Pandemic Poetry: Poem of the Day, 31 March 2020

Yesterday was Monday, and normally I would have written my weekly blog post at the cafe next to work in the hour before I start. Obviously, that didn’t happen, on the fifth day of our national lockdown. 

But as I pledged to do last week, I’m focusing on the positive. My pandemic poetry, bad as it is, has caught the eye of the neighbours who walk past on their daily outings.

“Mum! There’s another one!” a little girl shouted yesterday.

Mum took it as an opportunity for some homeschooling, having her child sound out the tricky word pandemic.

So the poems are doing exactly what I’d hoped, giving at least a few people something novel and upbeat to discover every day. Easing the strain of our forced solitude, and maybe even eliciting a chuckle now and then.

And when this is over and we can actually go and meet our new neighbours, we’ll have a way to break the ice. I can hear it now …

“Oh, you’re the ones with the poems on the fence!”

Pandemic Poetry: Poem of the Day, 26 March 2020

I’m starting a project today (day 1 of our national lockdown): writing a poem a day. Light, sometimes silly, sometimes thoughtful, and always with the aim to lift spirits. In the spirit of my own crazy living situation, I’m writing the poems on scraps of building paper the builders have left behind and posting them on the builders’ fence for our many dog-walking neighbours to enjoy. I’ll also be posting them here, on FaceBook and Twitter.

Stay safe everyone. Wash your hands, keep your distance, and be kind to everyone.

Oh Christmas Tree!

This time last year, I wrote a blog post about Christmas trees and our family’s unorthodox take on them. I argued that, while our trees may not look like the traditional pine tree, they embody the spirit of the season.

This year’s tree is no exception. After years of suggesting we build the tree out of LEGO, the kids finally agreed. For over a week, the living room floor was a construction zone, strewn with LEGO bricks, mini-figures and gears. The two-metre-tall central structure took two evenings of negotiation, planning and construction. Then there were the branches—marvels of LEGO engineering.

Then came the whimsy—that took the longest. A combination staircase/ ladder/ escalator/ elevator winds upward from level to level. A waterwheel turns lazily on the eighth floor. Gravity takes a holiday as a kayaker paddles straight up, trailing his pet shark on a lead beside him, and emergency personnel (including the undead) carry an injured person up the side of a column. Mini-figures evoke Escher on a section of staircase. A large ship juts from both sides of the trunk, as though the tree grew into place around it. A man fishes from the ninth floor. Motorised gears turn a fantasy clock, spin a merry-go-round, drive a hammer in a dwarven workshop, and spin a star. Under the lowest branches, a kiosk sells tickets to visit the tree.

And all that is before ornaments were added.

Now, mini-figures greet Santa Claus, and a giant butterfly takes flight from the top of the tree. Snowflakes, baubles, and our eclectic mix of homemade ornaments (including the Christmas tardigrade, quite a few insects, and possibly the only Trichonympha ornament on the planet) add to the seasonal cheer. To the Christmas purist, I’m certain our tree is an abomination.

But … evenings of family fun, laughter and creativity—the Christmas season doesn’t get any better. 

See the tree in action:

 

Obsessive Gardening Strikes Again

It’s done! I finally finished planting out vegetables this past weekend. At both houses. And though I said I wasn’t going to, I ended up with nearly full gardens on both properties (never mind how I managed to start so many seeds in the first place…). 

Of course, I justified it with the observation that plants won’t grow well in the new garden—neither the weeds nor the vegetables—so it’s not like that garden will be too much work (yeah, right). 

And it would be a shame not to plant in the old garden one last time and reap the harvest from fifteen years of work on that patch of land (even if I won’t get to harvest it all). It was only logical to plant two full gardens, right?

Logical only if you’re a problem gardener like me. Once again, I’ve proven I have no self-control when it comes to plants. I can already hear my justifications for excessive gardening next year … The soil is so bad at the new place, I’ll have to over plant just to get enough vegetables to eat. I’ll just plant green manures and till them in to improve the soil. I don’t know which varieties will do well in the new garden, so I’ll have to plant lots of different ones … I’m sure I’ll come up with plenty of other justifications, too. It’s hopeless, really. If you put me in an apartment on the twenty-third floor, I’d find some way to grow excessive plants.

At least I know I’m not alone. Just look at the number of gardening blogs out there. And the number of people I see in the garden centres loading up their cars with bags of potting mix and potted plants. And in a few months, the multitude of gate sales of excess vegetables. And the number of people who post proud pictures of their first tomatoes or strawberries of the season on social media. There’s a whole community of obsessive gardeners out there. Come on, pick up your hoe, spading fork, or trowel and join us. We’re always partying in the garden, and there’s usually great food afterwards.