BRONWEN HEALY PHOTOGRAPHY

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11 February 2013

The Great House Inspection

No, this is not a Pony related, or even photography related, post.  It's about the Great House Inspection.  Why am I writing it?  Not sure.  Perhaps because the ideas and words came into my head while I was raking up the garden.  Perhaps doing the garden is akin to how it felt when I was cleaning Freelance's stable out and makes your mind spin and think.  

Goodness, how I yearn for those days at times, of getting up and leaving the house before it's fully light. Driving to the paddock in the dark with my headlights on (and in the cold during winter).  Arriving and unlocking the gate, and being greeted by gentle nickering of welcome, that gets louder and more insistent and demanding when the feed bin rattles.  Of unlatching the stable door, and being met with the soft breath, and smell of my mare, who's pleased to see me, but tells me firmly that hugs and kisses wait until after the first large mouthful of breakfast is taken.  Then she bends her head to me, closes her eyes and allows the caress..  After this I'd clean the stable, change her rugs, fiddle about if I wasn't working her that morning, and pop her out in the paddock.  Or, if I was working her, I'd be saddling up while she ate a quick brekky, and we'd try to work on our dressage exercises, then back to do the stable, feed, rugs, paddock, etc, and then I'd rush off to work.  Sigh... it seems like a million years ago, and a whole other life, and a whole other me.  In some ways this is exactly how the last month has felt like.  A whole different world.  And sadly, a whole different me too.  I'm still getting used to this new one.  I liked the promise of the other world better.  And being able to work out what the reality was, well, that's just plain hard.

So.  Back to The House Inspection!  Despite being a home owner, the kids and I are now renting.  We pay a stupid amount of money for a tiny little house.  I'd never rented before in my life, and it was a rude shock to the system.  However I made a little pact with myself that I would be independent post separation.  Not for me a life of expecting and asking the ex other half to come and do my jobs, I am different in more ways than some other people I know of.  I've had some great 'man-friends', who came to my aid a few times, like Brad and Peter.  And my brother, well, he's been a life saver.  This weekend and last he mowed my lawns and did the whipper-snippery thingy as well, and that was fabulous, and helped me take some of the light shades off (humm, biting my lip, we missed a few) to clean out the bugs.  The rest I've largely done myself.  Including raking all the leaves and copious amounts of bark and twigs (large and small) that fall from the 2 ailing and enormous gum trees in the back yard.  Because I'm not a gardener at heart I do it when I have to (ie - at inspection times), and I think my dislike of gardening grew out of gradually having all of the things I liked ripped out, cut out or poisoned at the ex-home.  Even all the bulbs that I'd saved up for, then planted over the years one day got dug up, then dumped on the balcony. I spent a fair bit of time sorting them and dusting them off, only to come home one day and find them gone.  Where did they go?  Same place as the rest.  In the bin.  I think after that episode and when my Banksia Rose, which I actually really liked and gave some shade to the western wing of the house, got poisoned and dug out, I lost all interest in gardening.  

So my back and neck are aching from de-cob-webbing (still refusing to buy a stupidly large pair of pantyhose), raking, sweeping and cleaning windows.  I've vacuumed for the 3rd day in a row.  Mopped my floors twice in 2 days (yes, I did!!!!!).  Cleaned the toilet and the shower and bath.  Tidied the kids rooms (they have a different definition to me obviously, as the 'everything off the floor, beds made" request wasn't really followed through on).  But they have made a real effort in cleaning their rooms and putting their things away.  Did the few things in a bag that I cannot bear to look at end up in the bins and taken away?  Several times they almost did...  But something stopped me from walking them across, and so they have lived to fight another week, where I'll go through the same process next Sunday evening.

Then I can get back to actually doing some work, and that's a good thing, because there is miles and miles to do.  I have things like a whole website redevelopment to tackle, and I'm also trying to get better at self promotion and marketing.  Like others, I don't find it easy either, particularly when I'm at a low ebb, but no one else will do it for me.  Luckily the work is speaking for itself, and that's a great plus to have as well.

My mare, Freelance.
My mare, Freelance.
My mare, Freelance.

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