Darling Dotty

Shop talk

2011-04-17T23:44:00.000+10:00

I've been in a bit of a creative hole the past few weeks. That's not to say I havent been able to find my creativity, I'm just finding that it's all a bit all over the shop. Great ideas coming from all around, but no real way to pin anything down and be sure it's going to stick. I started wondering how to break this chain, and how to come up with something magically wonderful - where do those instantateously magic, all-together perfect Great Ideas come from, and how can I nab me one? Then, late one night while screwing around on food blogs doing research for an event proposal, I came across this TED video about creativity.

Now, just so you know, I LOVE TED. Kind of a bit too much. But this video, well I love it more than most TED stuff. Why? Well, apart from giving us an excuse to sit around in coffee shops chatting (because there's always room for another one of those), I think Stephen Johnson aptly and accurately sums up what creativity is all about. It's not really anthing new - in fact you've probably heard all of the 'there's no new ideas, only new ways at looking at things' rants before - but this amalgamation of all those ideas on creativity that we know to be true, that we want to be true, is a new take on an old idea that I happen to really like.

Home

2011-04-03T00:21:00.000+10:00

Wednesday night, after two weeks of hell, culminating in The Day of Misery and Deafeat I cut my losses, packed my things and headed back to Toowoomba. Turning out of my street, tears and rain blurring my vision, I fumbled with my ipod, trying to find the song to sum up what I was feeling. This was it.
Home. More than anywhere, it's the place I long to be most often lately. More than travelling, I dream of home. To me, it's more than the place - familiar surroundings, space, clear starry sky - it's the people. My people - people who understand me, support me, and let me be me in all my crazy glory. This song was for them, about them - an anthem for what they represent.
So to Wabi, Miss Vodka, Ma and Pa Darling, Chica, and Bonnie Dog, thank you for being Home for me this weekend, and always.

Drowning out the noise

2011-03-24T15:47:00.001+10:00

This is where I go when the world is caving in around me.
When everything is too hard...too heavy...too much.
Here there is nothing. Just me, my breath and the water.
This is where I go to find calm.

Where do you go?

Sweet treats and chicken feet

2011-03-20T22:54:00.000+10:00

This little fella is sitting on my sewing table at the moment, looking every bit the happy shiny friend his brother in the picture looks. My Zoku (which I yearned for months ago) was a belated birthday gift from the loveliest of them all - Wabi and Miss Vodka. They also presented me with this pair of Victoria Mason earings:

Are they not the cutest things ever! And that's not all - Little G (known by other names, but none quite so Gangsta) presented me with facewash from The Body Shop - the exact one I had planned on purchasing sometime this week! My gal pals are the best gifters ever!
I was presented with the wonders while Yum Cha-ing it up in Old Brisbane Town - I even tried chicken feet (delicious once you get past the foot-like appearance)! Then we wandered a while and chatted some. A lovely afternoon after what seemed for all of us to be a pretty miserable week.
Thank you as always ladies, I am a very lucky, very happy girl becuase of youse guys ;0)

Got spoons?

2011-03-19T02:35:00.000+10:00

My friend Wabi is amazing. Not just kind of amazing, or a little bit amazing, but absoulutely and incredibly amazing. She has, among other things, Crohn's Disease and Rheumatoid Arthritis - that TWO autoimmune diseases.
Havign watched her suffer for a while now, I thought I had at least some idea of how hard it must be for her. And I did, but so very, very little. I was doing some research tonight and came across The Spoon Theory. As I read the theory I thought of her, going through each day, living with such a small amount of spoons, and I cried for her.
Wabi, you are so strong and so brave. If only I could, I'd share my spoons with you in a second.

