I've been playing with reproduction blue fabrics (particularly like that vintage conversational with baby Saturns on it). Project to come in Australian Patchwork and Quilting, the issue out in about July 2008 in Oz.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Reproduction blues
I've been playing with reproduction blue fabrics (particularly like that vintage conversational with baby Saturns on it). Project to come in Australian Patchwork and Quilting, the issue out in about July 2008 in Oz.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
You + Me = Us (Harmony Day)
Scrapbooking papers, fonts from http://www.scrapvillage.com/ (library/fonts) and it's Harmony Day badge making time again at work - they look good, don't they? Although the concept of Harmony Day is apparently under review by the new Federal Government, so whether it's around next year is anyone's guess.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Remembering
One of the things about being a teacher is how many faces and names pass through your life, year after year, hundreds of them. You remember some, and others less so, and others not at all, because you had so little to do with them - although then sometimes a smile from a supermarket checkout kid, or an unexpected 'hello' in the shopping centre remind you that they remember you, they know you.
But some you do remember - not every day, but when circumstances call them to mind. Maybe ones with whom you spent more time, over time, because they were in your class, or one of your mentor students, or in the year group to whom you were a year adviser, or because they picked you as a teacher to whom they could tell their stories, from whom they could find a greeting, mooch a jellybean, whatever.
I knew last week that one of our ex-students had died in a road accident, but among all the hundreds who learn at this school, year after year, I can't always fix a face to a name - on the other such sad occasions (thankfully rare), it hasn't necessarily been a student I knew. This time, somehow, I just didn't hear the name.
Until today. And this was one I knew, a sweet-natured girl, quietly independent in her ways, only out of school a couple of years. I can see her now sitting in my office with that wonderful grin on her face, talking with me of cabbages and kings, burgling a jelly bean or three (I wish I could remember her favourite colour - was she one of those who do like black ones? or did she prefer the red ones? It's not at all important, but I'd like to be able to conjure that information. But I can't). I know she brought me photos of her all dressed up for the Year 12 farewell, but I can't remember her dress. Was it red? I know she came by to shoot the breeze a couple of times, the year after she left school, and it was good to see her.
We went back to the year group photo, the year she finished high school, and there she is, near the back because she was one of the taller girls, and it's hard to believe her life is finished, now, when it should just be blossoming out. She was one who would have explored the world, with her own quiet determination, given back with quiet grace, mothered children with kindness and thought. If that had been possible.
So these roses are for her, offered with my memories, incomplete as they are, scraps become sharper. Among the many names and faces, some you do remember, and a few, sadly, mourn.
But some you do remember - not every day, but when circumstances call them to mind. Maybe ones with whom you spent more time, over time, because they were in your class, or one of your mentor students, or in the year group to whom you were a year adviser, or because they picked you as a teacher to whom they could tell their stories, from whom they could find a greeting, mooch a jellybean, whatever.
I knew last week that one of our ex-students had died in a road accident, but among all the hundreds who learn at this school, year after year, I can't always fix a face to a name - on the other such sad occasions (thankfully rare), it hasn't necessarily been a student I knew. This time, somehow, I just didn't hear the name.
Until today. And this was one I knew, a sweet-natured girl, quietly independent in her ways, only out of school a couple of years. I can see her now sitting in my office with that wonderful grin on her face, talking with me of cabbages and kings, burgling a jelly bean or three (I wish I could remember her favourite colour - was she one of those who do like black ones? or did she prefer the red ones? It's not at all important, but I'd like to be able to conjure that information. But I can't). I know she brought me photos of her all dressed up for the Year 12 farewell, but I can't remember her dress. Was it red? I know she came by to shoot the breeze a couple of times, the year after she left school, and it was good to see her.
We went back to the year group photo, the year she finished high school, and there she is, near the back because she was one of the taller girls, and it's hard to believe her life is finished, now, when it should just be blossoming out. She was one who would have explored the world, with her own quiet determination, given back with quiet grace, mothered children with kindness and thought. If that had been possible.
So these roses are for her, offered with my memories, incomplete as they are, scraps become sharper. Among the many names and faces, some you do remember, and a few, sadly, mourn.
Monday, March 17, 2008
Strasburg Clock
One of the Powerhouse Museum's longest-term attractions is a version of the Strasburg Clock built in Sydney. It does its thing on the hour throughout the day, and always gathers a crowd. This photo was taken during the procession of the Apostles, at the point when Peter was there - because the cock is crowing three times, and the devil's window is open.
More about it here.
Such things fascinate me for the mind behind them, that said, hey, I'll build one of THOSE - and does. Amazing intricacy - the clock has so many features. It must have been an engrossing challenge. It is all too easy to be deterred, to think yourself out of something being possible rather than just going ahead and seeing if maybe it is... and sometimes things don't work. But sometimes they do.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Lunch
Last Sunday's lunch.
I didn't go to Harry's Cafe De Wheels (a Sydney institution) but the source of its famous pies is right near the Powerhouse Museum. This is known as a 'tiger'. Something to do with the 'stripes' of pie, mashed potato, mushy peas and gravy, I suspect. You have to be quite cautious in consuming it because the plastic fork is a tad flimsy, and the gravy capable of flooding off the plate...but not, as is usually the case with pies, because the content is suspect. Nice chunks of meat. Not a daily health food, no, but fun for a change.
Here's someone else's blog entry with lots of info about Hannah's Pies, from whence this came.
Saturday, March 15, 2008
An observation
Karaoke on a Saturday night should be considered an indoor sport. You can't assume that a sound most resembling assorted felines being eviscerated/obliterated in assorted ways that have little in common with the artist's original musical vision will be something that brings joy to your neighbours.
I'm just sayin'.
I'm just sayin'.
Art Deco wallpaper sample book
Another Powerhouse Museum item from the design exhibition (have I persuaded you to go see this yet?).
The saturated colours and the design of this reminded me of Kaffe Fassett fabrics. Would I buy meterage/yardage of a fabric like this? Oh yes!
(But now I'm off to play with reproduction blues, a much more subdued and restrained palette).
The saturated colours and the design of this reminded me of Kaffe Fassett fabrics. Would I buy meterage/yardage of a fabric like this? Oh yes!
(But now I'm off to play with reproduction blues, a much more subdued and restrained palette).
Friday, March 14, 2008
100 Word Stories: Song challenge (and name the song)
I am more than sick of this nappy bucket. I grimace with green virtue; wrist-deep in tainted water, nose wrinkling, it’s not so easy. My eyes are grimy-tired. It’s a toss-up whether 3am or 5am would be my least favourite time to be up. Maybe 4am, after both the others.
Felix appears at the door. "Yuk," he says, standing there in his suit and slightly loosened tie. "Dinner?"
You preside on the kitchen bench, gumming a rattle, sometimes laughing at the silly noises your dad makes to you as he chops and stirs.
You raise me up, both of you.
More info on You Raise Me Up. Josh Groban's version would be my favourite.
Felix appears at the door. "Yuk," he says, standing there in his suit and slightly loosened tie. "Dinner?"
You preside on the kitchen bench, gumming a rattle, sometimes laughing at the silly noises your dad makes to you as he chops and stirs.
You raise me up, both of you.
More info on You Raise Me Up. Josh Groban's version would be my favourite.
Tiwi work
Screenprinted on cotton, this was made by Tiwi people from Bathurst Island, based on a bark painting. It's another piece from the design section of the Powerhouse Museum.
Its regularities and irregularities remind me of Gee's Bend quiltmaking. Between these two cultural ways of seeing, I'd like to find for myself a way of graphically representing ideas, as they do. It's a journey; recognising that is one of the steps, and not rushing it, but letting your mind stay open and thoughtful.
I didn't stop for photos on the way home this afternoon. I could have caught, for you, the reflection of eucalyptus trees in a pond. Or cattle, their shapes outlined in the calm golden light of late afternoon, with the mountains turning blue behind them. Maybe next week. Sometimes, I do stop. Sometimes, I just want to get home. Busy weekend, lots of quilt deadlines crowding in.
Its regularities and irregularities remind me of Gee's Bend quiltmaking. Between these two cultural ways of seeing, I'd like to find for myself a way of graphically representing ideas, as they do. It's a journey; recognising that is one of the steps, and not rushing it, but letting your mind stay open and thoughtful.
I didn't stop for photos on the way home this afternoon. I could have caught, for you, the reflection of eucalyptus trees in a pond. Or cattle, their shapes outlined in the calm golden light of late afternoon, with the mountains turning blue behind them. Maybe next week. Sometimes, I do stop. Sometimes, I just want to get home. Busy weekend, lots of quilt deadlines crowding in.
Thursday, March 13, 2008
100 Word Stories: Hello, I don't believe we've met...
We won’t, now. Never will, and yet we have.
The soaring notes of Handel’s Messiah, the sharp and engaging observations of Dickens, my mother’s stories about Laurence Olivier in his prime, the impact of his Henry V film in World War II. Gerard Manley Hopkins, Jane Austen, Shakespeare, TS Eliot, two Bronte sisters, Blake…in this winter crowd of tourists, I engage in a literary stations of the cross, here in Poets’ Corner.
Above, the stone arches rise and meet each other. We can be astonished by words, by buildings, but in the end individual imaginations let us soar. Thank you.
The soaring notes of Handel’s Messiah, the sharp and engaging observations of Dickens, my mother’s stories about Laurence Olivier in his prime, the impact of his Henry V film in World War II. Gerard Manley Hopkins, Jane Austen, Shakespeare, TS Eliot, two Bronte sisters, Blake…in this winter crowd of tourists, I engage in a literary stations of the cross, here in Poets’ Corner.
