Where the light falls, its colour, its warmth and its strength is something I strongly connect with. It was one of the things I missed most when we left Brisbane. It didn’t matter that I was in Melbourne – I knew where the light would be on a weekday afternoon in August whilst waiting in the gardens at school for Abby to finish her cello lesson. I knew how warm, direct and strong that light was when we waited as teenagers for the 163 bus on Ann Street on a summer’s day.
I was always relieved to find the soft river light waiting for me, when I left the University late in the afternoon, and walked down to the river ferry to home after a long day’s work. I was thrilled to find a decided lack of light when I entered our tumbledown home in Norman Park – it almost felt airconditioned on a blistering February scorcher. I adored that rich, honeyed subtropical light illuminating Shakespeare’s stained glass heroines in the vestibule at Somerville. I loved looking in the rear view mirror as I drove home from West End – the narrow ribbon of Vulture Street disappearing into the forests of Mount Cootha, all ablaze with the setting sun.
I will never, ever forget the light as I strolled from town through Southbank to my Mum’s house, my arms weighted down with Christmas presents my first year of full time work. It was so intense and filled with good cheer and excitement. Brisbane has so much light and so much of it is enmeshed with who I am and how I have spent my days. It will never leave and sometimes it is sorely missed.
In contrast, Melbourne seemed to be seriously lacking in the light department. After all, this southern capital is famous for its dreary grey weather. But I’m pleased to say, having now been here for two years, I am beginning to find the light … I know it will be many more years before I will know what to expect from the light in the different parts of our Melbourne, at the different times of year, before I have created new Melbourne memories that will be imbued with the light. But here, in my summer garden, I’m becoming happily acquainted with this softer, braver light … it’s a good start.
This beats all. This evening, I sewed on buttons and trimmed away gathering thread – at the airport. With 25 minute to go before Sacha needed to board her plane. We cut it fine, but it was all good and cheerful and, hands down, the best way to avoid becoming sad when someone you love dearly is leaving.
You just need a batty mother, armed with pincushion, thread and scissors, sewing cheaty buttons (only time for one buttonhole so the rest are pretend :-) on to a promised – and delivered! – pretty, old fashioned nightie for Abby’s bestest friend ever and my second daughter, and there’s no time for tears.
Oh dear, it was one of those things. Every day, I thought, must get to Sacha’s nightie today (she chose a handmade nightie for her Christmas present) and then, the day would melt away into lots of other busyness and fun and it wouldn’t get done again.
:: clearly needed a tape measure as well as a pincushion! ::
Today, I truly thought I had it sorted. Until the girls reminded me they wanted to go to check out a Sweet Lolita dress shop in Fitzroy followed by a last day lunch out … Hmmm … ate into the nightie making time somewhat.
We didn’t get home until 3.30pm. By the time I’d set up the machines, found the pattern and thread, and cut out the nightie it was 4pm. Then 5pm. Then 5.25pm – all good stretches of sewing in between. Then – BANG! – it was 7 minutes past 6 and we had to leave at 6.20 at the very latest. The skirt was only just gathered. There was no hem. No buttonholes. Thank goodness the neckline was bound.
:: next time she visits, I’m going to hold that lace down with some sweet little pale pink french knots ::
On with the skirt! Up with the hem! The girls packed Sacha’s belongings into the car, put the dog out, closed the windows, found the car keys. One buttonhole – forget the rest, they aren’t needed anyway. And we hit the road at 18 minutes past 6. As we boinged out the driveway Sacha remembered – her bottle of cherry jam! No time to run back in dear girl – I’ll have to post it.
I did think I would sit at the departure gate with the girls whilst Sacha waited to board and sew on the buttons. Alas – I wasn’t allowed to take my embroidery scissors or pincushion through the security gate. Dang! Plans for taking control of the east coast of Australia one stitch at a time foiled again!
:: we had to wodge it into her handbag – already checked on the luggage! ::
So we sat next to the check ins and bag drop and stitch, snip, stitch, snip … When it was done, Sacha cheerfully “modelled” it – the fabric is a gorgeous Alexander Henry that came out in 2008 – “The Sprites of Tillbrook” – I loved it so much, I bought 6 metres when it arrived at the Quilters’ Store – isn’t she a sweetheart – holding up a nightie in the middle of a busy airport. She truly is – her mum and dad should be very proud – they have raised a lovely, lovely girl.
And then, they were off – mama at the security gate, basket on arm, glasses slipped down to the end of her nose calling out – “remember! walk down to your left, down the stairs, then turn right and walk up the sloping walkway and you’ll come to Gate 8! Got that?!”
They did. Before long, Abby was back. We linked arms and walked slowly back to the car. Ten days. They went so fast. And were so good.
