We are entering the lasts...

Image: a black cat, young and sweet, supervises the packing, working out where she could fit.

It wasn't a very Eastery Easter, was it? Well, not for me. There is a lot to digest in the world right now. That and, well, we are moving in 8 days.

So driving, gathering and feasting were low on the priority list.

Image: yes, Ms Gangsterrrrr, I am aware of the too much stuff too little room theory of relativity.

Mind you, while I have had a weekend of pedalling furiously, I fear that little of it got results.

So the teensy tiny bit of socialising that I did have was welcome.

Image: artful organisation of boxes to allow a little black cat a few hidey holes.

Still, it's going to happen whether I am ready or not.

This whole move thing.

Image: she'll be apples - or maybe pears on special at a local Coles.

It has also unearthed artifacts of us, our civilisation of this ground for 19 1/2 years.

One of the memories unearthed was of printing and sticking labels onto school stationery. Suddenly, whilst realising that while we would never do that in Paradise again, I also realised that I may never cover stationary again. 

How liberating.

Image: may be the last pikelets cooked at Chez Paradise - but definitely the first cooked in the you beaut frypan Dad picked up in a "two for the price of one" tv deal.

I do make a mean pikelet though, and am looking forward to continue that in - what should the next place be called?

Image: apologies to Mum and my grandmothers for the language - but they would have appreciated the sentiment.

To work tomorrow - heigh ho. Four days to next five day stretch in which the move will happen.

Hi Vue

Image: red natal in afternoon sun. I sound like I know what I am talking about, but in reality it's "that pretty one with feathery seed heads that don't taste quite as nice as buffel" corrected by my gardening authority, auntie b.

Image: yep, auntie b and Dad both would tell you what all of this is. Mum would have known too. Anyway, all I can see is crap composition. Isn't self-talk rude!

Image: DOP 'Salina photographer 'Salina. The subject didn't quite get the camouflage but got darned close.

Image: needs no camouflage, a gum that could probably tell a few yarns, grounded on a flat, reaching into the clouds, with a chorus line of rocks and trees.

Image: the house on the top of a hill

Image: fiery sunset puffing purple, silhouetting leaves and trunks and hills.

We spent a 24 hour period with Mum and Dad. It's fleeting and too far to next time but time is not easy to grasp in the current clime.

Image: pink flower. Have I mentioned that I suck at this game? The Inner circle of yellow flowers raises it to very pretty status.

Image: fog encroaching: it was even visible on the veranda to the naked eye.

Image: if you look very closely there is an amorous - we, he's pestering and she's saying "we aren't freaking rabbits, Walter"- couple of 'roos and a Magpie looks on. Probably not a Magpie because why would a girl who for the majority of her life hasn't been able to see distance even contemplate bird identification? Who needs to get that close?

I wrote a poem. It's not getting published. It's not a good poem and went to places we do not need to explore together.

Image: what this Easter Bunny gave this year to Mum and Dad - over 50 years as chocolate manager for these people and I have finally got the memo.

 If it fails, it's compost. Move on. Learn with dirt on your hands. When a gardener is asked for just one tip you'll get more, possibly a cutting and some surplus in pickle or marmalade form. (Advice given on a gardening forum. If clarification required, not by auntie b OR Dad. By me, if you need to know)

Image: Paradise Skyline backlit in a palette I call delightful.

10 days.

It's Maundy Thursday

apparently. I know nothing of such titles, for although we weren't a pagan family, our brand of Anglican was very easygoing on connection with all that ritual nonsense. Pragmatic. And very non-maundy. Two big days across a long weekend was enough, more would be overreach.

Image: "Proof of Life (but doesn't my hand look weird)" DOP Paris photography by Jeanie 

So, anyway. Easter. Why am I always surprised that it's full moon at Easter? Like d'uh!

Image: proof of celestial wonder- glorious clouds backlit by the high beam of the full moon.

I remember getting into so much trouble, saying "d'uh". It is pretty rude when you think about it. Its so much the pity that the acceptance of "d'uh" back then led them to break a pathway to people being attacked in broad daylight for traffic infringements as our new normal. 

Image: spotlight on the noisy fan;

Blue baseline gurgle from the cat's water fountain.

We should have all clutched our pearls like my beautiful mother and we would have all been nicer to each other.

