In the spirit of no-holds-barred blogging, I’m penning (not literally, but keyboarding doesn’t have the same ring to it) this in a slightly befuddled state. It’s been an odd week – the prefix to a really odd week-to-follow – and it’s a little difficult for my anxious little brain to grab hold of any newsworthy thoughts. But for you good folk I’ll give it my best shot.

I’ve spent a lot of this week off-Homestead as I had an early morning (8.50am) routine hospital appointment; hooray for the Urban Outpost! In the past, such an appointment would have seen me getting a little hot under the collar at those whose job it is to divvy out the timeslots as out-of-towners are not meant to be booked earlier than 10am, but this time I just serenely entered it into the calendar and smiled. Of course, because this is me we’re talking about, it wasn’t all plain sailing. Usually I catch a lift to The Bean Counter’s workplace when The Farmer heads into work for the evening; they both work within cooee of each other (but seldom at the same time) and this arrangement stops us having two vehicles for two people. This way I get to give the menagerie their evening feed and only miss one day of chores; it’s a practically perfect plan! That is, except for when The Farmer is not rostered on for the day I want to catch a lift. Yep, it was one of those weeks. Instead, I opted to catch a lift with The Bean Counter when he headed into the salt mine which meant a very early jog around the paddocks, a very blurry-eyed menagerie, two full days away and Farm Girl stepping up to the plate.

Having all that time in town allowed me to run a few errands at shops that adhere to the more conventional hours and still have time for a bit of Urban Outpost gardening and general sprucing up. As the Foo Fighters were in town that evening, playing at Wolfbrook Arena (about 1.5 kilometres by road from the Urban Homestead), I got a little over excited when a helicopter domp-domp-domped overhead as I battled the jungle that is the front verge garden. As it circled the stadium, I waved frantically because you just never know when Dave Grohl might look out and go, “Look at that hard-working person in the oversized blue hat and ill fitting trousers. Let’s land and see if she would like some free tickets to tonight’s concert.” Those are the sort of things that happen every day in my brain but seldom – actually never – in my reality and so it was that they flew off towards the coast to reappear fifteen minutes later and land, not on the road beside me in that devil-may-care way that rock stars apparently have, but at the Arena. The wind was even blowing the wrong way for me to hear their sound check.

Another wonderful thing about having the Urban Outpost in our world is being able to casually visit with folk again; a three quarter of an hour drive is a bit of a deterrent to drop-in visitations. Thusly, we spent a very pleasant evening with The Cat Burglars whose home is also close to the Arena but favourably sited for the wind. I actually registered very little of the clearly audible concert – the conversation was way too good and the wine was flowing – so it’s kind of understandable Dave chose to fly on by. My adoration is conditional and I bear him no malice.

Two days away from routine was something I was dreading a little because it would give me time to ponder. Farm Girl’s surgery is looming (Thursday next week) and the general mood in the Homestead is one of mounting, shrouded anxiety. A little alone time was, in fact, just what the doctor ordered. While the anxiety lingers, all that introspection has left me with clarity regarding the part I can play in proceedings to ease, coddle, protect and placate which is, after all is said and done, the role I feel happiest in. I have a game plan. Just don’t tell me the details of the actual process! Nope, I am not one of those people who needs to know, unlike Farm Girl who is all over it. Shudder.

When The Bean Counter and I returned to the Homestead it was to tantalizing smells from the kitchen, a very happy menagerie, and an orderly home. Farm Girl even dealt with an on-site tradesman and misbehaving chickens. She’s such a grown-up!

To finish this addlepated mash-up, (and so there’s something for you to look at) let’s do the rounds:

Leo suggests the ladies might want to scarper back to the coop; Amelia, Meredith, Cristina and Sandra try to tell me that Farm Girl starved them in my absence; the pigs grow both bigger and friendlier daily; the sheep wonder why I’ve walked all this way if it wasn’t to chuck some sheep nuts around; in the coop the chicks (collectively called Linda) did such a bad job of posing for my equally bad photography I have left that shot out; and the ducks ask what I’m looking at

There’s a new windscreen in the ute (it’s installation supervised by Farm Girl in my absence) and, in the distance, The Tiny Houser’s abode looks very snug and orderly

While in the house, Farm Girl and Colin are taking it easy after two days of holding firmly to the Homestead reins.

This time next week, everything going accordingly, we’ll be out the otherside. Wish us luck!