As for stitching at the airport? Highly recommended :-) And another one of those times I’m so glad I keep this here blog, ’cause this is yet another silly story in our lives that we will love looking back on.
Today was simply too gloriously summery to stay inside and sew. That’s one lovely thing I’m adapting to as I become more and more of a Melbourne girl – relishing the summer and wanting to be outside as much as possible. In Brisbane, you’d just melt if you sat outside towards the end of January. Here, we are so mindful that before we know it, the leaves will change and vanish, the days will shorten, the skies will be grey and dreary and we shall be cold. Until October at the least. Goodness – here in Melbourne, that could all happen tomorrow! So outside it is.
And I couldn’t get into my sewing shed – it has become so atrociously untidy and cluttered – I don’t know where all the stuff came from! Right in the doorway was this basket filled with the crocheted granny rug that I started FOUR years ago. And some other bits and bobs too. Unfinished scarves, an unfinished penny rug (SIX years old, that one). Ridiculous!
Now, I had been thinking about the granny rug over Christmas – not at all happy with it. The squares had become too big and had lost all their sweet appeal. So I decided to unravel half of the rows and use that wool to crochet up smaller squares and instead of having 36 giant squares, have 144 smaller squares and a couple of coloured borders. And the colours had gone a bit wacky – stopped looking warm and rich. Hmmm …
I told myself, that tackling this rug would almost be tantamount to tidying the sewing shed. And I could do it outside.
:: hard rubbish chair, rather rickety, softened with quilt and pillow ::
:: offending basket at my feet ::
:: dorky rug ready for ripping ::
:: greedy guineas behind, chattering away as they devour my weekly veggie shoppings – how many times have I gone to prepare dinner only to find that THEY have been dining on it instead ::
:: Sweetpea (actually, we call her Fu – it’s a long story) stretched out in front -
she prefers the sun and is always so thrilled when we choose outside over inside ::
:: Benny in her nest, laying her THIRD egg. She likes to let us know when she’s at it ::
:: ahhhh! liking it more already! but hook too big -
must go back inside and find smaller one ::
:: lunch with hugh – he’s my ideal man – oh be still my racing heart! and a fresh tomato, zingy feta and drippy, sweet peach. Perfect summer fare ::
:: making a bit of a mess with the ripped out wool – shall have to get Abby onto this with the wool winder ::
:: a popcorn break for the girls (the two legged variety who are INSIDE watching Princess Bride – how could they!) – and look at that, the feathered girls like it too ::
:: crocheting them together as I go::
:: that late afternoon western sun a bit hot now – and it’s time to cook dinner.
Don’t seem to have achieved that much, but certainly have just enjoyed
the perfect summer’s day ::
The chair may be thrifted and rickety, the garden not ours (we rent – will hopefully have our own little place one day – with a fireplace) and the thought of all those back to school and university bills are nagging at me morning, noon and night, but sitting here today with my crochet, I felt so very privileged and perfectly happy. I couldn’t have wanted any more.
Well, maybe a bigger sewing shed. And tidy.
We found some ridiculously cheap but very sweet spotty stripes yesterday and bought half a metre of each colour they had. Almost a lovely rainbow – just missing the yellow. The intent for this fabric was a summery quilt – Chinese Coin style with almost white sashing, and a very sweet fox fabric Abby picked for the top and bottom borders as well as a little sleeveless nightie. There was only 1.6 metres of the fox fabric – it will be such a little nightie, I think there will need to be some shorts to accompany it.
After an exceptionally hot and uncomfortable evening – oh our double brick home – it stays lovely and cool most of summer but more than 2 days of excessive temperatures (over 35) and those bricks have stored so much heat that they radiate all night – I was in need of a slow day. The kitchen, at the back of the house, was filled with a lovely fresh, summery breeze so it was here I set up. The last of the cherry jam bubbling away on the stove, a summer bread and butter pud with cherry jam and blackberries, finely chopped prawn shells for the chooks, roasting sweet potatoes and beetroots for dinner’s salad, and … the cutting board and spotty stripes.
Only I was quickly sidetracked. After whacking off the required five strips of 3 and 1/2 for the coins, I was left with pieces between 2 and 1/2 and 3 inches. Out came the dresden plate ruler and chop, chop, chop. The coins were stacked on the kitchen sofa and before I knew it, I had spent THREE hours fiddling with background combinations.
Hm? Should it be a very subtle pink check?
Quite nice but, it turned out, not enough fabric. Bum. Onto option 2 – strong mustard?
Yeah … I like it – but it’s too intense – doesn’t have that light breezy summery look – looks more a meltingly hot day upon which the car is so scalding the cd player doesn’t work. Oh, and I added the pizza tray to better create a circle :-)
Definitely like the mustard – it’s very me – but definitely not singing the song I had been humming in my head.