Giving up

2011-03-09T22:30:00.000+10:00

Yesterday I did something rediculous, something I haven't done since I was about fifteen - I decided to give up something for Lent. I haven't participated in Lent since I was a teen, because every single time I ever tried giving something up I lasted about a week, usually less. Also because by fifteen I was pretty disillusioned by the whole concept of giving something up for something I wasn't sure I believed in...and then I just kinda forgot the whole Lent thing existed.
Not this year. This year I'm doing Lent. Or at lease attempting to. Why? Because, aside from the fact that it's one of the few Christian traditions I honestly am compelled to acknowledge, it's also an excellent way of breaking bad habits - of which I have many. And so, after very little consideration and thought, I decided last night to give up one physical and one non-physical item for Lent.
My physical item is chocolate. Chocolate is the perfect thing for a lot of people to give up for Lent, but espcially for me because my love for it is so extreme. Chocolate sustains me. In a way it has become like a religion to me - when I'm happy I rejoice with it, when I'm sad I turn to in for solace, when I'm unsure I use it as a measure of my uncertainty (one block - mildly confused, two blocks - disheartened and weary, three blocks - serious depression and anxiety). chocolate is too much a part of my life, and too often consumed without thinking and without enjoying - something food should never become.
My non-physical item is excuses. I make far too many excuses on a daily basis - to myself, my family and my friends. Mostly they are little excuses like "sorry I was late, there was traffic", or "I can have chocolate, I'm sad". But little things are the kind that niggle and twinge, and grow ever-slowly into bigger and bigger things. So even the ever-so-little excuse - "I don't feel like swimming today, I have a headache" - become big problems - "I haven't been swimming in two weeks AND I ate way too much chocolate - no wonder I'm packing it on!". And there's nothing stupider than feeling bad about something you could have prevented purely by being a little less willing to make poor excuses for your own laziness.
So that's me for Lent. Now I've just got to figure out how to stick to it. Day one almost over and I'm already having chocolate withdrawels, but so far no excuses that weren't completely valid. Yay me!
Oh, and because I missed FebFast, all dollars normally spent on chocolate will be donated to a worthy charity at the end of Lent - with my chocolate habit they are going to be thanking the Lord all the way to Christmas that I did Lent!

Brogue my heart

2011-03-08T22:31:00.000+10:00

It's no secret that I have a ~~small~~ ~~pretty big~~ exceptionally large shoe addiction. I don't hide it - it's pretty much impossible to hide 80 pairs of shoes for very long - but I have tried in recent times to curb my addiction and concentrate on buying just the ones I really love. The problem with this is it means that when my favourite shoes start to fall apart it becomes a catastrophe on two levels. Firstly (and you have to understand I'm not crazy, just in love) a small part of my heart breaks, and I spend days/weeks/months promising myself they'll definitely go in the bin after one last wear - even though by this stage there's usually copious holes, great big scuffs, or they're tearing my feet apart because the lining is in numerous sharp, pointy pieces. Secondly, I then have the gigantic task of finding a new pair that could adequately measure up to the last ones.
And so it is with the the two pairs of brogues I bought at the start of last year. You see, not only do I have an unntaural love for the brogue, these brogues were not simply shoes - they kind of became a part of me. Wherever I went this past year on my feet would be gold or black brogue beauty. I've worn them to the point that the bottoms are thinner than the finest of cottons. They are no longer wearable by a sensible person. Key word - sensible.
Which is why I've spent the last month searching desperately for the perfect pair of brogue-replacement brogues. The black ones are kind of covered - my new work shoes are somewhat brogue-like. But they're also a shade on the boring side, unlike these pretties, which I think even Wabi could warm to:

Top Shop MIOLA Brogues found here

Yes?
To be honest, I've always wanted a pair like this:

Jeffrey Campbell Brogue-pump, courtesy of Vintage Mint

Perfect heel-height, and such a pretty colour-combination.
But then tonight I found these:

MIKA Ladies Brogues from Mr Shoes

And I'm seriously thinking about them - even if the shipping costs more than the shoes - because the colour is just so damn wonderful!
Am I crazy, or does everyone has an obsession like my shoe-insanity?

