• Completing my second assignment for my diploma in photography, which took all day Friday. I am now considerably more knowledgeable in the fine arts of employing Aperture Priority, ISO and Shutter Speed and am ready to move onwards and upwards from selecting that dull but very comfortable Automatic mode on my camera’s function dial.
• Painting my toenails Dark Metallic Purple. Definitely in the tiny achievement category as nobody sees ‘em but I know they’re pretty and that just makes me feel better.
• Making a photo slideshow of the past four years of living here at the Kiwifruit Homestead and Gaming Emporium to show at Mum’s birthday dinner last night and the reward of hearing the laughter and words of admiration from my family. “Just wonderful!” was Mum’s opinion. Happy birthday Mum!
• Cooking the first Beef and Cheese pie for the winter on Friday night. Second only in deliciousness to my speciality of Chicken, Ham and Leek, even if I do say so myself, and I do. The Other Harf definitely does: he had a leftover wedge for breakfast Saturday morning.
• Pulling out the two swan plants in my garden (bought all the way from my aunty’s garden in Gisborne four years ago as seedlings) after finally accepting the fact that they are both well and truly dead and their days of being a feast for the local Monarch butterfly population are over. Boohoo!
• Doing the housework in a record breaking two hours with the music cranked up loud Saturday morning while everybody was out. A little bit of Dragon, some Ladyhawke and some Blondie turned up louder than the vacuum cleaner worked wonders.
• And to achieve for the rest of this last weekend in May (can you believe it? The last weekend in May already??!) – watching The Great Gatsby on DVD (read the book but I’ve never seen the movie), persuading the Other Harf that it’s his turn to cook dinner (a ginormous chicken currently defrosting on the bench) and cutting Miss 9.8′s very long and extremely-annoying-to-look-at fringe.

Dad’s carving a Tiki out of an old piece of kauri flooring. Can’t wait to see the finished result…

It’s a chilly, damp Humpday and the fires are blazing both in the dining room (per left, on drying laundry duty) and in the lounge (on warming humans and dog duty).

The Other Harf is cooking up Butter Chicken for dinner, and not long after that I plan to head for bed and our beloved ‘leccy blanket, set at No 3 for maximum toastiness, and try and shift this good for nothing cough/cold combo I’ve picked up from some germy cretinous co-worker.
Blurk!

Bring on tomorrow, as tomorrow’s my last day of work for the week, as I’ve booked a day’s leave Friday (also known as Fi-day) to catch up with my photography assignment and, let’s be honest, have a bloody good lie-in!

Lie-ins, woo-hoo!

I don’t know if it’s anything to do with the freaky weather that’s been going on over the past week (torrential rain, thunderstorms with proper scary forked lightning, glorious sunburn-strength sunshine, mist, fog and more torrential rain) but suddenly there’s been an explosion of all things fungi-ish round our way.

For those crazy, deluded people who enjoy mushrooms, having them pop on the roadside and all over the paddocks FREE for the taking is an unexpected delight. The Other Harf had one on his burger last night and pronounced it “deeee-lish-us!” and Lil’Sis has been cooking up a mushroomy storm over at the Beige Barn, much to Bruvinlaw’s horror.

He and I compared notes this morning and both agreed: no matter what you do with them or how you cook them, mushrooms always taste of rubber crossed with dirt with a little bit of mould on the side.

Except of course if you chop them up into small slices, coat them in breadcrumbs, deep-fry them and smother them in garlic mayo.

Then, and only then, are they tolerable.

This morning I set aside my bowl of Hubbards Light & Rite Apricot Shine Fruity Flakes, fetched my camera from the study, went out onto the verandah and zoomed in on this fabulous sunrise.

As I took the shot, just before the sun rose that fraction too far and completely flooded the lens, I thought to myself that even after four years (to the date – we picked up the keys on Friday the 19th of May 2006) I still can’t believe I get to call this place home.

Lucky, lucky me.

Centre: Miss 9.8′s new gumboots, which must be worn all day. Clockwise from top left: Freckles in da house, garden tools are kept here, Dad mowing the lawn on his beloved John Deere, run Max run!, mysterious grass “crop circles” in the front paddock, Home Sweet Home, the last of the tomatoes, pansies galore, beetrot leaf, sunshiny view, Pippa says relax, Boris looking very pleased with his delicious dinner…

• Dodging the rain showers. At last Northland was deluged, dumped on and drenched with proper, solid, stair-rod rain. Yay!
• Wondering, why is that you asked to be my friend on Facebook, but yet you won’t say hello to me when you walk past me in the office? I’m going to delete you, that’s what I’m going to do. Bwah ha hah!
• Feeling very proud of the Other Harf. Reports are he’s doing a great job, and it’s looking promising that his contract just might be extended to the end of July. *grins*
• Browsing the wonderful Bookabach for our holiday in October. Criteria? Cosy, conveniently located bach near New Plymouth, base for a week of exploring Taranaki. Am picturing walking along driftwood-scattered beaches, taking photos galore, snuggling up by the fire and spending lots of time with my most loved ones.
• Gathering confidence. I bought myself some proper skinny jeans this week and this morning I put them on (Fridays are always dress-down in my office) and thought to myself I may be 40 and tending to the curvier side of a size 14 but I look fine in these with that big long floaty top to cover my butt. I really do. I will wear them today.
  
• Appreciating my morning hallway hug from Miss 9.8. Every weekday morning she springs me mooching up the hallway on the way to the shower with “Mummy! Give me a hug!” which I duly provide in a half-awake state. As my friend Ethel (mother to a 16 year-old boy who doesn’t “do” hugs anymore) pointed out to me, lap it up while I can, ‘cos it ain’t gonna last forever…
• Hitting the library – seven magazines and three books (including Edward Rutherfurd’s doorstopper, New York) later, I am fully stocked up for a month’s worth of reading. Nice!
• Looking forward to the freakin’ weekend, baby! And finally, it’s here. Oh, yeah…

Holy schmoke people, did I ever get walloped by Mondayitis this morning. It was as if Mondayitis (in the form of a large, grey-shaped blob with paddles for hands) let itself into our bedroom at @6.23am and gave me a big, resounding slap round the chops!

Work, wah! Getting out of bed, wah! All I wanted to do was curl up under the covers and pretend alarm clocks and mornings and routines did not exist.

As I poddled along at work, trying to ignore the fact that I had another four.whole.days. of desk-jockeying to go through before the weekend (and good things, like gardening, lying in bed, reading, photography, watching cheesy movies, spending time with Miss 9.8) turned up again, I thought to myself, why? What was going on in my life that Mondayitis could deal to me in such a way?

I’ve decided it’s a lack of A Big Something To Look Forward To. A BSTLFT keeps me sane. It’s keeps me getting up of a weekday. It’s like a shining light on the horizon and everyday I step closer and closer to it and eventually I bask in its glow!

What I need is that proper holiday, the one I mentioned in this post. I need to plan it, I need to set a date, set a location, organise it.

And it needs to be soon….