Image: Proof of procrastinating - the last gluten-free sourdough cinnamon scrolls and the last hot cross pumpkin scone.

Maybe.

Image: unedited photo by Paris. I think that Gangsterrrrr should sue. Probably should have used when she got bestowed her blog name.

Anyhow, tomorrow I travel 200km (yes, on a public holiday with threats of diesel rationing but with the justification of its Easter, and it's Mum and Dad) and will be re-listening to "Waking Romeo" by Kathryn Barker (Goodreads link)

Image: Luddite Jeanie can't work out - or can't be bothered to learn - how to do the book covers like the cool kids do.

I have to confess, the musical I was to see with 'Salina and Paris after book-club on Sunday was a bust! I had caused her to give a seat donation the week before, and she had caused us the same as we got the dates mixed up!

Image: a far more flattering angle of G, black cat, pink collar, yellow band bringing out the green-yellow of her eyes.

I once did that with a GYG order. Ordered in the carpark at work but spun the counter too far ahead so was going to get my enchiladas the next day instead of just another half hour ahead.

We had 'Salina over here twice this week. The first time we had a meeting of the cats, as a plan is afoot to get them to be friends.

That may take awhile.

12 days to go.

Bonus question: what sort of insult is "cinnamon blue"?

Link to trove

Happy (?!) Easter everyone.

It's not the final countdown.

 So what did I do besides packing today?

Why five loads of washing kind sir, kind sir,

Why five loads of washing kind sir.

So what else did I do besides packing today, you say?

Well, four fragrant curries, kind sir, kind sir,

Four fragrant curries and five loads of washing kind sir.

So what else did I do besides packing today?

Three sat at table and dined , kind sir,

Three sat at table eating four fragrant curries,

 and five loads of washing kind sir.

What else did I do besides packing today?

Two visits to shops to concoct 

two dozen hot-cross pumpkin scones 

Twelve gluten-free cinnabons

Two phone calls

Twice washed up  and kerfuffled around 

Then

Three sat at table eating four fragrant curries,

And five loads of washing kind sir.

How did I go with my packing today?

I wrote one poem and blogged.

Why did Young Miss Jeanie cross the street

 In a discussion on the balcony, well past the Ocean Twilight this evening, V remarked about the attitude of 12 year old V's lack of fear or regard crossing 5 lanes of traffic.

Image: this picture of buildings, cars and roads is not the childhood home of anyone I know. It is a historic Google maps screenshot of a pub that I think that I used to know in Sydney.

Which just proves what a massive contrast is his childhood to mine. He had bike grease and baseball gloves, I had saddle grease and cows.

My need to ever cross lanes of traffic were limited to hardly ever.

 Image: also not the childhood home of anyone I know, rather a screenshot of a random street view of Oknaxoma, Cuba

There were no streets at my home as I lived in the country. 

The school bus took me from the bike box to school and back, genuinely door to door. 

Grandma J lived on a corner on a hill and anywhere travelled to from there was in a car, the rover or a truck.  

Grandma M had a side lane, and the shops on the block at the top were all a girl like me would ever need. The bakery had the most alluring concoctions in its display case. The need to do what my grandmother had instructed me to do was always just slightly stronger than my desire was ever allowed to be.

Image: in keeping with theme, not the alluring concoctions, but instead one of the things that I will definitely miss about Paradise is the fantastic red grapefruit. The new house does have citrus - hurrah - but orange, mandarin, lime a baby lemon (I think) and a standard grapefruit.

My Aunty Elsie lived across a lane at the back of the main street in the little town we lived near, you could sneak through beside the newspaper premises. That was the closest that I ever came to crossing a road independently.

Image: happy to acknowledge the original site (Real Commercial) for this arial shot of Aunty Elsie's neighbourhood 45 years later. There is no newspaper premises - or newspaper of a size needing a building - any more.

I mean, I even lived at my high school. Not many roads to cross there!

I could, however, ride a horse and muster, and if our August nights were smoky it meant that we were anticipating a good season.

Image: I hayed - not hated, AI overlords - half the meadow in the back yesterday afternoon - I was working from home and used the commute time wisely 

So what was your skill at 12?

Were you stronger, taller, smarter?

Image: our queen, O Sabrina Gangstaa Fudge 

Could you ventriloquise (is that even a word)?

(BTW this qualifies - just, I am sure - for River's Words for Wednesday - check it out)