Krista | ramblingtart

Spring Christmas

by Krista | Sep 1, 2019 | Spring

I was cosy in bed reading this morning when I heard Bear holler from the other end of the house, “It’s the first day of Spring! Time to turn on the Christmas music!”

I burst out laughing and thought to myself, “He’s such a good bloke.” You see, dear reader, Bear doesn’t get remotely excited about Christmas. Give the man a ham and some Christmas pudding and he’s completely satisfied. He doesn’t need a Christmas tree or ornaments or pressies or traditions of any kind to make his Christmas pleasant.

But he knows me.

He knows that few things put a smile on my face faster than Bing Crosby and the Andrews Sisters crooning Christmas carols, hauling out all my favourite ornaments to dangle from door handles and lamps, and pouring over Scandinavian Christmas cookbooks to plan the pastries, cookies, and boozy things I’ll be making for the holidays.

And when I forget, he reminds me.

So today we’re having a little Spring Christmas. Ol’ Bing is crooning jauntily and I’m sipping hot chocolate whilst leafing through magazines and books for all manner of holiday inspiration.

I took out homemade pastry dough from the freezer to thaw for a berry tart and am making a big jar of Spiced Hawthorn Wine to start steeping for Christmas.

When it’s time to rest again this afternoon I’m pulling out old British murder mysteries because nothing says Christmas holidays quite like genteel murders in gorgeous old English manors where everyone dresses beautifully and partakes of sherry by the fire while snow falls heavily outside.

It’s a pretty good way to celebrate the first day of Spring. xo

Rain, A Koala, and No More Cancer

by Krista | Aug 28, 2019 | Winter

It’s raining.

Just saying those words aloud has made me cry a few times this morning. And laugh with unfettered joy.

It. Is. Raining.

It’s not enough to break this hellish drought, not near enough, but it IS enough to grant us a reprieve, to give us hope, to bolster our spirits with rain-washed air and that luscious smell of damp earth.

It’s enough to wash dust-encrusted leaves and give new seeds and seedlings a boost.

It’s enough to add some precious water to our rainwater tanks and maybe enough to grow a little grass to keep our animals and local wildlife going a bit longer.

It’s cold outside, but our windows are flung open to welcome in the freshest air we’ve breathed in a long time and let us listen to the glorious symphony of raindrops falling on our tin roof.

Thank you, dear rain. You are so very, very welcome here.

This morning we celebrated the rain with sourdough French toast and huge cups of coffee and by declaring a holiday. We have solemnly sworn to only do fun and happy and cosy things today: great books read under the covers, old movies that make us grin, walks in the rain, hot chocolate, and the most comforting of comfort foods.

We’ve been celebrating a lot lately. Not because life is consistently jolly and celebratory, but because it’s been ridiculously hard, scary, stressful, awful, no-good, exhausting, and yucky, and at such times celebrations are vital to survival.

The last time I wrote to you I had returned home after nearly a month in the hospital. It was a traumatic time, to say the least, and we were looking forward to peaceful, pleasant weeks of recovery while we planned for a brighter future.

Then my doctors found cancer on my head, and our peaceful, pleasant world lurched to a standstill.

They said things like, “We think it’s malignant, but we’re hoping it hasn’t spread to the skull or the brain,” then booked me for surgery and the waiting game began.

We were scared and sad and tired. We’d already faced and made peace with the possibility of my death while I was in the hospital, and here we were, only a few weeks later, facing it all over again and trying not to live in fear. But that’s the thing about cancer. It is scary. Especially during the we-know-you-have-cancer-but-we-don’t-know-what-type-so-we’re-going-to-cut-open-your-head-and-hope-for-the-best times.

So we did the bravest thing we knew to do: we talked about it. All of it. The sad, the scary, the what-ifs. And we let ourselves feel. All of it. The sadness, the fear, the hope. When we caught ourselves stuffing things down trying to put on a brave front, we stopped and un-stuffed those things and brought them back into the light where they could be processed and released.

We also hibernated and took the best care of ourselves we possibly could. We rested and read beloved books, watched favourite movies and had cuppas on the back veranda, looked for treasures at second-hand stores and ate the foods we like best.