Above, the stone arches rise and meet each other. We can be astonished by words, by buildings, but in the end individual imaginations let us soar. Thank you.
Holding it together
A Droog design chest of drawers from the current design exhibition at the Powerhouse Museum in Sydney. Fabulously inventive, although you do wonder if operating the drawers would weaken the structure. It's a bit of a metaphor, too, all the stuff of life we hold together, the drawers we open readily, those we keep closed, their contents away from the eyes of the world. The way in which days are a patchwork, united by their connection to each individual, the individual collection of stuff that belongs to us, our lives, each day.
The name of this piece is: "You can't lay down your memories".
This is the Powerhouse's page on this item from their collection:
http://www.powerhousemuseum.com/collection/database/?irn=365248
The name of this piece is: "You can't lay down your memories".
This is the Powerhouse's page on this item from their collection:
http://www.powerhousemuseum.com/collection/database/?irn=365248
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
100 Word Stories: Wait - He Said What?
You. Are. Kidding.
No, I’m not.
Francis Xavier Bartholomew O’Leary, if you’re making this up…
Nope, never.
Impossible.
I know. But it’s true.
He really said it?
This morning, while we were having coffee.
He doesn’t drink coffee.
Chai and coffee, know-it-all.
Except he told you first.
I’m telling you second.
Mary Margaret Therese O’Brien.
Yup.
And our Patrick?
Patrick really said it.
But I thought he hated her.
So we all thought.
And he’s promised? No going back?
No going back.
Let me get this straight. Patrick has finally agreed to claim little Tom as his?
As his son.
No, I’m not.
Francis Xavier Bartholomew O’Leary, if you’re making this up…
Nope, never.
Impossible.
I know. But it’s true.
He really said it?
This morning, while we were having coffee.
He doesn’t drink coffee.
Chai and coffee, know-it-all.
Except he told you first.
I’m telling you second.
Mary Margaret Therese O’Brien.
Yup.
And our Patrick?
Patrick really said it.
But I thought he hated her.
So we all thought.
And he’s promised? No going back?
No going back.
Let me get this straight. Patrick has finally agreed to claim little Tom as his?
As his son.
Green tomatoes
Behind the apron-draped wooden fence from a couple of days ago was a flourishing vegetable garden, including these tomatoes.
Green is a stage, too. Green, growing, not yet ripe, not yet finished, but necessary for that ripeness to come. Sometimes I get too impatient with process and want product, want the result. But when I get lost in process, caught in the productive zone that can be close to meditation, it's good too. I need to remember that.
Love the fresh, sharp, slightly uncompromising smell of tomato leaves. I bought the vine-ripened hydroponic ones the other day, with stems and leaves, to savour that scent.
Green is a stage, too. Green, growing, not yet ripe, not yet finished, but necessary for that ripeness to come. Sometimes I get too impatient with process and want product, want the result. But when I get lost in process, caught in the productive zone that can be close to meditation, it's good too. I need to remember that.
Love the fresh, sharp, slightly uncompromising smell of tomato leaves. I bought the vine-ripened hydroponic ones the other day, with stems and leaves, to savour that scent.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
100 Word Stories: The Ritz
At eighty, Mrs Candley’s morning walk was rather less brisk than it had been at seventy. "Not old," she would mutter to herself, "not old"…as though somehow saying the words would make them true. She loved her little house, and its abundant garden, and the memories of Edward that were in every room.
“We live in the Ritz!” he’d say, surveying the kitchen, and the view of the vegetable garden beyond. She still grew herbs, and tomatoes, and energetic scarlet runner beans, with help from the boy next door. I’d be scared of somewhere grand, she thought. This is home.
“We live in the Ritz!” he’d say, surveying the kitchen, and the view of the vegetable garden beyond. She still grew herbs, and tomatoes, and energetic scarlet runner beans, with help from the boy next door. I’d be scared of somewhere grand, she thought. This is home.
...the splendour falls...
One of those moments when you think, if I didn't have a blog and/or digital camera, which make me attentive and free to be photographically profligate, would I have noticed or caught this?
And who knows. Because I do, and I did, and it was an evocative conjunction of humble boards and colour-stained sunlight.
Which I caught on the weekend. Today? Running around all day like a mad thing, similar to so many other days at work. Fizz and run and hope that it's all holding together, trying to focus enough on one thing to be able to say at day's end, that's done, amid a zillion other things that you flit and answer to and help with and flit onwards. Although I did manage to eat lunch in one sitting today, not four...(that was yesterday).
And who knows. Because I do, and I did, and it was an evocative conjunction of humble boards and colour-stained sunlight.
Which I caught on the weekend. Today? Running around all day like a mad thing, similar to so many other days at work. Fizz and run and hope that it's all holding together, trying to focus enough on one thing to be able to say at day's end, that's done, amid a zillion other things that you flit and answer to and help with and flit onwards. Although I did manage to eat lunch in one sitting today, not four...(that was yesterday).
Monday, March 10, 2008
100 Word Stories: She will be missed
Sometimes, amid a busy day at work, you need a jellybean. A shot of sugar from Julie, who keeps – kept - an open-access jar on her desk.
I finally realised that it wasn’t just the sugar, but the almost-certainty of the cheerful greeting, potent as sugar, feeding your soul.
Julie made this office work. Now I realise, as the gaps start appearing, things are left to hang, unfinished, uncaught. She knitted us all together into something we are not on our own. I wish I’d thanked her more, before she left.
The jar is now on my desk, empty, waiting.
I finally realised that it wasn’t just the sugar, but the almost-certainty of the cheerful greeting, potent as sugar, feeding your soul.
Julie made this office work. Now I realise, as the gaps start appearing, things are left to hang, unfinished, uncaught. She knitted us all together into something we are not on our own. I wish I’d thanked her more, before she left.
The jar is now on my desk, empty, waiting.
Lockheed Lounge at the Powerhouse
Near the entrance to the Powerhouse Museum in Sydney is Marc Newsom's iconic Lockheed Lounge.
I rather liked the geometries in this picture - the fluidly organic shape of the lounge and the rectangles of windows and walls.
I rather liked the geometries in this picture - the fluidly organic shape of the lounge and the rectangles of windows and walls.
Sunday, March 09, 2008
Diana and a bookshop browse
The Powerhouse Museum in Sydney is currently hosting an exhibition of possessions and gowns and other memorabilia related to Diana, Princess of Wales.
Lots of women there - very few men. At the (approx 5 min running loop) videos of the wedding and the funeral, there were people with surreptitious hanky-dabbing, reminded of their happiness and sadness.
It was fascinating to see the wedding dress up so close, and the sheer length of the veil and train (St Paul's would dwarf any gown...). Lovely handpainted detail on the underside of the wedding shoes. Extraordinary embroidery on others of her evening gowns, also on display - cornelli, and beading, and beautiful fabrics cut so cleverly.
After Diana, we spent just as long, if not longer, in the design exhibition on the entry level of the museum - some of the items are on long-term display, while others rotate, so there's always something new to see. It covers centuries of design, from eighteenth century gowns to Droog Design's drawers held together with a mover's strap.
Then we headed over to Kinokuniya, catty-corner from Town Hall. Ah. Bliss. Didn't emerge for three hours...Their range is absolutely huge, great depth, wonderful for browsing and planning what to buy now, what to buy next time. How could the internet ever replace books? - the smell of them, the satisfying heft and physical existence of them, flicking back and forth without waiting for a server or electricity, being carried away to different places, with pictures to engage your mind, ideas to engage your imagination.
Lots of women there - very few men. At the (approx 5 min running loop) videos of the wedding and the funeral, there were people with surreptitious hanky-dabbing, reminded of their happiness and sadness.
It was fascinating to see the wedding dress up so close, and the sheer length of the veil and train (St Paul's would dwarf any gown...). Lovely handpainted detail on the underside of the wedding shoes. Extraordinary embroidery on others of her evening gowns, also on display - cornelli, and beading, and beautiful fabrics cut so cleverly.
After Diana, we spent just as long, if not longer, in the design exhibition on the entry level of the museum - some of the items are on long-term display, while others rotate, so there's always something new to see. It covers centuries of design, from eighteenth century gowns to Droog Design's drawers held together with a mover's strap.
Then we headed over to Kinokuniya, catty-corner from Town Hall. Ah. Bliss. Didn't emerge for three hours...Their range is absolutely huge, great depth, wonderful for browsing and planning what to buy now, what to buy next time. How could the internet ever replace books? - the smell of them, the satisfying heft and physical existence of them, flicking back and forth without waiting for a server or electricity, being carried away to different places, with pictures to engage your mind, ideas to engage your imagination.
Saturday, March 08, 2008
Aprons on a fence
What a great way to draw attention to a really charming little antiquey-junky shop (my favourite combination!), stocked by a slightly distracted and really charming old lady. You couldn't help but wander by and wander in. Chicken-scratch embroidered gingham aprons on a fence, with cheerful pink cosmos looking enquiringly through from the flourishing vegetable patch behind.
We agreed that this shop would stay on the must-visit radar (another couple dropped off the must-visit radar on this jaunt up the mountains - you never quite know with antiquey-junky shops).
We agreed that this shop would stay on the must-visit radar (another couple dropped off the must-visit radar on this jaunt up the mountains - you never quite know with antiquey-junky shops).
Friday, March 07, 2008
100 Word Stories: They're never around when you need one.
Don’t get me wrong. I think teenage boys can be utterly charming and delightful, even if their legs are hollow and their capacity for inhaling food in Tardis-like proportions (where DO they put it?) is designed to keep parents poor for years. They are capable of unexpected charm to elderly female relatives (great aunts and grandmas in particular) and wonderful patience with the smallest children (turn me upside down AGAIN!). And have you ever seen how they cradle a baby, how their faces soften, and you have to be very surreptitious about how you take a photo?
