Mamalade

The attendant at the service station stared at my car, packed with boxes of clothes.

“Are you moving?” she asked.

“No,” I told her, “ Just going home from a jumble sale.”

It was our first winter jumble sale for the year. At our last sale, we sold the summer clothes for $4 a bag, to make room for our winter stock. We also gave some to another organisation. But there was still a lot left.

I had arrived early yesterday morning with a car load of winter clothes. As usual, Mike was already there. Mike has been helping us for years. Its hard to believe he is in his nineties. He had brought out boxes of bric-a-brac and was about to start on the boxes of clothes.

“Don’t bring out the summer clothes, Mike,” I said. “I’ve got a car load of winter stuff.”

He helped me bring in it in. “Thank heavens for wheels!” I said, as we loaded the boxes onto my trolley.

More people brought clothes. We spent the first hour or so pricing things, in between serving customers. There weren’t many people about at first.

“They’re still in bed!” someone said. “It’s too cold to get up early.” It was a really nippy morning. Winter arrived suddenly this week.

The tables were piled high with winter woollies. “We’ll never pack all this in the storeroom – not unless we get rid of the rest of summer clothes.” I left the others to mind the counter and went to tackle the boxes in the storeroom. The things we had weeded out last time had hardly made any difference. The boxes were stacked up to the ceiling. The nearest boxes at the side were full of sheets and curtains – not much use removing them. They’d sell in any season.

The wall of boxes along the front row all contained crockery and bric-a-brac – mostly heavy stuff. It made it hard to get at the rest.

“What do you want to do with them?” asked one of my helpers.

“I don’t know.” It seemed an impossible task. I tried to reach a box further back.

“Here, I’ll do it!” She managed to wiggle the box out.

Somehow we dug down to the summer clothes and filled some big big bags with most of them. “It’s no use keeping them,” I said. “If no one wanted them all summer, they’re not likely to sell next year.” We just kept the very best for next summer.

I think we moved every box. There wasn’t time to sort them all, so my friend carried out a lot of boxes and packed them into my car to sort at home. There wasn’t room for another thing.

Then there were all the bags we had filled. I was relieved when someone offered to take them to St Vinnies.

Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could just send the clothes directly to people who don’t have enough! We all have so much here, while people in some parts of the world are wearing rags. But then, a lot of our clothing wouldn’t be suitable for their climate or culture – and the cost of getting them there makes it impossible.

We had a lot of customers after all – they were just a bit slow at first. We made over $300 for the Bamboo Shoot Centre for street children in Cambodia.

I was glad we had plenty of helpers when it was time to pack up. The winter clothes were packed away in no time and fitted easily into our now tidied store room..

I was exhausted. “I don’t care if the summer things stay in my car for weeks,” I said. “I just won’t do any shopping or pick up any passengers.”

But after a good nights sleep last night, I tackled the job this morning. I’ve salvaged a couple of boxes for next year and the rest is bagged up to pass on somewhere else. Just as well. I’ll have to take another load of winter things next week!

Fairytale weddings

I’ve just been watching the highlights of the Spanish Royal Wedding. It’s a bit rich, isn’t it – two royal weddings in two weeks! Last week I sat up late and watched our own Mary Donaldson from Australia marry the Prince of Denmark. Just imagine, meeting a prince in an Australian pub! It’s better than anything the Grimm brothers or Hans Christian Anderson came up with. She didn’t even have to kiss any frogs!

Next month our World Vision club is going to have its own “Royal Morning.” We weren’t even thinking of the wedding when we planned it – we were trying to think of a theme for our next “do” and someone suggested, since its near the Queen’s birthday (not her real birthday, but the day we celebrate it here in Australia) that we dress up in all our finery and jewels and have some fun. I must dust off my tiara. I think there’s one in the kid’s dress up box – if not, Crazy Clarks might still have one for about $2. It’ll be a hoot!

strletzia

Strelitzia Lots of laughs this week at our Games Morning. At our table we played “Articulate,” the game where you try to get your team to guess the word on your card. I had trouble describing “Bird of Paradise.” “A creature with wings,” I said, “in a heavenly place.”

Of course, they guessed angels and other heavenly beings. The timer ran out and I had to tell them the answer.

“Oh dear,” my gardening friend gasped, wiping her eyes, “why didn’t you just say ‘Strelitzia?’”

I should have thought that. I have a Strelitzia (or Bird of Paradise) plant in my garden.

Attack – by a hose

I was watering my plants the other day when my neighbour poked his head through the gap in the Acalypha bushes along the fence.

“Do you want some bulbs?” he called.

I never turn down an offer like that. I parked my hose in the handy wire hose holder gadget that Frances had got at the market for me and clambered through the narrow space between the potted plants to where my neighbour was.

“What are they?” I asked.

“I don’t know.” They look like trumpets – four on a stalk.”

“Sounds like Hippeastrums.” I love these big words. If I say them confidently enough, people think I’m quite knowledgeable – even when I’m bluffing!

He handed me the bulbs and we talked for a few minutes, then I turned to go back the way I had come. Alas, the hose had come off the holder; it had reared up like a vicious snake ready to strike and was swaying back and forth across the narrow track I had made through the plants.

“Shoo,” I said. I picked up an empty pot and threw it at the hose. It reared higher and waved menacingly in my direction. It was a cold morning and I didn’t fancy getting soaked. I debated whether to ask my neighbour to help me over the fence into his yard or to go over the back fence and run around the block.

I finally managed to climb over some of the plants (I think I broke a few stalks) and squeezed myself along by the fence behind the shed. I ran and turned off the tap.

