I don't know who Roy, or maybe it's Ray, was, but I like the opening to this postcard: "Hello Roy, How is your old heart. Is it healing".

I am guessing the letter-writer and poser of that question is asking about a broken heart and not a medical condition, given the mention of ice-skating that follows: and doesn't it seem such a lovely thing to do, in the way of a close confidant and companion, to ask about a broken heart.

How is your old heart? Is there healing to be done?

IN JULY AND AUGUST:

I WENT TO... Maleny in Queensland's Sunshine Coast hinterland to potter about, sit in cafes, drink coffee, write in my diary, drive back roads and dig about in op shops, followed about a week later with a country road trip to Stroud and Dungog and a day of bushwalking in Barrington Tops National Park. There's nothing like getting off the main roads onto the back roads.

I ATE... I've been scratching my head trying to think whether there was a particularly stand-out feed from the past couple of months. A pot-luck dinner at ours was pretty great and I have finally had a chance to try the ricotta cannoli at Costa Centrale, at Woy Woy. It's pretty damn good.

I OP SHOPPED... A couple of great hand-knits, including this bright red number and bright yellow picture-knit. Books, patterns, haberdashery and vintage cook books made up the rest. You know, just the usual. *wink*

I MADE... I dragged out the sewing machine and cut a 1970s shirt pattern from 1980s fabric just to see whether the pattern would work OK if I was to pick out a nicer fabric. I tend to use op shop fabric or find a dress or larger size skirt or shirt I can cut down when road-testing a new pattern. Because the patterns are often op shop patterns, I want to see how the pieces come together and whether the sizing is quite right using fabric that won't be a loss if it's cut into and why not recycle something than buy new. It's a summer shirt. I'll be sure to share it when the weather warms up a little, which won't be long.

I READ... I feel like the reading drought I'd had for years is broken. Even with a serious of amount of academic and professional reading to do each and every day, I seem to be cracking through the novels. First up in the past weeks was William McInnes' The Birdwatcher. A light read, sweet read where I could actually hear McInnes' Aussie drawl in the main character. I don't just read books, I hear them in my head. Are you the same? Is it just me?

Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine, by Gail Honeyman, was the next book I read. I was hooked early on, but had worked out what was going on well before the end, so the plot twists near the end seemed lost and hollow. Still a good read, and one that will have you thinking of the main two characters for days, even weeks, afterwards.

My standout read of recent weeks though is Peng Shepherd's The Book of M. It's not everyone's cup of tea, falling into the genre of fantasy, but I am not a lover of fantasy titles. Nor will a Sci-Fi novel pull me in. This sits somewhere else on the genre bookshelf. I do love Margaret Atwood's work and this sits alongside that for me, although less within the realms of possibility that Atwood's work always is. I was pulled along through The Book of M and felt quite bereft when it ended. It's a long time since I've felt actual loss at saying goodbye to book characters.

Apologies for being so absent from this space, and to all those who did reach out and ask about my old healing heart. Your friendship is all.