Time ticking

I have this watch now. It's a family heirloom, though I don't know who it originally belonged to. My paternal grandmother had it, and it seems likely that it originated from her side of the family, as she came from a wealthier background than my farming-family grandfather. Who she inherited it from is a bit of a mystery. I am trying to date it to get a better idea of who might have owned it. Apparently one watch-maker suggested c.1910.

Despite the mystery of who owned it first, I like wearing it. It makes me feel connected to the women in my family. I take comfort and strength from the unknown wrists that it has circled, and the many hands that have wound it. It looses around 10 minutes every 24 hours, though it seems to lose more time when I'm unfocused and running around, and less when I'm calm and my energy is directed. Is that weird, for a watch to so fully embody the metaphor it represents? Time ticking, losing time, finding time...

I haven't worn a watch for over 20 years, and I am out of the habit of using it to actually measure time. But whenever I tuck my hair behind my left ear I hear it ticking, and that is reassuring.

The Number One Sweet

You know those family foods that you grow up with that seem normal, until one day you realise that in other people's minds what you're eating is weird?

That role was played in my life by the Number One Sweet. I don't know why it's called that - as a kid I never questioned it, nor did it ever occur to me that others might not know what a 'Number One Sweet' was. It was what my Dad ate for breakfast pretty much every day while I was growing up, and occasionally as a snack. It was certainly an important part of my childhood diet too. 

So what exactly is this culinary oddity? A Number One Sweet is peanut butter, jam, and cheese, between two bits of toast. You could have it with bread, but toast works better. Other stipulations are that the jam has to be strawberry, and the cheese has to be cheddar. As for peanut butter, crunchy or smooth, you choose.

It's not something I eat often in my adult life, mostly because it seems a bit too indulgent, but I have recently discovered a great sheep's milk cheddar that I thought would lend itself to the dish perfectly.

Today I was feeling a bit nostalgic and missing my Dad, so I thought it was a good chance to bust one out, and sure enough it was just as good as I remember. The salty-and-sweet taste resulting from the combination of the peanut butter and jam, with that added bite provided by the cheddar - delicious!

I like old stuff better than new stuff

Yesterday we went to the salvage yard to try and find some timber that's the right size for the fascia of our house. The place was chock-full of gorgeous timber sash windows, and vintage 50s and 60s doors - both interior and exterior. I couldn't believe it - these beautiful quality fittings, tossed out, just so people can built their cement McMansions. It's a travesty.

It turns out that the guys who run the salvage yard actually demolish the houses. They knock down around four 20th century homes per week. People like me shouldn't go to places like that, because I just find it heart-breaking.

Everyone over here is so fixated on NEW NEW NEW, building ever-larger monstrosities, with no room to reflect on the beauty of the past. There is no way that a modern aluminium window has anything on a jarrah sash window, or a Bunnings chipboard door can compare to a solid hardwood door with carved trim. So why do people do it? I really don't understand.

On the other hand, last weekend we went to an awesome second-hand shop I've found, called Turnstyle. It was crammed full to the brim with amazing goodies from across the span of the twentieth century. I was looking for a desk, and found a marvelous jarrah number, circa 1940s. I also spied a chair that literally took my breath away as soon as I laid eyes on it, and which I decided I had to have - white vinyl, also a 1940s (or possibly 30s) vintage, with turned feet and original castors:

 As for the desk, scrunched up in the top drawer was the typed draft of a letter, dated 1984, where Mrs Sandford of Applecross requests that Jestset pay to fix her camera from damage it sustained on a trip to NZ earlier that year.

Desk top halfway through sanding. The whole thing could do with sanding back, but following an afternoon with the orbital sander I thought I might restrict my restoration to just the desk top!

I sanded it down using 80, 120, and finally 150 grain paper. Most woodworkers seem to like going down to 400, but I wanted to actually get behind the desk sometime soon! After getting it stripped back to raw timber I oiled it - check out the contrast!

Here it is in all its glory!

Yep, there's no doubt about it, I definitely like old stuff better than new stuff. It has history, and is also generally better made.  I'm sure my new furniture could tell some stories if it could talk, not least of all about Mrs Sanderson and her camera!

Rest in peace Anne

Earlier this morning my father's wife and partner of 18 years passed away. She outlived my dad by only 10 months.

I am so glad I was able to go up to Brisbane last weekend and say goodbye to her. I didn't realise it until I got back, but it wasn't for her, or my step-sister, or my dad that I needed to do it, but for me. I feel incredibly lucky that I was able to be with her during her last lucid days. Apparently she died peacefully in her sleep. With her were her two children and her eldest grand-daughter.

I went to the florist this morning, and very appropriately they had some Banksia Menziesii in stock. I also bought a candle, because when my dad died Anne lit a candle for him, so I have done the same for her.

