toast for tea

I lie in bed listening to the rain pelting the ground outside my bedroom window with such ferocity, I can’t get back to sleep. With this volume of water I know it will be pouring off the north side of the house in sheets; the gutters need cleaning and I’ve been remiss in getting them done. Should I get up and see whether the towel I stuffed under the back door before I went to bed is saturated? What about the balcony above the bathroom – should I don my raincoat and check the water is getting away fast enough, not backing up and pouring down the bathroom walls like it did a couple of months ago. If I go out with the broom I could redirect it. What about the fresh load of topsoil on the front garden. Will there be any left by morning? If only the landscapers had mulched before the weekend. At three o’clock in the morning, my vulnerability to the elements feels scary and depressing. A far cry from my usual experience – stretching back to childhood – of loving the rain at night: lying i...

My dear friend I hung out the washing earlier and  thought of you, remembered that time I visited. You were down the back at the line with a mountain of clothes and I helped you peg them. You'd started to look weary. I let the chooks out today. Only two of them left now. They still make a mess of the garden. It’s amazing how much earth they move in a day. So much for my new mulch and all the raking I did last week. Still, I couldn’t leave them locked up on such a lovely day. There’s something relaxing about having them nearby, watching them scratch, scratch, scratch, step back then peck something delectable from the ground. Days like this are exquisite: warm enough to sit out on the deck, not too hot, the sounds of the birds and the water feature in the background, and still January – before the weight of another year of working weeks settles on my shoulders. You’d never guess what I saw, just now. A blackbird came down to the birdbath under the orange tree. I love the way ...

Christmas Day takes a year to arrive and then it’s over in a woosh. Well, that’s how it feels to me. Perhaps if you didn’t have anyone to be with on Christmas Day or the people you spent the day with drove you crazy you might not agree. I tried really hard to be ready for Christmas this year instead of it creeping up on me when I wasn’t looking. But it did anyway. It crept up even with me keeping a close watch out for signs – like a plethora of biscuit tins in the stationary aisle at the supermarket and the humungous decorations the council hang from the light poles. I did manage to get the cards posted – well, okay, the overseas ones will probably arrive a tad after Christmas. I got the presents thought about, bought and wrapped. And I was going to put the tree up. Actually, that’s a bit of an untruth. I had no intention of putting the tree up. I made a decision not to have a tree this year because we were going to have Christmas Day at my father’s house and my teenagers were both ...

My dog, Milly, and I have a few things in common: we believe a long walk is a daily necessity, good for emptying – she, her bladder, me, my head; forty winks on the couch is so much better when you’ve got each other for a hot water bottle – except on a Melbourne forty-plus killer; we’d sell our souls for a decent backrub; we’re chocoholics; and we love a good novel. The liking for chocolate is a bit of a worry. Though to be truthful, for me it’s an indulgence-slash-addiction I have no intention of ever trying to conquer. To overcome my chocolate habit would be tantamount to donating my tastebuds to science. I’m never doing it. It’s another matter for the dog, however. For her, chocolate, for all its sublime slide-down-your-throat-on-velvet-rollerblades allure, is toxic. Chocolate contains a compound called theobromine – a stimulant and diuretic – which dogs cannot digest. In large enough quantities – and for a small dog this could mean only a few squares of chocolate – it can be f...

So much has happened since Dog Gone was launched at the Melbourne Writers Festival. What a whirlwind few months it’s been – the reason this post is so overdue. When I look back I can’t believe I’ve managed all I have between packing up the house, moving into a hotel then back into the house again. I certainly wouldn’t have chosen it, but having an unexpected renovation thrown into the mix of our already hectic lives hasn’t been all bad. The house looks great – apart from the front fence – some of which is still in a crumpled heap on the nature strip. (Think steep driveway, wet day, plaster delivery.) The launch was so much fun. Elly Varrenti was wonderful considering she’d had such an awful couple of weeks beforehand . Euan Mitchell introduced us and after Elly spoke I gave a bit of background to the book and read out some of the funny bits. Everyone laughed and groaned in the right places, which was a most satisfying feeling. It was fantastic to see so many people come down to ...

The fantastic news is it’s FINISHED! And ELLY VARRENTI is launching it at the Melbourne Writers Festival . EVERYBODY is invited! Date: Sunday 5th September 2010 Time: 4pm Place: Melbourne Writers Festival           Feddish Cafe Bar           River Terrace, Federation Square           RSVP: carolepoustie@optusnet.com.au

It’s a Monday morning and I’ve just finished eating a breakfast of fresh fruit and yoghurt; bacon and eggs, tomato and pan-fried mushrooms; a freshly baked croissant with strawberry jam; and at least three cups of brewed coffee. The big band sound of muted trumpets and the voice of Frank Sinatra wafts overhead. I never have coffee for breakfast. Nor, I don’t think, have I ever eaten mushrooms this early in the day. But then I don’t usually start my day off in the dining room of the local motel. It’s a far cry from my usual routine of muesli and yoghurt eaten on the run between trips to the station and bus stop with teenagers. And today I feel displaced. The dining room is opulent. White table cloths, a waiter in black, cushioned wicker chairs, remarkably real-looking fake palm trees. Business people arrive for breakfast meetings; a young couple lean in towards each other, deep in conversation; there is applause from a conference room to the side. It feels surreal, me here on my own...