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....
Friday, February 29, 2008
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....
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