north of bell street

Absence makes the posts grow longer

2010-12-08T11:02:00.006+11:00

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

2010-02-16T13:04:00.002+11:00

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

2010-02-16T12:51:00.003+11:00

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

2009-12-07T09:48:00.005+11:00

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

2009-12-03T13:22:00.004+11:00

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?

2009-12-01T17:27:00.004+11:00

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

2009-11-30T10:48:00.003+11:00

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.

Interesting

2009-10-15T09:21:00.002+11:00

Me: Hey K.P. Interest rates have gone up! Now we'll make LOADS of money on all our SAVINGS (guffaw, guffaw)

K.P.: I know honey, and all of our INVESTMENTS are going to SKYROCKET! (guffaw, guffaw)

OK, I've been missing from blogland for a few months but hey, I'm BACK! So to all my dedicated readers (mum, Mish, Amber... I'd say etc. but it really doesn't apply), I'll try to keep it coming. Though it's hard to be inspired to write when one is living a routine existence of work, work, sleep and work, with some viral illness thrown in.

The only exciting thing to report is that I am frocking up this weekend for my first marquee experience at the races - yippee! If I can suck down enough cold and flu tablets to get me through the experience without a red nose and a fever then I may even have some fun, though I wouldn't count on any monetary rewards from my misguided betting activity.

More soon...

The Hounds of Hell

2009-07-30T16:38:00.004+10:00

So this morning I hear a low growl from the bedroom (and it's not K.P.).

Within moments a hound stand-off is on and Frida has lunged at Rufus who is hissing back at her from his provocative perch on the end of our bed. Too much to bear, overweight and arthritic Frida has leapt on to the bed and pinned Rufus to the pillow beside K.P's head where the dog fight ensues in full canine fury. Too small to reach the others, Jack Happy the foster dog throws in some excited barks from the floor.

And that's before breakfast even.

Welcome to the circus of my life.

Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

2009-07-28T11:13:00.003+10:00

Sorry to my readers (all three of you) who have missed north of bell street action in recent weeks. I've been a bit overwhelmed by life changes and blogging has inevitably had to take a back seat. So... I have a new job after working for the same employer for almost 10 years. I feel really good about moving on, I was well on the way to becoming a fixture in my workplace and the complacency was frightening. I'm hoping for some new challenges that will stimulate a bit of new activity in my brain wiring. Because I'm really, really bad at sudoku and cryptic crosswords.

Me to K.P. this morning - "Gee, I really hope they give me something I LIKE as a farewell gift. I mean, I think I'm really easy to buy a present for as I have so many..."

K.P: 'desires'

Me: 'suggestions..."

"For example, they could get me some Jo Malone perfume (lotus blossom and water lily, please) ... or a Nancybird handbag (or purse) ...or a gift voucher at Bison... See! I have heaps of ideas."

K.P.: "you should know better than to expect a decent gift from a workplace.

Me: "Yeah, I know... but it's my birthday soon too"

Then I leaned over to give Rufus a tummy pat - the two of them side by side in bed, man and dog lazily following my morning routine.

Me: Sniff Sniff...

"One of you smells like a dog who's rolled in compost.

And I don't think it's the dog."

Smacks of Bitterness

2009-07-15T15:51:00.003+10:00

I do believe that jealousy is bad for the complexion. And the figure. I am someone who finds herself thinking green thoughts about others dangerously often. All it takes is someone who has bought a glamorous home, someone who has shed kilos to achieve a slim figure, someone taking their family on an overseas holiday, children who travel to foreign countries on exchange programs and come back all sophisticated and cosmopolitan. It all renders me a slimy shade of green. And puffy.

As I age I fear that all these petty jealousies are stealing my beauty. I'm not talking Audrey Tautou porcelain beauty, or Angelina sex-bomb appeal - more of a palatable look that neither offends nor thrills. Anyway, I feel the lines of bitterness starting to creep across my face, sketching the paths of my envies (just re-read how crap that sounds but I'll let it go...).
I once read or heard that by the age of 40 you have the face you deserve. In that case, I hope I can turn some of my negativity around over the next couple of years. But dammit, if I hear of one more snivelly, overprivileged [ooh, I'm nasty] child I know heading to Europe before me, there'll be trouble.

Or at least some miserable blog entries.

Third World Children

2009-07-14T16:15:00.004+10:00

On Monday afternoon at 4.30pm my mobile phone rang at work...
Naoise (distressed and crying): Mum, I am so STARVING and there is NO FOOD here (sob, sob). I think I'm going to DIE of starvation...

Tuesday afternoon at 4.30pm the mobile rings again...
Maille: I just want you to know that it is very hard being on a diet when the only thing to eat in the house is CHOCOLATE. Is there anything AT ALL that I can eat here?

My colleagues are very amused by the desperate phone calls I receive at my work desk. I try hard to assure them that my children are indeed capable and functional young humans but I'm afraid these overheard phone conversations contradict me.

So anyway, there is no food in the house bar chocolate (pun hehe) because I have been in Tasmania for four days, returning on Sunday night only to resume the working week on Monday. The chocolate is courtesy of the Cadbury factory in Hobart that K.P. and Naoise visited. I think they must have thrown their clothes and toiletries away just so they could fit their chocolate loot in their carry-on luggage (and every pocket or cavity).

So, while I worked away at my less-than-inspiring job over the weekend, K.P. and Naoise explored caves and chocolate, snowy mountains and hotel swimming pools. I have it on their authority though, that the tour de Cadbury's is not much chop these days. In fact, K.P. described it as a lecture from an uninspired employee on how occupational health and safety legislation now forbid visitors from touring the factory in action. Zzzzzz. And then a video was shown of chocolate production in action. Zzzzzz. And here was I asking Naoise if he'd leaned a scooping hand over the chocolate river.

Cadbury factory aside, Tasmania is incredibly and wonderfully beautiful. I've not seen much outside of Hobart but this town is the prettiest place - snow-tipped mountains surrounding the serene Derwent River and quaintly gorgeous houses, all apparently with exquisite waterfront or mountain views. I think K.P. and I would happily leave the mainland tomorrow if it wasn't for socially dependent children who would, like, miss their friends. Since my own friendships are mostly maintained via email these days anyway, I can safely say they would remain unaffected.

Tasmania has its own fashion aesthetic that one finds herself appropriating almost immediately. Basically it's all snuggly, handknitted-with-love woollies in hand-dyed hues. Beanies, gloves, thick socks and heavy jackets. But stylish in a rugged and cosy way. Layers of clothing that disguise the fleshy layers beneath. I like that.

Anyway, I don't know if it was the wool or the chocolate but I was 2kgs heavier when I returned to the mainland. Time to shed one or the other.

An overseas holiday

2009-07-06T11:44:00.006+10:00

I have never seen my son so excited. You see, we have finally come through with the goods and arranged an interstate holiday that involves flying. The poor lad, with dreams of one day being a pilot, has endured years of empty promises from us. Thwarted plans to go to Bali - shallow talk of tripping to Byron Bay and even a cruelly cancelled Italian adventure. So this week we fly to Hobart for a four-day sojourn, piggybacking on a work-trip. I have the nice hotel room with expenses paid so even a povvo family like mine can holiday in style for a few nights. And Naoise is full of love for his parents who have made such an indulgence possible. "Mum, I love you" he has repeatedly exclaimed as he wraps his arms around me in a firm, grateful hug. Like I said, the boy is WAY excited.

As for the daughter, well - we can't afford to take everyone now, can we. Besides, she has a babysitting obligation and we are really counting on her income these days. It's the difference between rolled oats or meat on the table.

Speaking of the daughter (as I do often) - we took a cultural tour of Preston the other day and caught a bus from near home to Northland (aka Knifelands) Shopping Centre and then back home. There is no entertainment (or education even) quite like riding public transport in the northern suburbs. Two women with presumed addiction issues, yelled their way to the back of the bus then spoke loudly of their spouses court hearings. When one of the women left the bus, the one remaining was tapped on the shoulder by an elderly woman who had been sitting alone. I strained to hear what she could be whispering to this lady.

"Mum. Don't STARE!" hushed Maille.

"It's OK - they aren't looking. I just want to hear what they are saying..." I leaned past Maille to get a better chance at lipreading my neighbours' conversation. I'm incorrugible, I know.

Psss Psss Pss Psss Church. Psss Psss Psss Psss God.

Of course! Religious recruitment would be a cinch in these needy suburbs. If someone told me God could get me out of Preston I'd be signing up too.

So anyway, when the new recruit left the bus, the old woman continued to mutter what could only be prayers under her breath.

The next passenger to amuse us was a woman who dragged her sad looking shopping trolley up the bus steps and turned to face us with a surgical mask.

PffffffPfffHeehhheeehehehehe...

That was Maille and I giggling under our breath at this spectacle.

Maille: "Mum. I so want to cough right now."

Post Script

2009-07-02T22:31:00.004+10:00

A little project I have been working on. Baby quilt for sister-in-law Antoinette who is due in three weeks! Still working on the back. I'll put shots of individual blocks up at some stage - it's taking me ages to upload these photos. Note the Parisian theme {if the pic quality allows you :( }

Oh, and it's a girl. Phew.

Snap Crackle Pop

2009-06-28T13:53:00.005+10:00

That's the noise my lungs are making right now - a crackly wheeze induced by this suspected swine flu that I have. It's given me a week at home from work recuperating, which really isn't so bad in this wintry gloom. Spending so much time at home has given me some focus on my interior styling - there has been a makeover of sorts in La Casa de North of Bell Street of late. There's been new curtains purchased, new furniture, new floor rugs, new colour scheme introduced. It's all a bit exciting really. And these home improvements have all been achieved on the smell of an oily rag so to speak - well, maybe with a little assistance from a generous tax return. I'm not posting any pics though until the floorboards are polished, and that's looking like it might have to wait till the next generous donation from the Australian Tax Office.

I haven't blogged in weeks and while I did draft some entries, reading back on them now I have chosen not to publish them - I mean, who wants to hear me whinge and whine relentlessly anyway? Those entries reflect a bit of a hump I've found myself in lately. Call it seasonal affective disorder - call it genetics - my mood has been grey and self-critical. And I'm dressing the part too. Tonight, I sought some cabin-fever relief and went to the local Target with Maille. She wanted some new pjs and I wanted some retail therapy. I've been slumming round the house in my smelly, snuggly, microplush dressing gown all week so I thought I'd made quite the effort to get dressed and leave the house. Do you know how many mirrors there are at Target? Enough of them to capture every angle of my form in its bizarre attire - long grey dress, frumpy grey cardy; bare, white and ungroomed legs and, wait for it, red birkenstock sandals. In July.

"Maille, I look like such a bogan"

"Nah, you don't look bogan - you just look very... unstylish"

"And mum. You need some tic-tacs."

Truer words were never spoken. At least I'm safely back at home in the microplush now. Mmm.

I'm locking up the dresses

2009-06-12T13:38:00.004+10:00

WEDNESDAY:
Me, glancing at K.P. in the driver's seat.
"Are they my Costume National ladies sunglasses that you are wearing?"
"I don't know... you have so many sunglasses I just grabbed a pair."

THURSDAY:
"K.P. Are those my Lisa Ho ladies sunglasses?"

Moonlighting Mother

2009-06-10T15:29:00.004+10:00

Last night I persuaded Maille to join me for a night walk. I was a bit stunned that she agreed to come actually, I mean, here I was suggesting ACTIVITY and even EXERCISE.

"Well, I suppose I have to exercise - my jeans don't fit me anymore - they've left SCARS on my hips..."

"That's called growth sweetheart, you are a GROWING adolescent - it's quite normal. You just need new jeans..."

"I know why you want me to come for a walk with you. You just think that I'll share boy gossip with you..."

"I promise I won't ask any boy questions..."

"Ok then. I'll come."

So we drove to Princes Park with a couple of dogs in tow and braved the chill night air, the two of us rugged up and breathing vapour, four long legs striding briskly.

"Mum, did you ever wish you hadn't settled down and had kids so young?"

And she asked me not to ask her about BOYS!

I gave my considered response, about how there had been times when I had felt a bit frustrated with my life etc etc and how sometimes I wished I lived in a nice little one bedroom apartment in Parkville, with natural light, new appliances and polished floorboards etc etc but essentially I had no regrets at all about starting a family when I was young.

Then we talked about BOYS.

Why life with my husband is a thrill

2009-06-09T15:21:00.004+10:00

While waiting for our kids to finish one of their extra-curricular activities the other night, K.P. and I stopped by a local supermarket. Driving into the underground carpark the screech of our tyres on the new concrete belied the 15km per hour speed at which we moved. Haw haw haw heh heh heh we laughed as we contorted our faces to simulate the excitement of a cinematic car chase. We crawled a couple of strips and then crept into a vacant space with a final dramatic squeal of rubber and K.P.'s assurance. "I think we're safe to shop now".

Cereal Kisses

2009-06-04T11:43:00.004+10:00

My mornings are spent in a blur of activities that include making porridge for the family, taking the dogs for a walk (or at least letting them out for a pee), processing some of the proliferating washing pile, making school lunches (today I cooked pasta!), emptying a dishwasher and finally, dressing and grooming myself for a day at the office.
I'm a cheerful morning person, I sing songs to the dogs, talk to the radio, and sing wake-up calls to the children. All the while, K.P. stays resolutely in bed, occupying the warmth of my side of the mattress as soon as I arise. His personal alarm is my frenetic exit from the house as I rush to the train.

