Veronika Wild

Adventure playground for big kids. That's a rock climber three quarters of the way up at 11 o'clock I visited a disused quarry the other day. Truly, it was a lot more interesting than it sounds.  There had been a bit of rain and Landcare had been busy, so the approaches were looking green and and almost pretty. Fresh plantings A touch of green covers old traces Mostly though it was dramatic rather than beautiful. This is a harsh country with massive dolerite outcrops.  The Aboriginal word “Boya” the name for this area, means rock and there was certainly plenty of that. This was the place where in 1901 the  giant blocks were excavated for C.Y. O’Connor’s Fremantle Harbour, which made Perth the state's centre of gravity displacing Albany in the south. One hundred and fifty families made their hessian and iron homes here during the life of the quarry, though how they would have survived the summer without aircon beats me. It is still dry on the upper reache...

It’s midnight and there’s a full moon. Ghost gums raise smooth sepulchral arms to the sky. A warm soft breeze carries the pungent scent of exotic plants from the back garden -the white flowering fiddlewood from the West Indies and the mysterious hibiscus tree from Africa. Perth seems much closer to both places than to the rest of Australia. I think of that long ago song by Joni Mitchell  that begins...  “The Wind is in from Africa.  Last night I couldn't sleep..."   At least they can be imagined from here. More so than from Tasmania. I've been reading about the last of the Mughals and about the Silk Road. The last Mughal emperor had a moonlight garden until  Dehli was destroyed in the Indian Mutiny of 1857.  Magical names leap from the pages  - Kashmir and  Kashgar, Tashkent and Samarkand, or perhaps Havana and Port Royal from the last book I read. A friend writes that she is on her way to Uzbekistan. Dream on. There are bills...

Have been feeling rather Eeyorish lately - you know that depressive donkey that hangs out with Pooh Bear - always moaning and looking on the dark side. Thought I had fifty-five new readers in Western Australia, but it turned out that it was just the little girls replaying the Cat and Cello over and over again. Given that my audience is somewhat younger than I thought, here is a great little animation by Joaquin Baldwin who does other lovely stuff as well. See for example Papiroflexia The Windmill Farmer from Joaquin Baldwin on Vimeo . I'll play it myself when I feel the whole world is going to hell in a handbasket. Cheers for now and thanks Joaquin!

Heh. Heh. Rang my youngest son yesterday although I swore I wouldn't ring him till he rang me, but you know how it is. Mothers immediately think their offspring must be lying bleeding and amnesic in hospital, not just being slack. There was a long slow pause. Then .. " er..Happy Mother's..... Week?" Apologies if the blog is bit scrambled at the moment. I don't get let out very often and only the cat is lower than I am in the pecking order when it comes to the computer. Even worse there have been outbreaks of Whooping Cough in the state and we've all had to have triple antigen shots which make you feel like merde. I don't remember them being this bad the last time I had them, but then again, Chickenpox was ten times worse as an adult too. I got them on the way to Tasmania while seriously pregnant with my daughter and thought I was going to have to be buried at sea. Meanwhile, I have found the delightful Ikea video for the Doggie High Chair reported on ...

What should the new Grandmothers be like? Certainly not sweet, old and doddery  or cranky like the one in The Velveteen Rabbit  was  at the beginning. And while I long to be Funky, I am not sure I want to be parading in swim suit in the Hot Granny Pageant like the one in Brazil either. . True, I would like to retain a semblance of sensuality and keep my body in reasonable  working order but I would also like to retain a little mystery and possibly dignity as well. Imagine the upkeep and the surgeries! I’d rather spend the time on retaining my mind. I do have the greatest admiration for Grandmothers who take on bigger issues such as the Mothers of the Plaza de Mayo of Argentina who did not allow the military regime to forget the thousands of children they 'disappeared’ or those in Israel who stood between Israeli soldiers and Palestinians on the West Bank or those feisty Aboriginal Grandmothers who have taken a stand against alcohol, violence and sexual abuse in...

Nice change - a big bowl of coffee and croissantes in a French Restaurant Thanks Guys! I have never been a great fan of  Mother's Day. I am over white toasters and domestic appliances. Besides it seems to me that having and raising three children is a big price to pay for a bunch of  tatty flowers and a sickly sentimental card once a year. I've always disliked tokenism. My personal preference would be for my dear ones to shower me with attention, appreciation, love and respect on the other 364 days as well. No, I 'm not holding my breath! I did actually hear from my oldest son. I fear the youngest has joined a silent order. Even when we lived in the same house he only communicated by SMS and now I don't even get those, not even when I leave pleading messages on his message bank.  It reminds me of that advertisement where a young man removes his headphones and angel choirs begin to sing. The voice over says something like," Hallelujah! Mrs. P. has just got her...

Homemade butterflies Some people are born to grandparenting. I am sure that my  mother would have been great at it,  had she lived that long - she was clucky for ten years before I even thought of having children -and my son -in -law's parents must come close, but I am not one of them. OK I try to be available for emergencies, new babies and the occasional mad outing, but I struggle constantly with myself. Don't get me wrong - the girls - all three of them -are lovely, but it's not a role that I would chose for myself. For a start it's not something you have control over. Like greatness, it is just sort of thrust upon you. All of a sudden you are expected be all -wise, all -knowing, ever -patient, mature, responsible, selfless and sexless, while at the same time never criticising or interferring. I am done with that. A few nappy changes and sleepless nights, fractured mealtimes, day care and school schedules and I am reduced to a gibbering wreck.  I have nightma...

Western  Australia is even drier now than the last time I came. While the rest of Australia has been drowning, the drought has continued here. Even the usually resilient native plants are looking brown and dead with only the primeval looking zamias and grass trees still poking up their heads. There are no wild flowers now and only the screech of brightly coloured parrots breaks the silence. Except that I speak the language here, this is  as strange a country as any I visited last year. Even the usually resilient native plants are showing signs of stress The gardens  are very different here too. With few exceptions it is not about flowers and prettiness. It's about structure, texture and grand statements. The few gardens lucky enough to have abundant water look like tropical oases, lush with their palms, but with prolonged water restrictions, many people have give up. Front yards are bare brown earth decorated with rocks rather than lawns or perhaps the occasional ca...

Having just watched  a couple of episodes of the TV Program Hoarders with abject horror and fascination, I want to retract that bit I said about saying "Yes to Mess. "  In fact, should I ever be tempted to save another jar or  piece of pretty wrapping paper or small scraps of silk, velvet, newclippings or interesting buttons, feel free to show me these programs again, lest I too disappear under eight tonnes of garbage or can't find my way to the front door. I do come from a long line of hoarders and have always resisted this impulse in myself  but I also had the misfortune to marry a Grand Master of  the art and now watch anxiously for similar traits in my offspring and their children. They say there is a genetic component. There is absolutely no storage in the new place and it feels crowded if I so much as hang a picture so I need all the help I can get. I do find it rather ironic though, that just as I have managed to part with my old knitting patterns -...