JAMES??? Garbage night!
JAMES??? Garbage night!
Sunflower and bee
Although it wasn't cold, the day was grey, and the sky considering rain (it got distracted, and the sun came out). I was happy that my modest little point-and-shoot digital camera managed to catch this - the bee, the water drops, the happy colour on a grey day.
Thursday, March 06, 2008
100 Word Stories: Tricksy numbers
Two husbands (ex), one current (aka darling boy).
Five children. Two mine, two step, and Bellybump.
One mother, three mothers-in-law (an inelegant oversufficiency).
Five fathers/fathers-in-law. Don’t ask. Too complicated.
Assorted siblings. Assorted sibling partners. Assorted food allergies/preferences/fussinesses (vegan, darling, but we make an exception for cow’s milk and fish. I refuse to enquire further).
All Rabbit’s friends and relations (ie. the rest of the family).
Darling boy’s work commitments. Darling children’s comings and goings to be managed with military precision. Bellybump’s morning contribution to my health and welfare (Still queasy? says current MIL in That Tone).
Two words: Family Christmas.
Five children. Two mine, two step, and Bellybump.
One mother, three mothers-in-law (an inelegant oversufficiency).
Five fathers/fathers-in-law. Don’t ask. Too complicated.
Assorted siblings. Assorted sibling partners. Assorted food allergies/preferences/fussinesses (vegan, darling, but we make an exception for cow’s milk and fish. I refuse to enquire further).
All Rabbit’s friends and relations (ie. the rest of the family).
Darling boy’s work commitments. Darling children’s comings and goings to be managed with military precision. Bellybump’s morning contribution to my health and welfare (Still queasy? says current MIL in That Tone).
Two words: Family Christmas.
Sign
I rather liked this font, and the sign's slightly ageworn quality (sadly, its shop wasn't nearly as nice).
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
100 Word Stories: You're waiting for something important
It was hurting like crazy. Crazy enough for painkillers. But now, after the first couple of treatments – well, after the first one, the pain’s gone. Pretty much. Needle-fine files have dug in there, it’s the first ever time I’ve spent so long in a dentist’s chair that I arrived with iPod…
And now it’s a waiting game. Is there a twang, still? An ache? A small echo remaining of how it was? They won’t finish till this is gone, the nerve is gone. And so I wait, and pay attention. The root canal tango, a game of hide and seek.
And now it’s a waiting game. Is there a twang, still? An ache? A small echo remaining of how it was? They won’t finish till this is gone, the nerve is gone. And so I wait, and pay attention. The root canal tango, a game of hide and seek.
3 china jugs
They're still in the shop - I didn't succumb. But aren't they beautiful? Pretty, the kind of thing that makes you smile as you pour the juice intot your glass, the milk into your cup. They don't need to be floral, or china, to do their work - the plastic bottle or cardboard carton can perform that function just as well. But there's something about adding grace to the everyday that's at the core of the appeal of these, for me.
Tuesday, March 04, 2008
100 Word Stories: There's an elf at your front door.
So, you’re an elf.
Yup.
Nice green hat.
Yup.
Cool feather.
Yeah.
Best red pants I’ve ever seen.
Yup.
Are those pointy shoes comfortable?
Nope.
Would you rather change them?
Nope.
(Is it just me, or is this conversation flagging a bit?)
So, Owen, why are you an elf today?
Not Owen. Olaf.
Ah. Olaf the Elf, yes?
Yup.
Okaaaay. what do elves do, on a fine day like today?
Eat ICECREAM!
Oh really? Why icecream?
It’s for magic.
Well, I can see how that’s handy. What sort of magic?
We make things disappear.
Like what, Olaf the Elf?
ICECREEEEEEAM!
Yup.
Nice green hat.
Yup.
Cool feather.
Yeah.
Best red pants I’ve ever seen.
Yup.
Are those pointy shoes comfortable?
Nope.
Would you rather change them?
Nope.
(Is it just me, or is this conversation flagging a bit?)
So, Owen, why are you an elf today?
Not Owen. Olaf.
Ah. Olaf the Elf, yes?
Yup.
Okaaaay. what do elves do, on a fine day like today?
Eat ICECREAM!
Oh really? Why icecream?
It’s for magic.
Well, I can see how that’s handy. What sort of magic?
We make things disappear.
Like what, Olaf the Elf?
ICECREEEEEEAM!
Op shop book finds
Did rather well at the op shop on the weekend. I'd been meaning to read the Sonya Hartnett (Sleeping Dogs for yonks, and for 50c, what's not to like? I read pretty much everything by Noel Streatfeild as a kid - the Gemma books, for instance, which I'm slightly afraid of reading again because I remember liking them so much and would hate to find myself disliking now...This was a nice copy of White Boots, so I invested (another 50c). Angela Carter - haven't read this one, but have read others by her - not always the easiest prose, she's a fearless writer (yup, 50c for Heroes and Villians).
The last one, My Year Off by Robert McCrum (author of The Story of English) was one I hadn't planned to buy ($5). An older man who was also browsing the books turned to me and said, "You should buy that one, it's really good." I don't know what prompted this - the other books I was carrying, or his recognition of a favourite book that he wanted someone else to enjoy, who knows? I sorta couldn't leave it on the shelf, then. He was so enthusiastic about it, in a diffident way, it would have been rude not to respect his recommendation. So, ah well, it's now on my reading pile too. I'm not sorry. It's about the stroke that felled him in his early 40s, and the process of recovery following it.
All up, not a bad haul - there be gold, among the dross, some days.
The last one, My Year Off by Robert McCrum (author of The Story of English) was one I hadn't planned to buy ($5). An older man who was also browsing the books turned to me and said, "You should buy that one, it's really good." I don't know what prompted this - the other books I was carrying, or his recognition of a favourite book that he wanted someone else to enjoy, who knows? I sorta couldn't leave it on the shelf, then. He was so enthusiastic about it, in a diffident way, it would have been rude not to respect his recommendation. So, ah well, it's now on my reading pile too. I'm not sorry. It's about the stroke that felled him in his early 40s, and the process of recovery following it.
All up, not a bad haul - there be gold, among the dross, some days.
Monday, March 03, 2008
100 Word Stories: A new god has been born/created...
Special food. Check. Special bed. Check. Special bedding for special bed. Check. Assorted toys, coloured. Check. Minimum of three instruction books, read in full. Check. Care roster. Check. Fair process for choosing a name… well, when we tried them out, Mickey was the one he answered to. Is that fair enough?
Lead, two bowls (labelled ‘food’ and ‘water’, but I suspect that’s for the literate humans, not the dawg), collar, tag, microchipping, vet appointments for shots and such.
"Oh honey," said my best beloved, surrounded by three (additional) pleading sets of eyes. "A dog will be no trouble at all."
Lead, two bowls (labelled ‘food’ and ‘water’, but I suspect that’s for the literate humans, not the dawg), collar, tag, microchipping, vet appointments for shots and such.
"Oh honey," said my best beloved, surrounded by three (additional) pleading sets of eyes. "A dog will be no trouble at all."
Vintage bags
More from the lovely shop I visited last week with a friend. This clutch wasn't the bag I couldn't forget...but doesn't it amuse (those of us old enough to remember the first time) you that Oroton/Glomesh/mesh bags are newly fashionable?
Sunday, March 02, 2008
Scissors and silver jug
Vintage silverplate seems to be among the less expensive collectables around at the moment. Maybe people are put off by the polishing? Which doesn't have to be demanding.
I'm rather enamoured of its possibilities for storage/display. For my rotary cutter and sewing scissors - the care-less dressmaking ones (that can cut wadding as well as fabric, but not paper), the best-fabric ones (no wadding for these) and the pinking shears, you need a container with enough heft not to fall over. For example, a delightful vintage silver water jug, like this one. Not breakable, like china, and heavier than some other choices might be.
And elegantly beautiful, vintage, a grace note, not just storage. My kind of 'stuff'. (nod to William Morris: I know it's useful, and believe it to be beautiful - it ticks the boxes).
I'm rather enamoured of its possibilities for storage/display. For my rotary cutter and sewing scissors - the care-less dressmaking ones (that can cut wadding as well as fabric, but not paper), the best-fabric ones (no wadding for these) and the pinking shears, you need a container with enough heft not to fall over. For example, a delightful vintage silver water jug, like this one. Not breakable, like china, and heavier than some other choices might be.
And elegantly beautiful, vintage, a grace note, not just storage. My kind of 'stuff'. (nod to William Morris: I know it's useful, and believe it to be beautiful - it ticks the boxes).
Saturday, March 01, 2008
Waiting room
The dentist and I are currently on first name terms (although it's hardly surprising, in this day and age) and she's going to have a lovely holiday, I hope, on the proceeds...
This particular practice has the cows (for which I can offer no explanation, as the immediate connection between cows and teeth eludes me, except that they clearly do have teeth) and also the very smart idea of a small library. Not just magazines, but some browsing books, if gossip or cars or National Geographic isn't what you want to distract yourself with.
This particular practice has the cows (for which I can offer no explanation, as the immediate connection between cows and teeth eludes me, except that they clearly do have teeth) and also the very smart idea of a small library. Not just magazines, but some browsing books, if gossip or cars or National Geographic isn't what you want to distract yourself with.