It's not a habit I encourage and I do my best to entice him from the bed and into some domestic collaboration.

"You are such a lazy-pants. How can you stay in bed while I run around doing EVERYTHING in the mornings? Here I am running around like a goose[sic] without a head and YOU just lie there doing NOTHING. [Blah, blah, blah, etc.]"

"I'm an end-of-day guy honey- you are the morning person. Besides, I can't help you get DRESSED darling."

"[grumble, grumble] And when you finally DO get up, you just want to kiss me goodbye with your milky cereal mouth. Urgh."

That last bit was true. Ick.

I still love him to bits though.

Samson and Delilah

2009-06-04T10:13:00.005+10:00

This week I went to see an Australian film called Samson and Delilah, made by an Indigenous Australian film-maker, Warwick Thornton, with an almost entirely indigenous cast. The film has won the Camera d'Or prize at Cannes this year - no mean feat.
I must confess, I was a bit cynical about all the accolades and had my suspicions that the film would be sentimental and would lack sophistication.
God, how I love being wrong. I really do.

From the opening scene to the ending credits I prickled with an awareness of my own whiteness and the privilege that assumes. It was a discomfort that made the story of the young Samson and Delilah characters all the more affecting.

As teenagers in a remote Indigenous community, Samson and Delilah each have their own methods for tackling the relentless monotony and isolation of their community. Samson begins his day with inhaling fumes from a tin of petrol that sits beside his bed; for the rest of the day he continues this practice while wandering aimlessly around his desert community, appropriating an old wheelchair for amusement and tossing stones at the surly Delilah when she passes.

Delilah carries herself with a dignity that contradicts the images of young indigenous women we are accustomed to seeing in the media. Her hair hangs long and clean down her shoulders and her personal grooming is a quiet ritual she observes, brushing her fine hair often. Delilah lives with her ailing grandmother, a traditional painter earning a meagre income from paintings that are sold in Australian city galleries, profiting the gallery owners and the exploitative middle man who procures the paintings. Delilah dispenses her grandnmother's medications and kneels with her over a canvas on which they produce the paintings.

With no encouragement from Delilah, Samson begins a confident and even arrogant courting of the young girl, throwing his mattress over her fence with the assumption that he will be welcomed into her home. Delilah's resistance is full of scorn for the young boy, she turns up her nose at his uncleanliness, his addictive behaviours disgust her.

The pair become united by inevitable circumstances that drive them to flee their home and head for the city. And from here a relationship, even a marriage of sorts is borne. The mutual dependency of the two intensifies as they face the same oppressions and obstacles, attributed entirely to their visibility as indigenous. The outcome is startling and haunting.

I'm offering no spoilers here - you SHOULD go and see this film for yourself. It's deeply moving. It exposes the prejudices that are rife in non-indigenous communities and the social complexities of traditional communities that are sometimes difficult to comprehend.

Please give us more of these stories, Warwick Thornton.

Facespace Liberation Army

2009-05-27T21:50:00.005+10:00

Last night I made the less-than-agonising decision to deactivate my facebook account. This liberating act has relieved me of a relentless assault of punctuation diarrhoea!!!!????, stoopid quiz results from people I barely remember and communication even less intimate or satisfying than a telephone conversation with an outsourced telemarketer in Bangalore. The deciding factor though was seeing a friendship request from a guy who HATED MY GUTS at high school. I was (for the most part) a popular teen with a great group of amusing friends, but this guy really took a dislike to me at the age of 14. The feeling was mutual at the time but I like to think that I've grown into a tolerant and amiable adult now. BUT how can I be sure he has made the same forgiving journey? Having just finished reading We Need to Talk About Kevin I may have been a bit hyper-sensitive to the whole high-school grudge thing but all the same, I was out of facebook before you could say "Sissy Spacek as Carrie". Besides, it's pretty clear from my blog that I prefer the sound of my own voice, isn't it.

I'd love to have a theme for my entry today but I'm afraid it's going to be a scatty monologue of complaints, reflections and insults. First up, my enterprising neighbours whose progress with their lucrative boarding house for new immigrants I've mentioned in blogland before. This week, the front garden of one of their adjoining properties is shoulder deep in bricks they have collected from a demolition nearby. Since their recent application to build a convenience store(!) in their suburban backyard was tossed out of council's building development unit, I'm wondering what their plans for all these bricks may be. It could be a very large pizza oven I guess...

Next up, my employment is more vulnerable than ever and voluntary redundancies are being offered on an enticing silver platter. Some serious contemplation of the future is going down north of bell street. Mostly though, I'm picturing myself swanning about at leisure, sipping lattes and window-shopping for a few weeks until any payout is exhausted and I'm stealing potatoes at Preston Market. I made dinner for the family today as a sly suggestion of the domestic benefits my unemployment would bring. Since K.P. steers clear of my blog, my subliminal secret is safe.

Whaddelse? The boyo is back from school camp today, looking like he's been on a diet of wizz fizz (snorted) and coca cola for a week. He fell through the door this afternoon, claiming he was the next northern suburbs swine flu casulty. While mother knows best and is sure her son is merely sleep-deprived and sugar-loaded, the appearance of piggy flu in the north is not all that surprising. Just take a ride on the Epping line for demonstrations of northern burbs personal hygiene. Not to be discriminatory or anything, my own son is a reliable enough example.

And a blog entry would not be complete without the teenage daughter diary.
She made a cup of tea for her dad this evening, (while making her own I might add, before you visualise some self-sacrificing act of good will) and left it on the kitchen bench for him to retrieve.

"Maille, TAKE your dad his tea. If you make him a cup of tea, part of the contract is DELIVERY of that beverage."

From her room: "Whatevs Bro"

"Maille, I MEAN it. Take your dad his TEA. You CANNOT just leave it on the bench. That's MEAN."

"Yeah, whatevs bro"

"And your room is a pig-sty - don't think you are going ANYWHERE this weekend until you clean it up"

"Whatevs bro, I'll just climb out the window"

If I didn't know her sense-o-humour better, I might have thought I'd borne a gangland sista.
Word up.

What does $8 buy?

2009-05-22T09:13:00.002+10:00

4 litres of milk
OR
3 loaves of bread
OR
a cheap bottle of splosh
OR
a few tins of baked beans
OR
a dozen free range eggs
OR
a handful off tatts scratchies.
Just as well the boyo is off to school camp on Monday because the $8 in our bank account is not going to feed a family of four until next Wednesday, is it.

The Bison Palette

2009-05-21T11:15:00.004+10:00

Yep, I've been traversing Melbourne laneways again on my lunch break. Though instead of my usual route of the independent designer stores, yesterday I found myself in the super pretty little store of Bison in Howey Place. Yum, yum, yum. It was the display in the window that enticed me indoors - the most delectable palette of Autumnal hues painted a pretty scene of exquisite ceramic vessels. So I walked inside and found myself giddy with the rainbow of colour, glorious colour! I must have picked up at least thirty objects, smoothing my hands over the fine surfaces, lifting them to my face and trying to get a whiff of colours so beautiful that surely they should have a fragrance? I'd pick something up, head to the counter, then be distracted, nay torn, by another colour calling me from the shelves. In fact, it was the combined palette that I longed for - one mere object was not going to satisfy my desire for a three-course meal of evocative tones and hues. Sigh.

I left the store with a beautiful small utensil holder that I have employed as a vase at home. I've propped branches from my coral bark maple and Japanese maple trees in a pretty red arrangement that looks dandy against the 'green tea' lovely objet d'art.

Small pleasures, I love'em.

Teen Text

2009-05-20T10:00:00.005+10:00

Yesterday I left the family sans mere and went to stay with my mother who had been mugged(!) the day before. I'm pretty useless at nursing but I thought I could at least offer her my thrilling company, my indulgent whining and a bottle of shiraz.
The kids were each handed a set of keys in the morning and were instructed to make their own way home from their respective schools. Not the first time they've done this. Easy.

The first text message arrived around 4pm.

Maille: does naoise have keys?
Me: yes

phone call from Maille 5 minutes later...

Maille: I don't have keys. What time is Naoise coming home?

Me: He'll be there soon - he probably just missed his train. Where are your keys? I HANDED them to you this morning?

Maille: I think I left them on the kitchen bench.

phone call from Naoise 10 minutes later...

Naoise [cheerfully]: Hi mum. The train was running [mumble mumble] 33 minutes late so I'm at Ruby's house. (Read - I stuffed around at 7/11 buying a slurpie and missed my train.)

phone call to Maille...
Me: Maille, Naoise has gone to Ruby's house - he won't be able to open the house for you. What do you want to do?

Maille: Urgh. I dunno. Can I break a window or something?

Me: NO! [then a long sigh...]

Maille: URGH! Don't BREATHE in my ear like that.

The blood pressure was rising high and fast so I called K.P. in on the crisis. Being Mr Cool he offered an immediate solution and said he'd leave work right then, pick up Naoise and rescue Maille from homelessness.

half an hour later...

Text from Maille: have just got in. Jack [our new foster dog] poo everywhere.

Me: and you are telling me this because...?

Text from Maille: Dad said to text you when we'd got in coz you'd worry. Cut the attitude. You sound like a teenager.

Dog blogging

2009-05-11T11:19:00.005+10:00

Meet my newest foster boy, Mr Jack Happy. He came straight from a Sydney pound where he had been passed over by numerous rescue groups and families and was on death row. I can't imagine why - he has a smile that melts the heart and is the sweetest little mite. The rescue group I am fostering with go that extra mile to save these sweeties. The pic of the three dogs peeking from the back of the car is Jack Happy in the middle and a couple of other little ones who were also rescued from Sydney (god knows, who doesn't want to be rescued from Sydney?).

So Jack Happy will spend some time with the family as he gains a bit of weight and recovers from his journey, then he'll be up for adoption. If that takes too long I'll be sure to fall totally in love with him and keep him. He has a grade three-four heart murmur but this hasn't stopped him from wrestling with Rufus at any chance.

T for Two

2009-05-07T15:00:00.007+10:00

I've bought these very cute tea-caddies for my growing collection of T2 tea varieties. I think I'm as seduced by the packaging of T2 teas as I am by the flavours. Beautiful little orange boxes with a designer's palette of labels. But the earnest and pretty T2 ladies tell me you cannot keep the tea in these cute little boxes - the flavour, the aroma, the good karma - all will evaporate! Hence the caddies. Leaving me with a craft project to devise that puts my little orange box collection to alternative use.

Flying Solo

2009-05-07T12:14:00.004+10:00

The husband that does more than his fair share of housework is out of town for a few days. When they say 'absence makes the heart grows fonder' they were referring to the absence of that other pair of hands that shares the load of raising a family - maintaining a home and managing the itineraries of the progeny. I feel like my brain is turning somersaults this week as I try to process and sort competing demands into workable schedules. One car, one adult, two children with manic agendas, two dogs begging for walks, full-time work, a racing heart, etc etc. Come home K.P, my fondness grows with each passing hour in the kitchen!

After a morning of numerous minor but cumulative stresses, the last straw today was when, instead of bringing the wheelie bin in from the street like I'd asked him to do TEN TIMES, Naoise pushed a shopping trolley into the back yard so he could 'try and get the dollar coin out later'. Ah boys. I had a bit of a yell at him, already being half an hour late for work waiting for him to get organised. The poor mite looked so aggrieved and sat in the car all sullen and grudge-bearing. I hate leaving tension in the air so I tousled his hair and told him I was over my crankiness and wanted to be friends again. And thankfully the grudge match was over.

An earful

2009-05-05T16:34:00.007+10:00

Poor Maille. This morning I drove her to school and subjected her to a diatribe of anguish and self-flagellation.

I've put on X kilos - I'm SOOO Fat...

I NEVER get to go to the gym anymore. Remember when I used to go ALL THE TIME? Remember when I was FIT and SLIM?

I drive you kids around to TOO many things - driving, driving, driving...

I'm never going to have any money. Why am I SO HOPELESS with money?

Our house is such a STY. No-one cleans up the place...

K.P. should get up earlier in the mornings. Then I wouldn't be running around like a freaking chook without a head trying to clean up the place, get breakfast, make lunches, walk the dogs, blah blah blah....

My complaints didn't fall on deaf ears.
But the i-plugs must have helped.

Creative Custom

2009-05-05T16:11:00.008+10:00

Naoise has earned enough birthday money to buy himself an ipod nano. Being the resourceful web-savvy boy that he is, he discovered that you could customise engraving onto your ipod if you ordered it through the online apple shop. AND, you could get it in a limited edition RED. Wow!

So, he scribbled this text for me so I could place his order on the master(-of-my-debt)card:

Naoise Bloggs
9555 5555
And by the way - bite me!

I was thinking something more like...
Is this your-pod?
No, it's mi-pod u sod.