I have taken the day off work. I know that the normal patterns of my life will resume themselves very soon, but I wanted to take today to honour the sadness I feel, and to mourn for the woman who shared my Dad's life for almost two decades, and who made him very happy.

I hope that wherever they have passed to, they are together now.

It doesn't feel like Easter...

A week after getting back from Sydney I found myself booking flights to Brisbane for this weekend. My dad's wife is dying, and I feel like I want to be there. For her, for me, for my step-sister. For my Dad.

This time last year, Dad had come to visit us. I remember, because one of the few things he'd eat was hot cross buns with real butter. I made myself some (yeast free) hot cross buns too. He was loving the warm weather, though for me it was still a bit too hot in the sun. So we sat outside eating our hot cross buns, he in the sunshine and me in the shade, for the whole Easter long weekend.

I can't even remember how long he stayed, but I know it was 24 hours longer than he intended, due to an emergency trip to the hospital when he was having chest pains.

The only photo I have from that visit is this one:

Friday kept wanting Dad to throw the squeaky toy for her, but his bones hurt too much. Not too much to prevent him from laughing at her repeated attempts to attract his attention though.

When I look at this photo it makes me smile. It also makes me incredibly sad. He was so determined to get over here and see our house. I don't think I realised how bad his condition was. And six weeks later he died.

Where Dad sits in this photo has since been turned into a veggie garden. Time passes and things change. But some things never leave you.

Oh Canada...

We recently spent two weeks in Canada. Aside from coming down with two separate gastro-style illnesses while there and wasting 3 of my 14 days being bedridden, it was still a fun trip.

We stayed with the delightful Newluks clan, where my cousin's 21-month-old daughter promptly fell in love with my husband, and he earned the new nickname of 'Tinton', as she called him. Also, I experienced what -30 degrees celsius feels like. The answer, for those who don't know, is 'face-meltingly cold.'

Here are some of the highlights of our trip, in words and pictures.

Adelaide, aged 21 months

These signs sort of speak for themselves, really. In Dawson City, 530km north of the capital city Whitehorse

Aurora borealis activity seen outside of Dawson

Faux stone edifice, actually made of wood. Dawson City (sorry, don't know how to rotate the image!)

What you wear when you go out aurora-watching at midnight in -26 degrees: from top to toe - 2 pairs socks, ugg boots, overboots. Thermal long-johns and ski pants. Two thermals, a possum-fur-and-silk cardigan, and a down jacket. A scarf and a facewarmer. Earwarmers, a beanie, and the hood of said down jacket. Thermal gloves and down mitts. Also, don't forget the chemical hand-warmers, which you see me holding there!

 

 

 

 

Pretty sure this would look better if it was oriented properly, but I'm gonna include it anyway!

Winter wonderland!

Clinton trying snowshoeing, in a pair of snowshoes that he nicked from the local historical society (not really, but they ARE old school!)

View of Fish Lake. What you can't tell from this photo is how numb my toes were, and how freaking cold the wind above the tree-line was!

-30 degrees celsius! It's probably worth pointing out here that the day I left Perth it was 35 degrees.

And this is what -30 looks like if you go out in it!

Hoar frost on the Yukon River

Moose skull

It's a snowflake!

C and I under an aurora sky - absolutely magic!

Twenty years in the planning...

Aurora borealis - our first encounter above the frozen waters of the Yukon River in Dawson City. To the naked eye it looked like a white streak of cloud, but showed up with colours on a long exposure photo (around 25 seconds, hence the light bleed from the town's lights)

Ever since I first heard of the Northern Lights (probably as a kid watching the TV show Northern Exposure) I have wanted to see them. In January of the year 2000, a group of friends and I went to the Sydney Observatory for a night-time viewing to celebrate a friend's birthday. I mentioned to one of the astronomers that I wanted to see the aurora borealis, and he said that 2012 was going to be the year - that the activity goes in 12-year cycles, and that the next peak period was 2012.

Ever since then, I have had 'Northern Lights 2012' as a sort of mantra in my mind. When I ended up in Canada in 2011 for my cousin's wedding I thought it would be unlikely that I'd be able to make the trip again so soon. However, thanks to Air Canada providing me with no food on the London-Vancouver flight on that trip, my subsequent email of complaint, and their conciliatory offer of a 15% discount on any return fare, it was able to become a reality this (northern) spring, in time to catch the peak period of the cycle.

Our second encounter, outside Dawson City and away from the lights of town. A bit more colour visible to the naked eye, though still more impressive captured on a long exposure photograph (this one around 15 seconds)

I have just returned from 2 weeks in the Yukon, where I was able to see the northern lights on 3 occasions, the final one truly spectacular, and everything I could have dreamed of. It was freaking amazing!

I hardly know what to do with myself now that I have achieved this adult-lifelong goal!

The spectacular display we saw, this time outside of Whitehorse. The green was visible to the naked eye, and they rippled and danced in the most incredible way! Here I was shooting at around 5-8 second exposures.