About Me

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Married to Tony mother to 2 children Lucas 23, Gemma 26 & her boyfriend Sean. Carer for 2 crazy Jack Russells. I'm dyslexic so excuse any mistakes. The Stitching Room is where I spend my time playing with Clarice (my camera) and Bernie (my sewing machine). Come on in and see what I'm up to.

Saturday, 26 January 2008

I love a sunburnt country

Thongs on the jettyIt is Australia Day today, these are my photos of what Australia is to me.
Tony, Gemma & I went to Henley for a walk and some lunch.
A nice cold beer.

Gemma & Tony finding some shade.
Beach cricket
Long white sandy beaches
Swimming
Surf Lifesavers
Walk up the jetty
Fun in the water
I grew up living in a small coastal town and now live 5 minutes from the beach so as you can see the beach means a lot to me.

This is a verse from a poem I learnt at school I can still recite it.

I love a sunburnt country,
A land of sweeping plains,
Of ragged mountain ranges,
Of drought and flooding rains,
I love her far horizons,
I love her jewel sea,
Her beauty and her terror -
The wide brown land for me.
Written by Dorothea MacKellar (1908: written 1906)

This is another Australian poem that I love. It seems Donna and I have the same taste in poetry.

The Man From Snowy River

There was movement at the station, for the word had passed around
That the colt from old Regret had got away,
And had joined the wild bush horses -- he was worth a thousand pound,
So all the cracks had gathered to the fray.
All the tried and noted riders from the stations near and far
Had mustered at the homestead overnight,
For the bushmen love hard riding where the wild bush horses are,
And the stock-horse snuffs the battle with delight.

There was Harrison, who made his pile when Pardon won the cup,
The old man with his hair as white as snow;
But few could ride beside him when his blood was fairly up --
He would go wherever horse and man could go.
And Clancy of the Overflow came down to lend a hand,
No better horseman ever held the reins;
For never horse could throw him while the saddle-girths would stand,
He learnt to ride while droving on the plains.

And one was there, a stripling on a small and weedy beast,
He was something like a racehorse undersized,
With a touch of Timor pony -- three parts thoroughbred at least --
And such as are by mountain horsemen prized.
He was hard and tough and wiry -- just the sort that won't say die --
There was courage in his quick impatient tread;
And he bore the badge of gameness in his bright and fiery eye,
And the proud and lofty carriage of his head.

But still so slight and weedy, one would doubt his power to stay,
And the old man said, `That horse will never do
For a long and tiring gallop -- lad, you'd better stop away,
Those hills are far too rough for such as you.'
So he waited sad and wistful -- only Clancy stood his friend --
`I think we ought to let him come,' he said;
`I warrant he'll be with us when he's wanted at the end,
For both his horse and he are mountain bred.

`He hails from Snowy River, up by Kosciusko's side,
Where the hills are twice as steep and twice as rough,
Where a horse's hoofs strike firelight from the flint stones every stride,
The man that holds his own is good enough.
And the Snowy River riders on the mountains make their home,
Where the river runs those giant hills between;
I have seen full many horsemen since I first commenced to roam,
But nowhere yet such horsemen have I seen.'

So he went -- they found the horses by the big mimosa clump --
They raced away towards the mountain's brow,
And the old man gave his orders, `Boys, go at them from the jump,
No use to try for fancy riding now.
And, Clancy, you must wheel them, try and wheel them to the right.
Ride boldly, lad, and never fear the spills,
For never yet was rider that could keep the mob in sight,
If once they gain the shelter of those hills.'

So Clancy rode to wheel them -- he was racing on the wing
Where the best and boldest riders take their place,
And he raced his stock-horse past them, and he made the ranges ring
With the stockwhip, as he met them face to face.
Then they halted for a moment, while he swung the dreaded lash,
But they saw their well-loved mountain full in view,
And they charged beneath the stockwhip with a sharp and sudden dash,
And off into the mountain scrub they flew.

Then fast the horsemen followed, where the gorges deep and black
Resounded to the thunder of their tread,
And the stockwhips woke the echoes, and they fiercely answered back
From cliffs and crags that beetled overhead.
And upward, ever upward, the wild horses held their way,
Where mountain ash and kurrajong grew wide;
And the old man muttered fiercely, `We may bid the mob good day,
NO man can hold them down the other side.'

When they reached the mountain's summit, even Clancy took a pull,
It well might make the boldest hold their breath,
The wild hop scrub grew thickly, and the hidden ground was full
Of wombat holes, and any slip was death.
But the man from Snowy River let the pony have his head,
And he swung his stockwhip round and gave a cheer,
And he raced him down the mountain like a torrent down its bed,
While the others stood and watched in very fear.

He sent the flint stones flying, but the pony kept his feet,
He cleared the fallen timber in his stride,
And the man from Snowy River never shifted in his seat --
It was grand to see that mountain horseman ride.
Through the stringy barks and saplings, on the rough and broken ground,
Down the hillside at a racing pace he went;
And he never drew the bridle till he landed safe and sound,
At the bottom of that terrible descent.

He was right among the horses as they climbed the further hill,
And the watchers on the mountain standing mute,
Saw him ply the stockwhip fiercely, he was right among them still,
As he raced across the clearing in pursuit.
Then they lost him for a moment, where two mountain gullies met
In the ranges, but a final glimpse reveals
On a dim and distant hillside the wild horses racing yet,
With the man from Snowy River at their heels.