Face Space

2009-05-04T21:23:00.006+10:00

A couple of months ago I tentatively entered the domain for the masses, facebook. Oh the fun of searching for enemies past, pals and allies from school, expired crushes etc. And wondering if Jo Bloggs of Croatia could be the Jo Bloggs from outer-south-eastern high school who pushed me into the lockers every morning in Year 8 because apparently I was too confident and self-assured. Glad you cured me of that vice Ms Fat Ass Bully Bitch. Actually, my fellow scaredy-kids and myself did call this girl FFB, but only when we donned long robes and performed a secret handshake. Use your imagination to decipher the acronym. (And read Sonya Hartnett's Butterfly if you still don't know the vicious capabilities of the teenage girl.)

So anyway, there were some brief reunions in the beginning of facebook,a couple of high school friends who had entertained me with hilarious capers in Latin classes, some peeking at pics of boys who'd been knee-buckling cute in their promising teens, and some illicit lurking on the 'friends' pages of old frenemies, just checking out how many celebrity 'friends' they might have. Answer = more than I do.

Actually, I'm not sure what to make of my facebook status. I have only a handful of friends and I've not really approached anyone to become my friend other than my besties, cousins and siblings - but I do wonder if it's cause for concern that I'm so facebook friendless. I mean, one of my best friends has about 140 facebook friends. I know I speak to her at least once a week so I'm baffled by how she can maintain so many other friendships.

I did make one significant friendship request though. A dear old friend, a boy whose company always had me a-flutter but was never more than platonic. We were great mates and I was thrilled to find him online. I made contact and a response was swift, confirming it was indeed my old pal. The message was brief but promising, he'd married another school-mate of ours, had three kids and "more to come next week". Yay, I thought. I'd love to hear what he's been up to.
But next week became next month and the realisation that where I have been discerning in my collection of online friends, so too have others who prefer to keep only their closest and dearest as such intimate contacts.
An ego bruised but a lesson learned; there are plenty of friends in my real world to spend my precious time on. And that's more than good enough for me.

2009-04-30T12:38:00.003+10:00

One of the pleasures of being a parent of a teenage girl is that it gives you so much latitude for making them squeam. And of course that's a lot of fun.

After an afternoon spent at my friend's place yesterday, hanging out with her friend Alice, Maille bailed me up in the car...

"Mum, I know you and T. write blogs about us. T. told me yours is called 'whatsmailledoing.com' and she has 'whatsalicedoing.com'."

"Yep, and it's complete with webcam"

"And... I bet you wrote all about me thinking I had swine flu the other day"

"No sweetheart, I said you had Whine Flu."

Morning Love

2009-04-30T12:29:00.006+10:00

ME: "Hello Rufey-dufey baby boy"

RUFUS: "Hello mum"

ME: "Who's mummy loves him?"

RUFUS: "My mummy loves me mum"

ME: "Who's my baby snuggly bunny ganoosh"

RUFUS: "I am mum"

ME: "Where's your Daddy?"

RUFUS: "There's my daddy mum"

ME: "Daddy, have you seen the snuggly bunny ganoosh this morning?"

K.P. "Mmmmmm"

ME: "Who is our special baby boy Daddy?"

K.P. "Mmmm. Rufus is our special baby boy."

That's just a bit of bedroom banter at 6.30am. Pathetic, isn't it.

Oh, and Rufus is our impossibly cute dog.

Pigging out

2009-04-29T11:58:00.005+10:00

It's all about swine in the news. There are masks plastering faces in the newspapers, tales of banned kisses, thieves taking advantage of the disguising properties of a bit of surgical cloth over identifying mouth features and the quarantining of travellers with a sniffle as they return to their home countries from abroad.

Is it just me, or do those masks look a bit hokey? Do we really believe they hold some super-power to prevent the aspiration of air-borne viruses? And how snotty must the inside of those things be? Furthermore, who is telling folk how often these things should be changed - and safe disposal practices? If my son was any example then he'd have the thing on for days, meals included. Then he'd discard it somewhere in the abyss that is his bedroom, for me to discover only when the incubated virus had knocked down the population of Preston.

When the time comes, I'll be donning a silk Liberty scarf over my own chin, and not one of those little sanitary napkins with elastic.

As swine flu substitutes bird flu in the vernacular maybe we'll see the advent of Trotter replacing Twitter. Then 'tweets' would be 'trots'... which more accurately describes the stuff that comes out of Twitter anyway.

How Much Can A Koala Bear?

2009-04-27T15:12:00.006+10:00

I've always lived in Melbourne so I can't imagine a climate that isn't predictable in its unpredictability. You can toss a coin to pick how your Autumn weekend might turn out. And pack your bathers along with a goretex jacket, for it could just as easily be divinely glowing with warm sunshine and a kaleidoscope of deciduous colour, as it could be spinning a breath-of-hell gale.

This weekend past, we stayed with lovely friends at their new pre-built holiday-home on the southern coast of Victoria. On Saturday the sun shone kindly upon us as we traipsed the empty beach, the sea lapping whispers at our feet. The irrepressible Naoise surfed the odd wave and the dogs ran circles on the sand. Oh-so-perfect Autumn.

Twenty-four hours later a different scene unfolded. Trees bent in useless resistance to the force of nature, branches snapping and flying. From the bedroom window we watched a small koala in a low tree, eyes squinted and claws clinging for dear life. "Awwwww, the poor thing" we all repeated, cosy mugs of coffee in hand and warm-as-toast fire a-blazing.

Not one to be deterred, Naoise insisted on an inspection of the beach, claiming that the surfing conditions could actually be improved by the apocalyptic weather. We agreed to drive down to the beach more to relieve our cabin fever than to humour Naoise. We were only metres down the road when the surfboard flew from the roof onto the road. K.P. braved the splintering rain and wild wind to secure it to the roof again and we resumed our journey. 200 metres further and not only did the surfboard fly but the roof-racks went with it. I was very helpful sitting in the passenger seat muttering my annoyance while K.P. again retrieved the bits and pieces that were now camouflaged by roadside flora. You can't knock our persistence can you?

At least the trip home was uneventful...

Shoe Candy

2009-04-27T12:44:00.006+10:00

No words necessary - new release Fluevogs. Oh my.

Mirror, Mirror, On the Wall

2009-04-27T08:44:00.003+10:00

I have an unusual response to crisis. A few years ago when Naoise fell in (as opposed to from) a tree and ripped his thigh flesh open I squealed at the sight, threw a towel over his leg and didn't look at it until we were in the emergency department of the Royal Children's Hospital. Even then I turned my head as a nurse inspected the wound and dressed it before stitches were performed. Don't come to me for the administering of first aid!

A couple of weeks ago I was in bed and had just turned out the light when a tremendous crash stunned me upright. The crash was glass, it was loud and it was close. So, I lay there in the dark and called with terror and urgency "K. Peeeeeee" "K. Peeeeeee, COME HERE, QUICK!"
K.P. came to my rescue as a good husband does, turned on the light and we looked with disbelief at the broken art-deco mirror on the floor beside my bed, angular shards piercing the carpet. Maybe 50 centimetres from my pillow. Sheesh.

Skirting the Issue

2009-04-23T15:30:00.006+10:00

It's just occurred to me that I write a fair bit about my lunch breaks in the city, and the numerous temptations I must encounter, that beckon like Christina Rosetti's goblins, 'Come buy, come buy...'
I can't remember a lunch break where I haven't ducked into at least one (more likely five), little boutiques of loveliness. I don't think you can call that window-shopping, I think of it more as exposure-therapy that isn't working effectively. Routinely exposing myself to the temptation of trinkets and fashionable garments is NOT reducing my consumption.
Take today for instance, I had no intention of buying clothing today - no apparent need for new cloth in my wardrobe, no shoes required, no immediate inclination to enhance my House of Baulch jewellery collection. But the moment I stepped into the street below my office, the wind whipped my skirt so fiercely that I became terrified of exposing my severely daggy underwear to the city folk. To be frank, I don't give underwear much thought, until presented with a threat like this one. 'Goddam', I thought, 'it's BEIGE underwear', 'it's TOO TIGHT underwear', 'it's CREEPING UP THE BUM underwear'. You can see why I was so scared.
So I did what any girl worth her weight in silk scarves would do. I clutched my tissue-weight skirt to my knees and headed for the closest and cheapest dealer of women's clothing. And I bought me a straight black skirt with enough gravity in it to shield my knickers from the critical glare of Melbourne pedestrians.

I'm very resourceful like that. But I think I missed the point. It should have been underwear that I bought.

She spent the night with Dylan Moran

2009-04-23T10:11:00.005+10:00

Text message from Maille at 6.17pm Thursday 23/4/09.

We're seeing dylan at 7 Hahahaha are you jealous?

Text reply from me, Bridie, to Maille:

Very! But it was ME who spoke with him. Nyeh!

Then at 7:08 this morning from Maille:

Yeah but his show was amazing so Haha.

I know what you are thinking, does this woman ever actually speak in person with her children?
More on Dylan Moran here and here.

The fate of the Irish - or 'Dylan Moran again'

2009-04-22T16:07:00.007+10:00

My charmed daughter has just been offered a free ticket to see Dylan Moran tonight.
She's 14.
I'm 37.
I don't have a ticket.

No, even though I have been spending my cash like Kevin Rudd told me to (and I haven't even got his 'stimulation package' cheque yet) - doing my bit to jiggle that economy along - I forgot to allocate any cash for comic entertainment in my self-enrichment fund.

I nearly bought a new pair of shoes at lunchtime today (yes, I can see how that contradicts the last paragraph - if I had money, surely I could buy a Dylan Moran ticket) but a surly little minx of a shopgirl was rude and impatient so I left shoeless and snarling. What was I planning on buying shoes with anyway? The dried fruit and nut mix at the bottom of my handbag?

And as for Dylan Moran, I'll transcribe Maille's review later - after all, she's a teenager so she'll probably text me during the show.
In the meantime, you can read more on me and Dylan here.

Pooch pleasures

2009-04-22T09:12:00.007+10:00

Mabel before

Mabel after

Four weeks ago I took on my first foster dog for a rescue organisation. I called her Mabel and collected her from Melbourne airport after her flight from a Sydney pound. Mabel came into care with her mother, Ruby, who was infested with heartworm and gravely ill. Poor little Ruby was not to survive her illness and was euthanased, too sick to undergo the treatment for her heartworm.

So little Mabel came into my care and won my heart. A tiny little thing, she immediately attached herself to me as the primary carer and followed me like a shadow everywhere I walked. When I left the house she would whimper (as the family reported) at the gate.

Since Mabel was 8 or 9 years old I expected we would have her in our care for at least a few months, with the possibility of her living with us forever.
When she was given the all clear from the vet she was put up for adoption on the dog rescue site and within days an application for her adoption was received.

Last night I delivered little Mabel to her new home with an elderly woman who lives alone. I can't tell you how rewarding it was to see how happy this woman was to have a new companion, and the warmth with which she spoke to little Mabel. The satisfaction is immense. Mabel's life from here on will be with a new name, befitting the royalty that she is. Good luck Princess Babydoll.

This weekend I will take on my second foster dog, the process of rehabilitating these dogs after their lives of abuse and/or neglect is where I feel I can do the most good. I'm sure it won't always be as easy as it was having Mabel but I reckon I am going to learn a lot from the dogs I am going to meet along the way.

My Handsome Family - Where is their mother though?

2009-04-21T16:12:00.006+10:00

Maille, Kieran and Naoise
Photograph by Felix Balfour

Dylan Moran Melbourne 2009 Review

2009-04-21T16:01:00.016+10:00

Dylan Moran was cute. Scruffy like I expected. Handsomely dishevelled. Sounded endearingly Irish.

Oh... sorry... you thought you were reading a review of his show. I didn't make it to that. I'm just reviewing the man behind the table at the ABC book shop in the GPO building today...

More about this here.

I shared my lunch (break) with Dylan Moran

2009-04-21T15:25:00.008+10:00

Here is a text message I received at 10:56 this morning from my 14 yo daughter Maille:

Can i please slip school at lunch to meet dylan moran. Xox pretty please my friends are going

Ah the dilemma - I was torn between offering my wholehearted encouragement for Maille to pursue our shared idol and the duty of care as a parent to discourage truancy. I said No.
And stealthily picked up my purse and went on down to the ABC shop myself.

OK, so I had been joking with my children about potentially sighting Dylan Moran in Melbourne while he is touring but I had not prepared myself for the palpitations that would occur when faced with the man in the flesh. Admittedly his flesh was well covered but even so, I had wobbly knees. And B.O.
I handed him my two thingies for signing - wanted to ask him to say 'fizzygood' or 'the tings, you know, the tings" for me but instead said something inane and innocuous like 'Would you mind signing two things?' Bleh. He asked me how to pronounce the names I asked him to write (he should have known by the dyslexic spelling that they were Irish!)
He was obliging enough, didn't sneer but didn't ask me out for a coffee either. Just as well since I would have had to say 'Oh, oh, how I would love to but no, I am happily married to Shaun Micallef's twin'.

So I left Dylan's company clutching an autographed DVD and poster with a very intimate message that reads:
Br
www
Rupwll
Mcimm
Waok

I know, I know, you have to read between the lines!