My surgery was August 9. It took 2 hours longer than anticipated and left me with a partially shaved head and a 10 cm incision that was held together with a dizzying number of staples. Last week the staples were removed and the doctor gave us the good news: they got all of the cancer and I was officially cancer-free.

We cried. We laughed. We hugged a lot.

And I realized my hibernation time was only just beginning. It turns out that when you go through one physical trauma after another, your body finally says, “Hey mate, let’s rest, OK?”

So I’ve been resting as a happy little hermit, treasuring the gift of life, knowing that this year has changed me deeply, knowing that is a wonderful thing.

Yesterday something happened that still makes me smile. I was pottering in my gardens, planting purple snow peas, cucumbers, and French beans as an act of hope that rain might fall today when Fezzik started barking and jumping around madly. I looked up and there was this chap sitting contentedly in the branches of the golden rain tree that overhangs the garden.

I could hardly believe it! In my eight years on our Australian farm, I’ve never seen a koala. Not once. I’ve seen a giant goanna clamber up the gum tree outside our bedroom window, found an echidna waddling through the bush, spotted innumerable kangaroos and wallabies in our fields, but never a koala.

Bear helped me set up a tall ladder and I stood up there for ages watching this beautiful animal. He watched me too, not nervous or angry, just curious. We knew he couldn’t stay – koalas do not eat golden rain trees – so we enjoyed his presence as long as we could before tying up the dogs and leaving him alone to mosey along to his next destination.

We’re so glad he stopped in for a visit to brighten our day.

Rest and Hope

by Krista | Jun 25, 2019 | Winter

It’s cold and blustery this morning, winter winds howling through the trees and sending us scurrying for flannels and slippers the moment we wake up. Boeuf Bourguignon and Chicken Curry are warming our bones on these frigid days even as they fill our tiny house with wonderful smells and make everything feel cosy and homey.

I’m so happy to be home. So happy. I’ve been here a full week after spending 27 days in the hospital while a team of doctors tested and consulted, trying to figure out what was making me so sick. 12 days ago they gathered solemnly around my bed to let me know that they believed I had something incurable, untreatable, and that I would be in the hospital indefinitely. I was devastated, scared, and so sad.

But that wasn’t to be the end of my story.

The next day my friend Farina came to spend the day with me and advocated for me fiercely. Within a few hours, a visiting neurologist who specializes in seizures agreed to see me. After a series of tests, he explained that I did not have the incurable, untreatable, stuck-in-hospital indefinitely thing. Instead, I had a severe virus that had attacked my neurological system causing seizures and all sorts of mayhem, but he had every confidence that with rest, patience, and continued care through an out-patient clinic, I would recover fully.

By the end of the day, we had an accurate diagnosis, a treatment plan in place, and within 5 days I was home again, recovering in the place I love best with my Bear, our animals, and most restorative views of trees, fields, and gardens.

Recovery is slow but steady, and we’re celebrating every little bit of progress, from being able to walk unaided and driving again, to going grocery shopping for the first time and getting to pick out all my favourite things I missed while in hospital.

It’s been a big lifestyle shift for me in so many ways. I know I will get back to full health and strength, but in the meantime, I’m learning to ask for and receive help, embrace consistent self-care routines that support my healing, and learn contentment and happiness in a much slower way of life. Bear is steadfast support to me, making meals, feeding animals, accompanying me on walks to rebuild my strength and endurance. I’m so grateful for him.

I’m also deeply grateful for the support and care of the dear folks who have visited, called, texted, brought food, flowers, and books, and showered us with love and care. My friend Molly set up a GoFundMe account, and I cried and laughed and cried again, so thankful for the kindness and thoughtfulness that enables me to truly rest and recover while our bills are paid for, animals fed, and fridge filled. Thank you. XOXO

The wind is really picking up now, howling around the eaves. Fezzik is curled up on the floor, toddling over often to check on me and get a scratch and a cuddle. It’s time for a bowl of hot curry, a cup of tea, and maybe an old movie to make us laugh. xo

How to Make A Vision Board

by Krista | Jan 8, 2019 | Summer

Learning to make a vision board is simple and fun and a wonderfully creative way to set goals and dreams.

But it is also a deeply personal process that requires self-awareness, courage to display the truth about ourselves, and the strength to prioritize what is meaningful to us.

