Last night, before a darkened roomful of masqued and be-costumed heaving bodies, sweaty and drunk and sparkle-laden revellers -- after the bare-tittied midnight cake-burst-Neil-snog, but before the ukulele solo -- Amanda Palmer, wearing a corset she bought from a girl in the audience for the promise of a snog, told us she didn't believe in making New Year's Resolutions.
"They're for lazy people," she said, after singing us a song about working out she's exactly the person she wants to be, right now.

I get it.

I have no New Year's Resolutions this year. I mean, it's not something I'm in the habit of doing anyway. Last year, I had one (buy no clothes for a whole year) but that was more of a challenge really. A challenge I successfully completed -- more or less -- as Amanda burst out of that cake last night. Or, more accurately, about four and a half minutes earlier, as her husband, Neil Gaiman, finished reading a poem about the effects of drinking whiskey on artistic endeavour as it relates to writing.

But, challenges aside, I see nothing that needs changing in my life.

No. No, that's not true. The Tower reversed has not turned up in my spread for some time now. No resistance to change, here. I'm happy -- more than happy, I encourage -- for things to grow and evolve. But there's nothing bad, nothing wrong, nothing that needs a stern lashing of willpower and resolve.

Things are good. Great. In just over two weeks, I'll start my new job. For the first time, I have a job not just because it's there, or just because I can do it, but because I chose it. Something that I believe in, that is changing the world for the better, not causing harm, however indirectly.

I am saving; I see the goal ahead of me, although a few years down the track, yet. A house, built by my hands and his, with a fireplace, and bookshelves, turkey rugs and patchwork curtains, a big kitchen and an even bigger dining table to have you all over for tea. With a garden all around, with oh-so-much food and chickens and neighbours and you.

Sometimes, I see this so clearly, I could knock on the front door.

But here and now, in this wonderful, quirky, home-ish house, I am deliriously content. My garden, as they say, is cranking. The pumpkins are beginning to swell, and I ate the very first beans off the vine for my dinner tonight. And if the basil never really grew, and only one capsicum plant survived and the eggplants never are going to flourish, so what? I have more tomatoes than I'll ever know what to do with, and more on the way; I get more zucchinis morning and night and there is really nothing like cucumber sliced fresh off the vine. Slowly, slowly, we remove more packaging from our shelves and less and less processed food comes into my kitchen and I am satisfied.

And I am happily, sickeningly, heart-burstingly, ribcage-tighteningly, breath-catchingly in love. His smile still gives me butterflies, his mind engages mine, and best of all, we just fit together effortlessly. Being with Dom is simultaneously both the easiest and most rewarding thing in my life. Our life together is everything I hoped for while I waited.

So, life is pretty fucking awesome right now.

But, still I say: I welcome growth, and I welcome change, even as fear flutters in my belly as I type those words, I welcome it.
(all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well)

Still, there are some things I'd like to do. Not resolutions, but wishes. I'd like to write more, and I'd like to make more balance in my life to have the time to write more. There's a novel (at least one) still sitting in my head, waiting to be ink on paper.

And I'd like to perform again. I felt that strongly last night. And not just to perform, but to build a show, craft it, fill it with weird beautiful carnie creatures. Last night, there was a big-haired, skull-shouldered, horse-headed, pegasus-winged, gyrating hipped vampire male anti-burlesque act to Lost Boys Cry Little Sister. I want to touch that again.

Last night, Neil said some beautiful words. His wish for us all this year is that we might make some mistakes. Mistakes are beautiful things, he said, because to make mistakes means you're trying something new. And a mistake means you're doing something, and it's important to do.

I hope this year I make mistakes, and I birth new things, that I am bold and that I evolve, and that I do and that, even if I feel that flutter of fear, I greet the Tower, the Wheel and the World with open arms.

Happy New Year!

Sundays.

It’s become the routine at our place that Sundays are a bit of a ‘tidy-up’ day. And I know it might be daggy, but I really enjoy it. Saturdays are often for getting all of my uni work out of the way, and then a little bit of socialising, and after the bustle of the week, Sundays are just for being around the home, putting some time and energy into the space, and just going slow.