Crazy Love

2011-02-21T21:42:00.000+10:00

The photo above, my friends, is one taken by the ever-awesome The Other Renae, while standing mere metres (two at the most!) from Mr Michael Buble. I was standing right next to her uttering something along the lines of 'Oh my GOD! he's like right there! He's so close I can see the wrinkles in his pants! These are the best seats EVER!' Of course, it was less of an utter and more of an ever-rising scream of delight and excitement.
I'm still excited. See, two weekends ago now, we had front row tickets to Buble's Brisbane concert. Ok, so not just front row, front row....centre. It was, without doubt, the best concert I've ever been to - it even overshadows John Mayer...but only just. And purely because every second of the show was exactly that - a show, an event for the pure entertainment of the audience.
From the moment he stepped on the stage, Michael Buble had every person in the audience either wanting him, or wanting to be him - even the guys shuffling in, clearly dragged there by gaga girlfriends, were pretty quick to start tapping their feet and grooving along.
He took photos with the audience, introduced every member of his band (including the 16-strong brass section), and walked through the audience, performing a number of songs from as stage closer to the back so everone got to see him up-close-ish.
And then the finale. Oh my! During the last song - Song for You - the lights fell and a trumpet solo in the crowd cut back to a dark stage with a single spotlight. Buble stepped forward, hushing the crowd, and then...acapella into the 10,000 strong crowd. WOW! Seriously, WOW!
His band as well was amazing, especially the sax section - although I must admit a soft spot for a good sax solo. Oh, and did I mention the sloped stage which allowed him to walk all smoothly back to the drummer and then turn and slide - rock-star style - down towards the audience? So sexy...
So, enough gushing - pictures (all snapped by The Other Renae)!

2011-02-10T19:03:00.000+10:00

So that date I was supposed to go on tonight, I didn't go. I cancelled it. Well...actually I had a panic attack, then threw up, then cancelled it. Then I cried until my eyes were red raw and burning.
I didn't used to be like this. I used it be what I would consider a very confident person. I mean, I wasn't about to win any Ego of the Year awards, but in the same situation a year ago I would have thrown on a cute dress, slapped on some make-up and got there early enough to throw down some dutch courage before I needed to be all cool and calm...
Now I have panic attacks. I don't know where my confidence has gone...I think I lost it somewhere.

Lost on the Midway by The Black Apple

Unfamiliar terror-tory

2011-02-09T22:11:00.000+10:00

I have a date tomorrow night. To say it's been a long time since I went on a date (or even a pseudo-date) would be an understatement. Even just in the realm of male attention we're talking nigh on four years. That's a little embarrassing to admit. Ok, a lot embarrassing. Were that the end of it, I probably wouldn't be overcome with such a immense feeling of trepidation and desire to run in the exact opposite direction.
But it's not.
After spending eight months of last year recovering from a knee injury, unable to exercise much and living with my mother's need to constantly feed me, I've put on quite a substantial amount of weight. Coupled with countless hundreds of job rejections - yes, that's how unemployable I apparantly am - I'm feeling very much unlike a person anyone could ever get to like, let alone find attractive.
Nothing fits, nothing looks good, and nothing makes me want to cry more than trying to find an outfit to make me seem attractive in the eyes of the opposite sex. And I hate myself for being so damn reliant on the opinion of a complete stranger to make me feel ok about myself. But I'm so damn scared of that rejection I honestly feel like throwing up every time I think of 7pm tomorrow night.
So I'm begging for some advice. What do you do to pep yourself up when you're not feeling grand? How do you overcome the nerves before a date/interview/big-deal event? What's your sure-fire trick for impressing the pants off someone?

Sweetest sixteen

2011-02-04T23:18:00.000+10:00

"Birthday cake" by Hitana via Deviant Art

Today was my cousin's birthday. Chica was sweet sixteen and, despite all evidence to the contrary, has already been kissed. I found her a beautiful amethyst ring and Princess Mononoke DVD, because she loves Anime.
Chica being sixteen is...well, kinda crazy for me. See, I was there when my aunt went into the marathon 18hours of labour. I sat on the floor in the hospital waiting room for so long, and got such bad pins and needles that when I got up I sprained my ankle because my whole foot and leg were dead. And I got first nurse becuase I was injured.
I was there when Chica took her first steps, said her first words, and got her first tooth. I was there for the trips to the emergency room when she ate a poisonous plant, missed the trampoline when jumping off the roof, and skittled herself (not once, but five times) on her scooter. And I was there last year when a boy asked her out and she needed advice - she said no because it was in the middle of exams and she didn't feel that way about him (so proud!).
We've grown up together more as sisters than cousins, and if I ever need reminding of that I only need to look in her wardrobe, where half my shoes and clothes have taken up residence. I've taught her about theatre and music, boys and fashion, history and art. She's taught me about humility, strength and generosity.
Over the last few years she's reached an age where she no longer seems light years away from me in maturity, and we've started to chat about cute boys, shoes and clothes, and other more grown-up things. It's great, but every now and then - like tonight- my heart stops because I realise that the sweet little kid who put MY stocking out so I wouldn't miss Santa, is now completely over Santa herself.
Chica is almost all grown up - which I think also scares me becuase it means I'm getting older too fast. But no matter how old she gets, she'll always be my little cuz. So tonight I'm sending a shoutout to her and wishing her a very happy Sweet Sixteen - or half-thirty-two as she's dubbed it. May the next half be as sweet as your ever-increasing sweet tooth, and full of all the best things you can imagine!