What is a Vision Board?

A vision board is a visual reminder of what we value, a gentle nudge to our subconscious to look for ways to bring our values to fruition.

It can keep us focused on goals, help us stay true to who we are, and inspire us to reach for Big Things by taking tiny steps in the right direction.

Physically, it is a board (cork, foam, cardboard, or wood) covered with a hodgepodge of images, words, and various pieces of detritus that remind us what we value, what we want to experience, and what we want to do, make, acquire, learn, etc.

Vision Boards are reminders of what is most important to us.

How to Make a Vision Board

Choose the right setting for you

Making a vision board is a personal project. The images, words, and items you curate will be meaningful to you and you alone. It’s not about shoulds and musts and have-tos. It’s about quieting your mind and environment and letting your innermost wishes, dreams, hopes, quirks, and fancies bob up to the surface. No judgment, no coercion, no raised eyebrows, tsk-tsks, or doubts.

This is the time to let your inner child do the creating, giving full flight to whatever delights you. This is the time to trust your gut, your intuition, that inner voice that says, “YES!!! I LOVE this!!!”

I like to make my vision board by myself and not show it to anyone until I’m done. This allows me to answer only to myself and not let my vision board be colored by the opinions and ideas of others.

Other people thrive on making them with others, enjoying the collaborative process. If you do make your vision board with others, just make sure that they are supportive cheerleaders who will affirm and delight in whatever hair-brained idea you stick on your board.

Collect, Collect, Collect

To make a vision board, you need images, words, and little things that can easily be affixed to your board.

Throughout the year I pick up beautiful old issues of magazines from thrift stores or library sales. I go through them at my leisure, cutting out pictures that do one of the following:

conjure up a feeling I want to feel.
depict a skill I want to acquire.
display a place I want to go.
remind me of a topic I want to study.
convey an experience I want to experience.
showcase something I want for my home/farm/life.
contain words that capture something I value or want to develop.
advertise classes or workshops I’d like to take.

I also collect other little things and keep them in a special drawer, box, or big glass jar:

found objects from nature: rocks, feathers, seeds, dried flowers, shells, bark, etc.
mementos from travel that remind me of places I want to go or return to: flags, key rings, postcards, brochures.
things that remind me of craft projects I want to tackle: bits of fabric, ribbon, buttons, wool, or string.
colorful paper prints.
recipes or techniques I want to try.

Collect Your Supplies

To make a vision board, you will need the following:

a large board (cork, foam, wood, cardboard, etc)
images/words/things to represent what you love.
scissors
tape, thumbtacks, pins, small nails, whatever you need to stick things to your board.

Take Your Time

Making a vision board is not a quick project, at least not for me. As I rifle through the stacks of images, quotes, and bits and pieces I’ve collected, I find that things I valued 12 months ago have altered significantly or disappeared altogether. I like to sort through those collections and get rid of anything that doesn’t resonate with Now Me.

I lay everything out first, shifting and replacing as needed, and then start pinning/taping things into place.

I like to leave some blank spaces, or fill them in with colored bits of paper that can be replaced by new images/words that I find over time. Know that you can change your board at any time to suit any changes in your belief system, worldview, career, or relationships.

Be Gentle

Sometimes the process can be quite emotional as different images trigger memories from the past, or the mere process highlights what you have lost, broken, or missed out on. Sometimes I need to take time to grieve, to forgive myself or someone else, to admit I’ve strayed from what matters to me or put precious energies into things that don’t matter one bit. It’s all OK, and part of a lovely process that can lead from regret to unabashed joy as you refocus on the things you treasure most.

Have Fun and Dream Big

This is dream time, hope time, what-would-I-do-if-I-could-do-anything time. You may not know how you’re going to do it or if you even can, but that’s not the point. If it makes your heart swell, stick that baby up on the board.

If you’re flat broke and barely making ends meet, but the thought of going to Italy or France makes you giddy, put up an image of the Eiffel Tower or the Amalfi Coast.

If you can’t draw to save your life, but the sight of an image of paints and paintbrushes elicits a happy sigh, stick it on.

If you want to learn Russian or wood-carving, take a self-defense course or make cheese, study Viking runes or make croissants from scratch, put those things on your vision board.