Today, we had a lovely long sleep in, after going out for dinner with friends, and then to see one of my very favourite performers, Mikelangelo, at a wonderful, intimate venue in South Melbourne last night.

Then, I made us fresh orange juice from the abundance of oranges we received in our veggie box this week, followed by an old breakfast favourite of mine: tomato and onion on toast, with some fresh herbs, spring onions and sprouts from the garden.

And then it was getting stuck into the clean! We have a house inspection later this week, so it was a little more vigorous than usual. And it was such a glorious sunny day outside – such a welcome break from a relentless winter – that it was a struggle to stay indoors long enough to get everything done. As it was, I kept going outside every half an hour to just soak up the sunshine.

Another great thing about this warm weekend is that I finally get to wear the ‘summer socks’ I made last Easter and then haven’t had a chance to wear because it’s been too cold. They're 'yoga socks' designed to keep your feet and ankles warm and your toes and heels free for yoga and pilates poses.

But I've found another practical use for them. The perfect combination: thongs AND warm feet!

Then we had a Transition Darebin meeting at a local café. I almost didn’t want to go – I really didn’t want to be indoors. But as usual, it was so inspiring and motivating to hear about everyone’s projects and ideas, so I’m glad I went.

And now I’m home again, pulling the washing in off the line, potting out a few plants and just settling in, preparing for the week ahead. Enjoying the clean and tidy house. How was your Sunday?

The Visit

Last month, for my birthday, my mum visited me and my sister here in Melbourne, which was wonderful. It was great to be able to show her where and how I live: my home, and my lovely big back yard. We cooked a lot, and sat in the living room in front of the 'fire' (gas heater) chatting and knitting. Sarah came over and we went out to lunch in my favourite local cafe. We went op-shopping at the marvellous op-shops on Sydney road.

And we spent a day out in the garden. My mum is a biodynamic farmer and a permaculture wiz and as we wandered around the garden, secateurs in hand, she had a wealth of advice for what to plant where, how to manage the gore wasp in the lemon, how to prune the peach in time for spring.

I love my mother's approach to gardening -- it's very practical and direct. We were replanting some seedlings: I, gingerly pulling them free, delicately placing them in a hole as if they were precious (and they are!), softly tucking them in. Mum would unceremoniously push them into the ground with her thumb.

'I used to think like you do, but now I plant out so many seedlings that I haven't got the time or patience,' she said burying up to its leaves a tiny, out-of-season tomato seedling that had grown in the compost. 'It probably wont survive the rest of winter,' she warned.

For me, who, for all my cyclical enthusiasm has never been much of a green thumb, took heart in her approach -- clearly these fragile things are hardier than they look. Maybe it wont matter so much if I get a few things wrong. Its all the encouragement I need to dive right in!

And then, she boarded the train and went back to the farm.

Yarn Along

Once, quite a few years ago now, I had finished working for a man in a kilt who lived on the west coast of Scotland. I planned to head South again, perhaps back into England, and told him so.

'Oh no, you can't!' he said in a voice like Sean Connery's. 'Not when you've come so close.'

The balcony on the front of his house looked out over the harbour, and every day, just at the same morning hour, a very large ferry left for the Outer Hebrides.

'You must see the Islands while you are here. They're amazing.'

And he was right. Such wild, treeless islands of wind and ghosts. I stood on a bluff and looked out over the sea and hills and could see nothing made by man. I could have been standing there at any point in history. It broke my heart and healed it all at once.

So I stayed with the daughter of the man in a kilt with the voice of Sean Connery, in her cottage attached to a haunted manor. And we cooked rustic meals of produce bought from farmers, and went looking for ghosts, and fended off Jehovah's Witnesses who knocked on our door-at-the-edge-of-the-world, and we sat around and knitted. There was a book there, too, all about an island even further out in the uncaring sea, which had once had inhabitants who had more in common with the Norse, than they did with the Scotts (although they still had to pay the Laird their taxes). I didn't read all of this book, I left before I could finish, back to a part of the world just a little less magical.

