They have the most beautiful garden, which my mother in particular obsessively works on. It's tasteful and alive and not fussy, and there are secret places and different levels to discover all around the perimeter of the house.
My mum has a great sense of colour and design, but is loose enough with the garden that it has an energy and a sense of a life of its own.
My dad used to grow a lot of vegetables, but because of the lack of any rain, ever, he's sworn off it. My mother has invented all sorts of crazy water recycling systems involving drip systems made out of pipes, hoses, plastic bottles and a customised wheelie bin. They've ripped up all the dead brown lawns and put in brown, I dunno, woody stuff. Chips. You know, it gets stuck all over your feet. Because it doesn't rain where they live any more. Ever.
Visiting them in spring makes me want to move to a country acreage and make compost. Unfortunately, I have no money for that and would probably find it too lonely by myself.
4 comments:
I dreamt last night that you made a three-minute video about Canberra, with members of CYTC.
It was really easy, really good and hugely well received.
It had long long rolling closing credits - due to all of the people who were eager to assist you - painstakingly rendered in tiny Fimo lettering - but even that didn't take you very long.
You were a dynamo and a genius.
It was a nice dream; I wish could give it to you.
And now you have given it to me! Thank you, that was lovely!
In future times, I will look back at ths blog and go 'ah yes, the Fimo years'
I've tried to come up with works to make about Canberra, but I feel like there's a void there that I can't describe.
Or something.
... indescribable.
I don't think about Canberra at all these days. It's there, in the back of my mind. One day, I'll think about it again. Maybe I'll even go back there. But not today or tomorrow.
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