Pigs love Milk

Beautiful Daughter, who you will remember is in Melbourne, still reads the Farmy pages every day.  She was on the phone yesterday. Write more stories, she says.  I said, it is summer here I don’t start the real writing until December 26.  I cannot think of a single story in the summer. I am too busy or my brain is too hot or something.

She laughed, thinking of the many stories I cannot tell.  Tell them. She said.  Tell them how you made us jump off stuff for hours, when we were little, remember? So you could get a shot of all of us in the air.  Tell them you were an avid photographer even then and your kids paid the price. Oh Sops, I said, I am sure it was not hours. We were exhausted, she laughed. I could hear her giggle at the memory on the phone, me in Illinois and she in Melbourne.   I thought how strange  this way of communicating  was, using only the ears.  I wanted to poke her shoulder with my fingertip as she laughed at me!.  She laughed again, and you would say,  Just one more jump! Just once more! Just to be sure! Get back up there and jump off! It is not high! Stop your moaning!

Well, I said. that was in the days of film. I was bracketing!

That girl.

Tell the fence story, she said. No,  I said,  I will not. What are you thinking, like I will tell THAT story.   Why not? she says, across thousands of miles. Tell it.

Are you going to jump the ditch to see me when I am in NZ,  I said.

Yup,  she answers, I have the plane fare in an envelope in with my knickers. You are just like me, I said, I  always save into seperate envelopes too.  Duh, she said (well she didn’t actually say Duh, it was all  on the inside , what she did was sigh just audibly enough to tell her mother that of course she saves into envelopes we ALL do!  Then your savings are in their rightful places, labelled.  Tell the fence story, she said.  No, I said, it will make me look like a bad mother and anyway you were just a baby. Tomorrow, she said knowing when was the exact moment to extract the promise. Saturday, I  said. Because I am the Mother!

I will try.  Things are quiet at the moment, I could probably do a story.

I miss her so. Sometimes I miss my children so much my breath forgets to breathe.

Anyway.  Yesterday. I had made a very good celery soup using my Mothers recipe and then set everything up for some  exceptional food photography photos, I was really styling. But apparently Camera was not styling at all.   It sat on the tripod and was silent.  So I have no images of the soup. I will make this soup again though, there is a lot of lovely celery in the garden this year and it needs to be eaten up.

Later I took the poor unloved Purse Camera, shoved it into my french baggie and went about the business of farming with animals that refuse to behave like well behaved farm animals.

For some obscure reason Sheila pushed the bowl into the corner and then fell over the straining wire in the rush to get to the milk. 

And just stayed like that while they sucked down the milk. 

To take the time to stand up like a proper pig would have meant that Charlotte got more! Funny pig. Pigs love milk.

And peacocks like to sit under the light in the barn. 

Posing. Fat. Peahen. Fattened on my grapes.

Good morning. It is Friday here. Friday is always a busy day.  So tomorrow I will begin to write the story of the boy and the fence.  In fact there are few fence stories now that I think about it.  But The Baby is right.  They like the stories. Everyone needs a good laugh every now and then,  particularly if they get to laugh at their Mum.  Laughing at oneself is good too.

Have a lovely day.

celi

What were we doing on this day a year ago? Let me see. Oh!  I made meatloaf. The Famous Meatloaf.