“Hah, I fooled you!” I said to the hose as it dropped limply to the ground.

That’s when I heard my phone ringing.

“It’s about time you got out of the shower,” said my gardening friend’s voice. “That’s the only place you could have been to take so long!”

“No I wasn’t,” I told her. “I was trying to keep out of a shower!”

She laughed when I told her what had happened. “I wish I’d been there with a video camera.!” she said.

She had rung to tell me she had found a doona for her elderly friend. (Last week she had asked me if there were any among our jumble sale stuff.) My friend doesn’t have a car, so she uses an old pram to transport her heavy shopping. She had found the doona in an op shop, and took it home rolled up, on top of several bags groceries in the pram. She got some strange looks as she walked down through the main street, then she realised she must look like a homeless bag lady.

“I wish I’d been there with a camera!” I said.

The day before our street stall, a woman rang me before I was properly awake. “When is your stall?” she asked.

“Tomorrow.” I said sleepily.

“I must have got the wrong day,” she said. “We’ve just been down and back with plants for you. We’ll come again tomorrow. I didn’t wake you up, did you?”

“Oh…. no,” I said. “Thankyou very much.” I wasn’t awake enough to tell her that we wouldn’t be there at the crack of dawn.

I wouldn’t have taken so many plants myself if I had known there would be so many! I went early next morning with my car laden with plants, books, cakes and crockery. One of our helpers picked up Mum with all the things she had made (she never stops sewing!) and the tables. When we arrived, our kind benefactors had already been and gone – and left about about seven big boxes of plants, as well as some very big potted Frangipanni. Three more people also brought plants. It took ages to set them all up. There were boxes and boxes full of Palms. I put a low price on them so I wouldn’t have to take them all home, but a lot of our customers gave us a bit extra, anyway. There are some nice people around.

A woman asked me if I had a certain fern. “You know, the one that looks like a cat’s tail,” she said. I told her I might be able to bring her one next time. “I’ve been looking for it for a long time,” she said. “I know someone who has it,”(she named a woman who I know has a rather caustic tongue. “But I wouldn’t ask her for a piece,” she said, “Life is already too short!”

A frail elderly woman (she looked at least eighty) told us she had sore ribs. “I fell off the dining room table,” she said. “It was 1 a.m. I was trying to change a light bulb. I remember looking up, then I don’t know what happened. I must have gone to sleep!”

When our helper came back later to pick up the tables, she had trouble backing her car in and asked me to do it. Me! (I’ll have to tell Joel this one!) I looked at her shiny new car. “I can only drive an automatic,” I protested.

“This is an automatic,” she reassured me. “I’m no good at reversing.”

I gingerly climbed in and very slowly and carefully manoevered it forward and back. It was a bit tricky. I’m better at reversing around another car – it gives me something to guage the distance by, but this was on a bend near the pedestrian crossing, and there was a lot of traffic passing. Finally, I parked very neatly, only way out from the curb. “That’s perfect,” called someone. “Now just come a few feet sideways!”

The security guard standing outside the bank must have enjoyed the performance. It probably brightened his tedious day, since there were no bank robberies that day.

We had sold a lot, but I still had boxes and boxes of plants to take home. A couple of people helped out by taking a few boxes. I couldn’t have possibly fitted them all in my car.

“I’ll catch the bus,” said my friend, who I usually drive home after a stall.

“No, you won’t,” I said. “Sit in the car and I’ll pack things around you.” She had to put her feet in an empty box and hold three more on her lap. She couldn’t see where she was going, but it didn’t matter – she wasn’t the driver.

Unpacking the car when I got home was another big job.

The next day, I did nothing!

It’s hard to believe it’s May already. It doesn’t seem long since I was complaining about the heat. Well, we have nothing to complain about now. The nights are cool enough to snuggle under a doona with a pussy cat – or whatever else takes your fancy – and the days are warm and sunny.

Joel and Frances had a garage sale on Saturday. I went round to keep an eye on the kids. They were very good. I think they enjoyed having us all outside. So did Nelson (their Corgi) He ran to meet everyone who arrived. He seemed to think they were all coming to visit him. He’s much more active since his operation. “Like a new dog,” Frances says. The tumour must have been sapping his energy.

An elderly man came and asked if Joel had any old car parts from the 1920’s. He named a few old car models, then he turned to me and said, “You’d remember them, wouldn’t you?”

No, I’m not that old!

Miles scraped his finger on something and insisted on a band-aid to make it better.

“I can’t see any blood,” I said.

“Yes, it’s bleeding,” Miles squeezed his finger until a tiny pin prick of blood was barely visible. “It needs a band-aid.”

I put one on it to humour him.

Later, he took the band-aid off to show Frances his injury.

“It looks alright to me,” said Frances.

“See, Meemar,” Miles turned to me triumphantly. “It’s better. I told you it needed a band-aid!”

Two-year-old Hayley loves to play hide-and-seek. She climbed into the kitchen cupboard where Frances keeps all her Tupperware and other plastic stuff. She called to me, “I’m being quiet! I’m being quiet! I’m being QUIET, Meemar! MEEMAR! I’M BEING QUIET!!!”

Today, I’ve been sorting pot plants and getting some ready for our street stall on Friday. I ended up repotting a lot. That won’t help for Friday – it should have been done weeks ago, but they will be ready for some other time. I don’t think I really like plants in pots. It’s like keeping birds in cages. I think they should be free to grow as nature intended.

Still, I spend more time on pot plants than I do on the rest of the garden, simply because I can sell them. It makes money for the World Vision projects we are supporting, and that sets people free! I just hope that whoever buys my plants will set them free in an open garden.