 |
| Manage Falling Water |
Wednesday's WES Group meeting, in spite of 5 apologies was highly successful. The 9 members present really took to Glazig embroidery. They were attracted to the texture of the stitches in particular.
After the meeting I called at Bunnings to pick up some plants. I wanted something to put in my ruined saucepan. I settled on a Mangave Falling Water, which they had in abundance. I thought it would fill the pot.
It did - once I had managed to get it out of its container and disentangle at least a few of its roots. I don't think I have ever bought such a pot-bound plant! Not good. I'm hoping I have untangled enough. I couldn't do much more without a lot of damage.
I also bought a few small succulents, washed off their roots and replaced some of the cuttings I had put into clay beads. Some of the cuttings were still alive, but developing very, very slowly. 
I replaced a dead pelargonium with an aloe vera, and bought another air plant, this one on a fridge magnet.
When I went to hang the Jacqueline Hick painting I bought last Sunday I discovered the frame was badly damaged and held together at the bottom with paper tape. It looks as if it were dropped at some stage. It was displayed very low on the gallery wall - almost at floor level- and the damage was at the bottom. I'd have bought it anyway, but feel the damage should have been made explicit.
The glass was likely to fall out, so on Thursday I took it to Jodie Primke - a restorative framer. She has moved her business to the East End of the city from North Adelaide. I hesitated about whether to seek her out, or to use a cheaper and more convenient framer I've used before, but I'm glad I went with her. She was so astute, honest and pleasant to deal with. The frame is not, she thinks, original, but about 30 years old. She will repair it and replace the glass with a UV filtered one.
Back at home, my dishwasher displayed an 'Err 23" message and did not drain. I bailed out the water and did what I could, but decided not to detach the pipe myself, so called my plumbing company. They could send someone the next afternoon, which meant cancelling stitching. When he arrived around 4pm, he cheerfully fixed it, along with a cistern half-flush that wouldn't stop filling - so good job jobbed (and peace of mind). At least part of the dishwasher problem appeared to be thread caught in the pump impeller (!).
A conversation with the painters hanging down the back wall established they were finished with my balcony, so I spent a couple of hours getting it back to a useable state - moving, watering and trimming pot plants - and several more scrubbing shells and stones I keep in a dish of water. They were covered in green-black algae so I used a toothbrush to scrub each one individually. They are now looking clean and I'm hoping vinegar in the water will keep them so, although I doubt the doves will approve.
I found them another dish with plain water. On Sunday morning the current pair came to visit and explore. They ignored the new water dish, maybe because it was in the shade, spending most of their time exploring where the sun was penetrating.
They skirted the old bowl with its dash of vinegar, but were very taken by the Kalanchoe. 
I will keep an eye out to see if they use the new bowl. I may need to move it to a sunnier place. I am also going to paint the chair one day soon.
By the end of the day my sciatica had kicked in - too much standing in one spot to scrub. I took the unusual step of going to bed early.
Sunday was Mother's Day, which I always acknowledged for my own mother, but declined for myself. Jim and I thought both Mothers' and Fathers' Days were commercial constructs that relegated parents to one day recognition rather than ongoing relationship. I still feel cynical about the hype but acknowledge the importance of a day when people gather and share. That was clearly happening all over the city as I made my way to my postponed stitching appointment. Susan was making her superb pasties and I came away with some for my dinner. A real treat! 
I am now working on the front.
Panayoula and I caught up for coffee this morning. Like a couple of other friends, she is off to see an orthopaedic surgeon to find out about a knee replacement. As an interim measure she's hoping for a quick fix to get her through a month of travel postponed because of Covid.
The final story for the week is the gathering of men in the Square as I was sitting on my balcony knitting in the sun on Saturday afternoon. I first heard singing and looked out to see a group of men standing (except for one in a wheelchair) with papers in their hands, singing. I couldn't make out the words or tune. When they sat down, I thought maybe it was a reunion of a football team, or old scholars. However, after a while the singing recommenced and I wondered if it was needed practice for a slightly off-key choir. As it began to get cooler, I moved inside but left the door open. It was then I recognised Amazing Grace, followed by How Great Thou Art and The Lord's my Shepherd - all unaccompanied but clear enough for me to sing along in my lounge room (with no chance at all of being heard!).
A little private worship in the park - no banners, publicity or proselytising. I am grateful for their singing this week and wish them well, whoever they are.
