Tarquin, Queen of the Night

Quollgirl is my Australian daughter. She rarely blogs (I need to take lessons in blogging restraint from her) but when she does, she writes a treasure. I hope you enjoy meeting Tarqui and her splendid humans.

Women Who Run With The Slightly Lame Labrador Crosses

The Queen of the Night hated me from early kitten-hood.

‘Look’, said Andrew, holding out the tiny ball of fluff, ‘she’ll fit into the palm of your hand’. The bleeding stopped eventually, but the emotional damage was done.

Pete, Tarquin’s littermate, was easier to handle, and would follow me like a dog to the neighbour’s house when I went for a drink after coming off night shifts. He eyeballed me with devotion, even when I didn’t have chicken, and would purr if I checked his ears for ticks or his belly for fleas.

Andrew moved the whole pack down from Townsville in his little white van. Lupa the cattle-dog sat on the front seat, Pete lay on the dashboard like some eccentric dash-mat, and Tarquin, above such silliness, sequestered herself in the back and thought dark thoughts about the illusory nature of happiness and the passing of time. Or maybe…

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Thursday’s special

While I was away, I developed blogging friendships with a number of people. One of them is Paula who lives in Zagreb. She is a photographer I admire immensely. I also admire her minimalist approach to blogging – one exquisite photo at a time. She invites fellow-bloggers to join her by posting something special on Thursday, at

http://bopaula.wordpress.com/category/thursdays-special/,

marked by this logo:

 

 

Trawling through my photos, I found this one. As I was walking from my apartment in Dubrovnik to the old city to catch it in its early morning activity, I spotted this imaginative use of an old bath tub as seating in a cafe. It's a fitting photo to begin my relationship with Thursday's special, because Paula was born in Dubrovnik.

It may not be inspirational in quite the sense Paula intended, certainly not to other people. But for me it reflects the “fullness of life and absolute freedom” that I found in my seventieth birthday journey through my travel fears and Eastern Europe.

 

 

http://bopaula.wordpress.com/category/thursdays-special/

 

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Farewell Dear Friend

This gallery contains 10 photos.

Here is Christine through her own photos, lovingly compiled by a blogging friend.

A walk for Christine

Christine had a very strong presence in the world of blogging. Friends from that world are paying tribute on their own blogs. I re-blog to honour Christine and to acknowledge the warmth and reality of friendships cultivated in the blogosphere.

restlessjo

Christine and Stuart, happy on their holidays

Like many of you, I felt like I had been punched in the stomach, reading Stuart’s brave post this morning.  His lovely wife, Christine, ended their 45 years together in his arms.  Tears are not far away but I need to write this post.  Losing a friend is terrible, but losing a partner, thankfully, is unimaginable till it happens to you.

I know that Christine would want us to celebrate her life, and I’m doing that in the only way I know how.  This morning I took a walk in our English countryside, with Christine looking over my shoulder.  So often she has done just that, here on my blog.  She loved the beauty of nature.

The sheep were indulging their usual antics

And against a garden wall, the sweet peas were climbing

I followed the footpath out of the village

And down…

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Soft-Boiled Eggs With Herbed Soldiers and Espresso Glazed Bacon

I love this blog: beautiful writing, stunning photos and simple recipes, always with a sophisticated twist.

Simple Provisions

Australian coffee shops are having a moment in New York City. The laid-back approach to serious coffee, the casual yet efficient service and the fresh and light menu options have piqued the interest of New Yorkers, who are opting to try a flat white over a gallon of Starbucks.

Toby’s Estate, a Sydney-based coffee roasting company, opened a cafe in Williamsburg in 2012. I could see it from my apartment, and it would beckon to me, drawing me out the door and up the street to order a breakfast roll. I would sit at the sun-drenched communal table to enjoy softly scrambled eggs sitting on a small sourdough roll, with sharp, melted cheddar holding roasted tomatoes in place. The crowning glory was two strips of crispy bacon, glazed in an inspired blend of coffee, cardamom and maple syrup which resulted in a salty, sweet and bitter communion of flavours that I was unable to resist. So when…

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Hawassa: Lounging Along Ethiopian Rift Valley Lake

This is one of my favourite blogs. Of course I can’t remember how I came across it, but I’m delighted by every post. Ethiopia has a place in the history of my family. My mother-in-law was there, under fire, playing scrabble, singing hymns, protected by a mattress, at the beginning of her adventuring with a missionary society in Africa in the 1970s. Then in the early 2000s my daughter adventured there on a push bike, en route to study in Jordan. Sara’s blog enables me, not so adventurous, to armchair travel in the footsteps of these two intrepid women.

Ethiopian Wanderlust

Heading 275 km south of Addis Ababa leads to a tranquil lakeside city. It is the largest city in the Ethiopian Rift Valley, was once the capital of Sidamo region, and today it is the capital of Southern Nations and Nationalities People’s region is known as Hawassa. The Sidamo word Hawassa represents – extensive natural suitable for grazing – and the city is indeed affectionate.

Hawassa city situated at 1685 m in the Rift Valley and the main attraction of the city is the remarkable Rift Valley Lake that it embraces and known as Lake Hawassa. The 9000 ha prolonged lake set in an ancient volcanic caldera, is the smallest in the Ethiopian Rift Valley and it is nowhere more than 22 m deep.

This virtual tour is to strolling the dyke runs along the shore of Hawassa which is covered with dense scrub and woodland. The dyke built to…

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Incongruities

On an early morning walk through the bush, amongst spotted gums and burrawangs, I came across this sign. No doubt there's some kind of explanation, but I can't imagine what it might be. Climate change is supposed to be working the other way.

 

 

 

 

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Dear Greg Hunt

Women Who Run With The Slightly Lame Labrador Crosses

DearGreg

Can I call you Greg? I’ve felt on first-name basis with you for some years now, and in my house, we even have cute pet names for you.

I’m not sure why you’ve decided not to go to Warsaw for the annual climate change talks. I know you are busy trying to repeal the carbon tax, and I appreciate that this will entail a lot of work, but Warsaw is quite a nice city, and you probably will need a holiday away from all those nasty greenies. You’d better not be saving your energy for Paris in 2015 – it would look like you were engaging in stereotyping and overlooking a former Eastern Bloc country while still being willing to show up in the City of Light for a wine-swilling junket. Anyway, Poland has quite a lot to offer the discerning tourist, and with this in mind my…

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Brown

Brown is a colour that doesn't have a good press. Words that come immediately to mind are drab, nondescript, murky, muddy, unremarkable. If heroines have brown hair instead of blonde or red or raven, they have to have eyes that are liquid pools or some other characteristic of similar distinction.

 

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A Midsummer’s Daydream

I really enjoy the sparseness and discipline of this blog: one photo at a time. Sometimes the photo is accompanied by a mini-fiction, sometimes by a short factual or autobiographical piece. The photos are always superb.

The 43rd Floor

In these latter years, she had come to adore the sensory garden. That exotic cocktail of lemon balm and wild garlic, with the classic sweet scent of mint, reassured her that summer had indeed arrived. It transported her back to her youth when, as a mere slip of a thing, she would run barefoot and carefree across these lawns until late into the summer evenings. Those days were well behind her now, her health ailing and eyesight almost gone. Yet still, in these inspirational surroundings, she could replay in her mind’s eye her memories of those glorious days, when everything seemed right with the world.

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