Anna and Freg, and Saving My Olive in a Gale

From my old Facebook page Write Elizabeth F. Woodfield, I am moving relevant posts recorded (reverse order of course), as a history of “Anna” which now is “A Greek Matinée”, along with a few snips:

“Anna, Freg, A Battle with Mr HP, on the Black Sea and Saving My Olive Tree in a Gale”

22 November 2017 — Is there anybody out there who would check my Attic Greek of Gods and Goddesses? I’ve been making through Apollodorus “The Library” and working out the Nominative case 😊 but not all chaps and chapesses are cited in Nominative …..and some I’ve used in my story are not there!

16 October 2017 — Has a year really past since I left Turkey? I shake sand from my hair and await comments from my daughter and a friend regarding a novel I have just completed.

50 people reached 2 Likes Andrew and Carrick  2 Comments
Write Elizabeth F. Woodfield: Thanks Carrick
Carrick: Great to see you back on the web. Yes a full year. It goes fast for sure.

19 October 2016 — Anna is home from Greece and Turkey. Her story is being revisited.

27 April 2016 — At thirty minutes past midnight at the height of a Summer gale I raced out into my garden and held in my arms my olive tree. Last year in such a storm its first blooming saw every flower stripped from its spindly branches. Through the tempestuous rain-drenched night I held my precious tree, singing to it, crying out loud, crooning, encouraging it to hold on tight to its tiny flowers. Its stake had broken but not its will nor mine and together we protected those little flowers.

Thence every day with a broad-brimmed hat on my head I talked with it, examined it for squatters like tiny red spiders picking them off as they took up residence but sometimes missing green rogues until they swelled to titan-sized caterpillars each with a lethal-looking spike soaring high; and daily I brought for my tree half a bucket of water, sometimes more as we both struggled in the debilitating heat and sand and hydration of summer before the staggering humidity kicked in.

We have no dirt here; this island really is a sand-dune; black sand sitting on top of white sand. My 400 litre compost bin augments its shortcomings. We’re not permitted to bring real dirt to the island because of the terror of fire-ants.

My olive tree grows in a big blue pot and no doubt has sent a root into the sand below the bed of granite which I manhandled in to make a nice path and deep drainage for the wet-season inundations. The water-table is very close to the surface in a king-tide particularly if the rains have come, but shrinks with the long dry times. I bought my olive tree several years ago; it was 300 mm high. Now its wind-moulded fruit-created arc curves six feet, er….. 2 metres.

Fifty-nine fruit swelled. At first they were little green balls which over the months took shape to ovoid forms measuring nearly the size of the first section of my index finger and in turn they became a rich deep purple. Thus I picked them and Joe the local bus driver told me how to cure them. I nearly lost them though. Fungal growth claimed two in late February, the day I harvested my first olive crop.

27 April 2016 — I’d notated the following regarding Tigers which Robin had said Tigers is a good read. But he’s languishing in a box as I forge ahead with Anna and fix for a great journey.

I’d notated the following but Hi, At last I’ve finished the umpteenth fine-toothcombing and reduction of my book: Tigers in My Teacup. Yahoo! and since set upon more tomes. This Wasn’t MeThis Was Me

24 April 2016 — Freg now competes with Mr HP who has forced me to classes what with his peculiar environment. He arrived last October. And what great howls of frustration he caused! A wonder he didn’t land out on the street and crushed under foot. Freg however will not be totally abandoned for he travels light and is ready for adventure. The haul of photos taken in Turkey will have first to be removed. Maybe that’s what he wants. Maybe if they’re zapped to some other place Freg will move with grace.

24 April 2016 — Ahah! Anna sits with 81,000 words. Will she get to Turkey? If she does, will she return home? That was written 2016 April 24 but (I’d) not discovered how to “post”!

AND NOW A JOURNEY WITH ANNA STARTED:

19 August 2015 — Hah! Today 24 pages now completed of “Anna” Draft 1. She has met up- with Alex on Tour from Athens and sees her dance. Now, I’m going to plant radish seeds.

AND COMING TO TERMS WITH NEWEST TECHNOLOGY

As: Elii-Fay Woodfield — 21 August 2015 — Journey with Freg – Part III

Today we checked Activity Log to see if anyone’s accessed. And awared re importance of at end of Internet sessions to Empty Cache (gosh, how was that done?
Freg and I also have to sort out disabling add-ons.
Next we have our first “exam” = tremble-tremble hah, hah….. And I’ve just discovered I’ve had my trousers on back-to-front all morning!
Question: Will Mozilla/Firefox be better on this wee machine? Will it fit? and why can not this page be seen Mr Bowbender?