Flood Relief Appeal Auctions

2011-01-17T01:23:00.000+10:00

The water has gone down, the sun is shining again, and things are slowly getting cleaner here in Queensland. But the photographs, the video footage, and the memories for those who witnessed it first-hand will ensure that the devestation from the past few weeks lives on for much longer. The floods too, have not completely gone, simply moved state to wreak more havoc in New South Wales.
As people rebuild their lives in the wake of all that has happened they need money - money for furniture, clothing, kids school books, even essentials like food and a new roof...or door...or whole house.

Having seen some of the other auctions mine seem pretty sad and sorry, but even if they only bring in a few bucks, it's a few bucks more that someone can use to buy something so sorely needed. So here's the items:

ITEM A

Item B

Item A: This is a skirt upcyled from a vintage dress. The skirt is a medium, measuring 47.5cm (lying flat) at the band and 52cm long. The material is an off-white with blue-black faded lines and buggies all over it - sorry, the wording under the buggies is unclear. Being vintage material there is a couple slight tea-coloured stains on the back of this skirt, however they are very light - I didn't notice them myself until I measured the finished product. I think, given a good soak, these would come out - and the material was too sweet not to use! The skirt has been soaked and is now stain-free!

Item B: This sweet little bow-shaped bag came about almost by accident, but turned out so perfectly cute you can't help but love it. Made from 70% Acrylic/30% Milk, the yarn is beaultiful and soft but still very sturdy. the inner lining is a vintage yellow floral fabric, and (I believe) is 100% cotton. The colour-matched zipper has been machine-sewn to the lining and then hand-sewn to the outer to give added firmness.I'd envisioned this as a clutch but discovered it fits knitting needles perfectly as well, making it a stylish knitting caddy, or even a fun pencil case.
Length: approx. 29cm (11.4 inches) x 11cm (4.3 inches)

How the Auction Works:
1. Bidding on each items will start at $10.
2. You can place a bid by leaving a comment on this blog stating you are bidding for either ITEM A or ITEM B, your bid amount and email address ( if you're not keen on having your email available to the world, post your bid amount and then drop me a line via my etsy store with your email address and the name you posted under.)
3. Please make sure your bid is higher than the previous bid amount and is in whole dollar increments.
4. Postage is free for all Australian residents. Bidding is also open to all international addresses but will incur postage fees (sorry).
5. The auction begins NOW and ends midnight on Monday 24th January 2011.
6. At close of auction, I will contact the winners and. At this point the winner of each auction will deopis the winning amount directly into the Premiers Relief Appeal and send me proof of payment (in the form of a recepit number) via return email, along with a postal address. Once I've received that, I will post your goods to you.
7. Ckeck out all the other auctions here. HAPPY BIDDING!

Hell from the Heavens

2011-01-10T23:42:00.000+10:00

That right there is what my backyard looked like earlier today (and still pretty much does because the rain just won't stop!). And this is my brother's poor dog, Zari, who can't understand where all the wet stuff is coming from - and why it's about to eat her nice dry bed:

