Render Me Sandstone

It's something I have been meaning to do all school holidays. In fact it has needed doing since Dad died fourteen years ago. The entire side of the house, an addition to the original sandstone house, has needed to be rendered. There was some outline of the sandstone blocks but they were gray in colour and the mortar between the blocks was sloppy and unsightly.

I got out there yesterday and began, full of steam. I felt very connected to Dad because this may have been one of his last projects. I worked away with my bucket of sandstone coloured cement, cold chisel and 'No Frills' washing up gloves.

The procedure went something like this: Mix a batch of architectural cement and add colour to taste (?) then throw in a slurp of Cem-stick (to keep it on the wall). Scrub the block in question with a rough dry scrubbing brush to get rid of cobwebs the chisel all around the edges to make it smooth and stone block shaped. Use a hammer if needed. Take a handful of cement mixture and rub all over the entire block thoroughly. Smooth the edges with fingertip and gently graze off excess from surface. Make sure blocks below are clean of drips. Assess the job you have done and decide if you like it. If you don't there is not much you can do. Move onto the next block. Remember, once all this is done the cracks between the blocks will need to be coloured a believable mortar colour (not dark gray)

It took me three hours of kneeling and reaching, knocking dags off the blocks and into my eyes and two pairs of rubber gloves. By the time I called it a day I was exhausted and dirty with a very damaged right hand. The gloves had torn (twice) and let the cement mixture seep in and burn my skin.

Day two did not begin with such optimism. I was filthy with Dad for not getting it done properly in the first place. I'm sure it's not right to be so angry with someone who can't defend themselves, but I couldn't help it. This house is a project that has been going on for twenty-five years this year and I'm sure it should have been done by now.

In any case, there was no avoiding the giant gray wall that stood before me. I had to tackle it; burnt hand or no. It was tougher the second day because I was having trouble telling which blocks I had done and which I hadn't. It was then that I realised some had been done a really long time ago. They were still all sloppy around the edges, but in the middle there was definitely sandstone looking stuff there. Hurrah! Dad had done the work - it just seemed that in time his work had washed away and all that remained were the blocks that had been protected from the weather.

I rallied at that thought and got half of the long side of the wall done. I found industrial gloves so my hands had to bare no further damage and I found that we had a whole range of colours to play with. Once I had finished for the day I stepped back and looked at it. I had been finding myself getting fixated with detail and wasn't really liking what I was creating. However, from a distance it looked pretty good.

Mum came outside and gave ma a pat on the back.
"Good job. Now you just have to put up with people admiring it."

And I have to finish the rest of it.

The Knee - In case you wanted to ask

Lots of people ask me what happened to my knee. I often gloss over the details because I don't want that awkward look or groan in sympathy. But here is the perfect forum to go into every little bit of it with that little space between me and you. So if you ever wanted to know about what happened to the knee... please read on.

This is taken from an e-mail I sent to some friends a few days after I had the accident.

I would love to make this a personal e-mail - but every time I go through it I sob.... so please, imagine us all having some choc Sara Lea in someones lounge wearing trackies and drinking coffee........Sorry about the length. Treat it as a toilet read or something.


On Sunday I was keen for a big ski. I hadn't been out since Thursday and was stinging. It had been snowing heaps and I was awake early; bright and refreshed. Tim wanted to lay in and the likes... I was like a bear cub, squirming away. "C'mon, lets go!!!!"


We got up there about lunch time, with only a couple of hours before work. We went down a run called Mirharashi. It's amazing and I go down there all the time. It's deep powder, steep, with trees on the side and lovely little kickers to give you a 'lift' as you squeal with delight (or I do) zipping in and out of the trees.

Tim had just told me I was looking amazing - my style was terrific and he had never seen me ski like that. My confidence was soaring - so I didn't mind when the visibility lessened. I knew he was watching and I went for a turn to impress. My skis got caught and I nearly went into the splits. My ancient wound from gym (tore a tendon in my groin) shouted at me and I pulled my legs together really quickly. Everything except the lower half of my left leg came with me. The lower half stayed right out there. I felt it give and I threw myself up in the air. I landed really quite well after the self sacrificing tumble, with both of my legs together, but nothing could mask the pain.

A wave of agony swept over me and I wailed - I howled. I barely heard myself but I know that when I paused for breath, I knew it wasn't enough and I wailed again. Then a sea of heat fell over me, then nausea. I ripped off my gloves, my helmet and then went to take off my jacket. I stopped before I took it off - luckily.


