One Man's Web
The zip up sewing tool case is full of pockets and slots, which carry all the small tools of trade a fabric artist away from home might wish to have with them. I have a similar carrier for the tech tools which allow me to get into computers, fix cables, and extract tight parts. Mine is cheap, mass produced black plastic, with one-size-fits-all elastic loops that don't fit most things. But what my partner has created is a work of art, zipped transparent mesh or vinyl pockets made to size, and other custom sized fabric pockets for tucking in various tools, not all of which I can identify.... Read on >>>>
Mr Eight arrived last night to ask if he could find some Nerf gun bullets that he thought had come over the side fence. As always, he inspected the nursery, which he adores. I had just had the sprinklers on so a few snails had come out to enjoy the fresh green baby tears. He asked if he could go back and get his sister, Miss Three-and-a-Bit, and their cousin who is staying with them, to show them the snails, and raced back home. The cousin, who has met us in the street a couple of times, was a bit cautious about coming in, but was soon swept up in the enthusiasm, and they swarmed through to the kitchen, where the Little White Dog was caught unawares. She politely endured the patting, but gave me a look which I suspect translates as something like, "Now there's three of them! Are they growing them on trees?"
The children streamed on out to the nursery, with Cousin asking, "What is a snail, anyway?" Mr Eight showed off his discovery, and I suggested tapping the top of a snail shell, which delighted him as the snail shrank back into its home. He suggested Miss Three-and-a-Bit try the same, and was told, "I'm not touching that!" At this point, the stray Tortoiseshell arrived, thinking that if the kids were impressed with, it this would aid its campaign to take over the house. But the kids were more interested in exploring the backyard with its big trees. It must be a bit threatening walking between big trees in the deep dusk when you are a very small person, and Miss Three-and-a-Bit made my day by politely requesting that I hold her hand as we searched for the bullets.
We collected a peach each on the way back to the house, and headed for the front door, where Miss Three-and-a-Bit made a joyful right turn into our bedroom, and then into the walk-in wardrobe. "I love this place!" She proudly showed her cousin the toy box with the Duplo. Her brother, not to be outdone, informed both the girls where the real Lego was, "Up there on the top shelf." (The Little White Dog had clearly anticipated this incursion because her normal place on the bed was vacant.) At this point, Four Year Old Cousin decided that her cousins had exceeded the limits of polite behaviour and told me, so politely that I almost expected her to curtsy, "This is a very nice wardrobe."
Well, the tripartite whirlwind of energy took itself home to its own backyard, where we could hear shrieks of laughter start up at the trampoline. The Little White Dog appeared for tea, and I took a few scraps from her tin out for the Tortoiseshell. As I returned to the back door I heard Mr Eight: "Ready? Three... two... one!" He was standing erect on the top of the colorbond fence and plunged down onto the trampoline to shrieks of laughter. I am going to miss these kids when we move.
Andrea (2021 Archived here)
My mum would periodically take one of us kids away for a few days in Adelaide. So it was that I was 8 years old, and in the Clarence Park Methodist Church, when the minister announced the hymn "Jesus Keep Me Near the Cross." I'd never heard it, but something about it captured my imagination and I sang my heart out. I noticed my Mum giving me a startled sidelong glance—we didn't do fervent—but I determinedly ignored her and sang on. As we sat down, I carefully memorised the number so that I could find it back home in Gladstone. It's a schmaltzy hymn, the sort our theology lecturer later advised to avoid when leading worship, and with some reason. But grace has its own accounting. I think that was the day I joined the church.
Andrea August 2026. Archived here)
Marianne was a much beloved wife, grandmother, and great-grandmother. So it says on the little aluminium plaque on a park bench in the Linear Park. There is no doubt she was much loved for there have been flowers under the bench every time I have ridden past for several years. Fresh flowers, changed as often as needed. Always there.
The plaque once disappeared, but only for a day or two. Back on the park bench, it now carries a tiny engraved cat. We concluded Marianne’s beloved cat had also died.
We went interstate for a month’s holidays. Riding to work on the first day back I saw there were no flowers. A riding companion told me they had stopped not long after we left. The man she had occasionally seen bringing the flowers seemed very old, she said. We wondered if he had gone into care, or had died.
I was surprised at my distress over the loss of the flowers. They were an icon of love in a hard world. I wondered about bringing my own; perhaps I could cut bottle brush or banskia out of the thickets in the creek. Or sprays of gum flowers.
But on my last trip in to the city, the flowers were back. Perhaps Marianne’s husband has also been away on holiday.
Andrea Prior (July 2026 Archived here)
