SUNDAY / 15

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A nice little Sunday. Bit of gardening while Liz slept in, then a drive south to Royal National Park. We stopped for coffee at West End Espresso because I'd heard good things, and all the things were right. This is a shining light in deepest suburbia, beautifully fitted-out, from the lighting to the chairs to the perfect low glasses and smooth lattes. We didn't eat, but the food looked GOOD. And the guys running the place were the sweetest ever, couldn't have loved them more - will definitely be swinging by again soon. 

We were headed to Bundeena to a friend's house, and arrived for a late lunch on the deck, Gillian Welch playing on the stereo, walls crammed with beautiful art, a very sweet dog, lots of afternoon sun and yesterday's papers on the table among some nice cheese and the sourdough we brought. Chardonnay and salmon on the BBQ and a lot of intelligent, thoughtful and very funny conversation about the arts. We managed a good walk on the beach with the dog afterwards as the sun was lowering, and took the long drive out of the park just after golden hour - the scrub and bushland catching the last of the day. I love the grey half-light, pink skies and not quite being able to see the detail.

We sang to Joanna Newsom and Bon Iver and stopped for dumplings on the way home.  

YEAR THREE.

YEAR TWO.

YEAR ONE.

SUNDAY / 14

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A fun Sunday, this one. I had my young cuz Joe stay over on Saturday night. Instead of buying he and his sister a birthday present each year, they come for a sleepover and get to choose what we cook for dinner and where we go for brekky. They feel grown-up and I get to spend time with them. Time is always better than presents. Joe wanted to make apple crumble, so we did. And then ate the whole damn lot.

On Sunday we went down to Three Blue Ducks for breakfast, and kicked the soccer ball for an hour in the park at the cliffs, overlooking Bronte and Clovelly. It's autumn but it felt like summer. We stopped at the carwash because it was nearby and I had lots to do, but it turns out using a high pressure hose and a giant foaming mop is the height of fun if you're eight. On the way home we sang along to Jake Bugg with the windows down. He's the sweetest boy, our Joe. 

I managed to read my book for an hour in between a few loads of washing, some editing work, and an evening yoga class. Afternoons on the front step are the best. 

YEAR THREE.

YEAR TWO. 

YEAR ONE.

SUNDAY / 13

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Flowers in a bucket, all class I am. I bought them yesterday, to take to my aunties and grandmother at morning tea today (Mother's Day). They mother me quite a bit, even though I'm 35 and a grown woman. We had a big mess of eggs and toast and corn fritters and pots of tea, then a round of kitchen dancing while we all did the dishes. The usual wonderful. 

This afternoon I found a bit of time to finish my book on the front step, autumn afternoon light and a dark ale. I have quite a bit of work to do this evening, but a pot of soup on and some Sam Cooke vinyl should get me through.

YEAR THREE.

YEAR TWO.

YEAR ONE.  

SUNDAY / 10

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A Sunday and a birthday, this one. My birthday. And Katie's actually, we're born on the very same day, just a few years apart. So we opened up our home, swept the floors, pulled out the vinyl, made three cakes, bought ginger beer and nice wine and, in the afternoon, had 50-odd friends over to celebrate with us. It was bloody lovely.

I was pretty overwhelmed with how generous my friends are, how much love I felt on the day (from those near and lots from those far). Birthdays are good like that.

The picture is from Monday afternoon. The house was too full and I was too busy having a nice time to take a picture on Sunday.

YEAR THREE.

YEAR TWO.

YEAR ONE.