Poor Tim was terrified by the whole thing. You know me, as he does, I don't make a fuss if I'm hurt. But this pain terrified me. He has his snowboard off and was running up the hill toward me before I could get breath for the second scream. But I got it together before he got to me. Popped off my skis with my hands (you should see the blood blister) and quickly packed my knee in ice - a move I am so grateful for. We sat there together for a moment. Then he suggested ski patrol - me? No!


Ten steps down and I was defeated. They took about 40 mins. Wrapped a cardboard splint around my leg with red gaffa tape and bundled me into an aluminium canoe. They wanted to zip the orange liner over my face but I wouldn't let them. I didn't care if I was cold, I wanted to see out, see the sky... and if I tumbled while they carried me, see the way out! The skiing bit was okay. Then they attached me to the skido - with the sirens. I was embarrassed. Then it tried to go up a little hill and did burnouts, with the sirens - everyone would have been looking!!!!


When they got me out, I couldn't walk on my own at all. I got home and got inside. I went to bed and slept. I didn't want to think about what had happened. Tim came home right after work to see how I was. He got me ice and dinner and was so tender.


So I went to the hospital yesterday. Our housemate Toa (pronounced Toar) drove me and translated for me for a part of it. We really are very lucky. We are in a lovely home with lovely housemates. I'm so glad this didn't happen while I was still in the local town, Kutchan. I would have had no support and three flights of stairs to negotiate. At the hospital, they x-rayed me - I don't know why. I saw the x'rays and you can't see what the tendons or ligaments are doing - although I suppose to know I haven't broken my knee is an important start.


Then the doctor saw me. They wanted to remove the fluid from my knee and told me if there was any blood in it (?) that it was my ACL. At the time I believed them because I couldn't move my leg, or put weight on it and I was very vulnerable. They put a 10cm long syringe into my knee cap (very nice) and pulled out 50ml of blood. So they said to me, its probably ACL and I probably need an operation. I fell apart. It seems I always have to have an operation. I got home and didn't want to call or write anyone because I would worry anyone, I called Tim. He's so rational and over the phone was a bit 'sensible'. You know what I mean - men and their 'solutions'. I called him later to say I was okay and he said he had been trying to think how to get in touch with me to say sorry too! He was late home and I had had no dinner, so doubtless there were tears and laments. He said some amazing things like - we are in this together - if you need to go home, I'll come too (won't let him - If I come home for an operation - I'm coming back to meet him. This trip is not going to waste after all my careful planning.) I'll take care of work, you don't worry about anything - all that sort of thing. I'm such an independent person, I never thought I would really feel a team with someone. But I am.


Today, when I woke, it didn't hurt. I don't think it's my ACL at all. I think it is something called the fibular collateral ligament. Apparently it rarely breaks if your knees are bent, but I distinctly remember worrying that I was going into the splits and I jerked my legs together - so they would have been straight. Also, I can walk on it If I curl my leg inwards like a duck. The draining of the fluid has given me loads more movement and I was even able to drop into the restaurants and bar tonight (with a lift from Toa) I went grocery shopping and cooked a lovely meal. A long way from the desperation and despair of last night.


On Friday (once MBF gives the okay on the assessment - they are looking at my medical report from the hospital) I will get an MRI and a definite report. I don't have my hopes up too much about the whole thing - but if they suggest surgery, I may seek a second opinion. I'm tired of surgery. I think skiing is a write off for the rest of the season though. I'm terribly disappointed. The snow here is amazing and I have been having so much fun. To your disappointment, I may try and come back next season - after a visit home, of course! But only one month out of three is a little sad. I hope you understand.


I would love to say I might be right for skiing in two weeks - but to be brutally honest - its not worth life time injury, is it? I'm just happy I'm up and about and I have a lovely camera. Get ready for some arty shots!


So that was my position before my MRI. The results showed a torn ACL and damage to my MCL. There were subsequent insurance battles over physio and braces, but I got what I wanted and was given four weeks with a super physio and a full length titanium brace. I was back at work in three days and I was on the hill skiing in five weeks. The rest of the round the world trip was faultless (except we didn't do the Inca Trail in Peru because of my injury) and we did go back for a second amazing season.

