Chosen to wear today specifically to meet the theme. Cheating?  Some of themes are proving more challenging than I expected so I prefer to think of this one as an easy win.

“Use it up, wear it out, make it do or do without” was the mantra of so many of the adults in my life who had suffered through the Great Depression. I apply its instruction inconsistently – too quick to toss out something I could easily fix, too slow to get rid of stuff that is just not worth fixing. This tablecloth is years old and showing its age as it unravels into tiny holes. I was a Brownie and a Girl Guide so I know how to darn and as I was ironing this today I had a much longer debate in my head as to whether I should grab a needle and thread immediately or simply fold it up as is and throw it out.

Its blue and white checks always make me think of picnics in Provence, so I pressed to wrinkle free status and put it away. The worn spots simply add to its character.

I was tired. Too tired to cook. But not too tired to order Indian food for dinner. Eight minutes drive away is some of the best Indian food in the district so I meandered over there and as I waited for my order I stood by the car park railing and watched the late afternoon light soften and light up the edges of the houses below. Although we are barely past the midpoint, the quality of that light has changed from the strong, clear light of summer to the warmer mellow light that signals autumn’s approach. My trusty point and shoot was set to Auto and I really was too weary to even notice what aperture it used to capture this scene. I guess that meets the demands of the challenge.

This is my favourite hat, bought on a whim in a tiny shop on the Aeolian island of Lipari. I love the Audrey Hepburn look of it when the brim is down and how it protects all of my face and neck. But when the sun has dropped far enough towards the western horizon, I love to wear it with the front folded back. So I can see.

…how long summer seemed to last when you were young? From the afternoon when we ran through the school gates for the last time that year, the summer stretched out before us, shimmering with sunshine on water and sand and accompanied by the never ending song of the cicadas and the banging of the screen door. The long hours spent on the beach, t-shirts over bathing suits to prevent the dreaded sunburn, hot nights with only the open window for the hope of a breeze that never came, the waiting for the rustle of leaves that signalled the arrival of a cool change and relief from the scorching heat. A new school year seemed so far in the future as to be invisible as we dug moats around sandcastles, paddled our boards down to the pier, bowled and batted our team to victory in beach cricket while the  radio commentary on the current Test match provided the soundtrack to the game. The strawberry and pineapple ice-cream that melted quickly in sticky drips down your arms and onto your bare, sandy legs, your shoes sinking into the road asphalt soft and sticky from the heat, terry towelling hats shading eyes squinting from the harsh clear light.  And nothing but more of the same tomorrow.

When I was a child my grandparents lived a 90 minute drive away so the lovely older couple next door stepped in and filled that space day to day. Mrs R. was just the most wonderful person in my life and I am so grateful for the seventeen years of love and joy she willingly gave me. There were many times in my chaotic childhood, as the eldest of five children, that I would have happily moved in to live with her.

Because, in her house, I was an only child. She sat me front of her dressing table with its silver backed brushes, crystal perfume bottles and fluffy powder puffs and let me play to my hearts content. My love of photography came from the hours spent ‘reading’ her family stories in big black leather bound albums. I helped teach her budgie to cheer for our local football team. She showed me how to use the broom to sweep thoroughly in the corners. To make a great pot of tea and savour it with good conversation.  And, when soft plastic floral work was all the rage, she spent many hours patiently teaching me how to make clustered violet brooches and bunches of pale pink lilies backed with feathery plastic foliage. All the well dressed ladies in our street wore them on their coat lapels. Last weekend I opened a battered old box in the garage and found these woven strawberries and a scotch thistle amongst a clutter of tiny plastic petals and dusty leaves we had started together and never finished.

I wonder if she knew how much she influenced and inspired that little girl next door?

From a feature on the Chinese New Year in today’s paper. And despite yesterday’s views on superstition I have to say that the first six words pretty much nailed a definition of me. And, no, I’ll not be telling you which of those years I was born in. Some of you already know and, for the rest of you, there are enough clues scattered about the blog for you to work it out.

I come from a long line of superstitious believers. Brought up never to open an umbrella indoors, to throw salt over my shoulder if I spilt it, to fret over broken mirrors, to never put my shoes on the table, to refuse to walk under ladders. So it was confronting, especially to aforesaid relatives, when I married into an Italian family with three times the number of ridiculously irrational superstitions, and found that beliefs about the unluckiness of 13 is not one of them. I’ve never got a satisfactory explanation as to why but I’ve worn this for close to forty years and my life has been filled with as much joy as it has sadness. I’m pretty sure the number 13 has had nothing to do with it.

My lunch. Well, clearly not all twelve of them. Just enough for a herb omelette.

It seems ridiculous to me, that in the very middle of this summer, it is simply too cold to lie in the hammock and chill out with a book. Instead it has chilled out to the point of snow in the high country and grey skies with accompanying winds off the Antarctic ice sheet right here. Hoping for marked improvement before the leaves change colour.