I mean, they SOUND good, right? Some of them probably work too!

Like this one: using undiluted white vinegar to kill weeds. Sounds great right? No chemicals. No locking up dogs and only killing weeds where horses won’t eat them, ensuring that fence lines become small jungles.

So I thought I’d have a go. I have white vinegar. Tons of it. Some of it is even in the kitchen! DJ uses it when he makes poached eggs.

Yep.

I didn’t know that either. Apparently a dash of vinegar in the water makes the best poached eggs, and DJ does make the best poachies.

Other than as an egg poaching aid, I use vinegar in the grooming room, diluted in the rinse when I wash dogs, and when I hose down the countless ‘ooops’ and the ‘I meant to pee there’ incidents when dogs visit.

I went to the casita, grabbed my industrial sized bottle of vinegar, poured it into a gardening spray bottle and headed out to fight the battle of the weeds.

Well… all I can say is this: either my weeds are much stronger that the ones on the link above, or I did it wrong.

My weeds poked their tongues out at me. They didn’t die. They just got angry!

Some looked a bit sickly, but they were sickly and angry.

Next time I think I’ll add some dishwashing liquid to the mix… after all, its what you do to make weed killer work better – make it stick to the plants… I’ll keep you posted.

I’ve used white vinegar to clean the house as well. Like this pin:

I mean, what a great idea! Vinegar to clean without the pickle jar smell.

I got orange peels, steeped them in the vinegar, then put it in a spray bottle to use as a cleaner.

Again. Either my grime is tougher than other grime, or I’m not doing it right.

It cleans… more or less. If I scrub hard enough.

And it sure does smell nice.

When we went shopping last night I grabbed one of these thingies below cause I saw a pin which recommended using one in the shower. Fill it with … you guessed it! white vinegar and dishwashing liquid, then use it to scrub the shower while you’re in there.

As a bonus, it’ll kill any weeds growing in there too.

I’ve already always cleaned the shower while I was in there.

Unfortunately, it meant standing in chemicals while I did it. This way I don’t have to worry about my bits touching the walls as I clean. Its just dishwashing liquid and vinegar.

Last, for today, I tried this out. Sort of. I read this article, then went and looked at the rangehood filter.

Not a good idea. I don’t advise you do it. What you don’t know won’t hurt you, right?

All good and well I thought, IF you have a pot large enough to fit in half the filter.

I didn’t.

So I took a friend’s advice.

I bought some cloudy ammonia from the supermarket. Found a container big enough to hold the filter and liquid (the plastic tray at the bottom of a dog crate – see? they come in handy!), filled it with HOT water, added the ammonia and put in the filter.

Then ran out of the shed cause the fumes were disgusting.

Next morning the fumes had dissipated enough for me to brave the shed.

It was awful.

There was thick fat/scum everywhere.

Yeech.

I had to pick most of the solids out cause we all know putting that stuff down your pipes is courting disaster. Then I rinsed off the filter in hot water.

And rinsed.

And rinsed.

Then blotted with an old towel. And put it back. And its clean and shiny!

For about 2 days.

A woman’s work is never done!

z

Starting the day with a wine whine.

First thing this morning, more or less, I check my email and look at blog posts from blogs I follow. This is what’s prompted this list entry.

A few of the blogs I follow have videos embedded in them.

I have nothing against videos, in fact I’ve been known to watch a video or two on occasion.

However, they’re set to play when the page opens. No ‘click here’ required.

Why do you do this to us? It might be ok for those who live in technologically non-3rd world countries, but for someone on satellite broadband, on the computer Noah used as a child, do not need to be slowed down any more than we already are!

Videos that play automatically when a page opens are annoying at worst and make me want to throw my mouse out the window at best. Or vice versa. Whatever.

My computer grinds to a pace which a snail would have no trouble beating on a dry day, as it tries to load the bloody video, all my other windows hang and outlook express goes out in sympathy. So I have to sit here for what feels like hours, waiting till the computer wakes up so I can find the offending video and turn it OFF.

I’m not even interested in the videos! I want to read the blogs and look at the heavenly photos and get on with my life. I don’t want to be sitting here while my computer goes into deep meditation as it churns out megabytes of video.

