Not A Bad Week At All

It’s been one of those weeks. No, not calamity-filled and hand-wringingly tragic; we’ve just been busy doing stuff.

Some stuff has been really awesome, like two of our number taking in the Foo Fighters concert on Wednesday night. If the anticipation of three hours of continuous on-stage Foos wasn’t enough, our humble suburb was graced with the presence of Dave himself, spotted partaking of a cup of coffee and a cinnamon swirl (how rock ‘n roll) at one of the lesser trendy Brighton eateries. The Homestead representatives report he spoke highly of our suburb, city, and the new Avon-Otakaro green belt cycleway he spent “four expletive hours, man” on prior to rewarding himself with aforementioned beverage and sconey comestible, looking none the worse for wear for not visiting Crema instead. Next time, Dave…

See those tiny dots on the stage? Photographic proof (of sorts) that WE WERE THERE: Foo Fighters, Christchurch, Wednesday 18 February 2015.

This week also marked the beginning of Farm Girl’s entrance into “the system”. We’re not usually fans of this sort of thing, but after a sizable chunk of reporting, assessing, and meetings, Farm Girl has qualified for ORS (school support for children with special education needs) because of her misbehaving eyesight. Part of this involves attending a music group:

Marimbas + singing + dancing + assorted percussion instruments (and a tutor keen to hear her recorder and ukulele prowess) = Farm Girl heaven.  

And if that wasn’t enough, we managed to cram a visit to the local skate park in between the end of music group (and subsequent cross-city journey) and the beginning of her weekly swimming lesson. 


Next time we’ll remember the correct footwear!

The Farmer, Renovator and Bean Counter have been busy doing what they get paid to do.  The Farmer has been dealing with the aftermath of a five-dog attack (whilst the owner observed from a distance) on a flock of sheep,

Unbelievably, Sapphire

Unbelievably, Sapphire (The Farmer’s hand reared baby) was the only sheep in the flock to escape injury

The Bean Counter has been croakily overseeing his dominion (a result of too much singing along with Dave and the boys), and The Renovator has been learning just how irritating a constantly-chatting class member can be (in one of those gorgeous twists fate is prone to doling out). The Goat Herd and Milk Maid spent their week engaging in hard manual graft, a smattering of bicycle maintenance, and some emergency plumbing. 


Only 300-odd bricks to clean

Not a bad week at all was the general consensus as we dallied over our second coffees in the sun at Crema today; enough labour to ensure a good nights sleep, excitement to keep the blood pumping, irritation to exercise diplomacy, and a touch of ugly to remind us our world is usually a beautiful place.


8 thoughts on “Not A Bad Week At All

  1. Crema? Not another birthday, surely? I’m teasing…my local bakery knows my first name, and can tell what day of the week it is by whether I’ve been in or not. I know what it is to be “a regular”.

    That’s bad news about Farmer’s sheep and the dogs. Is he having to look after a lot of wounds and stitches? I’m glad the “pet” sheep is all right, that would have been even harder for him than the sheep that were injured already are. That was grammatical, but you know what I mean.

    I understand about the mixed feelings on Farm Girl’s entry into “the system”. A friend went through the same thing with her son around the same age, and it did mean some meaningful assistance and opportunities for him throughout his elementary years. It doesn’t in any way take away from what a smart, feisty, independent, energetic, and ambitious person she is.

    Oooh, those bricks. I have not so fond memories of scrubbing bricks with a wire brush when I was about 9 – my parents had our chimney dismantled and rebuilt using up to code fire brick, so that all the old bricks could be used to make a decorative wall in the dining room. And it is decorative. And I think that decades later you can’t really see the scars on my knuckles from all that wire brushing….

    The gorgeous twist of fate and the Renovator hints at a story which I suspect is family lore not about to be shared on the blog, unless it’s an oblique reference to the resident Homesteader that is closest in age to his students. How tantalizing. But yes, I feel for him. 8 and 9 year olds sometimes have a great deal to say. All the time. And not all of it relevant. I was a Brownie leader for several years, I remember it all too well.

    • Love being a regular, especially on those days that my mind goes blank and I can’t remember what I usually order 🙂
      the bricks are destined for more raised garden beds; a kind of mixed blessing – they look pretty but are great hiding places for slugs and snails. I love the idea of sitting at the dining table examining the evidence of past knuckle scars.
      The twist of fate has a little to do with a few comments on school reports past…I’ll say no more…
      And a Brownie Leader?! Yet another parallel – so was I in another lifetime.

    • Absolutely notHing. Their owner stood back watching as the farm manager dealt with it despite her adding him to call them off then sped off in his car. There is now someone living on site who holds a firearm licence.

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