Friday, February 29, 2008
100 Word Stories: You finally tracked down the end of that rainbow
It was a long journey. Years. Plenty of times when you weren’t paying attention, and I knew you were thinking out the myriad individual problems and discouragements involved in such a project. I admire the way you tackled them, one at a time, never downcast for long, always fired by optimism, determined and confident that this could be done, this enormous challenge.
You bought little more than a steel skeleton rusting in a paddock, and now it is a bus again, sometimes carrying people on joyrides, always bringing them joy.
Rainbow gold is such an individual thing.
Now – what’s next?
There are those who will know the inspiration for this particular story....
You bought little more than a steel skeleton rusting in a paddock, and now it is a bus again, sometimes carrying people on joyrides, always bringing them joy.
Rainbow gold is such an individual thing.
Now – what’s next?
There are those who will know the inspiration for this particular story....
Vintage dress and quilt
This is a picture from December (today? not a CHANCE of taking any photos today, work's been unstinting and now my brain is almost too tired to think) taken at the Dubbo Museum.
Just love that quilt. I'd be guessing it's from old clothes, but the quilter's been so clever with her layout of the scraps, and it has wonderful rhythm and harmony, an almost-checkerboard about it. After a busy day, this image has a soothing serenity. Even from what may seem to be chaos, patterns can be formed and harmony achieved.
Just love that quilt. I'd be guessing it's from old clothes, but the quilter's been so clever with her layout of the scraps, and it has wonderful rhythm and harmony, an almost-checkerboard about it. After a busy day, this image has a soothing serenity. Even from what may seem to be chaos, patterns can be formed and harmony achieved.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
100 Word Stories: I'm ready!
I got my tin with everything in.
That’s good, sweetie.
I got Mr Boo.
Can’t go without your bear.
I got three books.
There are books at Auntie Lara’s house.
Like my books best.
Well, you bring them too. But maybe she’ll have some you’ll like.
I got my quilt.
Can’t go anywhere without your quilt, can you, little man?
Can I bring Fizzcat?
No, Fizzcat lives here with us. She’ll be here when you get home.
Will the baby be here when I get home?
Yes, lovey, the baby will be here.
Love you Mum.
Love you back, buddy.
That’s good, sweetie.
I got Mr Boo.
Can’t go without your bear.
I got three books.
There are books at Auntie Lara’s house.
Like my books best.
Well, you bring them too. But maybe she’ll have some you’ll like.
I got my quilt.
Can’t go anywhere without your quilt, can you, little man?
Can I bring Fizzcat?
No, Fizzcat lives here with us. She’ll be here when you get home.
Will the baby be here when I get home?
Yes, lovey, the baby will be here.
Love you Mum.
Love you back, buddy.
Stack of quilts
Some of the quilts I've made (note, plenty aren't here because they're wrapping around loved people in other homes).
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
100 Word Stories: missing it for the world
It’s an odd thing, how people remember where they were when. Me? No. JFK’s assassination? Too young. Man on the moon? I’ve seen it recreated in films, people gathered around televisions for flickery pictures, Neil Armstrong’s one small step speech. But ransacking my mind? Nope. Di? I remember watching the wedding on television, but where was I when the news came of the Paris car crash? Ummmm.
What do I remember? The scent of my grandmother’s hankies, and my mother’s baking, and tobacco on my father’s tweed jacket when we hugged him. My brother learning guitar. All the important things.
What do I remember? The scent of my grandmother’s hankies, and my mother’s baking, and tobacco on my father’s tweed jacket when we hugged him. My brother learning guitar. All the important things.
Vintage china and glass
Your eye hardly knows where to begin looking, does it? A friend took me to a gorgeous shop today - she's been talking about it for ages. Found some treasures (and left some behind for others, although it was tempting, there was this lovely blue pouch bag embroidered with blue cornflowers....
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
100 Word Stories: Betrayal
“No, Mom, I wasn’t sacked. The café closed. I’m working again now, remember?”
“Mom, you make beautiful scones. I just find that Auntie Sue’s recipe is faster when I’m in a rush.”
“I do change the sheets and towels every week, Mom. Why did you tell Grandma that I don’t?”
“Don’t you like the fragrance of curry in my kitchen, Mom? I do. It’s fun grinding the spices.”
“I know Megan’s kids are doing well at their music lessons. It’s great, isn’t it? They are gifted. Maybe you’d like to see Davy’s soccer match one Saturday?”
“I love you, Mom.”
“Mom, you make beautiful scones. I just find that Auntie Sue’s recipe is faster when I’m in a rush.”
“I do change the sheets and towels every week, Mom. Why did you tell Grandma that I don’t?”
“Don’t you like the fragrance of curry in my kitchen, Mom? I do. It’s fun grinding the spices.”
“I know Megan’s kids are doing well at their music lessons. It’s great, isn’t it? They are gifted. Maybe you’d like to see Davy’s soccer match one Saturday?”
“I love you, Mom.”
The Time Traveler's Wife (audiobook)
The novel (text) was a wonderful, absorbing read. The audiobook, which I'm now listening to for the second time on my journey to and from work each day, is equally absorbing. I decided to get the unabridged version (since missing bits of a text you know can be irritating). It's produced by Highbridge Audio, and is read by William Hope and Laurel Lefkow. Who are utterly brilliant.
I haven't spent much time listening to audiobooks, so it's been interesting to consider how it's different to reading. The pace is different, dictated by voice rather than eye-speed. The characters are inevitably fleshed by voice and tone and all the individuality and humanity of someone reading aloud.
Maybe I've been fortunate that my first audiobook experience for a long time has been such a superlative version (I believe it won an award or two) and of such a good book (James Fenimore, are you rotating slowly? tough, buddy).
The rrp for this is about $50US, but if you investigate Amazon Marketplace and/or eBay, you should be able to pick it up for less.
I haven't spent much time listening to audiobooks, so it's been interesting to consider how it's different to reading. The pace is different, dictated by voice rather than eye-speed. The characters are inevitably fleshed by voice and tone and all the individuality and humanity of someone reading aloud.
Maybe I've been fortunate that my first audiobook experience for a long time has been such a superlative version (I believe it won an award or two) and of such a good book (James Fenimore, are you rotating slowly? tough, buddy).
The rrp for this is about $50US, but if you investigate Amazon Marketplace and/or eBay, you should be able to pick it up for less.
Monday, February 25, 2008
100 Word Stories: How did I wind up in this situation?
The sink is full of unwashed dishes. Catcat is Not Happy (I know, we’ve usually fed her by now). The bed’s a rumple of sheets and tossed-around quilts. Is the bathroom clean? Don’t look. Please.
Look here, instead. See? Here’s our boy, our sweet and precious little boy. For all his life, we’ve been searching the thickets surrounding his castle to find him, past the thorns of autism.
He has learned to write his name. There it is, on papers strewn across the table, in pen, in pencil, texta. Wonky. Wonderful. Bright in the morning light, more important than anything.
Look here, instead. See? Here’s our boy, our sweet and precious little boy. For all his life, we’ve been searching the thickets surrounding his castle to find him, past the thorns of autism.
He has learned to write his name. There it is, on papers strewn across the table, in pen, in pencil, texta. Wonky. Wonderful. Bright in the morning light, more important than anything.
Desk posy
Amid the towers of paperwork on my desk (why do they keep getting higher, even as I work and work? Is Rumpelstiltskin available anywhere????) I can take a moment and enjoy this delightful posy from a colleague's garden. Wonderful hot pretty colours, beautiful scents. An oasis amid the paperwork. I'm grateful.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Oriental Lattice (quilt)
Recent work.
Oriental Lattice, as featured in Australian Patchwork and Quilting Vol 16 No 7, issued Feb 2008 in Australia (possibly later overseas).
I was rather pleased with this one - a chance to use LOTS of oriental fabrics (and a few that weren't, but which worked in well). The magazine sent on a lovely email from a reader who'd recognised it as one of my designs, and liked it (she was already making another one of my quilts). So nice to get that sort of feedback (thank you!).
Need to get a move on on my Quilters' Guild of NSW entries, the date entries close for this year's show is the end of February. That would be this week...
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Collecting shells
Late afternoon on the beach, and he was absorbed in collecting shells, his eyes alert for tiny ones, half-buried in the sand. Not just tossing them into the bucket, but examining each, commenting on stripes and colours and the odd one with a mother of pearl inside. Going home in the car he chinked through them like gold, talking away to himself happily.
Friday, February 22, 2008
100 Word Stories: Red or white?
No, I said emphatically, I’m NOT Bridezilla.
Red or white?
The most important thing is Jerome and me. Our day, us.
White? Traditional, my mama says.
Jerome, who has a cowlick over his sleepy eyes first thing in the morning, and who cradles me in his sleep as though I am dear and precious. Jerome, whose stinky sports shoes HAVE to be left on the outside verandah.
Red? The colour of scandal, love, blood, hearts, fire, rich things, roses with scent to haunt you always.
Jerome’s eyes light with laughter when he sees me coming down the aisle. Red. Yes.
Red or white?
The most important thing is Jerome and me. Our day, us.
White? Traditional, my mama says.
Jerome, who has a cowlick over his sleepy eyes first thing in the morning, and who cradles me in his sleep as though I am dear and precious. Jerome, whose stinky sports shoes HAVE to be left on the outside verandah.
Red? The colour of scandal, love, blood, hearts, fire, rich things, roses with scent to haunt you always.
Jerome’s eyes light with laughter when he sees me coming down the aisle. Red. Yes.