Comment: Carrick Woodfield: I’d suggest Crome not Firefox or Mozilla. Also why are you needing to empty your cache at the end of a session? Unless it is a shared machine or you are getting errors.
Elii-Fay Woodfield: Oh, will check that out. I think it was in case the machine is stolen.

14 August 2015 — Freg Part II

Today, 14th August 2015 with sun shining, another attempt at creating a new page in U3A class = successful. Previous failure was due to machine crashing before gmail could accept the password therefore cannot access Eli-Fay, boo-hoo. The IP has changed. Next step should be to connect, handshake, befriend to managed page Write Elizabeth…. for Part I Freg

9 August 2015 — Journey with Freg – Part I

Freg came into my life exactly four years ago. Together we travelled Turkey for two months – such adventures we had, particularly after our wonderful two-weeks’ grand Turkish Delights Tour to freewheeling along the Black Sea where no English was spoken – not a tourist route.

Freg was constant; we never got lost and we never argued; and Freg was so good for downloading photographs, ensuring they’re kept in order and copying all to flash-drive backups; he even introduced me to Skype so that I could talk with my son when paused by the island Jason and his argonauts had revictualled at on their epic journey – its a sanctuary for birds now, no-one’s allowed to land, so maybe they took too many ultimately threatening species.

Ah, my son. Previous to wandering Turkey, via two long-haul flights we had landed in England to meet my fifth grandchild, the lovely brand-new daughter of my younger son and his lovely wife. Oh, happy days. And of course we went north to exhaust with my older sister – she and I always fill each day with explorations to sites of ancientness, stateleyness, rite, ritual, mayhem. Then after Turkey we went to Dubai to meet-up with my other son, his also lovely wife and two terrific little boys. I was not allowed in to Saudi Arabia even as grandmother, residential papers are mandatory; so the mountains had to come to me. We spent a whole week together based breath-takingly highup in The Oasis Beach Towers right opposite where Team New Zealand with all challengers were warming up for trials for The America’s Cup. My sons are yachties and our view was carefully chosen.

After parting from family, Freg and I then took an unscheduled two-week sojourn in India to visit elderly friends (Shelia had wired ‘Do pop in on your way home, darling’ and so we had); a dream to see them again but Bombay, yes, Bombay as most-everybody I encountered there insisted still appellationing, was the worst trial of the nine times I’ve been to that humungous city; the heat was awful, the humidity stupendous, the decrepitness beyond the pale, frighteningly rampant. Bombay sadly was no longer the place I once knew; I could not get out quick enough. After three days when I thought I would die, I hied up to the hills in an air-con taxi. Five hours door-to-door. I could not countenance any other means.

So now, four years down the track, Freg is still downloading photos for me and coming in to new tricks. This month I signed up for lessons to master Facebook; there are a few aspects Freg and I simply cannot figure out.

But Freg, how many times have I so very nearly thrown you out the door; had to rise from my seat to make a calming cup of tea; strode away sweating. Frustrated on your tightly-packed keys. Your slowness of thinking. Government promised to address Broadband by mid July to our island but still you struggle; you’re doing fine in this WordPad but as soon as hooked to Internet you’re worse than a slug.

Comments and Likes: Write Elizabeth F. Woodfield: Oh yes, and my dear daughter blossometh.
Sally Woodfield: By the way you have a daughter too.
Elii-Fay Woodfield: Hey, we’re on the road again, Freg and me! Part II attempted today. And it’s Carrick’s birthday today where it’s yesterday….. ahem, see below for Part II.

2 July 2015 — So, now into the next! Where will it go after Anna breathes the vapours high on a mountain?

6 June 2015 — Got that Novella finished: Cords. Comes in at 11,362 words on May 28 – a comfortable length! Quite chuffed 🙂

25 May 2015 — What a lovely time of year, Autumn with days so clear, nights becoming nippy – nippy that is, if you wilt in heat. Am working on novella at mo’. Two thirds pretty much stitched up. It’s a complete departure from Tigers.

8 January 2015 — Ah hah! found listing of earlier article:
Woodfield, Elizabeth F. (1990). Part II is in vol. 32/2 and part III in vol. 32/3. New Zealand Asia Information Service
Journey into India – part 2
From: Potter, By: Woodfield, Elizabeth F Talks about house firing projects in Pondicherry … Ray Meeker
nzais.auckland.ac.nz/…/*/Author:%22Woodfield,+Elizabeth+F.%…

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