How ’bout this wishy washy stripy voiley nonsense … had it for years, no idea why I bought it (not enough to do anything useful!) and have never managed to incorporate it into anything …
Nope. Definitely not. The spotty stripes have quite forgotten what it is they’re supposed to be doing. Though I must say, it’s very interesting looking at the different effects through the eye of the camera – always creates such a different impression to that conjured up by my naked eye. When I was looking at the beams on the voile, the spotty stripes had practically vanished and just looked mushy – and yet look here, quite respectable. Does this happen to you?
In desperation, I tried an Anne Maria flannel – bit daft really. Flannel?! For a summer rainbow quilt? It was nicer in real life – the yellow is much creamier than it is showing up here. But still – no breeze.
Finally I found a piece of good old plain white that was big enough for the pizza tray and rainbow beams …
Mmmm … like it lots as soon as the orange anchors are in.
White definitely has those beams singing clear and true.
With a yellow centre? Maybe. LOVE the white – it has a woven stripe in it. Not sold on the yellow centre. Have since tried a yellow cotton centre. Not bad – but maybe it needs a really pale colour – pink, I think. Not sure.
Tomorrow, I shall vlisifix the beams in place and play around a bit more with the centre. What do you think? What is your favourite background? What would you put in the middle?
I’m really itching to get onto quilting it – by hand, concentric circles, in perle cotton. In between sewing up lengths of Chinese coins :-)
Well. That’s a big “well” followed by a big deep sigh. And a bit of a shudder. You see, this post – that I’ve been composing in my head since we began building in August, was going to be one of absolute delight and excitement …
… and there still is an element of that. But there’s also been a lot of forehead slapping, cringing, amazement, horror, tears. And a good dose of shame. I do believe this last one is a valuable emotion to experience because it makes me do better next time.
We’ve been dreaming of our own chickens for years. Back in August, we decided that if we waited until we had plenty of money to build the perfect chicken coop, we would be waiting for ever. So we decided to do what folk used to do – use what we could find. I had my copy of Storey’s Guide to Chickens open every night. I had read hours of information on the different Australian Department of Primary Industries websites, local government ordinances, RSPCA and backyard chicken keeping forums. I had contacted so many chicken breeders. We had talked about why we wanted to keep chickens and what was important to us. I felt informed.
So, I spent a few weeks gathering useful and appropriate hard rubbish (it’s amazing what builders throw out) and one sunny winter morning we laid it all out, Julian stared at it for a very long time, to sort out what was useful and what he could do with the curious assortment of materials before him, and we started building our chicken coop.
Meanwhile, I scoured the listings for chickens for sale and as mentioned, spoke to lots of breeders. Friends had spoken lovingly about their Isa Browns (specially bred layers) that were cheerful and gentle family chooks that laid plenty of eggs and were easy to source and inexpensive. Aunty Cate even suggested we adopt Isa Browns from a rescue organisation that gets them from battery farms. But I had my heart set on Orpingtons. We even put in orders that never arrived. Pure breed chooks were hard to find. Wee little chickens -much easier – but we didn’t have the set up for raising them. We needed bigger girls. Things ground to a halt and with Christmas holidays coming up, we put our chicken plans on the back burner.
Fast forward to last week’s cherry picking adventure. On our way to the cherry farm we noted a sign that said “Local Honey” – I love real honey – so told Abby and Sacha to look out for it on our way home. They did, we pulled in to a lovely farm driveway, bounced along the potholes and when we pulled up, not only was there honey, there were chickens. Beautiful toasty red Isa Browns strutting about all over the place – peering out at us from old corrugated sheds, standing on old ploughs, gathered next to an old tractor – it was picturesque. As was the farmer – an elderly gentleman who when he appeared, the chickens came running and plonked down at his feet to be picked up. Which he did.
I’ve since hung the feeder and waterer – so as to reduce the amount of dirt the girls chuck in!
And guess what – he had point of lay hens for sale. Well – my Orpington dreams flapped out of my head quicker than you could say omlette and with my honey tucked under my arm, I wandered the farm with him, meeting his girls and listening and taking careful note of his 50 years of experience raising chickens for eggs. He reminded me so much of my grandad, with his gentleness, cheerful nattering and stories of long ago.
Just last week, we listened to Hugh Fearnley Whittingstall opine on the importance of getting acquainted with real farming folk when you start your small holding – people in the know who can lend a hand and tell you how it is. I thought I’d found the chicken version.
And he is – well sort of. Abby, Sacha and I were back on Saturday. We’d bought our feed, feeding and watering troughs, bedding, and Julian was at home putting the finishing touches on our chicken coop. Following the farmer’s advice on what to look for, I picked out our four chickens. We popped them in the big Christmas tree box in the back of the car and brought them home.