And that’s another thing. Satellite internet is not only slower than ADSL broadband, its also more expensive. Much. More. Expensive. And if I go over my limit… Lets just say I had to upgrade to a higher plan cause my last bill was TWICE the monthly cost. And I wasn’t even over that much.

Yeah, yeah. No. I don’t have other choices here. We live in the black hole of communications. If its not hard wired, it doesn’t work well. TV, mobile phones, internet… I think smoke signals would be more efficient here.

So people, PLEASE consider that some of your readers do not have superwhiz connections… a small percentage maybe, but we are here. Think about us!

On that positive note I’m off to do some real work. I have tons of progress and some projects to share. Stay tuned.

z

Monday, 20 August 2012

OMG! I can’t believe it! I am just reading an article from A2D which is exactly what I was saying (only in more words detail and much more tact).

… now to follow some of her other tips… I wonder if people have to verify text before posting a comment on my blog? And I have no idea how to add categories…

I originally called it Zefi’s blog cause I don’t have an imagination the purpose of the blog was just to share my trip to Greece.

Back then the blog was on Shine and contained stories of my childhood, photos of family and enough clear blue water to make you cry.

Now its on Blogger and I write about myself (ok, nothing new there), our new home, our life and, mainly, the DIY and crafting I/we do to improve our home.

I now live on a 90 acre property in the Derwent Valley of Tasmania, in an old relocated and tastelessly extended house with a serious mud problem in winter. We have 2 dams, a winter creek and 70 acres of native bush which taunt us with ‘free firewood’.

I share my life with my partner, Wayne, his two dogs and my two standard poodles (yes, poodles are not dogs!). We have 3 horses, about 10 chickens and about 11 ducks (those numbers are fluid).

We live on a dirt road and have a long dirt driveway. We have stockyards by the gate which feature a poodle sign and a bright red letterbox.

The reason I’m telling you all this is cause I’ve been wondering what I’d call my blog if I changed the name.

Some people have such imaginative names… I saw a blog last week called ‘7th House on the Left’ and thought what a great name! So simple, yet so brilliant.

There are others, countless others, which are cute, elegant, simple, clever or descriptive.

What would I call my blog if I didn’t just name it after myself like I do everything else?

My art site is zefiart.com. Most things stemmed from there. I figured with a name like Zefi (not many Zefi’s in the world that I know of, and I’m related to most of them) I didn’t need to find another catchier name for my site.

Ok. So I’m not that up myself. I do use other names…

My kennel prefix is Pantone Poodles.

I use Junk4Joy for the etsy shop (thanks Wayne. The man is brilliant – I toyed with names for days and he just opened his mouth and that fell out).

I named my grooming from home business (Derwent) Valley Dogs.

We named the farm Wind Dancer.

I could name my blog Junk4Joy and keep it all related. After all, I love junk and old stuff and re-creating it into something I’d be proud to have in my home.

Or I could go with something entirely different, more descriptive, more imaginative, more creative… (more pretentious…) and relating to our home… like:

The Red Letterbox
A Creek Runs Through It
90 Acres and 2 Poodles (why limit myself?)
Living in the Valley
Wind Dancing
A Stockyard with a Poodle Sign
Sandy Creek (the aboriginal name for our property is Bungonia which means Sandy Creek)
Up to Our Elbows in Mud

Thoughts? Suggestions?

UGH.

I love naming dogs, but naming blogs? I’m lost!

So… what do you think? Change or no change?

Do my ideas suck?

Should I go have a stiff drink and forget it?

z

(Faint)

I always dreamed this moment would come… 🙂

Seriously. I’ve been blogging for a while now, firstly just to keep in touch with friends and family as I gallivanted around the greek islands. Then to share my adventures on the new farm. And eventually, to brag about all the things I get up to.

Embarassingly, though I think I’ve been blogging for about 2 years now, I don’t have many followers. Though quite a few people read apparently.

You know… unexpected people (not you, Merrill, or you, Diane. You better read cause you’ll be quizzed later!)

I’ll be chugging along happily at work and someone will comment on something I wrote on my blog.

