Drifting through life

Two days ago I had to endure a bus trip with a woman seated across the aisle and one seat behind, who coughed, sneezed and sniffed the whole trip. Now I'm a bit headachy and sneezing and desperately hoping this is a hayfever attack and not a cold. I'll know by tonight. If the hayfever medication doesn't work, then it's a cold. Possibly the woman on the bus was also having a hayfever attack, all the jasmine has started blooming this past week, so all of us hayfever sufferers are suffering.

On Wednesdays , Delores, from Under The Porch Light, has a meme which she calls “Words for Wednesday”. She puts up a selection of six words which we then use in a short story, if we are able. Sometimes I look at her words and nothing at all comes to mind. Sometimes a story suggests itself immediately. It’s a fun challenge…why not join in? This week's words are: 1. drugged 2. scandalous 3. frying 4. clerk 5. entrance 6. hidden   Here is my short story: The entrance to the newest hideout was well hidden , JJ would have never found it without the smell of frying bacon leading her on.   She cautiously rounded the rough boulder and squirmed through the narrow passage to the larger cave within.  Her brothers were there, sitting on flat rocks surrounding a campfire, where the bacon sizzled on a discarded old barbecue plate. Morgan and Asher weren't happy to see her, but soon forgot their annoyance as she excitedly told them the late

How much is the fine for not voting? I'm a little concerned here. I don't like Tony Abbot's views and I straight out don't like Kevin Rudd at all. I think he is childish and has a mean streak.  So I don't want to vote for either of them. Not voting incurs a fine. So how much is this fine? Have I stashed away enough dollars? This year, for the first time ever, I'll be collecting all the leaflets handed out near the polling booth entrance and studying them carefully before deciding where to make my pencil mark. If I make one at all. I've been reading the views put forward by journalists in the papers, but I've never understood politics. Each article says good things about the party they're spruiking in a way that I could almost believe they're the "good" party, but they can't all be the "good" party.  Equally they can't all be the "bad" party. None of the "promises" I hear on TV are c

Welcome back to Whimsical Wednesday! The day for your googled giggle that gets you over the hump that is Wednesday and sliding down into the weekend. there, that should take care of the chocolate cake I ate yesterday. and the day before.....

then again, you're all pretty smart....here's a clue>>>> do you need more clues? you're right! I've been cooking. Here's stage two>> clean up time. much better. Stage three? coffee, cake, and a couple of chapters. Now I know what you're thinking....all that mess just to make a chocolate cake? Well, yes...and no. I also made a beef casserole, a batch of mini meatballs ready for the next batch of spaghetti sauce and a couple of mini meatloaves. My freezer is full.

Last Friday, Delores, from Under the Porch Light, wrote about the frenetic activity experienced at harvest time on the farm when she was young. It brought back memories of one of my very first paid jobs. I'd spent the summer lazing at the Port Pirie beach and had met a boy who'd come to town on holiday. He worked at a sheep station as a Jackeroo.   We became good friends and a few months later I heard from him, via mail, (snail mail in those days), that the current housemaid had left for life in the big city and the position was open. Would I like to try it? Yeah, sure, why not? How hard could it be? My dad drove us up there, a few hundred miles north west of Port Augusta, met the family and took off for home again. I was alone in a crowd of strangers, except for ****, and far, far, away from "civilisation", aka the nearest town. The homestead was well stocked, with supplies and mail being brought in by the "mail train" . Ordering was done

Welcome back to Sunday Selections! This once-a- week-meme was originally begun by Kim of Frog Ponds Rock, (who now writes over at "The Shake" ), as a way to showcase some of the many photos we all take, but don't get around to showing on our blogs. The rules are very simple:- 1. post photos of your choice, old or new, under the Sunday Selections title 2. link back to me, River , somewhere in your post 3. leave me a comment so that I know you've joined in and can come over and see what you've posted. 4. hop on over to The Elephant’s Child to see more of her wonderful photos. Kath and Andrew often join in as well, although Kath has been quite busy lately and unable to join us. I usually go with a theme for my Sunday Selections and this week I'm continuing with some photos of the recent holiday I had in WA. the first few photos are from the Fishing Boat Harbour area that has the bronze fishermen statues featured a couple of

I love breakfast , not only because it is the most important meal of the day, but because I'm usually hungry first thing in the morning. When you're hungry, everything tastes good. Craisins, Dates, Dried Apricots. The apricots are Woolworths own "Select" brand and they are really nice. chop some of the fruit , I like to chop it pretty finely.... add the fruit to a half-cup of rolled oats in a saucepan. add just enough water to cover the mix... and leave to stand overnight . In the morning.... add a splash of milk (or water ), however much suits you, Half a cup for me, and simmer gently about 3 minutes. Serve (with a spoonful of Malt Extract for me) and enjoy.

On Wednesdays, Delores, from Under The Porch Light , has a meme which she calls “Words for Wednesday”. She puts up a selection of six words which we then use in a short story, if we are able. Sometimes I look at her words and nothing at all comes to mind. This week's words are: 1. kindling 2. frenetic 3. visible 4. plot 5. doorstep 6. clapping Here is my short story: Orlando locked his door, pocketed his key and buried the spare under the third rock in the garden plot beside his doorstep and headed to the showgrounds. Just an hour later, sweat was visibly flying, with the crowd roaring and clapping their approval at the frenetic pace as Orlando and the other woodchoppers reduced the centre portions of their logs to kindling . Orlando's axe swung sweet and true, the blade biting deep and releasing easily.  He knew the trophy would be his again this year.  Next year, he would have to watch out for young Mac, down at the end the