Julian was just about done. I helped finish the fence – star pickets and steel compost heap panels and as the sun vanished, we gently lifted each of our girls out of the box and into their new yard with coop, complete with a lovely heavy branch – knotty and barky – screwed into each end of the coop for roosting. Plenty of room for all. Big old trees for shade. Two metre high fencing on two sides, with chicken wire dug in around the bottom. The sewing shed on the third side. Our picket and panel fence on the fourth.
At this moment, the bubble of joy burst. Julian looked closely at the hen in his arms. Then at each of her sisters. ”You’ve bought debeaked birds?” Open hole of horror, shame and stupidity and let me climb on in.
I was amazed. I hadn’t noticed. I’d been on the farm for the best part of two hours on two different occasions and hadn’t noticed. I’d talked with the farmer about their age, general health and prospects, and about their immunisations. I’d seen his set up. I’d read the books. Debeaking hadn’t even featured in my novice, city-slicker chicken world. I didn’t even remember that the practice existed.
I’ve seen Food Inc. I’ve watched documentaries on the horrors of industrialised chicken farming. I’ve read so*many*books. I’m sure the inhumanity and cruelty of debeaking has flashed before my eyes and I bet I’ve even nobly lamented its practice, but did I think of this last week. Nope. They looked such happy, healthy, free roaming chickens.
What a dolt. So thoughtless. Such a good lesson. Abby’s amazement was accompanied by “But we try so hard to do the right thing?!” Yep. But as Yoda would say, “Try not! Do!” And I didn’t.
Our poor wee girls. They have such stunted little beaks. I’ve since read terrible things about debeaking – both the acute pain and terror, as well as the lifelong chronic pain and difficulty feeding. Our girls seem to cope fine with their pellets, but only Benny and Letty can catch bugs – poor old Souffie and Nog’s beaks are especially short. They haven’t been able to eat the corn cobs I gave them this morning as a treat – they even struggle with greens.
However, they do seem to enjoy pecking about the ground and display all kinds of good chicken behaviour. They’ve even laid us four eggs already. One on Sunday, a teeny wee one yesterday (I imagine it was the very first egg for one of them) and two today. Today’s first egg was Benny’s – Abby and I were in the run with the other three – having a cuddle with Letty who’s very snuggly – and we saw Benny sitting on the nest, squawking away in the most operatic fashion. After she hopped off and we checked – yup! An egg.
How extraordinary. We treat them so harshly and with such little respect and yet continue to take advantage of the richness they offer us in return. We take those eggs and bake them, fry them, poach them, turn them into cakes and custards and pies and quiches. Without them, our kitchen is rather barren. And yet, in return, we chop off their beaks. I don’t think we’re particularly deserving of the livestock (note the first part of that word … LIVE) that sustain us.
I was so sad Julian suggested taking our girls back to the farmer. But I can’t do that – in fact, how dare I! Mum will nod knowingly at this point. I’m famous in my family for being the passionate advocate for the unfortunate. We brought our girls home – and we have a lovely home for them. We named them – carefully noting their individual features … Nog has the smallest comb, Souffie is the tallest by far, Benny has the darkest collar, and Letty’s collar is speckled with white. We accepted responsibility for their wellbeing – for their very lives. When the weather cools down a little, I will make them warm mash with milk and veggies all squashed up. We will love them, care for them and be grateful for their eggs.
I have learnt a very valuable lesson. Things are not always as they seem. So keep notes ON PAPER (not just in head which has a tendency to be a bit sieve-like at times). Be extra cautious. Don’t just trust that people will do the right thing and support what you support just because they are nice and friendly.
We’ve started a noticeboard of all the things we need to remember about our chickens – little notes with important reminders. We’re hopeful this knowledge will become part of who we are.
:: yet another deep sigh ::
So that’s our chicken story. An unfortunate introduction, but I am hopeful it will grow to be a rich and merry story. That’s all we can do, isn’t it. Hope and learn.
p.s. there’s a few finishing touches to put on the coop – some weighted waterproof canvas to flap over the top (that closest panel of laser light lifts up) to keep out the rain but still let us open that part of the roof. And I want to paint it red :-) That will be lovely and cheery – and definitely bunting. Special chicken bunting!
Now that mum’s retired and all and living by the sea where it can be *very* *very* chilly, it was time to stitch her a beachy picnic quilt of her own. Naturally, Christmas was the perfect time.
Most of the fabrics came from the stash but I did succumb to a few lovelies from Amitie – the dala horses, the amazing pink Anna Maria Horner fabric, and that bluey green right in the corner there – it has the most wonderful toile like turtles on it. Very beachy.
