That’s quite a few of them. If they are lemons, it’s too early to pick them; and if they are lime, it may be a little late for some… I am beginning to think they are lime!
Oh, all the lime recipes to experiment with. So happy.
Since my last visit to Flinders Street Market in June where there was a pompom-making crafternoon, I was on a mission to make a pompom bunting in Juanita Tortilla colours.
There is something cheerful about fluffy pompoms.
And because I can’t stop looking and smiling at them, I decided it was best to take them down from the doorway and drape them on the nails of the wall. Yes, I hit nails into the wall. That was nervous and exciting at the same time, and so committing.
Everybody needs pompoms.
We were greeted by a friendly man Jules, one afternoon in our first week of moving in. He was our next door neighbour looking for the previous owner, but gifted us the big bag of fresh oranges instead. Noting that Jules’ accent was remarkably different yet familiar, I had to ask where that was from. Good old Pennsylvania in the US of A. How refreshing.
These oranges are an annual harvest from a 95-year-old man’s orange tree. (Not Jules.) Being 95 years of age, these oranges were picked from the ground. Each one so fresh, ripe and juicy. We enjoyed these vitamins for days.
I decided not to be rude — after a week of enjoying the oranges — and dug out a suitable card from the chaos that is my work room. This round orange cat print done by my friend in Princeton, Cathy aka Kittybutt, was just perfect. We recently spotted an orange cat of similar size on Jules’ property. They have 4 kitties, and one of them was certainly the biggest orange cat I ever laid eyes on.
Day Two of painting (and home-ownership): we left our rental home early for our house some 30 minutes away to start painting like the tired but excited wall-painters we were. We wanted to get much done in the short winter daylight; it did not occur to us that we had forgotten about breakfast.
Came brunch time, we slipped into the next town, Stirling, and made ourselves comfortable in the swanky Stirling Hotel bistro. Clothes, hair and skin all covered and paint, no less.
Mention ‘Stirling’ or ‘Adelaide Hills’ and one cannot help but sense the air between persons change. Stirling, is what I would call, a posh town. Mind you, I am new to South Australia and did not realise we could be fancy like that.
7am, bright and early, on Thursday morning 26th June, the moving truck and guys we hired showed up. It was show time. Pickle was the first to be loaded into her crate and car, just to get out of harm’s way. She was not too pleased.
Including the 30-minute drive to the hills, it took about 4 hours to move into our new home. That agreed with our estimate.
Pickle took to her new place very quickly like the adventure cat she is.
Our new home location is remarkably colder and wetter than the city, causing Pickle to hibernate during the day and looking forward to the heat by the burner in the evenings. She has her internal clock set for 4:30pm to be fire time, this sweet pussy cat.