The Last of the Mohicans audiobook
The 1992 film, directed by Michael Mann and starring Daniel Day Lewis (and his chest) is a favourite, and brilliantly good. So I'd always meant to read the book. Started a couple of times. Gave up, in the face of a wilderness thicket of colonial prose c.1826. James Fenimore Cooper, I tried, I really did (and by the way, the Fenimore bit must have been fabbobananas for lifting your name to attention from the herd - can't imagine 'James Cooper' having nearly the same impact).
So what's not to like, an audio version - abridged - and read by the wonderful William Hope (who reads Henry in The Time Traveler's Wife, the unabridged audiobook version).
O-kay. So in go the three CDs to the car's CD stacker, ready for the daily journey to and from work, and we're off.
Sheesh. I hadn't realised Michael Mann had taken so many liberties with the original. Roger Ebert's review notes: It is also inspired, of course, by the novel by James Fenimore Cooper, whose frontier fantasies were completely demolished in an hilarious essay by Mark Twain, who noted that whenever the plot required a twig to be stepped on, a Cooper character was able to find a twig and step on it, no matter what the difficulty.Mann's film is quite an improvement on Cooper's all but unreadable book...
Quite so. Maybe I be jus' a chile of mah times, but if those girls had been kidnapped one MORE time by the Injuns, I would have had a Spasm. I think it was three times. I lost interest. Omigod, the girls are gorn and got again, so the heroic men go off to rescue them. And then (spoiler alert for the book), Cora gets stabbed by Magua (a kinda 'knife plunged into her breast to the hilt' deal). See, I much prefer plucky Cora surviving than Alice (pretty much utterly swoony and whimpering in the book, whereas she did get that Clifftop Moment in the film), and as for Magua (in the film) bumping off their pappy, well, it was fine and heroic and all. In the book, pappy survives too. And forget the swoony romantic matinee hero/heroine stuff we so enjoyed in the film - it's not in the book either.
William Hope, you did a great job. Lots of vocal variation, and assorted, credible accents. I blame James Fenimore entirely. Because I can, my favourite version of The Last of the Mohicans will ever after be the 1992 film. Thanks, Michael Mann (well, and I grudgingly guess James, for writing it in the first place...).
I shall be refreshing my happy memories of the film sooner rather than later. Always a fave.
Wikipedia:
film: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Last_of_the_Mohicans_%281992_film%29
Thursday, February 21, 2008
100 Word Stories: What's wrong with the blood?
They’re names, but mostly just barcodes. Prepare the slide, check it through the microscope, look for the patterns, the diagnosis. What’s here? What’s not?
Everything they are, each one of them – daily lives, breakfast choices, tea or coffee at elevenses, whether they grumble about the weather, recycle their newspapers, believe in God or Allah or nothingness, whether they love their children or hate their job (or both). All they are is down to this, these cells.
Somewhere they’re waiting for me to find what there is to be found, and their doctor to say. Yes. No. This disease. Medication. Surgery.
Everything they are, each one of them – daily lives, breakfast choices, tea or coffee at elevenses, whether they grumble about the weather, recycle their newspapers, believe in God or Allah or nothingness, whether they love their children or hate their job (or both). All they are is down to this, these cells.
Somewhere they’re waiting for me to find what there is to be found, and their doctor to say. Yes. No. This disease. Medication. Surgery.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
100 Word Stories: a visit with a psychic
The Corporation requires it, at your eighteenth birthday. We joke, when we’re sure we’re not being overheard: switching the p and s would be more accurate. Spy. Spying. We live in a world of eyes/cameras and loudspeakers/microphones and being careful, always being careful.
This one, something’s different. Her eyes are alive, her hand holds mine and she doesn’t connect the electrodes.
Now. She says. And for all my scepticism, something here is unexpectedly real. Now is the time for change. Take your chances. Run if you can. This isn’t everything. Find out what’s outside the wall.
This one, something’s different. Her eyes are alive, her hand holds mine and she doesn’t connect the electrodes.
Now. She says. And for all my scepticism, something here is unexpectedly real. Now is the time for change. Take your chances. Run if you can. This isn’t everything. Find out what’s outside the wall.
The door dissolves. Gunfire.
Water for Elephants
This was a good read - an engaging story with fascinating detail of Depression-era circus life in the US.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
100 Word Stories: you're planting something
Tomorrow the mesh fence will go up, and the land will no longer be ours. Today I’m on my knees, dirty, a battered straw hat on my head. I can’t care if it’s the right season or time. It’s today or never.
Bare hands. Bare hands with soil-filled fingernails, hunting in the dirt. They’re too small to find with gloves.
Must be close…AH! Bingo. The slight teardrop of a freesia bulb, and another, and I start filling the tin bucket till my fingers can find no more.
Come spring, my grandfather’s freesias will flower again, keeping him still with us.
Bare hands. Bare hands with soil-filled fingernails, hunting in the dirt. They’re too small to find with gloves.
Must be close…AH! Bingo. The slight teardrop of a freesia bulb, and another, and I start filling the tin bucket till my fingers can find no more.
Come spring, my grandfather’s freesias will flower again, keeping him still with us.
Accordion
Proof that aqua is a great colour for lots and lots of things. And with red.
This squeezebox looked like it had lived a hardworking life. If it could talk....
This squeezebox looked like it had lived a hardworking life. If it could talk....
Monday, February 18, 2008
Sweet home
Modest in size and appearance, but appealing too. It was in a vintage wares shop in Katoomba. I liked its battered, lived quality. Resisted temptation and didn't buy it. Just looked, and liked.
(Wonder if it's still there?)
(Wonder if it's still there?)
100 Word Stories: Do you know what your sin is?
The stool was on the chair, both pushed close to the kitchen bench. There were footmarks on the counter, and a stack of thick recipe books. On the open cupboard door, handprints. And the Treats Box was not in its usual place.
In the culprit’s absence, we grinned conspiratorially. I mimed camera, and he nodded, and went in search (the linen closet was a good guess, or under her bed). We rendezvoused on the stairs, and crept up them silently.
Seventeen years later, at her 21st birthday party, those photos of her guilty, chocolatey face were more than adequate return.
In the culprit’s absence, we grinned conspiratorially. I mimed camera, and he nodded, and went in search (the linen closet was a good guess, or under her bed). We rendezvoused on the stairs, and crept up them silently.
Seventeen years later, at her 21st birthday party, those photos of her guilty, chocolatey face were more than adequate return.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Catching up
...seems to be this year's refrain. Well, apart from a few 100 word stories that I'll either write or I won't, the last week's entries have now made it from the digital camera to the blog. So if you want to see 'em, just read backwards, in the lovely way of blogs. Or scroll down and work your way up...
Palette for a quilt
Sometimes it's good to play outside your usual colours and palettes - I do find that challenges, with their boundaries, open different doors and let you find new ways of working.
So for this, I chose fabrics in a particular palette, and let the quilt evolve from there.
I'm feeling a little detached from it - which is not always the case with challenge quilts. It's not that I don't like it, but it is much more successful right now at engaging my head than my heart. Which is enjoyable, but of a different quality to a quilt that engages the heart.
I've given away a couple of quilts in the last couple of months, and each time it's been good, but not necessarily easy. I've been glad to have done it, and glad to have been able to bestow them upon recipients to whom I wanted to give something special. And glad that they're being used and part of their lives now. Sometimes it's easier after the event than before.
I think I have an idea of who this quilt is for. Maybe. It's something you have to let bubble to the surface, and then you say, aha! and you know. Sometimes I know right away that a quilt is for someone in particular, and it's just as much fun to make - but I know all along that it's not staying. Other times, it needs to bubble to the surface in its own time.
So for this, I chose fabrics in a particular palette, and let the quilt evolve from there.
I'm feeling a little detached from it - which is not always the case with challenge quilts. It's not that I don't like it, but it is much more successful right now at engaging my head than my heart. Which is enjoyable, but of a different quality to a quilt that engages the heart.
I've given away a couple of quilts in the last couple of months, and each time it's been good, but not necessarily easy. I've been glad to have done it, and glad to have been able to bestow them upon recipients to whom I wanted to give something special. And glad that they're being used and part of their lives now. Sometimes it's easier after the event than before.
I think I have an idea of who this quilt is for. Maybe. It's something you have to let bubble to the surface, and then you say, aha! and you know. Sometimes I know right away that a quilt is for someone in particular, and it's just as much fun to make - but I know all along that it's not staying. Other times, it needs to bubble to the surface in its own time.
Kiva: Shamshad Iqbal
I am 27-year-old married woman with three girls, aged 4, 2, and six months. As they are small they do not attend school currently, but will surely go to school in future. I run a boutique from my house, and my husband transports goods on a bull cart. My boutique does well, and with the profits I bought a television for my house. I would use this loan to expand my boutique and produce a greater variety of embroidered clothes. This is a group loan. Shahnaz Bibi would use the loan to expland her husband's vegetable business. Faizan Mai wants to buy a cow. Mukhtar Bibi sells milk from her house. Haseena Bibi’s husband sells vegetables in the city vegetable market.All of us have been friends for a long time and work hard to earn a decent livelihood for our families.
Embroidered clothes. Aaah, a fellow textilian. Through the brilliant Kiva, I'm one of those lending to this group. Want to play? Microcredit's fun, and when the money comes back, I can lend it out to another entrepreneur. Why not add to this loan to Shamshad Iqbal?
I was thinking of going to the flicks today. When you add up the ticket at the multiplex, and a bite of lunch, and a drink, you're close enough to the basic $25US Kiva loan. What the heck - the film will come to my lovely local cinema in a few weeks, and I can see it then. For now, the money's on its way to Pakistan. Cool.