Or Wayne will get off the phone with his brother’s partner in South Australia and tell me they asked about our plumbing issues.

Oops.

Small world.

I started reading blogs by some talented women with gorgeous houses and beautiful furniture, getting inspiration (and feeling more than a little envious). Somewhere along the line I started commenting on blogs, linked up on a link party or three, and some of my items got me some nice comments.

It feels nice. 🙂

Angie from Knick of Time was impressed enough with my retro tin storage that she featured it on her blog.

Anyway… That explains the jumping for joy, but what about the down at the mouth bit?

Well… yesterday I stopped in at one of my favourite shops in New Norfolk and learned that a dog grooming shop will be opening in town very soon.

Till now I’ve been the only local groomer, even though I only worked part time, at first driving to people’s places and washing dogs in bathtubs and laundry tubs till we moved to the farm. Then working out of the casita where I set up a proper grooming room with hydrobath and all.

There have been mobile groomers who would come out this way, but people who lived further out had to go all the way to the city for a groom, or they would (if they were lucky enough to know about me) come to me.

My grooming business has grown lots since moving here – some by word of mouth, others by referral from the local vet, flyers and business cards placed around town.

Most of my customers learn about me from their sister, brother in law, neighbour, hairdresser, etc. I love meeting new people and I love that I can walk in town and say hello to half the people I meet.

I’m a good groomer. I’m good with dogs. I love dogs. In fact, that’s what I say on my business card!

So I know I’m not going to lose my customers, at least not all of them. I look after their dogs and treat them well and get them looking great.

But I’m kicking myself for missed opportunities.

I should have been the one to open a business in town. I did think about it quite a few times. But a shop means overheads and you need the business to cope with overheads. Working from home enables me to build the business slowly, to work at my own pace (ie I take my time doing the dogs as I can afford to), and I can pick and chose my hours.

With a ‘proper’ job, grooming is my second job. I work on it on weekends or my days off. In summer when the days are longer and more people notice Fifi needs a clip, I also work some afternoons.

I’m flexible.

I’m not stuck in a shop with bills to pay regardless of how many dogs I groom that month.

I’m confident in my skills. I know I’m good.

Yet, I feel depressed at the prospect of a grooming shop opening in town.

Am I being silly? New Norfolk isn’t a big town… I was hoping to groom more and work less as time went on.

Now I wonder if it will happen.

Sigh.

Ok, now I’ve talked myself into a funk I better go before I talk myself into sticking my head in the oven – and its electric so that would be a total failure.

z

It doesn’t always seem so when you wake up at 2am you’re coughing up a lung and can only sleep when slung over the arm of a couch…. a bucket within reach.

This flu has really taken it out of me. I started with a sore throat a week ago, next day I had a headache, by that night I had a fever, a chest full of sludge and other unpleasantries.

This is definitely not fun. I much prefer to be the one who’s well and full of energy, who can keep the house running and passably neat, while yelling at Wayne to stay in bed and forget moving till I said he was well enough.

Having things flipped on me sure sucks.

But frankly, I was so sick I didn’t care.

I didn’t care when the house got dirtier and messier. I didn’t even notice for about 3 days. When I did notice, I just couldn’t raise enough energy to care.

Finally, yesterday, I got up enough ‘give a damn’ to sweep the kitchen floor.  I had to. The dog-hair bunnies under the kitchen table started barking at me.

And I had to put on a load of washing cause I was out of clothes. During the worst of it I had to change clothes at least once a night. I was running out of Ts.

I had to hang them up in the living room to dry by the heater though, even though the sun was out, cause I couldn’t dare be outside. Wayne had already warned me that there better still be dog poop on the lawn when he got back or there’d be hell to pay.

I don’t think he trusts me to sit still. He has a point. If I hadn’t been sick, I would have hung out the clothes and pooper-scooped… and started another 5 projects.

Having to pause and catch my breath every few minutes kinda put a damper on that.

I also have to now rethink my standard reply to doctor questionnaires. The question “Do you have asthma?” used to elicit the reply “I used to when I was a kid, but I’ve rarely had it since.”

The new answer is “Yes. I have asthma.”