This is not that book, but it is about that furthest-flung island, St Kilda. It is a fictionalised account of the time that a missionary and his wife went to save the natives from themselves, much to the detriment of everyone concerned. It's not a bad book, but it's not that good either. Mostly I keep reading it because it is about my favourite part of the world. And my knitting skills have progressed somewhat since sitting in that cottage too. This is the first of a pair of legwarmers, lace stitch, knitted in the round. The wool came from a jumper I bought at the op-shop and unravelled. It's going well.

Kitting and reading: two of my most favourite things. Joining in with Ginny (and Mum) for Yarn Along this week.

While I wasn't here...

While I wasn't here, I:

turned 30

And had a surprise dress up party (good thing I always have lots of dress-ups)

received outrageously expensive gifts (thats a Macbook Pro in there)

and had a lovely time.

I also had visits from

friends

and family

from far away.

I got a new job. I no longer work at the kindergarten; I now work for a company were I lay out horse-racing form guides for the newspapers. It's a step in the right direction.

I have been living happily:

gardening,

and crafting

and reading

Hopefully, I wont be away so long next time.

See you soon.

Around the Farm (Or, in our case, the Yard)

After seeing this on my mum's new blog, I've decided to join in with Farmama on her 'Around the Farm' posts. Every Thursday, Sara from Farmama posts a series of photos of the week's happenings on the farm. Now, I have a suburban backyard, not a farm, but I thought I'd share what's happening around as we develop our little urban renter's croft.

This is our new back yard, in all it's undeveloped glory. When we're done with it, it'll be a fantastic food producing garden!

This is one of the glorious, large veggie beds we've inherited...

And this is the other. Clearly, I need to dig some weeds out, fix some retaining walls and get planting!

The great big awesome compost system needs a little lovin'...

Our back fence and behind the compost is overrun with this noxious weed. I don't know what it is, but I know its hard to kill! Here Dom gives it a what-for.

All my herbs, chillies and strawberries rescued from our courtyard at the previous place, waiting patiently to be transplanted into our (forthcoming) kitchen garden. The chamomile especially is lovin' its new location.

The last month and a half have been a bit crazy round here. First there was the move, and cleaning up around the old place, including dismantling some rather nice garden beds we'd installed there and trucking the railway sleepers and soil over here. We were happy enough to leave them for the next tenants, but apparently the landlord was unimpressed that we'd had the initiative to better the courtyard. Clearly, she's not interested in creating community and sustainability. But never mind! Despite the hard slog (which, I'll admit was almost completely undertaken by Dom as I toiled on my uni assignments), having the materials here for a new kitchen garden is pretty good (and this time, we've gotten express permission from the landlord to install it, so we don't have to move it again when we go!)

After the move, I was pretty overwhelmed with uni assignments for a few weeks. Thank goodness that's over and, after spending a weekend or two interviewing potential new housemates (and welcoming the wonderful Alice into our home), I now have some time to put into projects around the place. Like getting the garden really crankin', and finishing off some dying projects. Ah, its good to be on (uni) holidays!

Odd.

I felt a bit strange as I was packing a particular box in the kitchen today, cleaning out underneath the kitchen sink. I was carefully wrapping in newspaper all these empty jars -- olive jars and pickle jars and jam jars. I was thinking that it was a little weird to be treating as 'so precious' what was essentially rubbish or junk.

But to us, they are a little bit precious; we'll have a use for them -- sauces, and salad dressing, and pesto and pickles. One of these days, I really want to try and make tomato sauce, and I think I'm going to have to make green tomato chutney, because all those vines I planted too-late after Christmas have fruited, but they won't redden.

So, neatly, I wrapped in newspaper all the jars from under the sink and arranged them carefully in a box and taped it shut.

And then, I found all this basil, and made pesto, and all the jars came out again.