Saturday, February 16, 2008
Dragonhaven, by Robin McKinley
A new Robin McKinley book is always a matter for celebration. This one was good, but Sunshine, closely followed by Beauty, remain as my favourites. Oh, and The Blue Sword.
In an alternate version of contemporary times, Smokehill National Park where Jake has lived all his fifteen years is the only place in the US where dragons live. Although with five million acres and a Serious fence, they don't leave and are rarely seen. On his first solo overnight hike, Jake finds a dragonlet - and it's a serious federal offence to give succour to one. But he does (of course). And so the story travels.
While the voice of this story is Jake's voice, it's not necessarily a teenage boy's voice, somehow. I wanted to like this book more than I did - at times the prose is so dense and rolling and the sentences so long that I found myself losing track, a little, and needing to find my bearings again, reread sections to reorient myself....
Just so.
Would I read it again?
Yes. And maybe the second time, knowing the story, I could navigate the prose style more effectively (admittedly I was reading it at a gallop). But it felt like a looser, and I hesitate to say it, less disciplined (edited?) style than her other books. A lot closer to the almost stream-of-consciousness of her blog.
http://robinmckinley.livejournal.com/
There is an extract from Dragonhaven on her website.
http://www.robinmckinley.com/
From her blog, I read that her next book, Chalice, is due out later this year (it's listed on Amazon.com). Will I read that? Of course.
But I still love Sunshine best of anything and best of all, of her works.
Only The Blue Sword's so good, too. And Beauty....
In an alternate version of contemporary times, Smokehill National Park where Jake has lived all his fifteen years is the only place in the US where dragons live. Although with five million acres and a Serious fence, they don't leave and are rarely seen. On his first solo overnight hike, Jake finds a dragonlet - and it's a serious federal offence to give succour to one. But he does (of course). And so the story travels.
While the voice of this story is Jake's voice, it's not necessarily a teenage boy's voice, somehow. I wanted to like this book more than I did - at times the prose is so dense and rolling and the sentences so long that I found myself losing track, a little, and needing to find my bearings again, reread sections to reorient myself....
Just so.
Would I read it again?
Yes. And maybe the second time, knowing the story, I could navigate the prose style more effectively (admittedly I was reading it at a gallop). But it felt like a looser, and I hesitate to say it, less disciplined (edited?) style than her other books. A lot closer to the almost stream-of-consciousness of her blog.
http://robinmckinley.livejournal.com/
There is an extract from Dragonhaven on her website.
http://www.robinmckinley.com/
From her blog, I read that her next book, Chalice, is due out later this year (it's listed on Amazon.com). Will I read that? Of course.
But I still love Sunshine best of anything and best of all, of her works.
Only The Blue Sword's so good, too. And Beauty....
Friday, February 15, 2008
100 Word Stories: Did you hear about my new dance?
“No, Tim. I’m busy. Eat your breakfast.”
“Tim, it’s time for school. Put your lunch in your backpack, and stop jigging around.”
“Timothy James, sit down on your seat. Now.”
“Tell me later, matey. I have to help the next kid in the queue. Milk, sweetie? And a Vegemite sandwich?”
“Tim, we’re doing quiet reading in class right now. Read your book, like everyone else.”
“STOP. FIDGETING.”
“Tim, you’re the GOALIE! You’re supposed to stop the goals, not let them in. Now we’ll lose.”
“A dance? A new dance? Sounds good. I’d like to see it. Can you show me?”
“Tim, it’s time for school. Put your lunch in your backpack, and stop jigging around.”
“Timothy James, sit down on your seat. Now.”
“Tell me later, matey. I have to help the next kid in the queue. Milk, sweetie? And a Vegemite sandwich?”
“Tim, we’re doing quiet reading in class right now. Read your book, like everyone else.”
“STOP. FIDGETING.”
“Tim, you’re the GOALIE! You’re supposed to stop the goals, not let them in. Now we’ll lose.”
“A dance? A new dance? Sounds good. I’d like to see it. Can you show me?”
Recycled Threads detail
Can't show it all (keep an eye on Australian Country Threads magazine in a few months) but here's a detail. Love the way the bog-ordinary buttons work so well on this putty-coloured silk/cotton blend background.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
100 Word Stories: But the blade was so shiny...
Early morning. Gentle light. If you lie on the wet grass (because you’re ten, and you’ve sneaked out early, and you want to), the dew makes every blade shine, a silver-green forest. Lie quietly, and watch the light and shadows moving slowly.
The cicadas sing. Your eyes start to see movement among the grass, ants, busy, bustling. It smells fresh, green, this early morning grass. A kookaburra laughs, high above, and a screeching swoop of cockatoos fly over.
Today is the piano exam. Maybe you should be practising. For now, this is peaceful, and something to remember when the panic rises.
The cicadas sing. Your eyes start to see movement among the grass, ants, busy, bustling. It smells fresh, green, this early morning grass. A kookaburra laughs, high above, and a screeching swoop of cockatoos fly over.
Today is the piano exam. Maybe you should be practising. For now, this is peaceful, and something to remember when the panic rises.
Roses
And a happy day to all of you readers of this blog today, whether you get overwhelmed with Valentinia (is that a word?) or not. Because you know the people who love you every day of the year, without the need for any commercial prompting.
It's been a busy week. Can you tell? Not even a photo of the desk...
Normal transmission should resume on or by the weekend, along with a bit of a catchup.
These roses are from Cowra, the beautiful expanse of rose beds outside the tourist info centre there in central western NSW.
Shop at Woolies/Safeway on Friday - profits to CWA
Woolworths supermarkets are again giving an entire day's profit to farming communities. This Friday 15 February 2008, 100 per cent of the profits from more than 765 Woolworths and Safeway supermarkets nationwide, will be donated to the Country Women's Association (CWA) to distribute to farming families in need.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
100 Word Stories: Semaphore
It was an old-fashioned thing to do. Aren’t there mobile phones now, and two-way radios? But the leader of our Venturer group insisted, made it a game, made it a competition. And codes, there’s always something about codes…
Susannah’s in our Venturer group – it’s girls and boys. I’m not sure what to say to her, when people are around. But I think she likes me. I sure like her.
Valentine’s Day, in Maths. All you need are two pencils. SMS-abbreviations make it faster. I caught Susannah’s eye. She watched them, watched me. And smiled. Signalled back.
Can’t wait for recess.
Susannah’s in our Venturer group – it’s girls and boys. I’m not sure what to say to her, when people are around. But I think she likes me. I sure like her.
Valentine’s Day, in Maths. All you need are two pencils. SMS-abbreviations make it faster. I caught Susannah’s eye. She watched them, watched me. And smiled. Signalled back.
Can’t wait for recess.
Recent reading
As you can see, here in the Antipodes we're just getting some of the Northern Hemisphere Christmas magazines. They're a little less compelling in February...
I've been pouring ideas into my head from magazines like these for a long time. Hope to take action sometime this year, or maybe throughout the year, and continue reorganising the house. Maybe even finish (and then photograph!) the sewing room (hi Candy, who has asked me about this!). For the sewing room, I have a fabulous concept for a cupboard, but I'm still deciding on paint colours. When my brain has time and room for such things.
I've been pouring ideas into my head from magazines like these for a long time. Hope to take action sometime this year, or maybe throughout the year, and continue reorganising the house. Maybe even finish (and then photograph!) the sewing room (hi Candy, who has asked me about this!). For the sewing room, I have a fabulous concept for a cupboard, but I'm still deciding on paint colours. When my brain has time and room for such things.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
100 Word Stories: geometry challenge/polygon
Let’s get this straight. I hate hexagon patchwork. Cutting papers. Laborious tacking, the still more laborious hand-stitching, one edge at a time, whipstitching, gripping the little cardboardy things. Hate hexagons.
So why would I be sitting here with a pile of hexagons in front of me? Tacking? Whipstitching?
Auntie Lula started it. Years ago. And now her daughter, knowing I quilt, has given me this bag. Auntie Lula. Brownies, rich and warm on a cold winter day. Hands that taught me to sew, to cook.
And so, in summer sun, I sit and sew her hexagons, finishing what she began.
So why would I be sitting here with a pile of hexagons in front of me? Tacking? Whipstitching?
Auntie Lula started it. Years ago. And now her daughter, knowing I quilt, has given me this bag. Auntie Lula. Brownies, rich and warm on a cold winter day. Hands that taught me to sew, to cook.
And so, in summer sun, I sit and sew her hexagons, finishing what she began.
Craft magazines
Lots of inspiration and beautiful photographs. And quick reading, for when the days are only offering snatches of time.
Monday, February 11, 2008
100 Word Stories: Are you going to finish that?
It’s carefully wrapped in acid-free tissue paper, in the drawer I use least. Thirty years on, the threads still bright, the last one still long, although I did take out the needle to store it separately.
You can stitch hope, with your fingers, and love, and anticipation, and all sorts of dreams, without ever imagining…
“Are you going to finish that?” he asks, seeing it open on my lap. Back then, he cried with me. And a year later, cried again when our daughter arrived safely. It was still too soon, for this, then.
“Yes. It’s time, isn’t it, Grandad?”
You can stitch hope, with your fingers, and love, and anticipation, and all sorts of dreams, without ever imagining…
“Are you going to finish that?” he asks, seeing it open on my lap. Back then, he cried with me. And a year later, cried again when our daughter arrived safely. It was still too soon, for this, then.
“Yes. It’s time, isn’t it, Grandad?”
Book: New Country Style
God bless Amazon Marketplace and all who sail in her! It's made it possible to find, at reasonable prices, books which are impossible here (either pricey or unobtainable). Postage costs aren't too too appalling (esp. since the Australian dollar is currently around 90c US).
