The Maroon Diaries

Some time ago, probably close to a year ago now, I put some sprouting potatoes into my garden, just to see what would happen. The most likely outcome, I figured, would be that anything that grew would be eaten by our rabid backyard wildlife... and I was right, but not completely. First, the sprouts grew into handsome little potato plants. They were looking so healthy and robust - and then one day they weren't there anymore. Yes, munched right off. I strongly suspect the possum was responsible, but I don't actually have an eyewitness account of the incident so I will refrain from making a formal allegation. Time went on, the sun shone and the rains fell - and the potato plants sprouted back up again. They would get to a respectable size and then be mercilessly devoured down to the ground. After this went on for a while, the sprouts stopped coming back up, and I figured that was the end of that little experiment. I got quite a surprise, some months later, when the sprouts reapp...

...see how they wriggle and squirm! Oh, excitement! My worm farm has arrived! I've always been a dedicated composter. I always put together some kind of composting arrangement wherever I lived, even tiny little ones in the grounds of apartment buildings. When we first moved in here, we used the compost bin already in place - right up the very end of the backyard, in a most inconvenient corner of the carport. But then Mr CJ got sick, and by the time I caught up with dealing with that, I developed a prolapsed disc in my back and couldn't walk much at all for a while. Yes, yes, drama drama. One of the sad consequences of these particular difficulties was that I gave up the composting and resorted to the rubbish bin. It was just too much physical labour for us to cope with. And yes, I felt terribly guilty about it ever since. Recently I read this blog post  by a woman who lives in an apartment block and wished she could compost, but was concerned about the neighbours' ...

Aaah, big sigh of satisfaction. I've just finished reading a Most Wonderful book. I came across  Mutants: on the form, varieties & errors of the human body, by Armand Marie Leroi , quite randomly in the library catalogue while looking for something else entirely. Yes, I was struck by the title. The heading might suggest a science fiction or horror theme, but the subtitle and Dewey classification indicate a more scholarly scientific approach. I ordered it through the library, and when it came in, a short review printed on the front cover was the first sign of the literary and educational delights I was in for. 'An exquisitely life-enhancing book... Read it and marvel' - Peter Little, Nature . I will digress at this point with a little note on the topic of critical reviews printed on the covers, front or back, of books I am considering reading. Generally, I just don't like it. I've found, through experience, that the cover reviews are often meaningless or...

It is with much pride that I would like to introduce to you the latest addition to the Maroon Household. Ta-da! And this one has a lovely story. Last week, I was feeling very virtuous about staying home and resisting the urge to go randomly op-shopping. I do have to restrain myself sometimes. But on this particular day the universe must have decided that I really did need some more beautiful stuff after all, because the op shop came to me in a most spectacular fashion. There was an unexpected knock at the front door. This doesn't happen very often around here, as I have decorated my front door with warnings and legal notices designed to scare away door-to-door salespeople and the prosetylising, door-knocking kinds of Christians - and it worked. But on this particular occasion, it was my next-door neighbours who dropped over to make a remarkably kind and generous offer. Mr and Mrs B are a middle-aged couple who became empty-nesters a little while ago and downsized their w...

I've been a stationery addict since I was just a little kid. I remember the first time I felt that thrilling rush that girls can get while shopping, the one that the whole consumerism movement depends upon exploiting. I was seven years old and in a newsagency/bookshop, surrounded by books and notepads, pens, pencils, rulers and rubber erasers in such an astounding variety of shapes and styles that I marvelled that anyone could come up with the idea to make all these things into colourful little rubbers. Shining accessories were lined up in neat categories, each item defined by its little perspex slot. I can remember the absolutely rapt fascination with which I regarded my first-ever start-of-school-year supplies, aged four. I don't remember ever feeling so deeply about any toys or dolls. It was books, and paper and scissors, and tape and glue and suchlike, that inspired my early explorations of the properties of the physical world. I can still become overwhelmed by such fe...

Recently I posted this short post introducing my local resident possum when I actually thought to get my camera out while he was conveniently positioned in a good viewing area. In trying to answer Ruthie's question in the comments - are they friendly? - I got a bit carried away for the confines of a comments box and thought that a post on the subject was in order, particularly for the edification of international readers. And, if I'm doing another post, I'll want fresh photos for it. So last night I went outside and followed the sound of the possum. I couldn't actually see it, I just held the camera over my head, pointed in the direction of the noise and let the flash do the rest. Out of several random shots I captured these two images. I'm sorry, dear reader, but I do not have good news. The short answer to the question - are they friendly? - is no, they're not really. They are not shy, but brazen and shameless and completely confident in their ...

So, tonight is Halloween. Yes, really. I realise there is some confusion about this here in the southern hemisphere. Remember, the seasons are the other way around, so that makes it Halloween tonight here in the Antipodes. This festival is also known to pagans by its ancient Celtic name, Samhain. As a seasonal festival, it marks the descent of the wheel of the year toward the darkness of winter and the lengthening of the nights. According to tradition, the veil between the living and the dead is thinnest on this night, and the dead are free to roam the earthly world and claim the offerings we leave out for them. As a solitary, practising Witch, I've developed my own way of creating rituals that is pretty simple, low-key, spontaneous, and, like my cooking, made up mostly of whatever happens to be around at the time. This is my Samhain. A plate of food is prepared to feed the dead on their big night out. Apples cut across the middle to reveal the Star at the heart, fruit and nu...