Absence makes the posts grow longer

Oh the time it has been since I wrote my last entry in this space. I'm afraid the seduction of the brevity of facebook posting has made me a lazier blogger but heck, I'm really annoyed with that facespace and the intrusion of other people's whines and competitive attempts to outwit one another when I could be enjoying the unchallenged stardom of my own blog!

Yeah, right.

I'm in quite a state of disharmony right now - I have a mood like a pissed off cat and I feel like screeching, hissing and clawing at people left, right and centre. The thing is, I feel so unable to focus on improving some of the unsatisfactory things in my life and the energy to make changes seems to have abandoned me.

Lately a few people have asked me what my ideal job would be. Most people would reel off something amazing, their eyes would light up and a passionate outburst would reveal their true calling, whatever that may be. The thing is, I falter when asked this question because I can't even picture myself in the positions I see as being rewarding, glamorous and lucrative. Jeez-us, what am I to do? Where are the lucky breaks when you need them, the ones that shift you into better fortune and illuminate strengths you're finding hard to identify?

And where is my waist?

Keep your Von Trapp Shut

So we're doing some channel surfing on the weekend and on ABC2 there's a performance of Caesar and Cleopatra (Bernard Shaw play) screening. I notice that Christopher Plummer is playing Caesar.
Me: Hey kids, that's Captain Von Trapp!

Maille: No WAY! Captain Von Trapp's a BABE - that guy is OLD!

See, even a fifteen year old can see that Captain Von Trapp IS a babe. That's my girl.

Ain't Half Bad

I'm feeling a bit exposed with my latest quilt having been blogged by Karen the wonderful long-arm (the machine, not her) quilter. Since Karen has gone to the trouble of photographing my quilt I may as well show y'all. I used Momo Wonderland fabrics and made log cabin squares that ultimately turned out somewhat irregular. For the sashing I used a soft brown, I think I'd call it donkey brown, cotton/linen blend.Thankfully, Karen's masterful work has turned my sloppiness into a work of art! This one is a gift for the long-legged Maille, who has moved into a double bed now. I hadn't planned it but the quilt goes beautifully with the new Orla Kiely quilt cover (a January sales indulgence! See pic below which I've nicked from flickr just to show you the lovely pattern).
Check out more pics... and read Karen's blog!

Birth and Biscotti

Did I mention that my Christmas tree was erected and fully decorated back in October? We are outrageously premature when it comes to celebration of the yuletide. The kids and I, well we just LOVE Christmas. We love Christmas trees, tinsel, baubles and Bing Crosby, Santa's Cave in Lygon Street, Brunswick and nativity scenes of every description. 15 years ago I was heavily pregnant with Maille and five days before Christmas she was born. This should explain my connection to the nativity story - for the last fifteen years I have associated the birth of my own first child with the birthday Christians around the world are celebrating. I'm still waiting for my daughter to reveal her holiness - though she can bite her vegemite toast into the shape of the Madonna.

Any good friend of mine can count their lucky stars this year. Last night I was up until after midnight baking my Christmas biscotti. What a success! Dutch cocoa with couverture chocolate pieces, pistachios and small bites of glace apricot. Dunk that in your latte and chew it!

And if that wasn't Christmasy enough - I also made an ornamental bird from vintage harlequin silk fabric with a contrasting silk crest and trimmed it with sequins. Useless but very pretty. Which sums up lots of things I collect.

Cure all ills

I've had a doctor's appointment this week and apparently my iron is low, my thyroid is borderline low-functioning and I'm approaching the age when screening for familial cancers will commence. There was some consolation though - my blood test revealed perfectly fine liver function, which grants me permission to continue my liquid diet of mid-price shiraz. Cheers. The doctor could have told me my liver was a sultana and it wouldn't have stopped me from partaking.

Which reminds me of yet another maternal vice of mine. During my first pregnancy more than 15 years ago I developed a craving for the inhalation of undiluted tea-tree oil. I would drown a handkerchief in the stuff and fix it to my nose in a ritual that must have looked a lot like chroming - in a vegan hippie kind of way.
The most bizarre craving, I know. The thing is, I was terrified to mention this addiction to any medical practitioner during my pregnancy for fear of being told I had to stop endangering my unborn child.

Because deep down, I knew that I wasn't gonna stop that sniffing.

Where are the Wild Things?

Last night we had the privilege of receiving cast-off free tix to see Where the Wild Things Are from our dear friends with young children who were cautious enough to send an older family in their place just in case the film was a tad scary for their own littlies. Subsided reviewers we were.
It gave me cause to reflect on my own standards of parental guidance when it comes to my children's viewing. Hadn't I sat beside Naoise at the tender age of oh...six or so... watching some grisly metamorphosis of human into Gollum in one of those Lord of the Kiwis films? Hadn't I ENCOURAGED my teenage daughter to watch Silence of the Lambs recently because it's such a FANTASTIC and THRILLING film! Scary-as hell honey but you'll LOVE IT! Not to mention huddling up in my bed with the teenage daughter watching the tomato-sauce fest that is Dexter. And Bones. And Castle. And the Sopranos. And Edward Scissorhands (well, the kids were very young when I brought that one home).

So we're in the cinema watching the Wild Things and I can hear the gnashing of terrible teeth and I can see the rolling of terrible eyes... and that's just Naoise wrestling Kieran for the Fantales bag.

BE STILL! I hiss.

No need to tell me where the goddam wild things are. They're right beside me.

Literary crushes

Just as well K.P. is not the jealous type, or perhaps he's just self-assured enough to know I love him dearly and above all. Mwah darling! Because I do like to broadcast my crushes. This week it's local writer, Peter Temple. I have a pile of Temple-penned crime fiction beside the bed (incidentally so does the husband) and I'm enjoying the sophistication and the sexiness of his writing. I think what I enjoy most about my favourite crime writers is the self-deprecating candour of their protagonists. Guys with mighty big chips on their shoulders, hazy morals and empty pockets. Like I said, sexy.
Where many other crime writers protect their main guys from the exposure of their manhood with only tentative dalliances, Temple lays it all bare with a generous whack of eroticism.

It's a marvel that I'm reading anything at all lately - I have just calculated my working hours in the last fortnight and the figure exceeds 152. What a farce this working life is.

So thank you Peter Temple for putting some bones back into my bedside reading. Pun intended.