It's wet. Really, really wet. It's been raining here almost continually since Christmas, and isn't supposed to let up for at least another twenty-four hours. This morning, because of the amount of water flowing from our neighbours overflowing pool, I spent a good half hour digging trenches in ankle-ankle deep septic and pouring rain, to relieve the build-up that was causing our grey water to back-up into out kitchen sink.
Today I got covered in poo-water, and have still had a far better day than residents in towns like Dalby, Condamine, Chinchilla, St George, and Gympie. Today my own town joined the ranks of the disaster zone, with Toowoomba and the Lockyer Valley being pummelled by a torrrent of water that has left businesses and houses in ruin, at least 6 confirmed dead, and many more people unaccounted for.
The water rose within minutes, causing waves of water to sweep down the main streets of Toowoomba, washing away cars and furniture, and shattering store windows in the process. In the Lockyer Valley, a number of small towns - towns I grew up in and around - are fully submerged, with over thirty people unaccounted for in Grantham alone.
And there's more on the way with another downpour expected tonight.
There has been an outpouring of help for the affected areas, with almost $AU30,000,000 raised already, which is amazing! But that's not nearly enough - in fact it would barely cover the costs to help out the least affected areas of the state. Thousands have lost their homes or businesses, many have nothing left but the clothes on their back. Farmers have lost not only their crops, but their livestock, pets, and machinery. And after fifteen years of drought, it's too far back for many rurals.
So if you can - even if you're on the other side of the world - give a little, please. Many of these people are not only having the worst possible start to the year, but they missed Christmas as well.

Donate to the Queensland Flood Appeal here.

Breakfast spread

2011-01-09T20:52:00.000+10:00

Breakfast. Supposedly the most important meal of the day, but also possibly the most contentious. Among my friends there’s a broad selection of breakfast eaters: the never-skip-it, the eat-it-because-it’s-good-for-you, the coffee-only, and the never-eat-it (also known as the don’t-have-timer). I myself used to be a staunch supporter of the don’t-have-timer club, frankly because I much preferred the extra twenty minutes sleep I could get if I skipped breakfast. But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve realised how much better I feel (and function) with the help of a morning kick-start.

My problem has always been finding something to eat that is both quick (still like that extra few minutes), yummy, and healthy to start the day with. When I’m feeling energentic I’ll get in and cook up some poached eggs, or practice my less-than-spectacular omelette skills, but for the most part I’ll stick to cereal or toast, usually with vegemite or homemade jam slathered thick.

Since I like homemade jam so much I figured it was time to try (again) to make my own. I had a pile of peaches that had to be used, so it was the perfect time to try Tartelette’s Confiture de Peche. SO GOOD! So, so, so, so, SO good—and so incredibly simply it’s impossible to screw up. The only problem is stopping myself eating it straight from the jar.

While I was making jam, I figured I’d keep the breakfast train rolling and make another batch of my absolute favourite breakfast cereal. To be honest, I’m usually pretty anti-cereal. For the most part it’s either sugary or flavourless, and always gets so soggy so quickly.

Enter the super-cereal: granola! It’s filling, flavoursome, stays super crispy, and is pretty healthy if it’s made right. So how do you make it right? You make it yourself! I’ve spent the holiday season perfecting a granola recipe that was super delicious but also not too sugary, and finally came up with the one below last night. It’s a bastardisation of this one from Nigella Lawson, via Not Quite Nigella, which is also yummy but just a bit boring, and probably a wee bit too sweet, for me. Best thing about this granola—it tastes awesome straight from the packet as a late night snack.

Cranberry-Hazelnut Granola

2 ½ cups oats

½ cup sunflower seeds

175ml apple puree

2tsp cinnamon

½ cup golden syrup, or maple syrup

4tbsp honey

¼ cup brown or raw sugar

250g hazelnuts

250g macadamias (or any other nut you like)

250g dried cranberries

250g coconut flakes

1. Combine all ingredients, excluding cranberries and coconut, in a large bowl, mixing until everything is covered with sticky goodness.