The four floral centrepieces are liberated from a thrifted table cloth that had a churlish mustard background (bleh!) and I still have five more to play with (hmmmm …)
In beachy quilty tradition, I simply quilted round and round and round in straight lines …
… onto a pure wool Laconia blanket that was in an outside bin at the thrift store, marked $2 Dog Rug. Oy! Woollen blankets just do not receive their due respect here in Australia! And yet we used to be known as the country whose wealth came “from the sheep’s back” and every second country town had it’s own wool mill – let alone all the blanket mills. :: sigh :: Now all we do is dig dirt out of the ground and send it off in monstrous ships. What on earth shall we be left with once the dirt has gone (or the rest of the world moves further and further towards sustainable, renewable energy – hmm?!?!?!?) Not much, that’s what! Meanwhile, we buy cheap (or very overpriced) crappy doonas and acrylic “throws” from China. And put our pure wool blankets out for dog rugs! Bah! Rant! Rant! Rant! Rant! Rant!
Okay, I’ll hop off my soapbox now … back to quilts
There’s so much glowing warmth in this quilt – I know it will be perfect for the beach – summer days, stretched out atop with a floppy hat, comfy cushion and good book, and wintery days, wrapped up in it, watching for whales in the wild and stormy seas.
Mum, however, has it folded across the end of her bed where it does look beautiful against her white marcella bedspread. Oh dear, some mothers are so disobedient, aren’t they.
This is the last Alice post – well, Alice party that is, you should see the sweet “giant” Alice doll that is now standing on the front porch of the dollhouse and the plump white rabbit doll (currently headless) that is in progress. Me thinks my girlie is having an Alice obsession :-)
Naturally, an Alice party had to have croquet – and we were very fortunate that Mum offered to pay for two thirds of a beautiful croquet set (Abby’s birthday present, Julian’s Christmas present and my Christmas present). We had a few practice runs which were great fun and then, after an incredibly cloudy morning that tormented us with threats of rain, the skies cleared, sunshine poured into our back garden, Julian set up the croquet and the hilarity ensued.
We decorated the hoops with playing cards (a thrifted pack) so as to stand in for the Queen of Hearts’ playing card hoops. And for the croquet mallets – why, flamingo heads of course!
I frantically stuck them on with blue tack moments before the guests arrived. As we stood on the sidelines watching, Julian whacked me and hissed – “You stuck the flamingoes on the WRONG WAY!” ”I DID NOT!” I hissed and whacked back. ”Yes you did! You put them the right way up – they’re supposed to be upside down!”
Oh, yes, so they are – oops!
Instead of balloons (which I loathe – been terrified of them since I was a wee girl) and streamers, I made playing card bunting – well, the hearts, diamonds, clubs and spades. I freezer paper stencilled the icons onto rectangles cut from an old curtain …
… interspersed them with some pretty triangles I cut out for bunting 6 years ago but never sewed up and then used a quilt binding styled fold over to sew them together in long strands. We hung them from the ubiquitous clothesline that takes pride of place in the MIDDLE of our garden. I thought it looked lovely. Julian felt it glorified his arch enemy Mr. Hoist
Abby was in charge of the paper decorations (eg. flamingoes). She cut out lots and lots of little cheshire cats and flags for the sandwiches, which Zach (Hannah’s boyfriend) glued onto toothpicks …
… made a paper collage white rabbit for “Pin the fob on the rabbit!”
… and made a “Paint” label for an old kitchen tin which we sat on an old hard rubbish ladder that was propped against a tree decorated with fairy lights and red paper roses (also cut out by Abby and threaded on by Zach of which we have no photos!)
We had a caucus race …
… which delighted Sweetpea no end – she didn’t know who to chase first! – for which everybody was awarded a ribbon (see photo below), and a poetry recital. Each girl chose a poem from the text and read it aloud …
This was an awesome success. The English teacher in me was hopeful – everybody else in the family doubtful! – but all the girls (even the shyest) performed their poem with such zest and spirit. And the audience adored it – there was laughter and cheering galore. It was such a lovely affirmation that old fashioned party games are still marvellous fun.
We did not make up the usual lolly bags for guests to take upon their departure but instead had paper plates with a selection of left over party food, and teacup candles, their cups and sauces thrifted by Abby and I, and the candles made by Abby.
She melted grated organic palm wax in the deep fryer (we’ve never used it for deep frying – only candle making), scented it with different essential oils and poured it into the teacups. Each girl had one, with a “Drink Me” tag tied to it’s handle, at their place at the tea table.
The preparation and party were such fun I felt almost sad when it was over. The next morning, this was all that was left …
… well, apart from lovely memories that is :-) And Abby and Hannah are already plotting for the 15th Birthday, 2012. At the moment it’s looking like a Tim Burton party – they couldn’t settle on a particular film so decided a free for all would be the most fun. I’m sure it will be.