Getting to sleep lately has been a challenge. First there was the biblical flood filling my lungs if I so much as lay back by 5 degrees.

Then there’s the entire bagpipe band taking up residence in my chest.

Not only was their playing loud, but I could feel them crashing around in my chest!

My mom was the one who knicknamed my asthma my ‘bagpipes’. She’d say “your bagpipes are back” and give me a back rub and urge me to rest.

I first got asthma when I was 7 years old, living in Griffith NSW. No one knows where it came from. No one in our family ever had it. Sure, papou (mom’s father) had bronchitis all his life, but asthma? That’s an Australian thing… Guess I made my choice back then, huh?

When it did hit, with no prior warning, it hit hard. That first spring I was laid up for 2 weeks. I couldn’t move at all. Every single movement would cause a constriction and make breathing harder. All I was able to do was sit up in bed and wheeze.

That’s when I made my first little old lady friend. Her name was Aunty Edna and she was not my aunty. She was the sweetest old lady, I barely remember her, just the memory of a very proper elderly lady with blue rinse hair set to perfection, always dressed well, with lace hankies. She was the only one who could calm me down when I got really upset.

Come to think of it, I don’t even know where she came from or where she went after I got better. The only time I remember her in my life was at my bedside.

Anyway, I’m finally on the road to recovery, though I’ve been warned not to rush things. A few people Wayne’s son works with went back to work too soon and were back in bed.

Flu Take Two is not something I want!

z

And I’m sitting on the computer cause I can’t think past what I have to do. A friend of mine calls it ‘lost sheeping’… the act of being totally bewildered by the choices of things to do. (I seem to spend a lot of time lost sheeping.)

This is the kitchen table at the moment. Bits of breakfast and a collection of glass, ceramics and crystals I’m using to make garden stakes. Along with some correspondence, the netbook, and – wait – there may be some tools on there too.
 

The office is way worse. I stopped short of taking a photo of that. I mean, you’ll be understanding of some messes… but there has to be a line somewhere. This morning I found another pee spot on the carpet. Its now beyond a joke. If I walked into a house with carpet that looked like this I’d refuse coffee and have a tetanus shot.

I banished Barney from the office when I blamed him for the pee spots a few weeks ago. Last night Mischa slept in the office alone and yet there’s another pee puddle. So Mischa is now banished as well. I cannot wait to rip out these carpets and either polish the floorboards or put in vinyl. I’m so over floors that are hard to keep clean.

This is the coffee table in the living room. You’re allowed to see that. I cleaned it off last weekend but then over the week things crept back onto it. I use that table to do beading while I watch TV.

No way will you see the kitchen sink. There are 2 days worth of dishes there… We need a bigger sink. And more dishes.

Actually, I need a new kitchen with a dishwasher.

Wayne says I don’t need a new kitchen for the amount of time I spend in this one… grrr. And I already have 2 dishwashers – on the end of my arms.

That man sure does like to live close to the edge!

So, here I am. There are clothes to be washed. The kitchen to wash up and clean up. Animals to feed… all before I can even start to think of indulging myself.

Speaking of chickens (we are now!)… Yesterday afternoon (after spending a scintillating hour packing chicken frames into freezer bags for the dogs) I went up to feed the animals and found a red hen sitting on the perch acting ‘off’. I picked her up and looked her over. She had tons of broken off feathers and an area of baldness on her right thigh.

Off to Alcatraz she went.

Let me explain. We inherited a chicken coop up the back and a dog kennel. When the 5 light sussex roosters we were given to eat but couldn’t grew up, they started visiting the neighbour’s hens and digging up his vegetable patch. So Wayne built Alcatraz – a timber and wire atrocity off the side of the casita – to pen them up in. Eventually captivity turned nasty and we gave away 2 roosters to a chicken breeder, then had to separate the last two due to fighting. We kept the 2 picked on roosters cause they were the injured ones.

Yes, you can count. That was only 4 roosters accounted for. One rooster had been dispatched to the big perch in the sky by the poodles, I’m sorry to admit.

Boris No. 1 moved to Stalag 13, the ex-dog kennel. He shares his life with Clarice, one of our Isa Brown hens who was lame and picked on by the bantam rooster who has no name.