On a more serious note, it's been surreal in the office here today - rumour spread quite rapidly this morning that a woman had jumped to her death from a building behind my workpace. When I went out at lunch the lane was screened off, police were diverting traffic and the SES team was there. I've been thinking on it all day, wondering who the poor bugger(s) was/were who may have been in the vicinity to witness such a grisly ending. How will I ever walk down that haunted lane again.

A not-so-blokey quilt

2009-03-18T12:14:00.005+11:00

I've been promising Naoise a quilt for a long time now but kept finding gorgeous girlish fabrics that distracted me from making a boy quilt. You can imagine his complaining sneer everytime I embarked on another girly project. I did finally find fabrics I felt were a good compromise between boyish fun and girlish floral charm and bought a load of fat quarters from the Denyse Schmidt 'Katie Jump Rope' line when the Aussie dollar could still get me a bargain in the US. I then diligently cut these into triangles with plans to make a flying geese patterned quilt laid out something like this (terrible pic, I know):

Then I realised this was highly ambitious for a woman working full-time with a zillion other commitments, so I started to sew triangles into contrasting squares instead. I didn't know exactly how I would arrange these in the end but worked steadily on my pile of squares awaiting further inspiration. It's funny how a little burst of creative energy and a rainy weekend can actually result in a finished product in a relatively short amount of time. A trip to GJs for some nice brown sashing fabric (good advice on the colour thanks Deb!) and several hours spent hunched over my sewing machine and I now have a quilt front and back ready to be delivered to the machine quilter.
The front:

And the back: (with a few strips of Funky Monkeys thrown in)

Next project, a girly baby quilt - what joy!

*Oh, and a very sad thing happened to my Amy Butler quilt. Hubby left an ink pen in the bed(!) that soaked into a morbid black spot on the quilt back. I used every method I could find to remove it and while it has faded considerably, it still remains a Big Ink Spot on my intended heirloom. The only consolation is that I have some amazing Anna Maria Horner fabrics to get started on for my winter quilt.

If anyone knows how I can rid my beautiful quilt of this unsightly stain please get in touch! Are there professional services out there that will do this?

The second daughter I never had

2009-03-16T13:08:00.005+11:00

I'm in the midst of a love affair with Orla Kiely. Even before I discovered this charming designer I had picked the name Orla for the second daughter that fate decided I wouldn't have. So, not only does Orla Kiely have me pining for her range of homewares released through Target in the US, but she also has her hand in the frock business and dresses ladies like me, albeit wealthier ones, in the most delectable vintage styled delights. Her sense of colour is playful and unconventional, which I love. If the exchange rate was not so crap I'd be paypalling my way to a new wardrobe courtesy of Orla Kiely. Alas though, even a really good online US sale will not make these pretties mine. Look, but don't touch!

Shoe Me the Money

2009-02-27T09:18:00.005+11:00

Ah, the perils of working in the city, walking past Sole Devotion on Degraves Street every morning and pressing my nose against the glass to admire the shoe candy within. I was once a Camper devotee but my last few pairs have been disappointing and, with my galloping maturity comes a desire for practical, well-made shoes that don't skimp on glamour or cool. Enter John Fluevog. The colours, the styles, the craftsmanship - these little beauties are so cool they could drop your sole temperature by 10 degrees. Check em.

Soundtrack to My Life

2009-02-26T10:08:00.002+11:00

This is what is spinning on my ipod right now. I'm loving my current playlist, takes me from Regent to work in a happy state.
You Come Thru - PJ Harvey
Pink Bullets - The Shins
Careful As You Go - The Drones
Hearts on Fire - Cut Copy
Raining Pleasure - The Triffids
Stop Draggin' My Heart Around - Rebecca Barnard and Tim Rogers
Raining Pleasure - Charles Jenkins
Wild World - Sid from the Skins Season 1 Soundtrack
Across the Universe - movie soundtrack

I'm hungry for more new music - itunes has become my best friend for sampling new tunes.

Decorating is cheaper than renovating

2009-02-23T13:13:00.004+11:00

We've had to put our renovation dreams on hold since the bank's assessment of our property value was absurdly conservative. Seems the banks are being a little less generous in their loans these days.

The rejection naturally makes me want to go and affirm my financial self-worth elsewhere. Subsequently, here is my new bedroom wall feature piece from Bride and Wolfe.

Because I love the one I bought ages ago that now swings happily against my gold brocade wallpaper in the boudoir. I'm loving black feature pieces right now.

Some colour in a smokey sky

2009-02-20T12:57:00.007+11:00

Oh what an undisciplined blogger I am. I blame the technology, and not just ennui. Sharing a single laptop at home with the web-wired kids and husband leaves me little time for self-indulgent musings on my blog. Often I wonder what value I am contributing to the blog world anyway - given there are so many wonderful design/art/animal rescue/craft/girly blogs out there. But hey, I know at least my mum and my sister read this so I'll keep it up, if nothing just to humour them.

I've been doing a bit of browsing lately and I'm so inspired by colours and palettes that really sing. I know this is why I love patchwork - working with amazing textiles and gorgeous prints and colours. it's very satisfying. I can't wait to have enough money and time to truly plan a consistent design scheme in my own home. This will involve a serious cull of things that aren't working, a lot of paint and some floorboard polishing, and then going crazy on the soft furnishings. The house will look gorgeous... eventually.

What I am truly lusting after right now is the Orla Kiely collection for US Target. It's so unfair that this isn't coming down under. I see that some savvy ebayers are hoping to make a profit selling to international enthusiasts but with exorbitant prices on these products and their postage from the US, I'm afraid I will have to decline. Here's a glimpse:

And over at Print & Pattern, I spied these gorgeous mugs and coasters from Disco Butterfly.

Which would look beautiful with my new Anna Maria Horner fabric when it's turned into my winter quilt...

Ah, colour. So many possibilities.

The Horror

2009-02-11T16:36:00.004+11:00

Photo: Keith Pakenham, CFA

It's only been a few days since I posted about the Victorian bushfires. They now think over 300 people may be found perished. This is in countryside not that far from us. Areas we go to quite regularly for kids football games, Scout camps, weekend drives.

I drove to Whittlesea in blistering heat in January to take our dog Frida to accommodation there while we were to go camping. Now I'm wondering if all the pets at this place were evacuated. Their website only has entries from a few weeks ago. This place is on the same hillside where the Scout camp is, and the fires burned a few buildings down there.

I'm waiting to hear when I will need to collect a dog in need of temporary homing through the rescue agency. People are really rallying to help in so many ways. Even my work has booked a group of us to donate blood. I've never donated before but now seems like a good time to start.

I don't feel like blogging anything frivolous right now. Instead, here are some links to support services through which people may like to help.

Donate Money Online
Donate Money at Banks, Australia Post Offices, Shops
Donate your Time
Offer Accommodation
Donate Blood
Donate Clothes, Toiletries and other goods
Donate Toys, Children's Books, etc.
Donate Food
Donate Mobile Phone Chargers
Donate Furniture
Donate Blankets
Help Animals
Donations from Interstate
Put a Bushfire help banner on your website
Other Information & Services
Advice for Donors on Avoiding Scams
Join Facebook Causes

Putting it in perspective

2009-02-09T11:49:00.004+11:00

Victoria has been in drought for so long now that every summer presents the threat of devastating bushfires. Today's newspapers are full of harrowing stories of lives and homes lost over a weekend of record temperatures (47.9 degrees celsius recorded at Avalon on Saturday) that fuelled monstrous fires, many still blazing now. Wow, this surely puts one's self-absorbed gripes into perspective.

People everywhere are wondering what they can do to help those affected. At this point, 750 homes have been destroyed and 108 human lives lost. Then there is the wildlife and companion pets affected, figures that aren't available yet.

Having recently been in serious discussions with the family about becoming a rescue dog foster home, I've put up my hand to take on any dogs requiring temporary homing through the rescue agency that brought us Rufus. Maybe we'll be fostering sooner than we expected - some of the foster carers have homes in the vicinity of the fires.

Facespace

2009-02-05T11:45:00.005+11:00

Since I joined the gazillion folk in the world of Facebook my blogging has been compromised. It's not as though I'm collecting hundreds of new friends online, but it's all too easy to waste time surfing through pictures of people you know, people they know, comments they've made, photos they've added, and so on. So, I must make an effort to limit my facebooking and focus on some more intellectual (yeah, right), creative or charitable pursuits. Like...

Becoming a foster parent for Rescued with Love.

Making a new quilt in Anna Maria Horner Good Folks fabrics.

Starting a course in French.

Reading some of my new books, like Butterfly by Sonya Hartnett (another northern suburbs talent, I see SH all the time walking her gorgeous dog by the creek) and The Astonishing Life of Octavian Nothing Volume II: Kingdom on the Waves by M.T. Anderson.

So, the kids are back at school and the awful routine of too many things to do has begun. Naoise has decided he is now vegetarian, so the meals are requiring a bit more consideration and planning. (When I told Tamsin this, she reminded me that this is the boy who once wept when the menu in an eating establishment did not offer ENOUGH meat options.) Naoise will also be shaving his head again this year for The World's Greatest Shave fundraiser for the Leukemia Foundation. Wow, what a principled boy. (family members, open your wallets). Maille is writing, writing, writing. She hopes to be a child prodigy and publish a novel at the tender age of 14. Very savvy she is, she thinks her age will enhance her marketability. She does write beautifully and I hope she has the opportunity and the fortune to develop this talent. Something I dreamed of for myself, and not this crushing mediocrity. Sob.

Bark in Fright

2009-02-03T14:25:00.004+11:00

The darnedest thing happened last night at the local park. I was tossing sticks for the dogs and having a gay old time when a woman began walking through the park, saw the dogs, stopped in her tracks and uttered a cry of panic. Rufus needed no more incentive to approach this woman, his little shoulders all square and macho, he barked at her. The woman was totally freaked out by my 8 kilogram ball of maltese poodle fluff and fled screaming through the park, which of course only fuelled Rufus' excitement and instinct to CHASE. I called out to her to STAND STILL so I could retrieve the little bugger but she continued her flee with Rufus in tow, still barking but showing no sign of attacking, biting, nipping or even licking. Finally she ran into a block of flats and Rufus gave up the pursuit, returning to me unphased by his naughty adventure.

Two points here:

1)I need to take my dog to training so he doesn't ignore me in a crisis like this (I do plan to in the next few weeks).

2) Some people have a ridiculous fear of dogs. Maybe this photo will help as some exposure therapy. This is my naughty, naughty dog Rufus.

2009-01-28T11:04:00.003+11:00

Just back from a week camping at Venus Bay, I'm really enjoying this staggered holiday season - back to work for only two weeks before my second beach holiday for the summer. My nails are gritty, my skin is tight with sun damage and no amount of moisturiser is going to penetrate my flaking arms. A few days in the heat of the Australian summer and I'm aged by five years.
I've grown to enjoy camping - I'm not much chop at the practical side of it though, I stare bemused at the pile of camping paraphernalia that is supposed to be packed into a seemingly incompatible space in the car. Fortunately KP is on top of all that. I've learned that a heap of dairy and meat products don't fare well in the esky for seven days. Best to stick to the dried legumes for camping protein. Anyhoo, I think there were eight families involved in this particular trip and a tribe of twenty plus children aged 11 - 16.
I call our style of camping saffron camping, this harks back to our first trip with friends where even saffron could be produced on demand. Yes, we are really that pathetic that we take gourmet herbs and spices with us camping. Even more embarassing, this year we took our coffee machine (powered site) and whipped up lattes for breakfast. La-di-da. There has to be some compensation for sharing walking paths with venomous tiger snakes.

So, back in Melbourne for our second wedding anniversary. KP and I had a truly sensational meal at Matteo's last night. Having an anniversary has justified an annual indulgence in fancy restaurant fare. This year was exceptional. Flavours so wonderful I can still taste them - wines so carefully selected to complement the menu. I usually drink my wine in ignorance of its providence or its value but I found myself with nose deep in the glass each time I sampled a new drop - sniffing the most divine fragrances. Yum Yum Yum. I wish I had a copy of Matteo's wine menu so I can circle the ones I tasted and loved.

Hmm, must be time for a coffee now. More sooner or later...

Paris 2011

2009-01-18T12:56:00.005+11:00

I feel an obligation as a blogger to keep my content up-to-date and my entries regular, but darn it, it's been hard to feel inspired while I've been in holiday mode. I've had an intellectual melt-down, my cultural pursuits have been limited to reading some pulp fiction (the Twilight series, of course) and seeing a few current release movies. I have however, put some serious effort into my new year's resolutions. I rejoined the gym (4 visits this week!) and I've planted the seed for Paris Twenty Eleven, my intention to spend my 40th birthday in Paris in 2011.

I think it's outrageous that I have never been overseas. OK, so I did have a fear of flying for a number of years, but there comes a time when one recognises the extent to which one's phobias are inhibiting experiences that could enrich and enhance one's life. So, I am happy to dose myself on some anti-anxiety medication for a long flight and get myself to Paris. In a beret.

So what else is going on? Well, I've entered a new and more challenging parenting zone - mothering an eleven year old boy with some serious mood swings that can only suggest some kind of hormonal turmoil. Naoise is flipping between emotionally charged outburts of tears and grief over the loss of doggie Axel, and the most annoying, provocative and stubborn behaviour. Yesterday we had a huge argument that left us both in our bedrooms crying. I think it's time to hand the reins to Kieran for some sympathetic masculine mentoring - and fathering of course.