2. Spread mixture over two baking trays (or if you’re lazy like me just use one and turn the mixture more often).

3. Bake at 160-170C for about an hour, turning halfway through baking, until everything is golden.

4. Once cooled crumble any large chucks, and stir through cranberries and coconut, and store in an airtight container.

Birthday boy

2011-01-06T00:10:00.000+10:00

My Dad and I don't always get along. Hmm...maybe I should say we are sometimes friends - it's probably more truthful. You see, my dad and I both have quick tempers - mine inherited from him - and are very stubborn - also from him - but that's about where the similarities end. In every way, we see things from the exact opposite angle which, more often than not, leads to a debate, which ultimately ends in a fight. We've yet to officially declare war, but it has been on the table once or twice.
It wasn't always like this though. As a kid, I remember seeing him as my hero, he could never put a foot wrong. In fact, most of my childhood memories throw him in a shining light. As a child he was amazing, and I was definitely a daddy's girl.
When highschool hit I began to develop my own opinions about the world, and our relationship started to crumble. Bit by shining bit my dad's rockstar aura faded until I found myself disagreeing with pretty much everything he said. He drives me mad with his small-mindedness, and I think I scare the pants off him by being so liberal and open-minded. Often my mother has to step in and tear us apart before we rip each other to shreds.
Even with all the fighting, and the general frustration he often stirs in me - and I'm sure I in him - I love and respect my father very much. After his dad died when he was a kid, he helped run the family farm. He left school at 16 to get a mechanic apprenticeship, and eventually worked himself into machinery sales, working as the top sales manager for firms like Case, Hardy, and John Deer. He has never been paid overly well - earning less than the average teaching salary while often working 60-hour weeks, and on the road 80% of the time.
The photo above is of us the day I graduated from university. As crazy as I've made him with my seemingly endless studies, I knew he was proud of me that day, and I know he's still proud of me - even if I am once again in studentville. I'm thankful for that and appreciate that he supports me when he quite clearly thinks I'm nuts.
Along with mum, he's helped instill in me a sense of responsiblity and pride in myself, and a belief in my actions and opinions - even if he doesn't often agree with them. He's also helped me out a hell of a lot when I've been short on cash, had to move house, or needed a lift around the corner, or interstate. He doens't understand me too well - I'm pretty much another species as far as he's concerned - but he tries to help, and I know he means well.
Today (or yesterday, as it's now past midnight) was his birthday. He's now seventy-one, and looking mighty good for his age, I think. He reckons he's got another twenty in him at least.
So here's to my dad - Seventy-one and every bit the rockstar he's always been - personality and all.

Resolving to have a good time

2010-12-30T08:48:00.000+10:00

I'm heading to the beach with some of my favourite people for the New Years weekend. No doubt it will be a weekend of beach wanders, wave dunkings, and lot and lots of laughter. Hopefully it will be the catalyst to the start of a year of goodness and joy for all of us. I hope, for you too, the new year will see sunshine and lollipops coming your way, and will be a year to remember for all the right reasons.
Oh, and good luck with your resolutions if you're making some:

Good from bad

2010-12-25T04:24:00.000+10:00

It's 3:30am Christmas morning and I've finally finished wrapping all the presents Darling Mother and I rushed around purchasing this week. I'm exausted, and honestly don't know how I'm going to get up in four hours for breakfast with our neighbours. Or how I'm going to muster up a whole day of Christmas cheer.
When I was younger I loved Christmas. The lights, the tree, the confusing carols tra-laa-ing about snow and sleighs while we were sweltering in thirty degree heat - I loved it all. Even a few years ago I remember counting down the sleeps, getting Christmas-ed up the whole month of December, and pushing through the mandatory family arguments to find that magic everyone talks about at this time of year.
But the past few years I haven't been able to find much (if any) of the elusive Christmas Spirit. At one of supposedly the happiest times of the year I seem to be finding myself dragging my feet in the cheer department. I still love the gift giving, and even with an incredibly tight budget this year, I've managed to shower my favourite people with gifts which I hope they will love. But even that was (horrifyingly) a struggle. And it seems I'm not the only one - so many people I've talked to the last few days seem to be feelin the same.
Friends and family are feeling lonely, sad, or just poor. Others are sick, anxious about looming problems, or have recently had a loved one pass away. Still more are just feeling like Christmas just came too fast and left them behind. For whatever reason it's just not the jolly season it should well be.
I went to church tonight and the readings, as is typical, were about the birth of Christ and the reason we celebrate this holiday in the first place - how he came into a world of pain and suffering to save us from the darkness. The Pastor talked about the beginnings of the Christmas Tree - a fir tree - (apparantly it was all Mr Martin Luther's idea - smart fella) and how it symbolised the growth of new life even in the deepest, coldest, darkest winter.
And I talked to my neighbour who's boys have been ill for the past 15 years, and still fight every day just to live without pain. She told me how the oldest one is still struggling to recover from surgery over a year ago, and how the youngest one is about to undergo a long process of similar procedures. And how a boy - the eldest's good freind who suffers from similar health problems - has just passed away. And, even with all that was happening in her life, the chance to spend Christmas with her family and neighbours was wonderous to her.
And I realised that maybe that's why so many people love Christmas so much - becuase even when everything is hell, Christmas - the ideal of goodness, and faith, and love that we celebrate through Jesus, and Santa, and just by giving gifts and spending time - that's why it's so important. It reminds us that even with all the bad stuff, deep down in the core of it all, this life is something special.
John reckons so too, so it must be true.

