Shaken and stirred?

... for Knots in the String.

What a week!

Of course by the time you read this, world politics will have been shaken, if not stirred, so what do the happenings on a tiny island at the arse-end of the world matter?

To me and mine a lot, TBH. Even more than the US elections because despite that world politics is integral to our global existence (sadly), my family matters more, and I like to keep things in perspective. Or in Prue-speak: keep my goalposts close. Which essentially means that my lot comes first. That said, I’ve been thinking all week of a number of those Americans I’m privileged to call friends. I’ve been thinking of Australia’s alliances, our economy, of Ukraine and all the countries in the path of China. Of the disenfranchised, humiliated, hurt and broken of this world. In every case, I have to pick up my goalposts and hammer them in very close. As I said, my lot comes first.

Many of you may be aware that The Terrier, my beloved partner in pandemonium, has been very ill. He was in the Pet Hospital from Friday week ago until late last Monday with an enteritis bug. Physically he’s very slowly mending but he ended back in hospital less than a day after discharge for an extra night to sort out more efficient meds.

But then he came home, and we tried again with things looking more positive. Positive because he’s slightly tranked for five days to ease his distrait, but if that’s what it takes then so be it because mentally, he is shattered. He’s eating smidges (or as the vet says, entrée size) of chicken in various forms, drinking water and going to the loo and loves his daily, but very small walks. This will be a long pathway to recovery for a 13 year old dog.

In addition…

As I drove to the vet’s last Friday, my son rang me from the ramp at the shearing shed (he was managing shearing at the time as my husband was busy having his annual gastroscopy). Son was distraught as he watched our tractor in the far distance (borrowed by a friend and contractor) burst into flames. He was terrified that his friend was burning. His friend wasn’t, thank the stars … he had time to leap from the vehicle and grab an extinguisher. But to no avail. The Fire Service arrived with speed, followed by the Police and now we have the burned skeletal remains of our tractor sitting next to the shearing shed.

The Fire Service investigated with forensic detail the next day and they found what they believe was the issue, but that’s legally in confidence at the moment as we deal with various companies. Meanwhile, we’re entering summer and irrigation season for which the tractor is vital. Not only that, we need the forks on the tractor to lift the firefighting unit onto the trailer in readiness for fire season (now there’s an irony!) and to feed out hay to stock through the summer dry.

Country folk are wonderful though. We were due to cart in bales of newly harvested sileage to storage that weekend and so friends used their tractor and with our son driving their truck they effectively did the job for us. Another friend down the road has loaned us his tractor for awhile, to manage the irrigation until insurance, the sales company etc decide how much pay-out we might be due. But all this is for husband to deal with while I concentrate on The Terrier and that’s fine by me!

Doing:

Gardening. Because we’re in the city with vets close by, we’ve spent time in the Matchbox Garden.

It’s as soothing in its petite elegance as the Royal Botanical Gardens are in their vastness. Inspired by my friend Elizabeth, in the USA, with her perfect pic of a dandelion seedhead, I found this floaty little marvel.

Like a bouquet of feathers – a seedhead from one of the winter-flowering clematis.

Reading: I finished Lindbergh’s Gifts from the Sea. I enjoyed her visionary prose but I wish that it had been far more mindful of the actual sea than it was. I’ve now begun Raynor Winn’s Landlines, having enjoyed The Salt Path. I’m also privileged to be reading Substacks of joy which lift me on clouds to float me away from where the wild things are.

Plan interrupted

Hello, can you hear me?

3 People I Haven't Thought of in Years

Ballet. Of course.

In the last freeze-frame, we’re all having a laugh at the way we finished the last movement of the routine.

To market: I’ve also been shopping! Me, the person who detests shopping! I found two (two!) pairs of midrise jeans on sale (I detest high rise jeans). Then there was the most classic hip length trench coat on mega-sale. I also ordered a pair of leopard print Vivaia shoes (best shoes in the world for problem feet). You see, the difficulty with being stressed over The Terrier must surely be that I try to raise the endorphins by shopping. I should have just gone for a cold-water swim but my swimming gear is at the cottage. Or maybe I should have meditated more. Or gone for a long walk. C’est la vie…

Ah, poor little Terrier, imitating his mum. Back into hospital twice. Just like me going back in for a second op two weeks after the first. And there lies the irony. I’ve missed him to the point of heart hurt. And I wonder if that’s what he felt when I was in hospital for those two extended periods earlier this year. Irony too that his is bowel, mine was bowel. Sometimes it’s such a weird old world, isn’t it?

On that note, and after the shaking and stirring, I think everyone needs to take a breath, step back, take stock and at the very least, treat each other kindly. There is no other way…

Song for this week?