I've almost finished the front of Gemma's baby quilt, and while my family assures me it looks perfect, an irregularity in the layout is glaring at me. I might have to call in the unpicker. I'll post some pics soon and you can decide if I am being unreasonably pedantic or not.

Time for a nap now - the kids are watching Shaun of the Dead in the next room and having a good giggle. Enuff for now.

10 things that make me uncool

2009-01-12T09:58:00.006+11:00

Note, this list is not in order of dag.

1. I bought a George Michael CD on the weekend (actually that's pretty cool)
2. I own Purple Rain on VHS and watch it at least once a year
3. I have bought underwear from Aldi
4. Funniest Home Videos is right up there in my fave television
5. I sing songs to my dogs
6. I play the Jesus Christ Superstar soundtrack when I'm driving alone
7. I can recite a Pam Ayres poem
8. I can sing all the lyrics to the Food Plus ad from the eighties
9. I wear leopard print flanelette pyjama bottoms
10. I once worked at the Reject Shop (though I did see Roland Gift (Fine Young Cannibals) walk by one Saturday afternoon)

Lazy Days

2009-01-05T14:49:00.002+11:00

Yawn, stretch... I've just spent a week at the beach eating, sleeping, walking, not swimming, eating, chatting, reading, eating, shopping, eating and drinking. What bliss. I love summer. I love daylight savings (god bless the inventor of this nifty little bit of daylight manipulation).

So another Christmas is spent, another new year's eve has passed. Mine was moderate and pleasant. New Year with friends eating a nice bbq dinner on the balcony at Moggs Creek. We took the kids to watch the Lorne fireworks at midnight from the top of the hill. Naoise could and would not be woken though. Predictably he demanded we wake him at midnight and then refused to wake. He even walked half-asleep downstairs to bed, with me trying hard to persuade him to watch the fireworks instead. Nope, he wouldn't be swayed. Naturally he blamed his parents for missing the new year tick over. Again.

I'm reading The Slap by Christos Tsiolkas. It's featuring prominently at all the bookshops this summer and I was keen to snatch a copy. Gemma has loaned me hers. It's a great read- a young child is slapped by an adult in a heated moment at a friendly barbeque. The repercussions for significant individuals present at the bbq are presented from various viewpoints. Lots of arsehole characters to loathe (mostly the men) and others to pity (mostly the women). Tsiolkas writes misogynism so very convincingly - it's quite disturbing to think some men are really thinking these things about women and disguising their hatred with the pretence of a loving marriage, fatherhood and other social normalities. The whole plot ties so nicely together while managing to give each character sufficient space for the reader to identify their literary allies. Tsiolkas lives in Preston, I hear. He could quite possibly live NORTH OF BELL STREET even. I've read Loaded and loved it's brutal, self-absorbed study of Ari. Loved the film based on this book too (Head On). I have Dead Europe on my list of must-reads and I have the feeling I read The Jesus Man but hell, I can't remember. Must revisit that one too. I'll look out for Christos at Preston Market, hehe.

I'm simultaneously reading Twilight to please Maille (and my teenage alter-ego). Maille has specially borrowed a copy from a friend so her mother can share the joy of this tramp-vamp fiction. Thanks honey!

I'm on fire!

2008-12-22T18:36:00.006+11:00

My confidence with the sewing machine is growing and so is the Blythe wardrobe. Dress pattern from Darling Blythe. Modelled by Juno (Hello Harvest).

Feeling pretty clever

2008-12-22T09:38:00.005+11:00

I'm feeling pretty pleased with myself today. I've had a productive weekend spent crafting and while my efforts are certainly nothing that would overwhelm a high school textiles teacher, I'm satisfied knowing that I have completed some projects on my own, and MADE some gifts for friends and family instead of purchasing useless junk. I'm very new to this whole sewing business. I've had no real tutelage so I'm kind of fumbling around on my own a lot, mulling over instructions in books, scrutinising online tutorials and somehow producing some 'ok' results.

I've sourced some gorgeous silk fabrics with the hope that these will be transformed into some simple but elegant scarves a la the pattern below. Tutorial is here.

I'm also loving this design from multiple choice. Gosh I love a renaissance ruffle.

Maille turned 14 on Saturday so in the family tradition of extended birthday celebrations, there was a lot of daughter indulgence over the weekend. On Sunday night I took her to see Twilight. She's read the books, I haven't. I'm a sucker for a good teen flick though and I wasn't disappointed. Impossibly handsome lead characters, unconsummated teen romance with pints of unresolved sexual tension. Breathtaking scenes of misty forests and icy small-town roads. A bit reminiscent of Twin Peaks actually. Although the film was brooding with danger and impending violence, it was by no means a cynical experience. I left the cinema feeling fifteen again, recalling all those exhilarating crushes I had on older boys at high school. Ah, sweet youth. Crap and wonderful all at once.

Christmas Slipping, oops I mean Shopping

2008-12-10T15:49:00.009+11:00

Frankie 2009 Calendar available at http://www.frankie.com.au/

Ok, you all know I love to shop and I also love to complain and whine about my limited disposable income. And yes, I know I sound like a brat when I make such complaints. I was a bit embarassed about that revealing entry to be honest. I do appreciate how much better off I am than so many others. I only have to listen to conversations on the Epping line train to know that. If I want to see that gap more explicitly I need only hop on the Epping line with the 'off-peakers', ie anytime between 9.01am and 4.59pm, or stroll down High Street, Preston midweek.

So it's payday today and naturally I want to rush right out and SPEND SOME MONEY. It's not Kevin Rudd's money either, it's my own hard-won cash, the money I should be spending on decent organic fruit and vegies for the week, but it's Christmas time, so I have not only an excuse to shop but an obligation to do so. Yeah, right.

At lunchtime I more or less skipped down Collins Street in rabid pursuit of some bargains at Spencer Street DFO. Then I raced up the escalators and continued skipping through those glass doors and onto the yellow brick road that is shopping centre linoleum. Purposeful and determined, I made my way towards my first stop, but just as I approached the Country Road outlet I found myself kind of flying towards that linoleum floor, knees akimbo and arms stretched out in front of me. Oh the indignity. Oh the embarassment.

I needn't have been concerned about my image being compromised though, because the most amazing thing is that despite many people striding purposefully and spendthriftily around me, none of them seemed to notice my close to six foot frame kneeling on the floor in front of them. Which kind of hit a chord with me. Here we all were with the common intent to spend money on material goods none of us really need, and we were so consumed by this mission that we could ignore a human in need. Shame on us all.

Just in case you think I skulked shamefaced from DFO that instant, you'll be disappointed to know I went on to complete most of my Christmas shopping in a frenzied blitz on the outlet stores.

The best purchase of all though was made online later today - the gorgeous 2009 Frankie calendar! (See pic at top)

PS My little Rufus had a checkup at the vet this week and he's 7.9kg! He was 6.5kg and underweight at the shelter just a few weeks ago. I was such a proud mum when he tipped those scales. The vet reckons his weight is spot on now - I have him on a new menu of BARF Raw diet, which is the economical equivalent of dining at the The Press Club weekly. Kieran complained last night that we had lots of wonderful dog food in the fridge but nothing fit for human consumption. I know, I know, my priorities are often skewed. Kieran is just as smitten as I am with our little boy though, the most overused word in our house right now is 'cuuute'.

I take my hat off to quality TV writers

2008-12-01T10:21:00.003+11:00

Having never been tempted to hand over money for even more crappy television via subscription, I have only recently come across the Claudia Karvan produced drama Love My Way on the DVD shelves of the local library. Foxtel viewers will have already seen this series a couple of years ago so forgive me for my dated content.

If you've read any of my blog you will know that my evenings are largely occupied watching DVDs in bed on the laptop. Thrilling for my husband as you can imagine.

I have lost all patience for lounge-room viewing, I prefer my movie experiences to be in the comfort of the boudoir, maybe a puppy nestled beside me, a glass-o-red on the bedside table, and me tucked-up nicely beneath my Amy Butler quilt. Thirty-seven going on seventy.

Anyhow, a few weeks ago I settled in for another evening of DVD entertainment with the 2nd series of Love My Way. My god, I wish there had been a warning on the cover, something like, "WARNING: This series contains tragic themes that may distress parent viewers".

Frankie's eight-year-old daughter Lou has died at the end of the 1st series and it was all weeping and grieving as I watched the show's characters come to terms with this loss. Nothing sentimental here, this show is wonderfully written with flawed three-dimensional characters, bad human decisions, dubious parenting models and no preaching agenda. I love it! It's edgy and risky, with none of the pretension of the awful 'The Secret Life of Us'. If this is the kind of creative local talent that pay tv can foster then bring it on!

The set-design is perfect, I love the down-to-earth shabbiness of Frankie's house, even if the beachside location may be a little implausible for a poor art student, the house is rank and dank without resorting to predictably 'arty' cliches in the decor. And unlike the horrible 'The Secret Life of Us', (can you tell I despised this show?) instead of groovy bars and trendy cafes, much of the socialising in Love My Way takes place in a variety of unfashionable Sydney establishments, karaoke bars, cheap restaurants, etc. And I LOVE that brothers Charlie and Tom are back living in bunk beds at their parents' place in the suburbs as marriages, relationships and lives fall apart. Great stuff.

I've got a crush

2008-11-29T17:56:00.004+11:00

I am SOOOOO in love with our new doggie Rufus. He is the most lovely, sweet, playful and soft little creature. I can't believe how cheering it is to have a pup in the house again. What is the most gratifying though is that little Rufus has taught Frida how to play. This is a middle-aged dog who has sneered and growled at every dog who has ever attempted to sniff her rear(not that I should understate the insult of that act...). So now Rufus has Frida chasing him in a circuit through the house - one, two, three HERE THEY ARE! as they race through the kitchen, lounge and dining room. It's a joy to watch.
Indulging the cuteness of this little boy we took him to the market today in the SHOPPING TROLLEY. Yep, a lambskin rug beneath him and we pushed him from home to Preston market and through the aisles of pushy shoppers and dollar boxes.
Ah, sweet doggie love.

(Photo above is Naoise with Rufus.)

Status Anxiety

2008-11-21T12:56:00.005+11:00

Do you ever get a really uncomfortable, heated and prickly feeling when you hear of someone else's good fortune? I'm not talking the procurement of a new fabulous job, or the announcement of a much longed for pregnancy or the like. I suppose I mean fortune in the financial or material sense.

I work full time in a professional kind of job. K also works full time in a mentally and emotionally demanding role. Our incomes aren't bad but nor are they exceptional. We don't travel, we don't go out all that much, we don't buy expensive designer furniture, we don't have secret gambling habits and I don't believe our children are stealing from our wallets . So how is it that after the mortgage withdrawl this week we will have a grand total of $22 in the bank?

My general sense of wellbeing and contentment prevents me from mulling over our embarassing financial position too much, but it does come as a sore reminder when a friend or acquaintance, someone with whom you can reasonably compare your own opportunities and status etc., exhibits objects of wealth that I can only dream of. It's a selfish admission to make, I know, and I'm not proud of it - I can even name the feeling as that awful green-eyed monster jealousy. I suppose I just wanted to own that feeling, to put it in writing and consider the anxieties that produce it.

I'm very conscious these days of becoming older, of opportunities for academic, creative, artistic or financial advancement becoming reduced. I wonder at how I use my time - have I ever devoted enough effort to a single pursuit to develop an exceptional talent? Nah. I spread my efforts around, a novice at all, an expert at nothing, so to speak.

I can definitely claim to devote a great deal of time and attention to the raising of my children. I'm doing it well too, I congratulate myself. Working a full-time job and doing that can be consuming enough, but I try also to allow some time for my own creative dabbling and to keep myself involved on some level in an artistic life. I try also to be kind and friendly to people, to be socially initiating and generous. Do I expect financial renumeration for this? Of course not.

I guess what I am saying is that I see some people being blessed with opportunities that bring them an easiness in life - whether it allows them to live in an incredible house in a desirable suburb, or if its a financial security that allows them to focus on a creative endeavour. I thought that any sacrificies I myself made would be rewarded somehow, for example, pursuing a secure job would at least allow me material comforts. It hasn't to the extent that I would have liked. I'm trying to judge where my real focus should be right now. Do I want to continue down this ho-hum path of singing for my supper? Is a rewarding balance even achievable?
You are seeing me seethe and I don't want you to.

There's a good chance I will delete this entry when I'm feeling more rational.

2008-11-19T21:02:00.006+11:00

Julia Deville 'Elvie's Urn and Emu Repository' at Craft Victoria.

I've been somewhat preoccupied with pet responsibilities this past week. With the impending arrival of little Rufus I've had Frida vet-checked, immunised, heart-worm tested, flea-treated and wormed. Wanted to be sure she was in perfect health before welcoming her new companion. I've also investigated local dog training classes, reserved Cesar Millan's The Dog Whisperer DVD series at the local library and have bought tickets for a fundraiser movie to support the rescue org through which Rufus is being adopted. Shame I won't be watching that movie myself - I thought it was a nice opportunity for some father son bonding if K and Naoise saw Quantum Solace together, the pity is that I LOVE Daniel Craig as James Bond. The man is a blue steel marvel. Loved him in Casino Royale, the Truman Capote film (can't remember which of those two Capote films it was) and in The Golden Compass. Not usually an admirer of the fairer male but Daniel is a class act.