Country Home (US) is still one of my favourite decorating magazines. I was introduced to it years ago, and its version of modern country - not cluttercountry, which tended to be much easier to find in magazines here - remains inspirational. This book may have pictures I've seen before - dunno, yet, I'm still reading - but it won't be a hardship to see them again. It's also interestingly organised, into versions of country.
Country Home (US) is still one of my favourite decorating magazines. I was introduced to it years ago, and its version of modern country - not cluttercountry, which tended to be much easier to find in magazines here - remains inspirational. This book may have pictures I've seen before - dunno, yet, I'm still reading - but it won't be a hardship to see them again. It's also interestingly organised, into versions of country.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Katoomba, a traveller's tale
It was a grey day yesterday, more of the rain we've been having all week, on and off. But what's to complain about, when the dams that were at 33% full this time last year are now double that?
I pulled out a jacket that normally wouldn't get worn in February/summer, but you never can quite tell when you're heading up the mountains. I know it's snowed there in December (also summer) although that's rare.
(If you click on the mosaic, you'll go to its page in Flickr, where it's larger).
Old wares shops fascinate me. There is always, always something you've never seen before, and things to appreciate and dream over. Where could those doors fit into this house? Look at all the greens of those bottles, there's a quilt colour scheme silhouetted against the window. Loved the two quirky little houses, home-made, perhaps? And the colours of the little accordion - wonder what its history might be?
Katoomba has a reasonable amount of Art Deco architecture, some wonderful, some shabbily ignored. It's been good that of recent years the Carrington Hotel was restored.
Along Katoomba Street, you'll find plenty of bookshops, mostly second-hand and antiquarian, with some new books in these, but mostly not. Wonderful spines on old children's books, an amazing assortment of stools and seats on which to perch while you browse.
There's still a hippy edge in Katoomba - it's a meld of all sorts of ways of thinking, from conservative to avant-garde to alternative, and you'll easily find a shop or three selling Indian cotton clothing. Always a homewares shop or three as well, with an eye to the locals and the tourists - these foofly rosy cushions amused me, and I mentioned the lovely cupcakes yesterday. The old chap sitting almost in the window of his dusty secondhand bookshop with a rug over his knees looked comfortably settled, and on a showery cool day, there would be worse places to be.
The fifth row has some architectural details - an iron cross, two adjacent buildings, a mural of Bridal Falls, a statue in a junk shop, the waratah-cutout street rubbish bins.
The sixth row of photos is about things in shops - one had an astonishing array of eiderdowns, an astonishing number of which were pink. The found sculpture of a mad sort of insect made me chuckle, while the brightly coloured tins struck a happy note. The Radio sign is welded into the railing, a reflection of this old wares shop's original incarnation, and well, there's yesterday's excellent lunch.
It's not grand, Katoomba, but sorta shabby and interesting - there's an energy around, it's not dying, but travelling to its own music. If you go to the end of Katoomba Street to the viewing platform for the Three Sisters and the valleys, the shops there are geared for tourism, and you'll pass assorted galleries on the way. I hadn't been there for a while, so it was good to look at familiar places, find new ones, and just browse. Even the parking gods smiled. I wore my jacket (more than one shop had its heater on, and a couple featured fires in slow combustion stoves - yup, in February/summer) and didn't get too wet, and came home happy.
I'm still listening to The Time Traveler's Wife on CD - a bit over half way through, as I'm only listening in the car to spin it out as long as possible. It's so very good - William Hope and Laurel Lefkow's voices are almost a distraction from the road. I come home and reread the section I've listened to in the book, and hear their voices again in my mind.
I note from the Internet Movie Database (imdb.com) that the release date for the film of the book has been pushed from June 2008 to November 2008. Sigh. I hope they do it well, I'm looking forward to it, but that's a long shove on, five months. Who knows the vagaries of film releases? But with November already noted as the release date of the next James Bond film, and the next Harry Potter, and some other things - could TTW maybe come in October? Or earlier? Please? (Eric Bana is playing Henry - ha, the Australian infestation continues!).
Today it's been sunny most of the day, and the washing smells fresh and good as it comes off the Hills Hoist (rotary washing line). Yup. Housework's been the order of the day, and the one day cricket match on the radio this afternoon its soundtrack. Unless there's a batting collapse, India should have this one in the bag - Australia's got an uphill battle defending their unusually small score (well bowled, India!).
Saturday, February 09, 2008
Bacon and egg pie and salad
Trust me, it was all as good as it looks.
Some days you just need to run away. So today I headed up the Blue Mountains to Katoomba and Leura, to browse in bookshops and old wares shops, have this lunch in my favourite cafe (Loaves and the Dishes in Leura - and believe me, between Leura and Katoomba you have, oh, a zillion choices of cafe) (not that I'd claim to have tried them all - but this one is reliably good) and breathe some new air.
Came back refreshed, with a couple of treasures (including Reece's Peanut Butter Cups from the specialist sweetshop for a dear American friend, something else from somewhere else for my mother's birthday, she reads this blog sometimes so I shall say no more) but mostly it was about a change of scene and air after long long days at work and another busy week ahead.
Cupcakes have made their new-style way to the mountains - found a lovely little sliver of a shop in Katoomba Street, Cupid's Cupcakes (they had little and big ones and they were yummy, cake AND icing).
Poked around in the astonishing junk shop where I've had a few finds in the past (nothing today, but you can't expect to find something every time), but I did find a couple of vintage photos for friends (including one who needs cheering up, I hope I've chosen well) in another old wares shop.
Today was for fun. Tomorrow, the inevitable payback - housework. Sigh.
I will do a mosaic of Katoomba images, but for now my internet's veeeeeerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrry slow, so maybe not tonight.
Hope you're enjoying your weekends too.
Some days you just need to run away. So today I headed up the Blue Mountains to Katoomba and Leura, to browse in bookshops and old wares shops, have this lunch in my favourite cafe (Loaves and the Dishes in Leura - and believe me, between Leura and Katoomba you have, oh, a zillion choices of cafe) (not that I'd claim to have tried them all - but this one is reliably good) and breathe some new air.
Came back refreshed, with a couple of treasures (including Reece's Peanut Butter Cups from the specialist sweetshop for a dear American friend, something else from somewhere else for my mother's birthday, she reads this blog sometimes so I shall say no more) but mostly it was about a change of scene and air after long long days at work and another busy week ahead.
Cupcakes have made their new-style way to the mountains - found a lovely little sliver of a shop in Katoomba Street, Cupid's Cupcakes (they had little and big ones and they were yummy, cake AND icing).
Poked around in the astonishing junk shop where I've had a few finds in the past (nothing today, but you can't expect to find something every time), but I did find a couple of vintage photos for friends (including one who needs cheering up, I hope I've chosen well) in another old wares shop.
Today was for fun. Tomorrow, the inevitable payback - housework. Sigh.
I will do a mosaic of Katoomba images, but for now my internet's veeeeeerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrry slow, so maybe not tonight.
Hope you're enjoying your weekends too.
Friday, February 08, 2008
100 Word Stories: Relatively, it is very small
In the working week, the tools operate on teeth, scrape and push, cut and encourage them into health. Gloved, masked, watched by hopeful, scared eyes. It is a form of carpentry. Building, shaping, making, tooling things to fit, to function. Teeth to fit together, an acceptable bite, removing pain.
He has another set of these tools. After hours, they shape slivers of exotic timbers into inlay work too small to be done without magnification and good light. People close their mouths on the weekaday work his hands create – and let them fall open at the fineness of his weekend carpentry.
He has another set of these tools. After hours, they shape slivers of exotic timbers into inlay work too small to be done without magnification and good light. People close their mouths on the weekaday work his hands create – and let them fall open at the fineness of his weekend carpentry.
Advice
Two sixteen year old boys asked for some advice today. Their pens were frozen over Valentine's Day order slips. Deciding to order a rose for their best beloved hadn't been a tricky decision, but what to write to accompany it?
Not so easy.
So they asked me what I would write on such a message.
Apart from the fact that I'm rather older and female, so not necessarily very likely to write the same sort of thing...it was an endearing enquiry, and something of an honour to be asked.
But what to say?
Hard to know, in some ways, what their best beloveds might like. Who knows the taste of a teenage girl? And, more importantly, what's realistic (and bearable) for a teenage boy to write.
They were lovely boys. It was an honest enquiry.
I advised steering clear of poetry. Hard to do well, easy to get wrong, and therefore tricky.
So I said, think about why you like her. Is it her laugh or how she cares about people, or how smart she is, or how she makes you feel happy when you're with her? What are the things you appreciate about her? Maybe you could mention a time you went out together and it was a good time, and why it was good.
Write something that's honest, and sounds like you. Sounds like something you'd say. Not flowery stuff that can sound fake, and probably makes you feel a bit daft in writing it anyway. Do you notice how you enjoy the classes you share more than the ones you don't? Why is that?
Honest stuff cuts through more than foofle. Means more.
Is this making any sense? Being any help?
And they said yes, and looked a bit more certain. I hope their best beloveds are happy with the messages they get, and have some inkling of the thought and time the boys were putting into their efforts.
For all they can be obnoxious (hormone poisoning...!) it's worth never forgetting how very sweet and endearing teenagers can be too. Really and truly.
Not so easy.
So they asked me what I would write on such a message.
Apart from the fact that I'm rather older and female, so not necessarily very likely to write the same sort of thing...it was an endearing enquiry, and something of an honour to be asked.
But what to say?
Hard to know, in some ways, what their best beloveds might like. Who knows the taste of a teenage girl? And, more importantly, what's realistic (and bearable) for a teenage boy to write.
