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A reminder of the jars Mum filled but hers were never packed with this artistic care. These are at the fabulous Leura Deli cafe a good spot to eat, one of my favourites.

The ABC Shop has a new book on preserving Year in a bottle by Sally Wise. I'm so tempted to buy it just to look at, I know I'll never preserve a thing.

Year in a bottle -- that's an interesting thought -- is this year worth bottling?

Words to walk with:
Counting in sevens by Judith Wright.
"Seven ones are seven.
I can't remember that year
Or what presents I was given.

Seven twos are fourteen.
That year I found my mind,
Swore not to be what I had been.

Seven threes are twenty-one.
I was sailing my own sea,
First in love, the knots undone.

Seven fours are twenty-eight;
Three false starts had come and gone;
My true love came, and not too late.

Seven fives are thirty-five.
In her cot my daughter lay,
Real, miraculous, alive.

Seven sixes are forty-two.
I packed her sandwiches for school,
I loved my love and time came true.

Seven sevens are forty-nine.
Fruit loaded down my apple tree,
Near fifty years of life were mine.

Seven eights are fifty-six.
My lips still cold from a last kiss,
My fire was ash and charcoal-sticks.

Seven nines are sixty-three; seven tens are seventy.
Who would that old woman be?
She will remember being me,
But what she is I cannot see.

Yet with every added seven.
Some strange present I was given.