MONDAY: A grey and dreary day, rain overnight, as I make the ferry crossing with tradesmen, ladies who shop, school kids and workers. The lake is cold and dull looking, but I am on my way to choir practice and I love to sing. The choir are working hard today, we have a gig Thursday and want to give our best. Now, my "voice" is thin and scratchy at the lower end of Soprano and to the right of Alto, but when we all sing, it is amazing. I love the Bach Alleluia, my head full of medieval architecture as I try to keep with the soaring voice of Edith, who cansing. We sing "Feed the Birds "which brings tears to Dots eyes, and "Let There Be Peace" which will rattle around i my brain all day. A quick stop at the P.O. and to the Library, where I greedily book out three new books that enticed me , then home. In the ferry queue I check on the swan who is nesting right by the road,, on the lake edge. She was asleep, but wakes to keep an eye on me. On "our" ferry in bright, warm, sunshine across a smiling lake I watch the boats and a long skein of ducks. Late afternoon and cooking cottage pie, and apple crumble for tea I discover we are out of potatoes **#*. I walk back to the ferry for a quick purchase at Foodworks and return home among the high school kids and a chilly wind.
TUESDAY: Tuesday mornings is Step Aerobics with Rosy at the RSL, another ferry ride, and a lovely day. A pelican does a long skim of the water and lands splashily right by the ferry but I don't have my camera out. I love how they do that, wing tips not quite touching the water. Step is a challenge for the brain as well as co-ordination and breathing but I com out feeling ready for the world. Off to Bairnsdale next. I love this drive too with it's march and fields and river sid all bathed in spring sunshine. I have to pick up John, and visit Aldi, then a look at the Art exhibition at the East Gip. gallery as it's the last day today. Mr Grumpy stays in the car reading. This is an exhibition of made items from paper. There is a framed "picture" which is a piece of knitting on wooden kneedles, look closer and you see, supprise, that the yarn is made out of twisted compacted paper; another delightful piece is like one of those strip thingis that you hang in doorways, but it is made of hundreds of paint colour cards overdyed with shadowy leaves in many misty greys and browns, I love it; there are little books of handmade paper and lovely bindings inviting you to look within. So much talent and all in East Gippi. Now home to housework.
To be continued...