They were lovely boys. It was an honest enquiry.
I advised steering clear of poetry. Hard to do well, easy to get wrong, and therefore tricky.
So I said, think about why you like her. Is it her laugh or how she cares about people, or how smart she is, or how she makes you feel happy when you're with her? What are the things you appreciate about her? Maybe you could mention a time you went out together and it was a good time, and why it was good.
Write something that's honest, and sounds like you. Sounds like something you'd say. Not flowery stuff that can sound fake, and probably makes you feel a bit daft in writing it anyway. Do you notice how you enjoy the classes you share more than the ones you don't? Why is that?
Honest stuff cuts through more than foofle. Means more.
Is this making any sense? Being any help?
And they said yes, and looked a bit more certain. I hope their best beloveds are happy with the messages they get, and have some inkling of the thought and time the boys were putting into their efforts.
For all they can be obnoxious (hormone poisoning...!) it's worth never forgetting how very sweet and endearing teenagers can be too. Really and truly.
Eternity
This is one panel of the Federation Tapestry in the Melbourne Museum.
The story of Eternity - Arthur Stace's conversion and his subsequent decision to write that single word, which had changed his life, on the streets of Sydney (over half a million times, and anonymously till someone set out to discover the artist's identity) is one of the great stories of Australia. It's found its way into art, and literature, and film, is a bronze set in a quiet corner of Sydney Square, in Martin Sharp's art, and more.
If you googleyou'll find a bucket of links. It's a story worth knowing. Here's one version.
The story of Eternity - Arthur Stace's conversion and his subsequent decision to write that single word, which had changed his life, on the streets of Sydney (over half a million times, and anonymously till someone set out to discover the artist's identity) is one of the great stories of Australia. It's found its way into art, and literature, and film, is a bronze set in a quiet corner of Sydney Square, in Martin Sharp's art, and more.
If you google
Thursday, February 07, 2008
Office clock
I decided this recent find was perfect for my office. It reminds me of Tord Boontje style silhouette pieces (such as those I was admiring at the National Gallery of Victoria International (Galactic) shop in January). It's a bit nutty/quirky and a lot amusing. I like having interesting items on my office walls - up high, where they don't interfere with the work of the day, but make their own statement.
I remember seeing a fellow professional's office - she came across as a very proper and capable lady, but the hubcaps punctuating the top of her office walls added to that picture and stopped you working off assumptions. Apparently she'd got in trouble for them, which was a shame - I think they would instead have been a point of conversation/discussion/connection with her clientele. I've had interested enquiries about a couple of my wall items, but haven't experienced that intolerance.
I'm thinking I might paint this pillar, though. Boring beige isn't the most engaging colour on the paint chart...
I remember seeing a fellow professional's office - she came across as a very proper and capable lady, but the hubcaps punctuating the top of her office walls added to that picture and stopped you working off assumptions. Apparently she'd got in trouble for them, which was a shame - I think they would instead have been a point of conversation/discussion/connection with her clientele. I've had interested enquiries about a couple of my wall items, but haven't experienced that intolerance.
I'm thinking I might paint this pillar, though. Boring beige isn't the most engaging colour on the paint chart...
100 Word Stories: Run for Cover!
First hint? The early darkening of the day, although it’s early afternoon.
Summer. It’s not too hot, and a walk seemed like a nice idea in the dappled sunlight and warm breeze. Hat, sunblock, walking shoes. Ready.
Second hint? The grumble in the distance, repeated, louder.
And suddenly the day is dark, the sky an angry grey and grumbling turns to crackling, a flash of lightning and it’s too close, the whoosh coming is torrential rain.
I’m a mile from home. I run in a hurried squelching. A drowned rat finally reaches the shelter of the porch. Laughing. Exhilarated. Shivering.
Summer. It’s not too hot, and a walk seemed like a nice idea in the dappled sunlight and warm breeze. Hat, sunblock, walking shoes. Ready.
Second hint? The grumble in the distance, repeated, louder.
And suddenly the day is dark, the sky an angry grey and grumbling turns to crackling, a flash of lightning and it’s too close, the whoosh coming is torrential rain.
I’m a mile from home. I run in a hurried squelching. A drowned rat finally reaches the shelter of the porch. Laughing. Exhilarated. Shivering.
Wednesday, February 06, 2008
Calendars
If you can't decide which calendar to use, have two.
Can you tell I've been working long hours at my desk?.....
It's nearly time to leave before they lock up, and of course right now the rain has decided to teem.
It was sunny this morning.
My umbrella is in the car.
My car is not in a covered car park.
Can you tell I've been working long hours at my desk?.....
It's nearly time to leave before they lock up, and of course right now the rain has decided to teem.
It was sunny this morning.
My umbrella is in the car.
My car is not in a covered car park.
Desk roses
A gift from the garden of a green-thumbed colleague. They smell wonderful. As I've said before, I love the imperfection of real garden roses. And their scent.
Sunday, February 03, 2008
Brown quilt fabrics
I pulled this pile from the stash to work with today, and used some of most of them, along with a little bit of pink and red for spice.
One of my Patent Quilt Theories is that it's worthwhile to make sure your quilt colour choices aren't being biased by your clothing colour choices. I don't wear brown much - wore it too much years ago, and only now are a few brown things creeping back into my wardrobe. But in quilts, brown's a great colour.
To give another example of a clothing colour - this one worn by very few people: mustard. Not usually very flattering, but a great colour in quilts, whether zinging with hand-dyes or warm with country prints.
I haven't made much for a while, so it was good to be cutting and sewing and pressing and seeing something come together.
One of my Patent Quilt Theories is that it's worthwhile to make sure your quilt colour choices aren't being biased by your clothing colour choices. I don't wear brown much - wore it too much years ago, and only now are a few brown things creeping back into my wardrobe. But in quilts, brown's a great colour.
To give another example of a clothing colour - this one worn by very few people: mustard. Not usually very flattering, but a great colour in quilts, whether zinging with hand-dyes or warm with country prints.
I haven't made much for a while, so it was good to be cutting and sewing and pressing and seeing something come together.
Saturday, February 02, 2008
100 Word Stories, or what is a Drabble?
You may have noticed the microfiction entries here and there in my blog. If you're interested in this idea, the Wikipedia entry on Drabble (a term for fiction of exactly 100 words) may be of use to you.
I'm using the 100 Word Stories blog for my prompts.
Let me know in a comment if you decide to play, so I can read your work.
I'm using the 100 Word Stories blog for my prompts.
Let me know in a comment if you decide to play, so I can read your work.
Winter branches
It's summer here in Australia, of course. And February is one of the most trying months of all, as heat is combined with humidity and you drip through each day, diving into anywhere airconditioned whenever possible, gasping when you go back out into the sticky air. If no aircon, then pretty please an electric fan, just to move the air...
While northern hemisphere bloggers wax wistfully lyrical about summer - and I'm not ungrateful for things like never having to heat up a car engine before using it, or not really owning a winter coat (jacket, yes, coat, no - well, I have the one I take when I go to wintry places) or as the Yarn Harlot wrote of this week, not having a baguette go from warm on purchase to frozen baguettesicle by the time you get it home - I'm not ungrateful. But roll on March.
I've lived in places that get hotter than Sydney, but there's such a difference between dry heat, like an oven, and the jungly enervation of humidity.
Spring and autumn, they're my favourites.
(Yup, this is another photo from years ago. I really will try to document the present day this week...)
While northern hemisphere bloggers wax wistfully lyrical about summer - and I'm not ungrateful for things like never having to heat up a car engine before using it, or not really owning a winter coat (jacket, yes, coat, no - well, I have the one I take when I go to wintry places) or as the Yarn Harlot wrote of this week, not having a baguette go from warm on purchase to frozen baguettesicle by the time you get it home - I'm not ungrateful. But roll on March.
I've lived in places that get hotter than Sydney, but there's such a difference between dry heat, like an oven, and the jungly enervation of humidity.
Spring and autumn, they're my favourites.
(Yup, this is another photo from years ago. I really will try to document the present day this week...)
Friday, February 01, 2008
100 Word Stories: How long has that been sitting there?
I know this room. I’ve known it all my life. This time, although it still has the same furniture – the armchairs with the doyleys over the back, the standard lamp with a ruffled shade, the framed family photographs on the mantelpiece – this time, it’s different.
Yesterday in the church she lived in our words and memories. We said goodbye.
Today (I have a hanky stuffed in my pocket) we’re making choices and decisions. Jojo will take the lamp, Narelle the chairs and sidetables. I want the photos. Look at that one of Grandpa. How long has that been sitting there?
Yesterday in the church she lived in our words and memories. We said goodbye.
Today (I have a hanky stuffed in my pocket) we’re making choices and decisions. Jojo will take the lamp, Narelle the chairs and sidetables. I want the photos. Look at that one of Grandpa. How long has that been sitting there?
Guernsey moon
Yup, still doing long hours at work.
Guernsey, on a summer evening, the moon rising and the twilight making everything beautiful.
I tweaked this photo in software (if you go to my Flickr stream you can see the fixed up version) but I like the misty blueness of this. It's become my memory of that evening, even if the other may be more correct as to how it actually was.
But all these years later, how could one say? So I've blogged the scanned, untweaked one. Just because.
Guernsey, on a summer evening, the moon rising and the twilight making everything beautiful.
I tweaked this photo in software (if you go to my Flickr stream you can see the fixed up version) but I like the misty blueness of this. It's become my memory of that evening, even if the other may be more correct as to how it actually was.
But all these years later, how could one say? So I've blogged the scanned, untweaked one. Just because.
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