Now I know this was all a while ago – in a couple of weeks it will be two months – my goodness! But there are so many more beautiful photos of Abby’s Alice in Wonderland Birthday Party that this weekend, I just have to share …
Above, is the tea party table. Oh, it was such bliss preparing for this party. I spent all week working on the more decorative elements, then began making the food on the Friday – jugs and jugs of fruity iced tea, chocolate crackles, homemade popcorn and chocolate masks.
Come Saturday morning, Hannah, Julian and I hit the kitchen early and by mid afternoon, the table was laid with Alice shaped biscuits – exquisitely iced by Hannah, wee thinly sliced sandwiches (egg and smoked salmon – Abby refused cucumber – silly thing! everybody knows you need cucumber sandwiches for a tea party), darling playing card biscuits meticulously decorated by Julian, and a platter of roasted chicken drumsticks.
As for the cake! Oh the cake! I baked it on Friday – a lemon poppy seed sponge in my stainless steel mixing bowl. It was the only oven proof receptacle that was even slightly teapot shaped. And I baked a small version in a baby bundt tin for the teapot lid. Saturday morning, whilst Hannah and I baked the cookies, Julian decorated the cake with that icing you buy in a log and have to colour and roll out, and wee sugar flowers.
He wangled a spout and handle out of an old coat hanger and smothered them in icing. Abby was thrilled and the girls suitably impressed. I fell in love with him just a little bit more – how am I supposed to resist a man who can wield sugar flowers with such prettiness.
It was all so good, I was jigging with glee. The guests spent most of the party at the table a la the Mad Hatter and co. and by nightfall, with the majority of guests gone, those that were staying for a sleepover had set up the spare ‘oom mattresses in the living room, piled themselves with quilts and munched their way through every remaining biscuit whilst watching Alice in Wonderland (that fabulous made for tv version from the late 1990s).
At the risk of sounding especially smug – there wasn’t a single soft drink or item of junk food to be found at the party – everything was homemade and wholesome – well, aside from the icing I suppose ;-) First time I’ve ever done this, yet not a child complained. Very affirming.
By golly, I could seriously go one of those cookies now. Alas there is not a biscuit in the house at the moment. Perhaps I’ll have a shower instead …
Presents for the girlie have become a bit trickier these last few years. Those considered standard for the modern teenager include clothes, money, clothes, money, expensive electronic equipment, money … hmmm! Well, to be honest, we are very blessed with electronic equipment (courtesy of husband-father who works in IT) so simply don’t need any. Clothes – we thrift them or make or own when we need them. Money – I truly consider this to be the most boring of presents. And completely contrary to what a present should be, i.e. something I’ve carefully thought about and chosen with love especially for that person.
When she smaller, it was so easy! Beautiful books, games and toys! I’d love to just keep giving these :-) but I suppose I need to remember that my dear girl is growing up. It’s just that it’s so much harder these days to match the gasping magic of unwrapping the playmobil pirate ship, the sylvanian hotel, a marvellous box of lego, or Molly, the American Girl with wee bundles of clothes thrifted by Father Christmas and his helpers.
This Christmas, I think I hit a near perfect balance. There were lovely books in her stocking, a pretty new mama-made night dress with matching overnight wrap for sleepovers (I’ll show you this next week), some paraphernalia from a manga series she is especially fond of, and this here dollhouse.
The inspiration for this marvellous second hand find, came from an excited conversation Abby and I had on our way home from Winterwood one afternoon. Our imaginations were overflowing with all the different kinds of characters we could make with the wee wooden folk we saw there (in fact, we used to buy these from the mega-hardware store when Abby was little and she used to decorate them with markers and they were all called “Benny” – as such they are forever known in Bootville as “Bennydolls”) and needle felting and we hit upon the idea of making a “story” of them that would live in a dollhouse we could decorate. Initially we were unoriginally thinking of Snow White – I think we saw it in a book – but as Abby warmed more and more to the idea, she was populating the imagined dollhouse with the characters from “Fruits Basket” or “Full Metal Alchemist” (manga series that Abby loves – she rolled her eyes at the suggestions of Little Women, Anne of Green Gables, The Borrowers, or Harry Potter!).
So for Christmas, the dismantled dollhouse was wrapped in the picnic quilt under the tree, surrounded by pretty Christmassy tins (from Ikea – they match the Father Christmas quilt!) filled with supplies – wee Bennydolls, lots of crinkly wool for hair, the largest tin stuffed with tightly rolled pieces of colourful felt, perle thread, ribbons, felt balls … she loved it!
