The Gate And The Bold And The Beautiful
Without Prejudice
Me, getting nice and tanned, doing the garden.
The Gate from the skip.
The Garden Yvette wants me to create.
It began four years ago. I wanted my own access to my unit. To gain this I had come up with the brilliant idea of a gate at the far side of the families house. No need to be tip toeing past their bedroom or family room, privacy. I visualised a gate a path on the blind side of the house, a quaint gate, a flower surrounded path of Lilydale topping.
That was all, a simple timber gate that allowed me freedom.
I did the trip to Bunnings and although gates were cheap and plentiful, I wasn't sure I could do it by myself. I have built fences and hung gates but the whole methodology outwitted me. I did mention I am blonde ?
So I asked a friend, a fencer, he came, promised a gate,
never saw him again.
I asked my son in law, who is friendly, lively and fit. It never happened.
I asked my Grandsons, I have 7, not all live at home anymore, they are grown, fit, strong,
never happened.
The side but where I wanted the gate was a mess. Mud, old bikes, old toys, weeds, dirt and a strip of concrete from the family house laundry, to the Hills Hoist.
So no progress at all until the recent beautiful Spring weather. I imagined the gate, the garden path of which I could be lead down, (jks). I could see a warm glowing yellow light at the front of the gate. My own entry, mine, for my visitors, for me struggling with the shopping, being able to access the backyard where my unit lies, easily.
No more struggling with the main gates, standing on a half brick or log, to reach over and undo the D
latch and striker on the other side. No more wrestling with the demented Alsatian pup, who is
convinced every time I go out I am never returning. And tries to either trip me up while I am laden like a beast of burden with bags of heavy shopping rendering me useless or eat the shopping by jumping on me and it.
It's a bit of a struggle some times.
My daughter gave me a photo of a side garden and I was transfixed, in love with it.
It wasn't going to be just a gate, anymore, suddenly we had a " project ". We love a project. Before
baby Shilo was born, the only girl, we spent twenty eight days working 16 hour days to make a room for her. We were knackered at the finish. On the last night I walked inside my unit and put my hand face down on a piece of clean kitchen paper. The imprint was black. I still have it somewhere.
So fed up of waiting and being over promised and under delivered I grabbed a rusty old saw and marched out to the paling fence at the side of the house and started sawing. By a happy coincidence I had been to my old in laws house and found a gate in the skip. Home made with inserts of shade
cloth.
Something made by my Father In Law who I adored.
It took five hours and then some help by my Son In Law to chop the palings and rails out and fit the little gate. But we just kept going. Once we were finished we could relax but that gate was going in come hell or high water. That day or else. Apropos of nothing, my hands had never looked worse.
My daughter, Yvette, the second oldest insisted we pick up everything from her Grand Dad and Grand ma's house. Every hand made flower pot, every rusty tool, a peg tin that he made still hanging on the pole of the washing line, a small house full.
We made trip after trip, a Malvern Star bicycle, cupboards, shelving, old tools, plants, old recipes,
hand made sweaters, crocheted beaded jug covers, a Yates catalogue from 1941, things that had to be De rusted, Arnotts old biscuit tins, some of the things had come from the old farm, Mandalay. The work was slow, the pick up rushed, as my ex husbands family just wanted it gone.
His Family was great. He never came to help, but no one speaks to him, so no great loss. It began as a gate taken out of a skip and became a flood of beautiful things that we saw as treasures. Memories. So we just kept going.
A few of the " treasures"
I had never in my life been more exhausted or in more pain, back, shoulder, bruising, a broken toe, so at the end of my long day I slump in front of the t.v. At 4.30 every day without fail, a cup of coffee, a piece of chocolate and watch the Bold. Not hard to watch, beautiful people, exotic locations, unbelievable drama. But I love it. Drink up every scene, eat my chocolate and drain my cup and go back to work. No rest for the wicked et al
Me, getting nice and tanned, doing the garden.
It began four years ago. I wanted my own access to my unit. To gain this I had come up with the brilliant idea of a gate at the far side of the families house. No need to be tip toeing past their bedroom or family room, privacy. I visualised a gate a path on the blind side of the house, a quaint gate, a flower surrounded path of Lilydale topping.
That was all, a simple timber gate that allowed me freedom.
I did the trip to Bunnings and although gates were cheap and plentiful, I wasn't sure I could do it by myself. I have built fences and hung gates but the whole methodology outwitted me. I did mention I am blonde ?
So I asked a friend, a fencer, he came, promised a gate,
never saw him again.
I asked my son in law, who is friendly, lively and fit. It never happened.
I asked my Grandsons, I have 7, not all live at home anymore, they are grown, fit, strong,
never happened.
The side but where I wanted the gate was a mess. Mud, old bikes, old toys, weeds, dirt and a strip of concrete from the family house laundry, to the Hills Hoist.
So no progress at all until the recent beautiful Spring weather. I imagined the gate, the garden path of which I could be lead down, (jks). I could see a warm glowing yellow light at the front of the gate. My own entry, mine, for my visitors, for me struggling with the shopping, being able to access the backyard where my unit lies, easily.
No more struggling with the main gates, standing on a half brick or log, to reach over and undo the D
latch and striker on the other side. No more wrestling with the demented Alsatian pup, who is
convinced every time I go out I am never returning. And tries to either trip me up while I am laden like a beast of burden with bags of heavy shopping rendering me useless or eat the shopping by jumping on me and it.
It's a bit of a struggle some times.
My daughter gave me a photo of a side garden and I was transfixed, in love with it.
It wasn't going to be just a gate, anymore, suddenly we had a " project ". We love a project. Before
baby Shilo was born, the only girl, we spent twenty eight days working 16 hour days to make a room for her. We were knackered at the finish. On the last night I walked inside my unit and put my hand face down on a piece of clean kitchen paper. The imprint was black. I still have it somewhere.
So fed up of waiting and being over promised and under delivered I grabbed a rusty old saw and marched out to the paling fence at the side of the house and started sawing. By a happy coincidence I had been to my old in laws house and found a gate in the skip. Home made with inserts of shade
cloth.
Something made by my Father In Law who I adored.
It took five hours and then some help by my Son In Law to chop the palings and rails out and fit the little gate. But we just kept going. Once we were finished we could relax but that gate was going in come hell or high water. That day or else. Apropos of nothing, my hands had never looked worse.
My daughter, Yvette, the second oldest insisted we pick up everything from her Grand Dad and Grand ma's house. Every hand made flower pot, every rusty tool, a peg tin that he made still hanging on the pole of the washing line, a small house full.
We made trip after trip, a Malvern Star bicycle, cupboards, shelving, old tools, plants, old recipes,
hand made sweaters, crocheted beaded jug covers, a Yates catalogue from 1941, things that had to be De rusted, Arnotts old biscuit tins, some of the things had come from the old farm, Mandalay. The work was slow, the pick up rushed, as my ex husbands family just wanted it gone.
His Family was great. He never came to help, but no one speaks to him, so no great loss. It began as a gate taken out of a skip and became a flood of beautiful things that we saw as treasures. Memories. So we just kept going.
A few of the " treasures"
I had never in my life been more exhausted or in more pain, back, shoulder, bruising, a broken toe, so at the end of my long day I slump in front of the t.v. At 4.30 every day without fail, a cup of coffee, a piece of chocolate and watch the Bold. Not hard to watch, beautiful people, exotic locations, unbelievable drama. But I love it. Drink up every scene, eat my chocolate and drain my cup and go back to work. No rest for the wicked et al