So, from me to you, I hope your Christmas is full of joy and happiness. But if it's not - if there's pain, or sadness, or loneliness, or if everything just seems too much, my thoughts and prayers are with you, and my hope is that you'll find some good at the heart of it all.
Merry Christmas.

Jam Cool

2010-12-04T14:41:00.000+10:00

So now that I've updated on the Tran adventure I can get down to what I really wanted to share today. This post is a bit of a shout-out to Miss Vodka, because I know how much she loves good design and, I think at least, this constitutes some pretty fine design.

It's called Jambox and it's a portable mini-speaker that provides big sound in a tiny littly package. I found if via Black Eiffel, the design blog chock full of awesome. Now while the Jambox itself is pretty neat looking, what I loved the most is the packaging.

I'm definitely one of those people who spent more time playing with the wrapping than the gift as a kid.

Trans-America II: Thanksgiving dinner and a crazy risk.

2010-12-04T14:21:00.000+10:00

Thanksgiving has come and gone so it's only right that I should update on the Trans. I follwed this story through and it turns out the Trans were just as excited to make a new friend as James West was, so they invited him along to Thanksgiving and even offered to pick him up at the airport and spend the whole weekend with him. They ate, they drank, they gave thanks. They seemed to all be having a great time, and the Trans have not only invited West back again next year, but have invited themselves to Sydney to visit him.
The story, while maybe not viral, certainly seemed to gain a bit of momentum with West interviewed on Sunrise here in Australia, and a Tran/West interview with the local Florida news in America. In all the updates the Trans and West chatter and bicker like old friends, and the whole family seem completely relaxed and thrilled to have him share their Thanksgiving.

That said, obviously not everyone has felt that this adventure was a great idea. I think maybe in my last post I was a bit vague about a few things, and maybe exaggerated or generalised a bit too much - it's a bad habit, I know. What I probably should have said is that the majority of the people I know happily admit to randomly checking out (or "stalking" as it's jokingly reffered to) strangers on facebook - whether it be someone they met birefly and thought was cute, or an interesting friend of a friend they catch a glimpse of and suddenly want to know more.
I'm also not saying I totally agree with the way this whole thing started out - there was an intrusion of privacy, and the releasing of certain information. However, West, being a journalist, would surely have been well aware of where the line is in relation to the release private and confidential information. He would have also been aware of the risks he was taking in admitting to reading the Tran family emails - yet he did it openly and, I think, with respect, acknowledging that risk and not hiding behind a screen name or annonymous moniker. Things may not have turned out as sweet as they did, in fact they could well have got quite nasty, and props definitely should go to the Tran family for being so cool and welcoming.
I guess, while I saw the negatives in this whole thing from the get-go, I also saw a bit of what James West saw to come up with such a crazy idea. It's kinda nice that in a world where virtual and digital communication has led to less real physical contact, someone would create for themselves an opportunity to take a virtual communication into realtime, outside the realm of internet dating. As West states, there's a lot of mistrust and cynicism out there - what better way to dampen that than taking a risk on the opposing side and trusting that a hair-brained idea created on one side of the world would be met with good-will,a great time, and some new friends on the other?

Trans-America

2010-11-23T20:44:00.000+10:00

So you know those people who have absolutely no problem inviting themselves places? Like Aunt Marge, who hears you and your mates organising a weekend pub crawl and mentions she'll pencil it in after bridge? Or Merve from accounting who you said 'hi' to in the lift, and suddenly he's joining you and your girlfriends for a spa weekend. Some are a little weird, some kinda scary and most just super friendly...maybe overly friendly.
As self-inviters go I reckon James West pretty much takes the title.
The gist of the story is this dude, Mr West, started receiving email from random people, most with the last name Tran and, assuming it was spam, he ignored it for two whole years. Then sometime earlier this year, curiosity got the best of him and he opened a few of the emails todiscover they were meant for another James West, a relative of the Trans. Turns out email-stalking is a bit like Pringles - once you pop you can't stop - and his addiction led him to the revelation that the Trans were planning a great family Thanksgiving.