So anyway, enough of the Daniel Craig digression, this pet-preoccupation distracted me from my intended crafty posting last week. I wanted to rave about the work of Julia Deville that is (was?) on show at Craft Victoria. With a work conference conveniently located at the Sofitel on Collins, I was able to duck out for a squizz at the extraordinary taxidermy/jewellery creations of Julia Deville. Read Julia's artist statement on her DisceMori website (a deliciously grisly account of her fifteenth to eighteenth-century mourning memento inspirations.) What can I say? Cool. I was particularly taken with the repositories pictured above. A little uncanny that I was mourning a pet the day I saw this show.

Also took a look (with Deb) at the NMIT Graduate Jewellery Design show currently exhibiting at Northcote Town Hall (venue of my happy wedding... shucks). Some nice stuff here too - I love a bit of extravagant and unique jewellery, especially when there is a fine line between something being jewellery and a garment. If only I had a craft sponsor, someone generous to help me support the arts and crafts movement by endowing me with beautiful hand-crafted wearables :)

As for my own recent craft endeavours, I'm slowly cutting fat quarters from the Valori Wells Olive Rose collection in squares for my next quilt project, lots of cool blues and greens, a departure from my usual pink/red warmth in fabric choices. I'm loving it though, the cooler colours create an entirely different mood. This one might have to be a couch quilt, I'm running out of beds to quilt! I'm completely hopeless with taking pics at the moment - I can't be the perfect mother that I try to be, the crafting queen or the domestic goddess AND record it all on pixels!

And, just in case I choose to re-read this entry, here's some eye candy for my own personal enjoyment. Looking enticingly ruffled too.

Mr Rufus Halloran-McMoodle

2008-11-17T11:59:00.005+11:00

I always said that when Senor Axel went to doggie heaven, we would not delay in bringing another dog into our home. Yes, we are still very sad that he has died and reminders of his existence remain in the garden and throughout the house, bringing the odd tear to the eye - but knowing there are so many dogs out there needing loving homes, I could see no point in delaying the adoption of a new canine companion. Frida desperately needs the company too - she has not barked once since her mate died last week and she's barely picking at her food.

So, after some fairly rigorous compatability testing, including a visit with human family and Frida to the doggie foster home, we are now thrilled to be welcoming little Rufus to our home next weekend. If he enjoys his stay with us, and he can tolerate Frida's initial inhospitality, we'll be having him for keeps.

Rufus is a maltese poodle cross and he's just over a year old. He comes with that name, which as fate would have it, we love.

He's totally adorable and we are all pretty darn smitten! What a coincidence that his toy (see top photo) resembles Frida.

Vale Axel Bussell Boyo, or Axy Wobbles

2008-11-13T10:25:00.007+11:00

On Monday night of this week our lovely old boyo Axel left us for doggie heaven. It has been a sad time for the family, the kids have not known a time when he wasn't around and Axel represented the beginning of my relationship with Special K; he was adopted from the Lort Smith Animal Hospital only weeks after our first date. While he was officially my dog, Special K quickly became the preferred human companion, though Axel never demonstrated the devotion to two-legged folk that is a trait of most dogs. He was an elusive kinda guy, would humour you if you deigned to scratch his back, or roll him over for a tummy rub, but he'd pretty promptly grumble something dismissive and meander on over to his mat or a potential food source.

I have sixteen years of memories associated with Axel, so many of them I could relate here and some of them are indeed amusing enough to be worthy of publishing. Like the time as a younger dog when Axel found a pair of discarded and soiled boys undies at the Edinburgh Gardens. After rolling in the contents, he ate them and then carried the undies in his mouth and frisked about the park, escaping capture. When we did finally manage to entice him to the car, there was no way of avoiding the offensive odour of his indulgence. Man, were we furious with that dog!

Axel slowed down a lot in his older years, which made it much easier to deal with his escapist habits. In the last year, he was much less interested in long walks and there were many trips to Moggs Creek where Axel didn't even follow us to the beach, preferring a restful weekend on his mat.

So on Monday night I became aware of Axel having a seizure when I heard Frida barking excitedly outside. I saw her seemingly attacking poor old Axel while he fitted beneath her. As you can imagine, it was an upsetting sight. Poor Frida, she was utterly confused by Axel's state. I rushed outside, removed Frida to indoors and held Axel while he continued to fit. In a panic, I called our friend Michael, a vet, and asked him for advice. I took Axel indoors where he recovered to a state of consciousness but walked about the kitchen in circles, bumping into furniture, stepping into his water bowl and generally looking very disoriented. He wouldn't lay on his mat though, which made it harder to watch his deterioration.

Within an hour or two Axel was having seizures that didn't stop. Michael was called and he generously came over to dose Axel with some valium to control the seizures, while diagnosing a major central nervous breakdown (not his words, this is the layperson's interpretation of the diagnosis). Our options were to heavily sedate him overnight and face the possibility of a traumatic deterioration during the night which we would be unable to treat, or to relieve Axels' distress by euthanasia. It was an upsetting decision to make, but unbearable to see our dear old doggie suffer the indignity of the seizures, which the valium relieved only slightly.

So Axel died with Special K's hand patting his neck and our dear friend Michael's professional and sensitive treatment.

Naoise is as upset as I knew he would be, he went to school the next day only to appear in sick bay early in the morning, in tears and feeling ill. His nana collected him and gave him the time he needed to grieve privately. He has since helped his dad bury Axel in our garden, and he has built the most beautiful tombstone from an old skateboard, painted it with Axel's name and planted flowers above the grave. He has even put a vase of roses beneath the tombstone. He's a boy for whom rituals are important. Maille was more stoic with her grief, she doesn't want to talk about it but we can see she her sadness. As for me, the tears well at random as I confront the little routines in which Axel once featured prominently, but does no longer. Rest In Peace my old doggie, you were a truly independent spirit.

And Frida, our devoted, complicated and serious girl, we hope we can find you a new companion soon. We've been giving you lots of special attention but you still seem a bit out of sorts right now.

A little less drama please

2008-11-07T14:20:00.010+11:00

Naoise was complaining of quite severe stomach pain on Wednesday afternoon so we took him to the doctor and our hyper-vigilant GP sent us off to the Royal Children's Hospital with possible appendicitis diagnosis. Five hours waiting in the emergency department to be told he probably had a gastro bug and if it was early stage appendicitis there was nothing to be done to diagnose it bar surgery. This wasn't recommended since he wasn't presenting with all the symptoms of appendicitis anyway. So home we went. We couldn't very well send him off to school the next day so I stayed home with him on Thursday.

I have to admit, a day at home was not all that unpleasant and I got myself involved in a 'one-woman sweatshop' (Tamsin's words) of sewing. Using an ultra-simple pattern-free recipe for a child's skirt I whipped up five skirts in all throughout the day. I'm working on a collection for all my lovely nieces. Naturally, Maille wanted one too in her size so I made her one in a mod retro poppy fabric. It was a joy to use some of my fabric stash at last. Fabrics I probably won't ever get around to quilting with, so now I can enjoy watching them swing around the knees of the lassies of the family. No pics yet sorry. Though I can share my latest fabric purchase which I intend to use on an upholstery project for a couple of Parker chairs Special K picked up a while back. They will look uber-cool in this Cath Kidston-designed fabric...

And since I cannot share any visuals of my own achievements of late, I thought I would share a peek at a lovely living room colour scheme belonging to someone else. Pic courtesy of Rachel of Bling on my Sewing Machine from her flickr pages and via sfgirlbybay.

And I'm feeling generous so will even include some gorgeous rugs from Designer Rugs that I'm lusting after. I love, love, love the Catherine Martin range...

Ah, I'd love any of these beauties underfoot. They even look like they might hide the dog hair. Speaking of dogs, the irrepressible Queenie is staying for the weekend. What a bundle of cuteness! (That's Queenie of the canine variety as opposed to Queenie the new baby niece, though she is also cute of course). Canine Queenie is so cute we even let her sleep on Maille's bed last night. Sshh, don't tell our own dogs!

And a return to theme, in case you were beginning to think north of bell street was a bit preoccupied with style and aesthetic pleasures. Here's a renovation-in-progress we are watching with great interest (read concern!) on our street. A new abode to be divided into two living spaces for some soon-to-be-exploited international students. The council doesn't seem to mind though.

What's the collective noun for worries?

2008-11-03T12:28:00.005+11:00

This weekend just gone has reminded me of the fragility of our wellbeing and happiness. All around me it seems good folk, both young and old, are suffering right now in some way or another from mental health problems. It would seem the brain is capable of delivering a smorgasbord of complex, irrational and incapacitating conditions: depression, phobias, anxiety, panic, body dysmorphia, obsessive compulsive behaviours... the list goes on and on.

And of course it is not just the sufferers who are burdened. I feel for all the carers, friends and family out there who must carry the worryload for their loved ones.

Best advice I can offer. Seek treatment and if it doesn't work for you, try something or someone else until it does.

http://www.beyondblue.org.au/

Hello Darkness

2008-10-30T11:24:00.008+11:00

While I can't claim to be in a particularly melancholic frame of mind, my artistic consumption of late has been somewhat dark. Grisly vampire-themed young adult writing (Thirsty by M.T. Anderson), gritty Scottish crime fiction (Exit Music by Ian Rankin), and the disturbingly beautiful paintings of Louise Hearman in her Hello Darkness show at Glen Eira gallery have collectively appealed to my gothic sensibilities this week.

I've found myself a little more edgy than usual too. Walking the dogs near home yesterday I saw a garbage bag by the railway and found myself considering the gruesome possibilities of its contents. I've been carrying a fever as a result of a bout of tonsilitis which has no doubt contributed to my gloomy musings.

Anyway, enough of all that... if you haven't seen the Louise Hearman show you really must try to get there before it closes this Sunday. The work is stunning. Amazing. I can walk through many an exhibition with barely a sniff at each work but the paintings of Hearman are so complex and compelling that it was no effort at all to stand in front of a single painting for several minutes - moving in close enough to see her considered brushstrokes, then moving back out to wonder at how she commands the light and form in her images in such a masterful way. And so much wonderful, brooding dark space, allowing the viewer's imagination to finish or continue the story that the painting only begins to tell. I hope I can drag the kids along to see this show on the weekend - I think they should see what art can be.

The Last Days of Leisure

2008-10-24T17:09:00.007+11:00

I've just finished two weeks of annual leave, 2 weeks indulgently taken when the kids were back at school. 2 weeks of supposed ME time. God, I can't believe it's gone so fast. My plan was to sew a lot, paint my living and dining rooms, read lots of books, lunch with friends, sit in cafes on my own, take photographs with the new camera, be at home when the kids came from school, cook decent meals, exercise and reflect on my career.

So I'm pretty pleased that I have at least managed: two lunch dates with friends, sewing my quilt binding on (backwards(!) so I have to unpick the whole damn thing), a day of gallery hopping with a friend, riding Naoise to and from school several times and reading a couple of great books. My house has also had a couple of intense cleans over the fortnight.

On the recommendation of a kindly Readings staff member I purchased a young adult novel called 33 Snowfish by Adam Rapp. What a powerful, gritty, disturbing, tender and marvellous book. There is such a wealth of good reading in the young adult genre, probably overlooked by most adults but I don't think I ever left children's literature behind. I won't be encouraging Maille to read 33 Snowfish just yet though, the abuse themes are harsh and explicit. I've also bought another book by M.T. Anderson, author of The Astonishing Life of Octavian Nothing, so I'm keen to get started on that one. Have I mentioned how amazing that book is? Well you should really go and read it, it's fabulous - and stunningly composed.

So what else has inspired me over this fortnight? The highlight of my gallery visits was the Peter Daverington show at Arc One Gallery. Something wonderfully eerie about his paintings. I really don't get to galleries these days so I can't claim to be able to place an exhibition in the context of the greater art scene but I can say I didn't see anything else quite like Daverington's work. The paintings struck me as being something quite extraordinary the moment I stepped into the gallery.

Also went along to see Patti Smith's photos at Anna Shwartz Gallery. Nyeh, nothing wondrous there - though I repeat my disclaimer of ignorant viewer. How I would have loved to have seen her perform though. I've had the Easter album playing in the car quite a bit lately. Wish I had Horses in the glove box too.

The gallery day was punctuated by lunch at Crossways - the Hari Krishna joint on Swanston Street. The last time I stepped in that place I was a hippie teenager with vegetarian ideals and a nose ring. Great to see good cheap food is still available in the city, and I could still feel welcome there even without the nose ring. I work in the city but Swanston Street is a world of its own - four young men walked towards me with plastic bags over their faces, chroming in full view of the lunchtime pedestrian traffic. Haven't seen that on Collins Street and it's pretty freaky.

I don't want to leave all this artistic inspiration behind too soon, so even though my leave is officially over, I hope to be able to get to the Glen Eira Gallery in Caulfield on the weekend for the Louise Hearman show.

