I've been quietly, predictably plodding along, being me, sitting in the background, just being there in in case anyone wanted to stop by and take a break from the craziness of the world. And if it gave them a reason to smile at something that's in it's own way a little bit crazy, then that can't be a bad thing.
A couple of people I know have been making their way along the rocky and bumpy road of finding a place where they could feel happy, feel right, feel good.
It's been a hard journey for them, but I think they've reached their goal, and that makes me smile.
Maybe I'm giving myself too much credit in thinking I've been some kind of "sanity saver", ha ha, but my part doesn't matter.
What matters is that they're happy.
Takeaway, the girl possum who lives here, (although maybe I shouldn't call her a girl, she must be the best part of four years old, now, and she's had three young ones).
Alright, I should stop myself there. "Lives here" really isn't an accurate description.
How about Takeaway, whose garden this is...
Anyway, Takeaway's youngest turned 6 months old a good couple of months back, and seems not to have read the memo about turning 6 months old.
The conventional wisdom is that young possums move out from the maternal "nest", and after a couple of weeks of whining and complaining, go off, find a place of their own, and make their way in the world.
That's the idea, anyway.
It worked with her older sister, and older brother, even if they still do drop by, occasionally.
No, not Donny (Her name's Donnybrook; when she was still in her mother's pouch she'd wriggle, and you could have been forgiven for thinking, the way that the pouch walls distorted and moved, that she wasn't alone in there and a donnybrook was taking place. It was a very strange sight).
Donny was pretty easy going about moving out of the maternal nest. Not too much whining, not too much yelling.
As for ever venturing much past the fence, no, that wasn't to her taste,
She took up residence in the spare possum house in the middle of the garden.
Takeaway is not the world's most graceful landlady. That's putting it lightly.
I think the expression "Prepare to repel all boarders" might be fitting.
She guards her garden jealously, chasing off all and any.
But she's remarkably tolerant of Donny. It doesn't mean she doesn't tease her - she'll lunge at her, or start to chase her, just to make her run off, but on the whole the two of them get along really well.
Anyway, I'm rambling on, again. I'm sure you've got better things to do with your time than listen to me drone on about possums.
I like your stories ecar, missed them, in fact.
Was smiling, imagining Takeaway and Donny.....2 girls, mashing it up the way some mums and daughters do..Amusing.
thanks for that 
Raining, today.
I should take advantage of the fact that there's little else on TV than politicians being politicians, and do something productive with my time.
I had an idea for a toy, I wrote down some notes and sketched out a diagram and even went as far as to starting to make one of the panels for the box it sits on, but then I got sidetracked.
There's a piece of plank resting against the fence, making a neat little inverted V shape, and the sparrows think it's great, especially today, with the weather. They're hopping in and out, happy as anything. I think, if I tried to build a little shelter like that, they'd ignore it. They've paid no attention to the bird house that I built for them. The possums have, however, made use of it - they've been gnawing it, sharpening their teeth on it. They've left scrape marks around the hole, on the front panel. I wondered what was going on, at first, when I saw that, I couldn't help but wonder if the sparrows were sending me a not to subtle message, ha ha.
Just to go back to the toy, for a minute, itt's a little bear sitting in front of a short cylinder, that looks like a drum. The idea with the mechanism is that it'll raise one arm, then lower it, then raise the other arm, and lower it so it looks like it's drumming. It's the same idea as piano players - one hand up, one hand down, and they alternate.
Early on in the piece I laughingly referred to it as the little drummer bear, and the name's stuck in my head, now, ha ha.
Just to keep you amused, here's an oldie but a goodie - the pocket acrobat bear.
You hold the beads, at the end of the stick he's holding onto, between your thumb and forefingers, and then gently roll your thumbs up and down. That turns the beads, and the stick, and the little bear flips up and over the stick, just like an acrobat.
Hi Amber.
This is Travis, a rescue bear from the tip. He was missing an eye when I got him, so I made him an eye patch.
I suppose, in hindsight, I could have gone to a chemist and bought an eye patch, but I can imagine the awkward conversation - "Hello, can I help you?", "Yes, I'd like to buy an eye patch for my teddy bear...".
LOL.
Here's a bigger photo of him.
I couldn't leave him there, in a tin shed, next to a tip. He's hand made, somebody had loved him at some stage, it didn't seem right to put him back in the stuffed toys bin just because he had one eye, and was a bit worn in places, so he came home with me.