I did think she would start working on it whilst holidaying with Mum and she did lay it all out a couple of times and made up one Bennydoll, but she says she couldn’t settle upon a theme. Today – another cool and rainy day, with Sacha by her side, they lined up the dollhouse pieces (we had no instructions and I forgot to take a photo before I pulled it apart – what a silly!) figured out what went where and set to building the house.
It was up in no time but there was still a lot of ummmmming and ahhhhhing about who should live in this house. Finally, she slapped her hand against her forehead and declared it had to be a dollhouse in Wonderland – seems to be the theme of the season! Out came the paper dolls she spent meticulous hours working on during our holiday, out came the supplies and our felt farm book for extra inspiration and ideas for kitting out the house, and the girlies were off.
I left them to it, but could still hear them as I moved through the house. It was as if we were back in the tumbledown cottage in Brisbane and they were both wee 8 year olds. The artwork may be a whole lot more sophisticated and to this old fashioned mama, sometimes a wee bit eye-popping, and the characters may get up to different kinds of drama and mischief but still … chatter, chatter, chatter went the story, giggle, giggle, giggle (could have been some snickering too – they are fourteen) and the girlies were happily absorbed in their story and creativity all day.
Tomorrow, we are choosing paint … I’ll keep you posted :-)
Oh there has been so much goodness today. Here I sit, my white shirt sleeves speckled with red, the kitchen floor sticky with juice, sour cherry jam at a rambunctious boil, and the garden full of shrieks and laughter as three fourteen year olds – also bespeckled with cherry red – race round and round. They were playing croquet. It turned into a riotous game of chase with Sweetpea beside herself with excitement and not quite sure WHO she should be chasing, so she’s just zooming and leaping with delirious abandon.
We visited Ellis’ Cherry Farm in Red Hill this morning :: sigh :: Such a lovely spot. It was cool and drizzly with rain, clouds hung low and misty atop the trees and it was tricky to tell where the ocean ended and the sky began so immersed in grey were we. But as we trooped up the hill to the cherry orchard, I was reminded just why it is our ancestors decorated evergreen trees with gaily coloured trinkets at the Winter Solstice. The sight of lush green trees, smothered in glowing, jewel-like fruit, with a slight sprinkling of sparkly rain drops is such a wonderfully life affirming sight. How could you not believe in the magic and power of our natural world.
And so we picked …
This being our third season of fruit picking, we came prepared with our own basket of ice cream buckets, one each to fill and then deliver to the large bucket the farmer gave us which held almost 6 kilos. Mmmmm … 6 kg of Morello cherries. Back and forth and back and forth we went.
A blissful hour or more passed before we’d filled our bucket. We were alone on the hill, rows of cherry trees reaching ever further up the hill, nearby birds chirping, the distant sound of a tractor, the freshest air, the giggling and chatter of girlies … I may have said before, I do so love the peace and pleasure of picking fruit. And when we returned to the farmer for weighing, I spied the coolest apron – the harvest apron! He even let Sacha and I try it on – much to Abby’s mortification!
Maybe I should make us Boot-versions for next year!
We filled our boot (well, not quite :-) and home we went, via Dave the chook farmer with his point of lay hens and honey. Oh what good fun THAT was. We now know how to feel a hen’s pubic bones to gauge her readiness to lay! And Saturday, we will be returning ….
But now, I must go, the jam is calling …
Julian had a stay at home day today. I like these :-) I feel so very indulged when I have his attention all to myself – Abby and Sacha were out adventuring! We pottered around this morning, thought about tidying, decided not to, cooked a yummy lunch (Julian’s completely smitten with Hugh at the moment, especially his Meat book), and then ventured out into truly ridiculous Melbourne weather (atrociously gusty, pelting with rain, brilliant sunshine, more rain, hail, repeat) for some errands and shoppings.
One errand took us all the way to Kew – rather unexplored territory for us and we took many side streets along the way, awestruck by the mansions and leafy streets of Toorak. And boy did we find a good thrift shop! We treasured a collection of crystal wine glasses - short for red (4), tall for white (5) …
… some clothes for Abby and I – mine are now on the table with yesterday’s piles awaiting some embroidery and perhaps some beading – and this dear little hanky.
Isn’t she so sweet how she’s been presented? I took the photo partly to show you but also to remind me how to give my hankies in the future. See, on our holiday, a visit to a very very out of the way embroidery store called Mandeni’s led me to discover the joys of crocheting the edges of hankies. Oh my! Talk about addictive!
I bought some lovely soft white cotton hankies with their edges usefully prepared (i.e. wee holes), a ball of Cebelia, the matching size hook (15mm – lordy, it’s so fine and yet not as fine as I should have bought!) and a very sweet little book – Paragon’s Forty-six Crochet Edgings. :: sigh ::
It was all I could do to lift myself from the sofa whilst mid-hankie crochet. And whilst my first finished hankie looks a little more like a bread cloth (too coarse a yarn and too big a crochet hook), it is very pretty and made a lovely wee Christmas gift for my mother-in-law. Only Charlene, now I know how I should have presented it to you – see above! Next time!