And oh yeah, the day of galleries included visiting all those fancy furniture design stores that I usually find too intimidating to enter. Accompanied by my friend Deb though, I felt much braver. We tried out a lot of lounges and chairs, take note - beautifully designed does not always mean practically designed - the ergonomics weren't always that great. Did love the bamboo fibre carpet that is making an appearance on the design scene though - it feels absolutely gorgeous to touch.

It's over and out for now, the son is sitting opposite me glaring as I have apparently infringed on his game time. More soon(er or later)...
NEWSFLASH - Just discovered that The Astonishing Life of Octavian Nothing: Volume II is released in November - can't wait.

The Lazy Blogger

2008-10-16T23:53:00.005+11:00

I am ashamed to say that I have become the kind of blogger that as a reader I judge harshly for lack of commitment to the currency of one's blog. I have a few excuses though. Firstly, I am on annual leave and have surprisingly found so much to occupy myself as to be blogging-prohibitive. Secondly, Special K is in the throes of his Masters coursework and is demanding uninterrupted access to his laptop. He has only now thrown in the towel for the evening and I can claim some time for my own online pursuits.
The Brother Al Interior Decoration Project is nearing completion and I think I have a very happy client. My dedication to the task has been absolute - today I made the second journey this week to his Southbank apartment to await the delivery of furniture I had selected on his behalf. I would love to relate some anecdotes of my experience dealing with Brother Al in the context of domestic management but most of these accounts may be deemed slanderous. I'm really not sure where Brother Al grew up - could it really have been in the same family as myself and my other three domestically-capable siblings?
Well, next step in Project Brother Al is to find him an exceptionally patient and tolerant partner.

While I may seem largely preoccupied with interior decoration at present, I can at least claim some cultural engagement as I purchased the new release, The Henson Case, written by journalist David Marr. I have been intrigued by Henson for many years, the exposure to his work was unavoidable as a student of Photography at the same art school. Henson's sublime manipulation of dark and luminous present the most compelling of images; images that demand a gaze - whether that experience is uncomfortable or uplifting for the viewer is mostly distinguished by cultural taboos that draw a squiggly line between the tolerated or even celebrated, and the abhorred suggestions of childhood sexuality. The Henson case presents many issues for consideration of a parent. At the time of the Roslyn Oxley gallery scandal, when sensationalised accounts of Bill Henson and his work were spattered across media, I introduced my own children to his work via a documentary on the ABC. The doco promoted some really interesting discussion with the kids about which images made them feel uncomfortable, and which ones they found incredible beauty in. Naoise thought the staged junkie shots from Henson's backlog were offensive and distasteful. In his own words he probably described them as 'Yuck'. Maille claimed she would definitely pose for a Henson photograph, in typical teenage fashion, probably seeing some potential for glamour in the experience. I think I would have felt the same at her age - hungry for someone to capture, find, or create some beauty that would be lost with my youth.

It's late, I'm tired, I might say more on the Henson Case in another post as I haven't quite finished the book yet. Suffice to say I believe Bill Henson's integrity is genuine from the accounts I have read in this book. Besides, he's a northern suburbs lad - what's there not to trust!

I'd write more but I really am the Lazy Blogger this week.

Wall Street Crash Hits David Jones Food Hall

2008-10-01T15:44:00.005+10:00

I am attempting to watch my progressively enhanced figure and as I couldn't get organised to prepare a balanced and edible meal from home today I thought I would buy myself a nice salad for lunch. For some reason the David Jones Food Hall sprung to mind. This posh palace of fancy foods and classy cuisine is the Preston Market deli all dressed up in mink and diamonds, flashing a wallet of winnings at the racetrack. It gleams and glimmers with luxury and dazzles the bewitched customer with a goblin's market of delights and peasant food served from a silver-plated bain-marie.

Well, I ordered my medium sized (approx 10cm deep) plastic container of salad and asked for a variety of three mixes. I had asked for four but the saleswoman informed me that as each salad had to be weighed separately, this would be difficult. Ok then, three it is. A spoon of lentil salad. Weighed. A spoon of mixed bean salad. Weighed. And a final spoon of cous cous salad. Weighed. I might add that there was no potentially expensive animal protein present in my choice of salads, just in case you can see where this is heading.

When this same saleswoman returned to the counter from the cash register she announced that my salad would cost $10.45(!) Gulp. 'That seems VERY expensive' I replied. 'Oh yes, it is expensive. Our salads have all just gone up'.

I know there is an economic crisis out there but I didn't think I would be carting a wheelbarrow of cash to pay for my lunch so soon.

Spoiler Alert! A peek at some of Al's things

2008-09-29T13:45:00.005+10:00

Brother Al asked for a Chinese theme in his apartment. I've purchased some gorgeous antique and contemporary reproduction Chinese furniture for him. Today I found these two photographic images on etsy that I think will look really effective in Al's place and will fit in very nicely with his Asian theme. The top photo looks more painterly than photographic. It comes from etsy store elephant dreams and the second photo is from blissful images. I have purchased both of these pics on behalf of brother Al - I hope he likes'em!

Mugs and Moggs

2008-09-28T19:57:00.007+10:00

What a crazy week it's been - work is busy,busy,busy and a decorating job I am doing for my brother is occupying much of my time outside of work. It's sooo good to have a creative outlet right now though. If there is one thing I love it's decorating, and to be given a clean slate for the task is a rare treat. Come to think of it, being asked to decorate someone else's living space is a rare treat. Thanks big bro Al! My spare room is spilling cushions and bedding froth like a pot of VB at the Esplanade Hotel.

I'd love to give some sneak peeks of my concept so far but that would be a spoiler for the rest of the family, so you'll have to be patient and wait for the unveiling. I'm very happy with the colour scheme though, and it's coming together very nicely with a masculine but classy edge and some bold splashes to indulge Al's more adventurous spirit, like this couch which I have to order for him this week.

Well, I'm back from a weekend at the beach with the family. I've really missed the kids this week as they stayed with my mum - the usual arrangement if K and I have not been able to take leave over the school holidays. I was craving their company by Friday, missing their voices, their laughs, their hugs and maybe even their arguments. A weekend away gave me time to spend with them separately as well as together. Naoise and I shared the early mornings, while Maille and K slept. We drove to cafes for coffee and hot chocolate, talked surf mags, and took a walk on the beach this morning at Aireys Inlet where we were delighted by the appearance of a family of dolphins, diving and feeding close to the rocks. If sharing an experience like that with your child is not a treat, I don't know what is. I told Naoise it must be him attracting the wildlife, since he also spotted dolphins in the city end of the Yarra River earlier in the week. How about that.

Enough words, though - I know you all like a bit of visual stimulation so I'll share a few things I've loved online lately, like Amy Butler for Mikasa.

And Nicola Cerini mugs that were appearing in several homewares stores down the Great Ocean Road. Gorgeous Australiana...

Time to hand the laptop over to Special K now, his study is beckoning. More soon - including pics of my new bunting sent from my dear friend Adrienne in London as a birthday gift. There would be some serious opp-shop rivalry if she still lived here in Mebourne.

Dressing up daughters

2008-09-22T13:22:00.007+10:00

One of the many joys of having a daughter is being able to DRESS HER UP! Actually, this wasn't always the case - when Maille was a young child she would kick off all restrictive garments in order to run feral with her pals, which was disappointing for a frock-fancying mother, though I had to respect her independent spirit. As fate would have it, Maille now LOVES to dress up and wore this particularly stunning 1950s frock to a 'Prom Night' party on the weekend. We had fun choosing this dress - isn't it amazing! 13 going on 20!

And since I also sourced the vintage dress that Alice wore (below) I think I can call myself the Young Ladies Frock Bank and thus justify more collecting of small-sized vintage vintage friperies and frockeries. These girls look all set for the Craggy Island Lovely Girls Competition (see Father Ted).

Teen Tension

2008-09-19T09:47:00.004+10:00

The teen came home from a friend's place with a scowl.
ME: What's up my pet?
PT: XXX is SOOOO annoying. Today at her house I asked for a plate for my toast and she WOULD NOT LET ME HAVE ONE. AND she asked me why I was wearing so much eyeliner. AND she pulled the plug out of the Nintendo when I was PLAYING on it. AND THEN she went and played on the Nintendo herself a few minutes later.

It reminds me of being thirteen and my 'bestie' calling me Mrs McGilligutty, as per the Hey Hey It's Saturday character. And the same bestie indulging in some potato chip binging with me, then sticking her finger down her throat to bring those same tatie chips back from the danger of calorie absorption. Frenemy indeed.

Boys, if you don't get this bitchin' behaviour it's because you have never had a hurricane of hormones messing with your mind.

Mobbery and slobbery

2008-09-19T09:47:00.003+10:00

I'm sinking to a new low in slobbery. Last night, I was snug as a bug before 9pm, wired for my Sopranos fix and ambivalent to the potentially inappropriate television viewing of my children in the living room. Bah, they can put themselves to bed when they're tired - me, I have to watch me some more mob-vision.

Special K brought back some potato chips from his trip to the bottle-o and kindly presented me with a bowl of salty goodness in bed. Before he could join me for my second episode of the evening, the bowl was empty and I was wondering where the top up was. Oops, apparently I ate the whole packet.

I might have to watch Sopranos on the exercise bike.

In Bed with the Mob

2008-09-17T14:51:00.011+10:00

Every now and then I develop some obsessive behaviour that would be the concern of the psychiatric profession were it not for the relatively short expiry date on said obsessive behaviour. Take my current evening activity. Right now, I am in hopping into bed with Tony Soprano EVERY SINGLE NIGHT.

A few weeks ago at Preston Library I greedily stacked every available episode of The Sopranos into my arms, depleting the DVD shelves of nigh all but the sad copy of the Association of Nothern Suburbs Neighbourhood Houses Guide to Shopping on an ALDI budget. I then hobbled with obscured vision to the library counter and spilled a hearse-load of mob-merchandise in front of the courteous librarian. Did you know that a curt little warning appears on the librarian's screen when you try to borrow an MA rated DVD? Nope, me either.

It may be because I was using my 11 year-old son's libary card but I like to think it's because Darebin Council, ASIO and MI5 have their eyes on me.

Anyway, since then I have been wired to the laptop in bed, with or without Special K, with or without headphones (depending on sleep requirements of my beloved). I have fallen asleep each night with images of violent mob-delivered retribution - and with the warped belief that Tony Soprano is on my side.

Sure, Tony Soprano's band of captains leave me more than a tad disgusted - they are all pricks, it's true. But they are such well-written pricks. With such amazing hairdos!

Short fuses like theirs make me think twice about giving road-ragers the finger though.

This show is positively Shakespearean in its magnificence. What the hell will I do when I've finished watching series 6?

The Idea of North

2008-09-12T10:57:00.004+10:00

How apt that I get to write on something with a northern theme on my North of Bell Street blog today.

Sometimes I am an extremely lucky woman and mother. While many of my friends with children might get out socially every few months, I seem to find sufficient opportunities to participate in culturally enriching activities on a regular basis. I don't take this for granted and it is something that has certainly improved as the kids have grown older, hence the ackowledgement that I am one lucky broad.

Thanks to Maille's singing teacher donating some free tickets, last night I took Maille and her friend to see The Idea of North, a sensational a capella group from Sydney. Man, these singers were amazing. There is something inherently soothing, as well as compelling, about listening to music that is produced exclusively vocally. A quartet of bass, tenor, alto and soprano, The Idea of North delivered two wonderful sets of music that covered bebop, gospel, pop, jazz, and several gorgeous and even comedic ballads. Our party of three (two of them thirteen-year-olds) all decided the tenor was pretty darn cute too. Apparently the soprano, Sally Cameron, is new to the group - I never heard the previous soprano but Sally's vocals are perfect.

The venue, Chapel off Chapel, was small and intimate, which made for some amusing interactions between the performers and some latecomers, who were forced to share the stage as they found their seats.

Buy at least one of their CDs, this group is charming and brilliant. Check their website for performance dates too, apparently they return to Melbourne in November for special 'By request' gig.

Spring Daze

2008-09-10T10:04:00.003+10:00

There's a heaviness in the air outside today - it's as though Spring is wrestling with Winter, the guest who has outstayed his welcome. Each season's moods and promises are competing and struggling to dominate. Spring is trying her best to blow an optimistic, warm scented breeze about, but Winter is flexing his might and whipping that breeze smugly into the city streets, leaving women clutching their lifting skirts with fear as they cross roads and walk footpaths. Well me anyway.

I feel a bit at the mercy of the seaons when they are like that, as though my mood is being tugged from north and south (or east and west!).

I thought I would cheer me to talk a bit about dolls today, since I have just discovered the most amazing dollmaker, Christine Alvarado. Christine lives in Central Oregon and took up doll-making (with a great deal of preliminary artistic experience I might add) just a few years ago, but the detail and beauty of her work suggests a much longer career in this craft. Take a look at Christine's blog at http://www.dubuhdudesigns.typepad.com/ to see her work in progress and her inspirations.

I am in love with her flapper themed dolls with fox masks and I wants to get me one. These photos are from Christine's flickr photostream where you will find many more pics of her creations.