Place Your Vision Board

Your vision board is YOUR work of art, a visual representation of your dearest wishes, greatest goals, and quirkiest delights. Put it in a place of honor, a spot where you can see it every day and be reminded of what you’re working towards and planning for. As you ruminate on what you DO love and value, the other things will drift away, making more room for the things that truly matter to you.

I have mine on my bedside table, leaning against the wall next to my reading lamp, polished stones and sparkling crystals, flickering candle, and a little bird figurine. I see it every morning when I wake up, every night when I go to bed, and each time I see it, something else stands out and strengthens my resolve and restores my hope.

The images and bits and bobs mean nothing to anyone else, but they are precious to me. I’m the only one who knows what they represent and what they’re guiding me towards. When I get overwhelmed and stressed, it does me much good to sit awhile with my vision board and remember what I love.

What is one thing you would like to put on your vision board? xo

Learning to Ask for Help

by Krista | Jan 3, 2019 | Summer

It’s a gorgeous summer morning, clear and sunny, quiet and still, baby goats and lambs running and leaping about like adorable but demented marionettes before the sun comes up and they make a beeline for the shade. The cuckoo clock is ticking steadily and the fan is whirring gently as I make my first cuppa of the day. I love these peaceful moments before it’s time to feed animals and start the to-do list.

The drought continues here, but, thanks to Bear’s foresight in putting in a bore and extra rainwater tanks, we are OK.

I put extra drip hoses in my gardens this year, and they’ve been amazing, keeping things alive when there’s not a lick of rain for weeks on end. Even in drought we have fat leeks, abundant tomatillos, and beetroots the size of softballs. Rainbow silverbeet, tomatoes, and fresh dill add colour and deliciousness to our scrambled eggs in the mornings, and mounds of pineapple sage, lemon balm, and spearmint make the most refreshing and nourishing iced teas. These things cheer my soul as we watch the grass shrivel and dry.

I’ve been harvesting a lot of seeds from the garden this week: dill and Romaine lettuce, sweet white onions and sweet peas. I’m steadily filling glass jars with our own seeds to use for cooking and planting and preserving, adding them to kitchen shelves already lined with home cured olives, pickled cherries, and innumerable jars of chili sauce. It never fails to give me a thrill to see something I made or grew all by myself. I feel like a little kid waving a hand-drawn picture as I proudly show Bear a jar of this or bottle of that.

I spent most of the holidays in self-care mode. I was exhausted, burnt out, run down, all the descriptors of “please don’t make me move” that you can think of. It was a dickens of a year with so many of those moments that felt like, “This, this will be the one that does me in.” To my utter astonishment, they didn’t. I got to Christmas bedraggled and battered but very much alive, with a glow in my soul that comes from battles fought and battles miraculously won.

Self-care was the thing that got me through that whole ghastly year. Five minutes here, an hour there, they made all the difference in getting me from one day, one moment to the next. As Christmas loomed ahead of me, I knew I just needed to get there, I just needed to finish, and all would be well.

And I did. And it was.

I slept. I napped. I sat like a zombie. I went to my healer and talked with Bear and read good books and wrote and painted and drew and made smudge sticks, then slept, napped, and zombied some more. And slowly my body relaxed, my mind calmed, and that long-dampened spark inside started flickering, stronger and stronger until it was glowing like the sun.

I started work again yesterday with such incredible joy and excitement because I did something I didn’t realize I was allowed to do: I asked for help. I don’t know where I got such a fool notion that I had to do it all by myself, but it nearly did me in.

Not anymore. Now I have help.

I have 3 sub-contractors who are smart as whips and jolly and kind to boot. I have an accountant who dazzles me with her skills and has taken my financial fumblings and made them sleek and manageable. I found a lawyer who is amazing at drafting the documentation, terms and conditions, and contracts I need to run an excellent business, and a business coach who is helping me build the processes, emotional intelligence, and support systems I need to run a business peacefully, happily, and successfully.

Help. It makes me teary every time I think of it.

There are moments I wish I could’ve learned this 20 years ago, but then I forgive myself, again, for not knowing what I didn’t know.

I know it now, and I’m flourishing in the knowing. xo

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