Now that I am home properly I went and saw a surgeon. He pulled my knees this way and that to see if they showed weakness. He went - 'Hmmmmm' and asked for a second MRI. The results of this one showed that my ACL had not snapped but popped out of the bone. It then floated around for a bit and suckered itself onto some other bit inside my knee, probably the other ligament, the PCL. This leaves my knee a little less strong and a little less stable than it was before my injury but I don't need surgery. My grin hurt my face for about a week. He's referred my to a physio. I haven't been yet, of course.

And of course, we're heading back to Japan next season.

Deck a Duck

Saturday the 3rd of July was a wonderful sunny day with a light breeze that blew through the treetops. As the first day of the school holidays I was not eager to get out of bed. Eventually my growling tummy called me to the kitchen for a tasty fruit salad with yogurt. I had an exciting day ahead of me and I was eager to get out and amongst it. I donned my Red Riding Hood coat and headed out the door with Tim in tow.

We were heading for the annual Deck-a-Duck gala hosted by the extravagant Simon Costain. He threw this thing as a birthday event and has done so for the past three years. The first year he threw it, I was there, but having mis-understood the premise I found myself wearing very silly high heeled boots. We gathered on the town hall steps, all dressed in red, to find ourselves face to face with a giant Donald Duck and a man in a shiny red cape telling us the instructions.

The instructions were: The duck gets a one minute head start. We get clues on where the duck is heading. Catch the duck and hit it with a rolled up newspaper. You then become the duck and again, get a one minute head start.

The chase zig zagged between fantastic historical pubs in the centre of Sydney and therefore, my shoes became sillier and sillier and this year people even reminded me to wear comfortable shoes. I intended to, and I did. I didn't chase the duck, but was there in time to watch it changing hands (much to the horror of nearby children - imagine seeing Donald Duck running up, being pummeled with newspaper and then taking off his own head) and also to join in the revelry in the Botanical Gardens as the sun went down.

My late start meant I was not in the state many others were when the festivities came to a close, nor was I as dressed up. There were The Incredibles, Red Suit Men, Sargent Pepper and a mankini (in green, not red, but the dedication was there). With a few late night sloppy snoggers left in the corner and the mysterious disappearance of Story, we turned for home, safe in the knowledge that the tradition will continue next year and maybe then I will get there on time and be in the right gear. Thanks Simon - bring on Deck-a-Duck 2011!

The Last Day of School

Second term ended on Friday with me working a week long block on a Kindergarten class at a local school. The sweet group of eighteen children were very helpful all week, showing me what to do, where to go and advising me on what I could and couldn't do. At one point I found myself saying, "No dear, don't chew on your shoelaces." A statement which continues to give me the giggles days later. All these factors are normal events in a casual Kindergarten teachers day. However, one event really stuck in my mind.

On the Thursday we were all instructed to come to school in fancy dress, as the Principal. Mr H was retiring and there was to be a special assembly in his honor to farewell him. All six hundred children filed into the hall and sat quietly in lines, eagerly awaiting the fanfare. Mr H sat in a chair by the front, labelled with a colourful, hand-drawn sign reading 'Principal's Chair' and folded his hands neatly in his lap below his generous belly, smiling as he observed his school.

The itinerary of events included displays of dancing, Beatles medleys by the band and a wonderful rendition of Hallelujah by the choir that very nearly left me in tears. Then Mr H was presented with a lovely book by the year six class to preclude his speech. He spoke of his seven years at the school with such fondness my heart was warmed despite the winter chill. I was amazing to realise he knew the names of most of the children and had greeted each one personally on their first day of school. I knew his to be a man who was on the playground roster and despite his busy schedule, never shirked his duty. He also covered for teachers in their classrooms when called away. There was clearly a lot of love and respect flowing throughout the room and the emotionally charged event was inspirational.

I aspire to be an educator like Mr H, improving facilities and the quality of teaching surrounding the children in his care, creating a warm and secure environment for them to learn in and a supportive environment for the teachers to build a rich and comprehensive educational setting for all.

He closed with a joke about the costumes. He complimented the skinny Mr H look-a-likes but was sure that the fat ones had made a mistake. Then he left the hall in a guard of honor and as we were left to contend with hundreds of children running about the playground, he slipped away to begin his life ever after.

The next day we all said goodbye to the playgrounds and classrooms for a two week rest. I woke up the first day with a head cold, as is usually the way in the winter term. But at least I have time to rest and recover, just in time for another fascinating term in the world of children.