I think I have been an unwitting doll collector since receiving my first Sasha dolls as a child. I kept my three Sashas in perfect condition and still have them wrapped carefully, (but probably not archivally) in a box in my wardrobe. Likewise, I have kept a gorgeous Japanese doll, complete with kimono and shining black hair - a gift from a family friend though I could never remember exactly who.
In the last year I've jumped on the Blythe bandwagon and have pulled my daughter on with me, we now have a combined collection of seven dolls. Don't worry, I'll be exploiting those little babies soon enough on my blog. You'll see Hello Harvest up above in the North of Bell Street header - she's one of my faves (you can have faves when it comes to dolls). Maille and I called her Juno, a tribute to our favourite wise-cracking pregnant teenager.

In bed with Amy

2008-09-10T09:21:00.008+10:00

Last night I collected my Amy Butler Midwest Modern quilt from the machine quilter. I bought a bunch of fat quarters when this line of fabrics was released and, sticking to my safety zone of straight lines, pieced a series of rectangles, like so...

And here is a closer look at the detail in the quilting - quite beautiful.

And my pieced quilt back...

And yesterday I promised some shots of the enlarged birds in Liberty Tana Lawn fabrics...

Oh, and I just bought some Liberty fabric scraps on ebay... I feel more birds coming along.

Seeing Red at Fed Square

2008-09-09T15:29:00.006+10:00

Here are a couple of experimental shots taken at Fed Square on Saturday night. I loved the colour of the sculpture so naturally pushed my family head first into it for my own photographic pleasure. I have always enjoyed the effects you can achieve with long exposures combined with flash. This was the first time I took the new camera out at night though, so still lots to be learned.

And back to the kitchen renovation plans. I've been doing my fair share of googling and flickring to find some examples of retro renovations, and came across these pics...

A little bit too much of the 'Happy Days' look for my liking but they have successfully replicated the curved benches with aluminium, the retro laminate and even a booth! I'd tone down that chrome look though.

And a gorgeous curvy shelf that would look very cute with some colourful teacups...

Last night I made three more birds, this time doubling the size of the original pattern. I used some scraps of Liberty Tana Lawn and I'm well pleased with how they turned out. I might just keep these ones for myself - though I'm still trying to figure out the best way to display them. (Stay tuned for pics).

A Day for Fathers

2008-09-08T09:17:00.006+10:00

And here is little Queenie.
I'm having so much fun with my new camera - I've been playing around with the functions and seeing what I can and can't do with the standard 50mm lens. It is preventing me from getting as close as I'd like to get to my subjects so I will look towards acquiring another lens in the next few months. In the meantime, I took the opportunity to snap some pics of Queenie at her home yesterday. Naoise is smitten and didn't want to share her at all.

I was reluctant to use the flash hence the blur but the natural light gives a soft glow which looks quite pretty I think.
We had a lovely Father's Day, though K and I agreed our kids could do better in their capacity as indulging rather than indulged children for at least one day a year. We spent a couple of hours in the city being tourists in our home town before heading to South Melbourne market for some famous dim sims, and some overpriced delicatessen treats which we took to my mum's place for lunch.

I hope all you decent fathers had a great day yesterday. My kids are blessed to have a father like Special K. He's kind, gentle, loving, witty, patient, supportive, playful... and fully deserving of the Haigh's chocolate licorice he modestly requested as a Father's Day gift, then generously shared with me.

Happy Grandfather's Day too.
My father-in-law is a grandfather straight from an Enid Blyton novel, hammering away in his workshop to produce handmade toys for his brood of adoring, (if demanding) grandchildren. No request is too extravagant for this master recycler and craftsman. He's made the Titanic, a spaceship and castles (complete with moats and drawbridges), as well as this 1950s style shadow box that now houses Maille's collection of Kokeshi and matroyshka dolls.

And here is Maille, looking all grown up at Federation Square on Saturday night after her 'sustainable fashion' workshop.

Welcome to the world Queenie

2008-09-03T09:18:00.003+10:00

A new baby has arrived in the family. Her name is Queenie and she is divine. I am always blown away by the birth of a new little person, what potential lies before them and what character traits they have inherited or will develop. Who will they look like, what will their strengths be? It's fascinating.
Visiting Queenie and her parents at the hospital I nursed her and marvelled anew at the lovely warmth and smell of a newborn. It's been nearly 14 years since I held my own first born, Maille. The hormones had me in a state of euphoria back then and I recall those feelings every time I see a new born babe. I am lucky to have a brood of younger nieces and nephews now, it's a thrill to watch them grow. While I love the freedom I have now that my own children are older, I do miss the gaffs and the gentle naivety of littlies.

Happy Birthday Me

2008-09-02T10:14:00.018+10:00

Today I turn 37. I love my birthdays and make no attempt to disguise the fact. I'll proudly tell anybody who will listen that it's MY BIRTHDAY.
Last year I hosted the inaugural 'birthday weekend away with the girls' and spent a delightful weekend at Moggs Creek with some of my dearest friends. T'was so successful and enjoyable that I chose to repeat the event this year and I have just spent a glorious weekend crafting with a couple of talented ladies and three of our daughters.

What a positive environment for teenage (and younger) girls to be in, seeing how gifts and products can be made at home, without exploiting the environment, or overseas child labour (as opposed to child labour of the more local variety, which of course is tolerated).

Maille and I made about 10 of these cute little birds... (pattern courtesy of spool sewing via design sponge.)

And I made the fronts of some cushion covers from Anna Maria Horner's Garden Party fabric.

Louise made me this stunning brooch for my birthday...

And Tamsin whipped up a trouser leg scarf featuring Japanese owl fabric and covered buttons.

Special K wrapped up the House of Baulch necklace I had already bought myself...

And my blog photos are about to get much better because Special K bought me a DIGITAL SLR CAMERA!

Happy Birthday indeed.

Calling Succulents

2008-08-29T10:09:00.008+10:00

I'm so excited to be heading down the coast today, for a preliminary birthday weekend with some crafty lady friends and a couple of teenage daughters. I've spent a small fortune on edible fancies from Vic Market deli and plan to sip Italian prosecco, dine on free-range eggs on Irrewarra Sourdough toast for breakfast, dabble in some sewing and tread deep footprints along the beach. I will share a little something before I leave though. I am picturing my verandah with a collection of these retro planters, brimming with succulents and cacti.

And just look at the wonderful colour choice they offer. Courtesy of Hip Haven.

Me and my shone-da-leers

2008-08-28T09:00:00.014+10:00

In a parallel life, one where my income always exceeds my expenditure and I live in Parkville, or in a towering mansion on Northcote Hill with panoramic views of the Melbourne skyline, the ceiling of my home would be dripping with decadent chandeliers (that's 'shone-da-leer' in my parlance) and opulent pendants.

I'm no traditionalist when it comes to lighting though, I get terribly excited by lighting innovations. Like this beauty from Arctecnica, designed by Tord Boontje, The Come Rain, Come Shine chandelier. Admittedly, I'm not usually a huge fan of Tord Boontje. I think his garland lights look a bit messy, and his midsummer curtains are a bit too whimsical for my liking. I'm a bit tired of whimsy and naivety in design but I'd happily hang this quirky delight in my bedroom. I love the rainbow colours, but maybe I like the white more?

or even the brooding black...

If you want to see true innovation with a sustainable edge though, just take a look at this astonishing creation by Stuart Haygarth. It's made from the bases of discarded plastic water bottles. (Pics courtesy of dezeen.com).

Then Stuart plays around with some used party poppers to create the Millennium Chandelier.

And he's been trawling the beaches to produce the incredible Tide Chandelier.

What a clever chap, eh.

Keeping it interesting

2008-08-27T10:12:00.000+10:00

The scrutinising of one's life shared with the internet world (though god only knows how anyone will find me here, I can't even find this blog myself in a google search) exposes all the banalities of a life lived by routine and habit. Hence, I'm attempting to subject myself to new experiences and share some of the more interesting activities and entertainments my northern suburbs have to offer. OK, so it's not exclusively northern experiences that shape me. I spend a considerable amount of time in the city, in a workplace on Collins Street. Which means my lunch hour consists of meandering walks through the European style lanes and arcades of old Melbourne, and the habitual thumbing of my credit card. Boutiques of independent-designer clothing, European shoes, indie jewellery, music and books... all planted within irresistible reach of my strolling path.

You're likely to see me drooling in...

The Block Arcade (for Douglas and Hope)

or, the Nicholas Building (Kimono House, Retro Star clothing and Alice Euphemia and Genki down below)

A rainbow of retro canisters

2008-08-26T10:02:00.000+10:00

I really should have wiped these canisters down before sharing this pic. I'll confess now, I'm no Martha Stewart and contrary to popular astrological profiles, there is nothing in my domestic habits that suggests Virgo perfectionism. My priorities are a little skewed in the home-front. I'm much more likely to re-arrange the furniture, hang a picture, or fill a vase than wipe the scum from the bathroom sink.

Take a look at the beautiful Tivoli Model One radio sitting snugly beside the canisters. It was a gift from me to my husband for his birthday last October and it's the cutest bit of gadgetry we own. It's such a wonderfully unobtrusive size and shape and renders even the blandest tones of AM radio presenters almost melodious.

So as you can see, I don't spend a lot of time cleaning my house, which does allow me to dabble in a bit of traditional craft - something entirely new to me. Thanks to the tutelage of some more-talented-than-I friends, I am now sufficiently competent in sewing straight lines to have produced four patchwork quilts. My latest project is an overdue quilt for my son. I'm using Denyse Schmift fabrics and a Denyse Schmidt flying geese pattern and here is the beginning of the layout. I was determined to avoid the girly mod florals I usually work with but you can see a few daisies have crept in, thankfully with my son's approval.

And here is one I made for an overdue baby niece - it's not bound yet in the photo, I love the bold florals in monochrome but my layout is a bit busy, something I hope to refine with time and practice. (Crap-ass photos, I know - still hoping for someone to gift me a Nikon digital SLR sometime soon.)

Conserving or renovating a fifties gem

2008-08-22T20:26:00.001+10:00

I live in the coolest (albeit modest) fifties gem of a house. I walked through it for the first time only half an hour before my husband and I bought it at auction five years ago and I was instantly smitten with the original period charm of its chrome and duck egg blue kitchen, etched glass doors and display units, its period pink and black bathroom with terrazzo shower floor and gold-flecked laminex vanity unit and the most outrageously glamorous plaster pelmets adorning steel-framed ceiling to floor windows. The photos you see above are from the real estate brochure and show the house as furnished by a woman in her seventies, who had raised four daughters here.

Tradies love our house - it has the effect of inspiring nostalgic recollections of grandmothers and childhoods past. Which is why, when we recently asked some builders to come and quote on updating our kitchen, there was palpable disappointment in their initial comments. "Ah, it'd be a shame to change it". "Wow, this is straight from a 1950s Women's Weekly magazine!" etc., etc.

Once we made it clear that we planned to recreate the style of the kitchen on a larger and more functional scale, there was relief and even genuine excitement from the builders.

So now begins the search for materials, fittings and colours that recreate the style we so love. A trip to Bunnings yesterday proved fruitless but a chance visit to a local kitchen outfitter was much more promising. Taking a handful of samples home I am thrilled to say that I think I've found a pretty damn good match for our laminex benchtops. It's laminex no. 722 and it recalls the gray-blue tone of our original 'cracked ice' benches, while introducing some subtle flecks of brighter retro colours. Perfect for coordinating with our 50s kitchen canisters.

And here's the original cracked ice look we have (photo not mine)

And here is my son 3 years ago making bruschetta in our booth... (how sweet!) And a better shot of the booth beneath .

Keeping it real in the northern suburbs

2008-08-22T14:05:00.001+10:00

North of Bell Street documents my life and experiences living further north of Melbourne than is fashionable. I'm 37 (almost), hap-dappily married, female, have 2 children (13 & 11) and for purely self-indulgent reasons I plan to share the good, the bad and the ugly tales of a life lived north of Bell Street.

It's been the north for a good while for me. From North Fitzroy, to Northcote, to Brunswick and back to Northcote, my roots are now firmly lodged in the clay banks of the Merri and Edgars Creeks. The northern journey has brought me as far as Reservoir, the camellia-scented, cream- brick-veneered grandmother of Northcote. And just like your grandmother's house was never as comfortable and forgiving as the scuffed and rowdy one you shared with a rabble of siblings, living in Reservoir felt like I'd been billeted to a family of Lions Club strangers for a good year before I discovered some of its charms. So here's what I have so far discovered about postcode 3073 and its neighbouring streets:

THE GOOD
Northcote, Brunswick, Carlton (tantalisingly close)
Preston Market
The West Preston tram
Zone 1 on the railway
Abla's middle eastern sweets on High Street
Shanghai City Dumpling Restaurant on High Street
Preston Library
The bike path down St George's Road
Regent Second-Hand
The vintage clothing racks at Value City

THE BAD
Arson at Regent Station (more often than you'd think)
Illegal fireworks at Regent Station in non-festive periods (would you give my dogs a break!)
Spitting on the footpath
Northland Shopping Centre

THE UGLY
The Preston Market scrabble late Saturday afternoon
Regent Station off-peakers
Northland Shopping Centre