well worn scrap book, with mental scribbles, loved pictures and happy moments.
Ours was a shared birthday. It was always such a special feeling knowing that our birthday was on the same day. Giving me a loving connection with the grandfather I adored.
A man, who to me always smelt like smoked apple wood, and occasionally raw onions as he loved them on sandwiches.
He had a sweet tooth for certain things, introducing me to sugar coated jubes that would get soft and squishy in the car. There were scoops of vanilla icecream with spoonfuls of his home made jam on top. He also knew answers to more trivia questions than I could ever hope to know in a lifetime. Answers would roll off his tongue like a well rehearsed dialogue. No pause for thought as the reply seemed so easily retrieved.
Big boxes of locally grown apples would be brought by him when ever he came to visit, followed by bulging jars of loose change to be carefully counted and divided amongst the grandchildren. Counting was always my job, as I was the eldest. Every cent was divided up and then we could spend it in any way we wanted.
He was there when I first rode my bike. He was also there, teaching me to dive in the pool during summer. Tuck the feet in, tuck the feet in…
We would go to visit and on his arriving home after a long day, we would hear the sounds of his footsteps coming up the stairs.
Clomp, clomp, clomp…
The stairs always lasted forever as he continued stepping on the same few top stairs, making it sound like they were ten stories high. Building up the excitement, my siblings and I giggling with anticipation of him being so close. Long squashed hugs would follow, as we would all scramble for his attention.
In his last year, while he was sick, I got to tell him that I had met the man I was going to marry. This comforts me in a funny kind of way. Even though he didn’t get to be at my wedding or get to know any of his great grandchildren, he at least got a glimpse of the path I was about to head down. A path, I think that would have made him incredibly happy.
As long as I have these special memories and a hundred others, he will always be with me. Not mourned over for his loss, or the unfairness of a life taken away too soon but celebrating in the life that he did have. A life that I got to share a little part of, which I’m incredibly grateful for those years, and those birthdays we did get to share together.
******
…and I also think he would have quite liked a slice of this birthday berry tart.
Drawing from my last years ‘a rather tall birthday cake‘ and also inspired by a gorgeous recipe from Jamie Oliver’s ‘Jamie does…cookbook‘. This little number was the result.
Pastry (recipe here) base can be cooked the day before. Pastry pricked all over and then baked blind for 20 minutes at 180C in a greased tart pan (the kind that pops out is good) and then a further 10 minutes uncovered. Pastry should be crisp and golden.
Meringue (recipe here) clusters baked on a tray at 130C until crisp all over, this will take an hour plus. (I used 4 egg whites/220g sugar.)
Mascarpone vanilla bean cream. Whip 300mls cream to soft peaks, then add 1/2 cup icing sugar and one scraped vanilla bean pod. Add 250g mascarpone and gently whip again until mixed through.
Berries- strawberries, blueberries and cherries.
Smooth out several spoonfuls of the mascarpone mixture on to the base of the cooked pastry. This will help the meringue stick a little. Break the meringue up and build a decent sized layer, Spoon the remainder of the mascarpone mixture all over, filling in any meringue holes and then cover with your favourite berries. Dust with a little icing sugar.
Loving this week…
being tucked up inside
when summery storms end
a hot day with thundery down pours
Inspiring visits from a wonderful midwife
Sneaky sleepy naps with Little Monkey
Date night out with Mr Chocolate,
nearly getting to here, but getting in here instead. I love this place.
Remembering how beautiful the city is when I’m usually tucked up in bed.
Long chats around the kitchen table.
Soothing massaging hands, that lull you to sleepiness…bliss.
******
What have you loved this week?
There is only one problem with eating organically…
This guy.
This headless, antennae waving slippery slime bag.
There I was channelling my inner kitchen goddess, dinner pretty much sorted. The Monkeys behaving themselves, and ready to eat. A lovely enticing dinner aroma tickling the nostrils of those that happened to be passing by my back kitchen door. All that was needed was a chopped up bunch of spinach, wilt it through the dish a little and voila… dinner was ready.
