Patio reveal

Drab, ugly, or mismatched colours hurt me. Physically. Whenever my eye falls on them I flinch inside. And in our brutal sunshine, the brash orange of 70s brick is one of the rudest kicks Brisbane regularly delivers to my poor retinas.

Irritatingly, until last week I had to put up with this around our home. Every time I looked out the kitchen window to the back patio, ow. Rude, it was. An offence to not just the eyes but to my whole sensibility: the need for shelter, shade, cool, for hidden secrets to explore, for subtlety and shadow, were all affronted by the harsh plain of glary, baked terracotta. Ugh.

So if I say, ‘the back patio used to be just plain brick, and I hated it with an unholy passion’, please read into that statement ten years of retinal abuse every time I poured a glass of water, hung the laundry out, or watched the kids in the pool.

That’s probably why I failed to take ‘before’ shots. It was just so feckin’ ugly.

I’m quite happy with it now. Now it’s a place where the Skeptic and I sit of an afternoon to catch up on the day and eat chocolate digestives. It’s still going to get unbearably stinking hot, but at least it won’t look like we’re on Mars.

Finally, after ten years, it’s got enough of our artworks to feel like we’ve made a mark, but it’s not finished yet. Not by a long shot. Watch this space…

Happy crappy

It’s a mighty fine day when I get into the garden.

It was even finer, this time, because last week I spent tossing stuff – you know, the endless crap you accumulate when you hoard things for ‘one day’ or because you’re a sentimental schmuck, or because they are *just* *so* *beyootiful*, you think you can’t possibly bear to throw them out, and your kids are the same only more so (so much more so!), and anyway we’ll get to it, until you can’t move (or see, or think) for the stuff you’ve got packed into boxes in closets and the garage? That stuff. Out. It. Went.

Which meant empty boxes, which in our house means, empty boxes from Who Gives a Crap, because they make toilet paper that’ll put a smile on your face and no they’re not sponsoring me and yes you should totally start ordering from them. It’ll give you a glow.

So there I was, five of big WGaC boxes now emptied, and then it started to rain, and for once the right neurons bumped together and lit up the “GARDEN” sign, because obviously the best thing to do with your 100% recycled, recyclable cardboard is NOT to send it off to be recycled, but to soak it, shred it, and layer it into the garden bed with lots of lovely horsey poos and the hay from the guinea pigs’ hutch, water it all down and cover it with organic sugarcane mulch, and come back in a week’s time, to start planting.

So satisfying, shredding wet cardboard! So fun, mending the leaky irrigation hose! So fragrant, the horse crap, steaming in the sun! So delightful, the shower afterwards, when for once, nobody tries to delay, divert or disturb me. Miraculous.

And if all that distracts you from the fact that you completely FORGOT you were taking the kids camping with the school until the teacher texted you a reminder a mere 60 HOURS before you’re supposed to get on the ferry and OH MY GOD WHAT DO I KNOW ABOUT CAMPING?! and by the way we’re down to 44 HOURS AND COUNTING HAVE YOU EVEN STARTED PACKING YET? then so much the better. Right?