that’s right the dunny is out of doors

the leeches are busy lying in wait for us when we want to pick a cucumber or a tomato 
or when we leave the verandah and go to hop in the car or
when we walk the short distance between the house and the toilet.
that’s right the dunny is out of doors
just like in the old days huh.
except for one  or maybe two differences;
our toilet is a composting system, no water involved.
that is how modern we are .
I know most of you have probably got your toilet inside in its own room or in some cases next to the bath the shower and the basin.
that must seem normal even,but think about it for a bit.
we are talking waste here, something that our body has determined that we no longer need and so it removes it.
 and we dont want anything more to do with it either.
Indeed  often it is viewed as  dirty, repulsive, certainly  smelly  and something best hidden and then flushed away .
where to is the question?
do you know where your waste goes and how many litres of water are required to get it there?
do you realise that the faecal matter count taken at our gorgeous beaches and rivers are your business?
me I know exactly where mine goes. 
into a purpose built hole in the ground.
sometimes we add a bit of sawdust, 
occasionally I chuck in a few handfuls of comfrey leaves but basically it is left to do its own thing as in compost.
 after a few years we open the little door around the back at the bottom of the slope and we dig out the product. 
at this time it has so successfully composted that it has slid down the sloping tunnel and lies waiting  for distribution around the fruit trees and gardens.
and get this there is no smell .
it has become a dark friable soil consistency  like humus.
we have  two toilets in our mud brick outhouse 
so you dont need to queue if you dont mind sharing. 
too much information perhaps;
but what I really like about this system is that I go outside into the day with the sky sun rain  birds gardens forest and  while I go about my business I can observe (because it is not fully closed in) the wrens, the whipbirds and the skinks at play.
I sit there with a feeling of being connected to it all .
the other thing I really like  is that I have not wasted any water .
this is permaculture, 
this is living with not on the planet.
and donna would just like to add that a couple of apple mint leaves chucked into dunny afterwards takes away any smell
which leads me to a funny story about a time when Donna and ‘the  three ‘were visiting.
Eva Ben and Grace though quite frankly Gracie was way too little to be involved .
There were some random items in the toilet space like a painting on a bit of wood of a boy and girl done by Bree when she was about 8 … down the hole it went.
followed by whatever else  all with much glee and definitely no adult supervision.
we do try to be light on that here
but then we discovered their fun
Donna kinda read the riot act, Ben and Eva tried to look contrite 
and then I’m hungry Mum
and it was passed to the keeper.
next time they visited they brought some mosaic tiles as replacement and a very charming orange flower painting too good for the dunny I said and it has ended up in the bathroom
and there is a whole other story … 

some fantasies are like leeches sucking the blood of truth from reality

today is a day of zen.

we are having a sunday.

what does that mean asks Greg?

well… Jess and I look at each other.

we are weeding around the east verandah and kitchen steps the common entry to our house.

it was overgrown and fat with leeches. the asparagus is running away and hosting snails.

the rue was engulfed in giant grasses.

it wasnt on our to do list for any day but we started and now it is zenned.

so to Greg we say Sunday is the day to rest to play to do your own thing, to let go of jobs, to eat and cuppa, to read and laugh, to be quiet and reflect, to give thanks for all the other days of the week in which you have been busy.

and this week has been sooo busy.

have a break today babes Jess says to him.

he stands firm. I want to keep on with the ‘cupboard’.

On monday John and Greg began work on a storage cupboard /wardrobe/ bookshelf in Jess and Greg’s bedroom which used to be Elsie Roses room which used to be ‘the girls room’.

it is remarkable how they have taken a plan a family discussion and  turned it into a wall of  shelves that divides the room effectively separating the bedroom space from the studio.

and now john is still in his jammies and lightly snoring on the couch.

Greg is putting the shelves up, baby is asleep in my bed along with a zillion teddy bears. Jess is into one of  her photo projects.

today is the first day we have seen blue sky and sunshine, the forest glistens after the drenching.

and sunday is the day for pikelets for elevenses.

blackberry jam and cream, maple syrup and mango, coffee tea.

talking of the play Blackbird we saw last night at the Murrah.

and it was good but; has left me wondering this, do 12-year-old girls really lust after middle-aged men?

before puberty has grabbed her hormones and rattled them around the body and confused the mind

is she really into the older man? Or is this just a male fantasy?

I did note that the play had been written by a man .

and so I ask my 12 year self and my daughters 12-year-old selves and other friends 12-year-old selves .

so far  they shudder and recoil with distaste but can remember a ‘boy’ in the same year or  at high school who they  were keen on.

or  they were  focused in their own world  and boy girl stuff had not emerged.

some fantasies are like leeches sucking the blood of truth from reality.

I would  choose a reality where 12 year old females are allowed to be undefined by the sexual ideas of the male mind.

and yeah leeches have their place  but I can weed and reduce the chances of them  hanging around our doorway.

just like  ideas can be challenged before they take root in our  belief system.

…he woke up in a right snit

the baby is crying

he woke up in a right snit
I tried to take him but he rejected me soundly with ‘real’tears on his cheeks,
only mum  would do.
and that is life is it not?
sometimes we just want what we want
even if we dont know why or what that is
and sometimes,
not even mum can make it better.
and then suddenly out of the blue a water skink ducking behind the stove
or snitching a crumb off the floor
or the sharp crack of the whipbird just outside the window breaks the spell
and he is chuckling again,
the torment is forgotten.
there is exclamation,wonder arises.
a squatting to see,
a head cocked listening,
an engagement again with the world.
all is right 
and sometimes we never  know what the problem was.
the art of  wonder
what is this thing we call wonder?
 eyes as big as saucers , mouth open
struck dumb, spellbound, gob smacked, lost for words,
beyond words,
surely a transcendent moment 
but maybe not,
maybe a point of surprise
maybe just something really ordinary but out of context.
and then there is the verb form of wonder
I  wonder what is going on for the bebe to cry so hard and not want my loving attention
I wonder why he is out of sorts.
I also wonder why people poison  blackberries
when I have just made 17 jars of wild lush as jam.
So on the one hand I am filled with wonder lying against the trunk of the kurrajong
looking up thru latticed branches to a star studded night sky,
and on the other, I wonder how people can mine the hills and valleys,
shoot the wallabies and wombats and woodchip our forests.
I  wonder when we will grow up, collectively speaking and safeguard our nest,
but mostly ,
I wonder how the spiders build such finely embroidered webs.
this morning we walked with baby thru the early misted forest,
 sun beams casting shade  and highlighting 
the millions of webs strung in branches and grasses,
some circular and some heart shaped 
some tattered like old lace and others perfectly wrought.
It is all a wonder to me this planet
and so are you…