I washed the bunch with intimate attention. I know where I bought that bunch of spinach from, and I know critters sometimes like to play hide and seek within amongst the green foliage. I was no fool, and hadn’t suspected there was still a hide and seek player amongst us. Happily washed, and chopped, I reached in to dump it all in the slowly bubbling aromatic pot of goodness only to find… him.
The slime bag.
Headless.
Dinner plans were slightly reorganised. Hopes were pinned on the now eight times washed spinach. Hopes that the little slime bag didn’t have any close friends still playing the now, not very funny game. I decided there was no need to share the good news with anyone else at this stage and instead keep it as an entertaining dessert time conversation treat.
Dinner’s ready!
He’s growing up…
discovering new exciting things
independence and pride
and a smile that is infectious
The blueberry is growing…
every where
up down and all around
a spurt of warm weather is making for a very happy potted blueberry bush
I’m growing out…
ten tiny fingers and ten tiny toes
slowly getting nurtured in a warm womb
radiating love out and radiating love in,
a whole beautiful bundle of it.
A recent long road trip saw The Monkeys in the back of the car squabbling.
Not the kind of squabbling that can easily be ignored, and conversation continued on and over. No. The kind that needs a turn of an adult head, a slight narrowing of the eyes and some tough words thrown at them. Yep, tough words.
Nope. Didn’t work.
Step two. Explain to them this is how it was going to work. If things continued like this, and at that noise level of bickering, desperate measures would have to be taken… Yep, desperate measures.
Nope. That didn’t work either.
Step three. Ok, really desperate measures.
Jelly snakes.
I first read of this drastic measure on Myrtle & Eunice. I laughed so hard reading it, and vowing it was a brilliant idea and was sure to be used on our own road trips down the track. Well here we were, down the track.
Crunch time. With noisy arguing kids in the back, a long way still to drive, and a bag of jelly snakes on my side. Well it was time wasn’t it…
It was jelly snake time.
The rules were simple. Every time they yelled/ argued/ annoyed one of us. A snake would lose it’s life. Tossed out the window without a second thought. The Monkeys looked on with wide eyed horror as the rules were laid out. Surely mama wasn’t serious?….
It was quiet… for a whole two minutes, and then the inevitable had to happen. The squabbling started up again and a snake had to go. No more warnings, no more threats, no more laying down of the rules. The rules were set and they had just been broken. Quickly and painlessly the snake was thrown. There was a collective gasp from all of us. From The Monkeys realising I had actually followed through with it and from Mr Chocolate and I on the realisation that there was no way I could slip that snake from its precarious open window seat to Mr Chocolate’s willing and open mouth.
The snake was thrown and peace reigned for the next three hours.
It only took the one.
*And I am very sorry to the person driving behind us who got a surprising jelly snake splat on his windscreen.
********
* Thank you to everyone who took the time to comment on my reconnecting with nature, city style post. Every comment was truly appreciated, thank you for taking that time. Some reminded me of things, some inspired me and some just prompted me to do more.
How much of a part of being human, is it to want to reconnect with nature in some way?
Is that reconnection slowly being bumped off and ignored for noisier, flashier city lifestyle options?
These questions have been rolling around my head for a while now, and I don’t think they have rolled to a conclusion. More rolled on, created conversations and sat still on pondered thoughts.
It seems rather funny to be typing this post at the moment as all I can hear from outside my apartment windows, is the sound of a revved up chainsaw, slowly but surely taking down a well established tree in the back of a neighbour’s yard… Fitting.
This reconnection that I’m thinking of, could be as simple as having an indoor plant in your kitchen, while living in a 40 story city apartment building. A tiny corner of green that requires very little attention, but is there in the background in all it’s greenness.
For someone else, it could be growing your own vegetables in the back yard. Bushwalking, or swimming in the sea…
I’m still working out how exactly I fit in with this one and how I like to reconnect with nature. I know I feel better for it when I do. Calmer, more at peace, and a lot less likely for worry about the smaller things to take hold. I also know I would like to do more, and am aiming for that down the track. While I love living where I do, and think there are some truly wonderful benefits to living where I do. I also want my children to know more of the different aspects of nature there can be. To not feel totally engulfed by a consumeristic-lights flashing, plastic driven kind of lifestyle. I don’t want to feel I have a boxed in life, without any aspects of greenery around me. Those moments of reconnecting with nature make me feel more grounded.