Honestly, there are so many gorgeous things to do with our days, aren’t there! Look at that edging – it’s so frothy and delicate. Another :: sigh :: I should have been born during Jane Austen’s time. To a reasonably wealthy family. Preferably plain with an awkward manner – rich enough to find a suitable husband and bear some lovely children but dull enough for him to leave me to my children and needlework basket :-) And then I could wear those modesty things stuffed into the necklines of my dresses – all with crocheted edges of course. No wonder the washing is still in piles all over our house, the front porch looks like it belongs to vagabonds and there won’t be any new camera lenses or laptop hard drives anytime soon!
Oh – and mid shoppings – we visited one of those Aladdin’s cave Asian grocery stores for a new chopper and sieve and I came away with this!
Mum! Do you remember A & W! We lived in Malaysia when I was a wee girl (1970s) and one of our favourite treats was to go with family friends to A & W for dinner. Talk about sophisticated ;-) My favourite meal was the sausage burger, chips and an A & W root beer. And look! Here it is! Same colour tin and all! Awesome!
And as for that hankie lady – she reminds me of Phryne Fisher and boy, I can hardly wait for that to start! – I think she needs some fine crocheted lace added to her hemline, don’t you!
Goodness … that time simply vanished! Hoping your Christmas was merry and love-filled. Ours was chaotic – moments of great cheer and love, moments of “oh-my-god-we-will-never-forget-this-Christmas” and lots of letting go. Mmmm … it was a season of letting go … with which comes the essential reminder that nothing experienced is ever wasted. No, even the most disappointing moments teach us something and like every moment of every day, it passes, we enjoy, survive, relish … and move on. I know now my expectations for this Christmas were wildly unrealistic – packing up 14 years of living in one home, retirement, interstate moving, setting up home (all with mum) just days before Christmas, added to spousal exhaustion and family illness. Again, I say mmmmm …..
And so here we are in January. Home late Sunday afternoon after a lovely last week by the sea, a long and stormy drive across the Gippsland, and a spot of wild plum picking – everything is made sweeter by picking wild plums along an almost forgotten railway track whilst a herd of nosy cows watches on :-)
Now we are in the midst of unpacking, washing – 8 loads and counting! – finding homes for all the things we took on holidays that clearly CAME from here so must surely FIT IN back here, dusting, rearranging, tending our neglected garden, and welcoming our dearest friend Sacha for ten whole days holiday!
And amidst the busyness, there is so much goodness. This is what I shall strive to capture for the rest of our summer holidays … the everyday goodness that makes us smile broadly at each other and say “Oh I love being at home with you!”
This morning, the ripest of bananas implored to be baked up into bread …
… and whilst we waited the loooong hour and a half for it to be ready, I ignored the piles of clean clothes awaiting folding and cupboards. Instead, very sensibly, I drank tea and stitched felt into a necklace.
Kept me away from the cocoa pops in the pantry. Really it did! I’m sure had I been making beds or ironing clothes, I would have scoffed a bowl of cocoa pops and perhaps some toast with cheese and jam whilst waiting for the banana bread to cook. Thank goodness for felt, I say.
Time up and my girlie and I shared the warm, fragrant bread at the table … a table smothered in fabric. Not sure how this happened so quickly given it was bare when we arrived home Sunday night. Oh, but there is nothing quite as productive or encouraging as a fabric smothered table, no?
I stitched and she talked. It was lovely. One felt necklace grew into three and I listened to her dreams and plans of artwork, stories that have been slowly added to over Christmas, ideas for creating magic. My girlie is so very inspiring. And we promised each other that we wouldn’t be lazy this year. We would make the most of every opportunity and gift we have. It’s going to be a good year.
Before we knew it, it was time to ditch the nighties, dig some clothes out of the piles and head to the airport to fetch Sacha. Isn’t it just brilliant how our children come that extra bit alive when they are with their most beloved friends. There’s an extra sparkle in my Abby’s eyes, her mouth is permanently curved up in a smile, the whole house is bubbling with an infectious energy and joy. And Sacha is oh so at home here – it’s like having two gorgeous daughters :-) I love it!
p.s. did I mention that my computer’s hard drive is just about dead, it’s one-year old battery is kaput and that the camera hit the dust – I mean ASPHALT (good one Jules!) – and now my favourite lens is broken (hello outdoor zoom lens!) and there’s something not quite right with the way my photos are uploading onto my computer – but then again, that could be the hard drive that is now closer to dead than it was when I wrote the line five up. Oy!