And he ran them single-handed till their sides were white with foam.
He followed like a bloodhound on their track,
Till they halted cowed and beaten, then he turned their heads for home,
And alone and unassisted brought them back.
But his hardy mountain pony he could scarcely raise a trot,
He was blood from hip to shoulder from the spur;
But his pluck was still undaunted, and his courage fiery hot,
For never yet was mountain horse a cur.

And down by Kosciusko, where the pine-clad ridges raise
Their torn and rugged battlements on high,
Where the air is clear as crystal, and the white stars fairly blaze
At midnight in the cold and frosty sky,
And where around the Overflow the reedbeds sweep and sway
To the breezes, and the rolling plains are wide,
The man from Snowy River is a household word to-day,
And the stockmen tell the story of his ride.

By Banjo Patterson.

Tuesday, 22 January 2008

Mel meets Molly and Bella

I thought that Mel should meet Molly and Bella. He was a little reluctant but he agreed, he thought that Molly seemed quite nice from a distance. Then she came a little closer.


Then with a rather quick jump Mel was on the floor


At this stage Mel was feeling rather defenseless, he was thinking where is 007 when you need him.
Ohhh the indignity





After all that rough and tumble Mel said he was going out into the front garden where the dogs are not allowed, for a little rest. He was gone for quite a while so I ventured out to see if he was feeling better after such a harrowing experience only to find him in this position.







In true Mel style having a drink.



NOTE TO SELF:

1. spend more time weeding front garden than making and playing with monkee made of knit
2. like they say in the industry never work with children or animals (stuffed or alive).

Saturday, 19 January 2008

Meet Geoffrey

He has a very cute bottom
A very sweet face
Gemma very rarely asks me to make her anything but she saw the pattern for Mrs Perkins and put in a request. She has named him Geoffrey as all inanimate objects in our house have to have the first letter of their first name the same as the first letter of their last name eg. Geoffrey the Giraffe.
Don't you think if the sky was this black we might have got some rain but oh no it is still very dry here. Some parts of Adelaide did get rain but not us.

Saturday, 12 January 2008

Awards & morning walk

I was given this award by Lesley and Christine I thank them both - if you head over to their blogs you will see there is a bit of a theme happening there they both have great header picture(along with great blogs)........ I love dogs.

The rules for this award say to choose up to 10 people whose blog brings you happiness & inspiration and makes you feel happy about Blogland. Let them know by posting a note on their blog so they can pass it on.

I expect some of these people have already been given this award but these are some of the blogs I read that put a smile on my face.

1. Lucy - she is full of inspiration
2. Monkee Maker - she just makes me laugh - god mother to Mel
3. May Kristin - her work is lovely and those snow photos where fantastic
4. May Britt - She inspired me to start blogging
5. Anja - Even though I can not read her blog her work in great
6. Nicolette - one of the most giving bloggers
7. Grazia - once again great work
8. Cicero sings - she lives in an interesting place
9. Khris - a new blogger to little old Adelaide
10. Lesley and Christine - both full of inspiration
There are so many great blogs out there these are just a few.

Each morning I go for a walk so I thought I might share that with you. I walk past this house each morning and it always makes me smile I wonder if the owners know how much the seagulls love their roof. They never congregate on other roofs like they do on this one.
They also leave there little calling cards.
This is where I walk around the lake.

There are always lots of fishermen. Some on the waters edge
Some in their canoes

I often see this man with his very unruly dog he lets it off the lead for a run then he gets his exercise chasing it around trying to catch it again. It chases the birds out into the water.
It wouldn't be a morning walk without my friend the pelican
and the seagull
Wishing you a lovely peaceful weekend.

Friday, 11 January 2008

Meet Sarah

Sadly my holidays are coming to an end and depression is starting to set in. I am not looking forward to returning to work on Monday I have had such a lovely time playing at home. Our temperature here in Adelaide remains hot yesterday it was 42C (108F) I finished of a Sarah doll, the pattern is a Rosalie Qunilan one and she is quite sweet. I'm not sure about my choice of fabric for her legs I feel it is too dark but finding a striped fabric was difficult. I have to make another one as a gift so perhaps I will look for a lighter stripe. What do you think?


Some amazing news I posted the 2 Winnie quilts to Honnington in England last Friday and I received an email from my friend this morning they had arrived in less than 7 days a big pat on the back for the Australia/English postal system.
I have been given the "You make my day" award by 2 people so I was rather chuffed about that I will do a separate post about that tomorrow as we are just about to go out - today is a little cooler so have some boring things to do like the food shopping!!!!

Monday, 7 January 2008

Mel does Moonta Bay

We have had a few days at Moonta Bay where I grew up. Mel came and had some adventures.
I had to convince him that a Monkee made of knit might not be able to swim very well. He went to the end of the diving board and thought about jumping off.
Moonta Bay has a salt water swimming pool it is an area of water netted off along the jetty.
I convinced him to come back off the diving board and just sit and look at the water.
We then ventured further out the jetty. Mel thought he might be able to catch us some tea (it's amazing how obliging men can be when you want to use their fishing rods as props).
He sat and looked out to sea.

He wanted to touch the crabs but I said that they bite so he just peered into the bucket.

We went down on the rocks

He sat on the stairs
He made friends with the local wild life.
I showed him a little cave I played in as a child.
Later at the beach house he looked fondly back over the jetty then in true Mel style







he was having an afternoon drink or 3