Offering the olive branch

For a little while I’ve wanted a plant for our bedroom, no maidenhair ferns or cyclamen need apply*

I saw some amazing examples of fiddle leaf figs on pinterest and blogs but I wouldn’t even know if you could find one of these magnificent plants in Australia.

Looking at typical “indoor” plants around town was incredibly uninspiring, glossy leaved almost plastic plants or pretty and completely impractical cacti (baby + cactus spines = no thanks). I’d almost given up, when I started thinking about what grows locally with the view to having something that helps me embrace the fact that this town is indeed home.

The seed planted and my search renewed, there it was a my love hate relationship with this town summed up in one plant – the Olive tree. Such beautiful colour contrasts and visual texture, such awful memories of working my first job in a restaurant and getting olives from a 44 gallon drum balanced on pallets and fearing I’d fall in to the moldy brine (that place shouldn’t have been serving food).

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It was almost definitely the right choice. But what pushed it from almost to absolutely was that I needed a visual reminder. Being a stubborn person, I have trouble apologizing or ending an argument no matter how pointless that argument may be. Mr. Wolff and I don’t argue a lot but when we do we get stuck in a kind of silent sulking standoff that he more often than not breaks with an apology. Even when he’s not in the wrong. And even if he is in the wrong there isn’t necessarily anyone in the right. The thing I need reminding most often is that this relationship is not a power play, I don’t have anything to gain by winning an argument that is based on tiredness or frustration and nothing real. There are times when differences require compromise or sacrifice but they don’t really require an argument or worse a stalemate. So next time we fall in to that silly pattern I’ll be able to look at my olive tree, remember these things take negotiation not negativity and extend the olive branch.

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*Far too many memories of these half dead residing in my childhood homes, they make me melancholy.

Offering the olive branch

For a little while I’ve wanted a plant for our bedroom, no maidenhair ferns or cyclamen need apply*

I saw some amazing examples of fiddle leaf figs on pinterest and blogs but I wouldn’t even know if you could find one of these magnificent plants in Australia.

Looking at typical “indoor” plants around town was incredibly uninspiring, glossy leaved almost plastic plants or pretty and completely impractical cacti (baby + cactus spines = no thanks). I’d almost given up, when I started thinking about what grows locally with the view to having something that helps me embrace the fact that this town is indeed home.

The seed planted and my search renewed, there it was a my love hate relationship with this town summed up in one plant – the Olive tree. Such beautiful colour contrasts and visual texture, such awful memories of working my first job in a restaurant and getting olives from a 44 gallon drum balanced on pallets and fearing I’d fall in to the moldy brine (that place shouldn’t have been serving food).

It was almost definitely the right choice. But what pushed it from almost to absolutely was that I needed a visual reminder. Being a stubborn person, I have trouble apologizing or ending an argument no matter how pointless that argument may be. Papa Wolff and I don’t argue a lot but when we do we get stuck in a kind of silent sulking standoff that he more often than not breaks with an apology. Even when he’s not in the wrong. And even if he is in the wrong there isn’t necessarily anyone in the right. The thing I need reminding most often is that this relationship is not a power play, I don’t have anything to gain by winning an argument that is based on tiredness or frustration and nothing real. There are times when differences require compromise or sacrifice but they don’t really require an argument or worse a stalemate. So next time we fall in to that silly pattern I’ll be able to look at my olive tree, remember these things take negotiation not negativity and extend the olive branch.

*Far too many memories of these half dead residing in my childhood homes, they make me melancholy.

One complete corner

I’m slowly fleshing out this house, plumping and preening to make it a home. I resisted placing things on our walls for a while because we are going to replaster in some rooms and repair and repaint in all. But the need to be organised drove me to first hang a guitar in the lounge and then to hang another next to it. Which then made me move the chair between and then there were little gaps to fill, so to the right I begged my Nan’s nesting tables from my mum. To the left stayed Evie’s guitar so she could still reach it to strum away. A trip to Target resulted in a beautiful patterned cushion (on sale of course) to stave off the desire to recover Ronnie* the chair. But it still hadn’t quite pulled together for me. Then I found a gorgeous print on Fieldguided.

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The silvery moon hid and the golden sun appeared

It arrived with a gorgeous hand written note, which never fails to impress me when buying things.

I decided to put the print in a square frame to better fit the space it was going, I think it worked out perfectly.

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But I still think I’m going to recover the chair, charcoal velvet maybe? Don’t even get me started on the desire to be rid of our so called carpet.

*the chair was an eBay find which still has its tag stating that it’s ‘The Ronnie versatile lounge recliner, made in Melbourne’. Which I think is kind of nifty.

One complete corner

I’m slowly fleshing out this house, plumping and preening to make it a
home. I resisted placing things on our walls for a while because we are
going to replaster in some rooms and repair and repaint in all. But the
need to be organised drove me to first hang a guitar in the lounge and
then to hang another next to it. Which then made me move the chair
between and then there were little gaps to fill, so to the right I
begged my Nan’s nesting tables from my mum. To the left stayed Eve’s
guitar so she could still reach it to strum away. A trip to Target
resulted in a beautiful patterned cushion (on sale of course) to stave
off the desire to recover Ronnie* the chair. But it still hadn’t quite
pulled together for me. Then I found a gorgeous print on Fieldguided.

The silvery moon hid and the golden sun appeared

It arrived with a gorgeous hand written note, which never fails to impress me when buying things.

I decided to put the print in a square frame to better fit the space it was going, I think it worked out perfectly.

But I still think I’m going to recover the chair, charcoal velvet maybe? Don’t even get me started on the desire to be rid of our so called carpet.

*the chair was an eBay find which still has its tag stating that it’s ‘The Ronnie versatile lounge recliner, made in Melbourne’. Which I think is kind of nifty.