Is that faster, fluorescent lighting lifestyle in some ways just inevitable to living in a large city?…Or does everyone in some way, still yearn for that tiny piece of nature that reconnects them? Maybe they are not even aware of it?
Sitting under a tree in the park…. cooking up freshly plucked homegrown fruit.
A trying afternoon recently, and all I wanted to do was go out to my backyard and lay on the grass looking up at the night sky. I needed to feel the earth beneath me, reconnect. Breathe in, breathe out… 5 minutes later and I could have righted myself. However I didn’t have that back yard, and I didn’t have that grass. So I sat on the kitchen floor… I invited Mr Chocolate to take a seat too. We talked, I felt a bit better, but it wasn’t a backyard with grass beneath me and I can’t help but wonder whether it would have helped a bit more if it had been.
How many people would say they have no connection with nature what so ever and have no desire to? I wonder, I really do… Is this a number that will keep on growing?
I was excited for a friend once, to find that her newly bought tiny apartment was directly opposite a community garden. She was disgusted at the thought of sticking her fingers in dirt, so no, she wouldn’t be signing up for a small patch. Instead, her down time was to spend hours upon hours window shopping in the city at any given opportunity. I would rather fork my eyeballs then spend a whole day doing that.
Restoring weekends away out of the city used to help keep the balance. These seem to be getting less and less as time goes by and various family members take on more weekly commitments. When we are out of the city though, time slows down. My breathing becomes deeper. Mind more focussed… or is that simply less distractions. Less need to multi task, and fit 100 things in to the day?
As the noisy chainsaw continues I’m musing here, and I’m curious…
If you live in the city do you feel a need to reconnect with nature in some way? Do you feel better for it?
I would think it would be slightly unlikely someone who felt no need what so ever to feel drawn to some aspects of living with nature to be reading cityhippyfarmgirl, but on the off chance there is or you know someone who is like that. I would love to know your thoughts.
If you don’t live in an urban area what are your favourite things to do? Tease me.
I have a guilty confession. It plagues me a little, it taunts me too.
Others taunt me because of it.
You see I….
Oh maybe I shouldn’t. Maybe it would be unwise to announce to the world my guilty confession. No, guilty pleasure. A secret best kept in the dark and only to be known and enjoyed by me. Sometimes I force my guilty pleasure on to Mr Chocolate. He endures, through gritted teeth and a dozey eye, he even musters a word or two directed at me in relation to it. But really, he would much rather do….most anything, then join me in my guilty pleasure.
I haven’t tried to stop, I haven’t gone without for a while. I still actively seek it out. I am truly loyal to this guilty pleasure.
But what is it? What could it be, that sits silently with me, and makes people raise their eyebrows in shock and followed by just a little scorn.
What could this colossal special guilty pleasure be? What could be enough to purse people’s lips, and harden people’s hearts at the mere mention of it? That’s right, some people’s hearts harden at just the mere mention of it. You what?!
You see, I like….
Survivor.
No. I love Survivor. Yes, I mean the American Reality Tv show based on Outwitting, Outlasting and Outplaying other competitors while living in an isolated location. Yes, it’s a little cheesy, a little staged, a little way too coordinated and I thoroughly enjoy it.
Every. Little. Bit!
I don’t read trashy magazines. I don’t smoke. I don’t go out clubbing all night. I don’t spend whole days shoe shopping. I don’t watch day time tv, I barely watch night time tv. I don’t guzzle soft drink. I don’t eat chocolate bars lying in bed at night. I don’t watch Neighbours, Days of our Lives, Eastenders painting my toenails. I don’t collect mugs with fluffy cats in pink ribbons.
I don’t… well, you get the picture.
But… I do watch Survivor, And this week a new season starts and I CAN’T wait.
************
Wikipedia– A guilty pleasure is something one enjoys and considers pleasurable despite feeling guilt for enjoying it. The “guilt” involved is sometimes simply fear of others discovering one’s lowbrow or otherwise embarrassing tastes. Fashion, video games, music, movies, and can be examples of guilty pleasures.
Come on, cough it up….. what’s your guilty pleasure?
cityhippyfarmgirl 