Boris No. 2 had to spend some time in a cage to get over his injuries but eventally moved into Alcatraz with 3 new black poulets the breeder gave us in exchange for the roosters.

So last night, when I picked up the injured red hen I had to put her somewhere. Stalag 13 is really too small for too many chickens so I put her into the more natural (ie not cemented) Alcatraz with Boris No. 2. I then moved 2 of the black chickens up to the old chook pen and shut them all inside so they could bond and get used to the coop.

Then I stood back and saw the bantam rooster have a go at them! So I got him out and closed in just the hens.

This morning I watched as the remaining black hen in Alcatraz pecked on the injured red hen over food. Thats it. I grabbed her and moved her out to join her sisters in the chicken coop.

Then the older hens picked on her.

Damn. I can never win. I feel like its musical chickens around here. Is it really meant to be this hard? Or do farmers just let them work it out themselves and let the feathers fly where they may?

So – to recap:

Alcatraz houses Boris No. 2 and 1 red hen. Both limping though he’s halfway to getting better.

Stalag 13 houses Boris No. 1 and Clarice, both of whom look healthy though if you watch closely, Clarice still has a slight limp.

Chookpen houses all the red hens (5 or 6, I’m sure we had more..) and the original black hen and 3 black poulets.

Plus one very pissed off bantam rooster strutting around outside the chookpen with his chest out.

And as if that wasn’t enough, there’s a wallaby eating grass at the bottom gate. In broad daylight. Another blind wallaby. And its Saturday and I refuse to go out into the quagmire that is that part of our land, mud up to my knees, to try to catch a wallaby and drive it into Hobart for the vet to (most likely) put down.

Sigh.

Times like this I long for a house in the suburbs with a tiny yard.

z

PS. Its funny how the breed of chicken really does make a huge difference… The isa browns are very friendly, easy going chooks. The black ones won’t come near us and are very skittish. The light sussex roosters are calm and lovely natured where the red and black bantam rooster is a pushy arrogant little b**&^%d.

Kangarat sold at the exhibition/competition! Apparenlty he’s gone to a good home, which is good, and I get $55 which is great!

Elmer the Emu is coming back home. He feels a bit down at the moment but apparently people did like him.

Other than that, nothing much new to report. Its been cold. Its been wet. The yard feels like a soggy sponge when you walk on it. We have muddy rivulets running through our paddocks in places. I’m sure the dam is leaking.

We desperately need a drainage expert to come and fix our problem. Know anyone willing to work for food?

Anyway, we took Ben up to a friend’s house in Westerway yesterday. We hired a float from Dumb and Dumber (yep. It was a real experience) and took it home. You should have seen Wally’s face. He was so excited. The last two times a float pulled up at our house a new playmate stepped out.

He was disappointed this time. Not only was there no new playmate, but we actually took one away!

So we loaded up Ben. He walked in beautifully. Then promptly turned around to hang his  head out the back!

I blame the others. Wally and Dancer were thumping around the paddock flat out, whinnying in distress “BEN! Come back! Don’t leave us! We didn’t mean it!”

Which only set Ben off into a lather. We were worried he’d jump out! We had to holding him back, open the ramp and jump out of the way as he lept out.

So, I ran up and shut the gate so Dancer and Wally couldn’t run down the paddock along side the driveway. I then drove the ute and float down to our gate and Wayne led Ben down, further from the pitiful crying of his paddock-mates. We walked him back in, did the gate up in record time and drove off before Ben could try anything stupid.

He travelled well and I did well too considering I’ve never towed a float before.

A few locals would disagree with that as they got stuck behind me on the narrow winding road doing 60klm per hour…

Ben is now staying with Sharon and she and her son Christian will be working with him on a daily basis. They have a brand new round yard which they made so they could work with Ben (and other horses in the future). I’m so excited.

I’ve been so wanting to start riding again. Just walking around on our own land or up the dirt road. Just enjoying the fresh air and being outside on a horse.

I’ve been so down about Wayne’s fall that I didn’t think we’d ever ride. I asked him, “Will we ever ride again?”

Wayne said, “Sure we will. Elevators. Escalators….”

Grrrr.

z