Too hot in summer, too cold in winter, too dry all the time

For a long time, I loved living in Canberra. Hated the idea of moving there in my teens. Got used to it, realised at 14 that I was stuck there (Dad in the RAAF having been promoted to flying a desk in Canberra for the rest of his career rather than flying actual aircraft) and eventually got to like it. As a parent, it was a great place to raise children. But now, when I come back, it no longer feels like home. I find this fact rather strange after so many years. I think it is because having been a Defence kid (ie nomadic) I grew up not being attached to any one place. I remember being puzzled by the question people always asked when they first met you: where are you from? This question was a hard one to answer. Defence kids are not from anywhere.

I will never be one to bag Canberra out, as seems to be the preferred position of so many ex-ACT types. But I will just say this. It's too cold in winter and too hot in summer and it's too dry all the time. There. I mention this because its too hot and dry in Canberra at the moment and I don't like it.

It was stinking hot yesterday when I drove in and stopped at Lyneham to take in the gig Wim recommended. But the venue is so quirky and friendly and the music so enjoyable that I didn't mind. It was at The Front Cafe, in "the gallery", a faithfully reproduced 60's era house interior, furnished by April from her op-shop business.  http://www.frontgallerycafe.com/
Check this out - Hashemoto singing (minus their pianist).

And this (below) is The Secret Lunch, a gentle, easy trio of musos who all seem to love to sing and play and if you like to listen, well, that's nice too.

Have a look at this venue, see the audience members watching from the comfort of the bed? I was seated comfortably on a piece of 60's garden furniture, with a BBQ and plastic flamingo to my right and an outdoor table on which to rest my drink to my left.

Meanwhile back at Diamond Beach, its been raining. And that means mud. The expanse of mud we face is rather daunting.

I look forward to the day when the washing line area looks more like this (below) taken in our former Fadden garden...

Than this (below) which is the lunar landscape of our current non-garden.

Will we live long enough to make it beautiful? Do we have the stamina? Have we finally bitten off more than we can chew? Am I making regular trips back to Canberra as some unconscious escape mechanism? I do say this to David and he reassures me, in between doing most of the outdoors work himself, that we can do it, we will do it. He also reminds me that the early years of the Fadden garden and the Calwell garden also had me feeling swamped.

Anyway, I'm in Canberra again right now and spent today in the chemo suite with Mae. She's hanging in there, half way through the chemo course now. Each cycle getting a little tougher and taking longer to recover from but she's doing OK.