So now Mr West is on a virtual crusade to find the Trans before Thanksgiving so he can attend their family dinner. He's read all the emails, learnt about their likes and dislikes, know what each memeber is bringing to dinner and is even taking something himself - the canned corn! The only problem is, he's not officially invited. So he's set up this Youtube video to Track Down the Trans:

And he's keeping the public updated at new (or new emails in this case) comes to hand - you can check out the second vid here. He's also stated that if he doesn't hear from them tomorrow he's going to email them, and may well jump on a plane to Florida anyway and see if he can track them down for dinner - canned corn in hand of course.
The comments on youtube aren't overly kind. Many are suggesting he should have emailed the family immediately and set them straight on his identity, most are labeling him as some kind of creepy stalker, which West himself acknowledges is a resonable assumption. I must admit, I tended to agree at first. But then I started thinking about it. Here's this guy who suddenly starts getting random emails from people who he doesn't know from a bar of soap and he manages to ignore them for two years. I know there's no way I would have held out for that long. I know I would have also read at least a couple before deciding whether to set the record straight too. And in all honesty, (and here's the biggie), is this worse than facebook stalking which many of us won't admit to but I'm pretty sure all of us do?
The emails came to his inbox addressed to him by name, which gives him much more right to read them than we have to scroll through messages sent from a friend to their sister or brother, or trawling through strangers photos. Sure, he probably should have just shot an email back letting them know they had the wrong person, and he probably took it a bit too far, but at least he has the guts to admit it - to the whole world even.
Putting the issue of stalking aside, the thing I love most about this is that West has taken a situation that could well have been done and dusted with a simple return email and turned it into an epic adventure. From a case of mistaken identity he's created an opportunity to travel to the other side of the world and make a whole bunch of new friends.
I think it's kinda cool. What about you? Creepy stalker or crazy Adventurer?

A fortunate event?

2010-11-19T18:12:00.000+10:00

Yesterday marked one year since I tore the Anterior Cruciate Ligament (ACL) in my right knee for the second time. A year ago today I was grimacing through the pain as I underwent scans, x-rays, poking and prodding. Last year on this day I spent most of the afternoon in tears, trying to convince myself it wasn't so bad, but knowing in the pit of my stomach that one wrong step would cause months of frustration and anguish.
I wasn't too far wrong. The damage had been done at work - a shoe sales job I'd had for a total of two weeks - but my claim for compensation was rejected on the grounds that the task I was doing - walking from the selling floor to the stock room - wasn't closely enough related to work. I was up for close to $8000 in medical bills and was now jobless.
After seeing a specialist I was immeidately booked in for surgery - I'd not only torn the ACL but severely damaged the cartilage around it. The whole area was already weak from a previous tear to the same ligament twelve years prior, meaning that would also have to be cleaned up and my recovery would likely be slower than average.
Twelve months later and my knee, while stronger than it's been in years, still aches on cold nights, or twinges if I move it at a funny angle. When it does, I remember how much heartache I've been through because of it, and the stress and frustration at having such a small thing cause so much havoc to my life financially, socially, physically, and emotionally. But I've also been thinking lately that maybe, even with all the tears it caused, this whole thing wasn't such a catastrophe after all.
I spent the morning setting up for a gala dinner for 1000 people. A lot of it was hard, hot work - moving tables, setting out chairs, folding napkins, and carting crates of cuttlery, crockery and glasses to and fro. But in the midst of all this, in fact while lugging 10kg of silverware from one end of the room to the other, I realised I was living my dream.
Ok, so not my complete dream. I'd much prefer to not be covered in sweat and dust, and maybe also to be in charge of the event rather than just part of the staff of extras, but the essence of the dream is there. I was part of the process. My hand was involved in creating this thing, this event that, for those attending tomorrow night, will hopefully be something more than just a dinner.
There's this overwhelming craziness that comes from seeing a decrepit cattle pavillion transformed from an empty hall into a 5-star ballroom, and knowing that you were responsible (even in a small way) for that. As odd as it sounds, it's almost like the birth of a temporary artwork, the creation of something for others to share. And pulling something off successfully gives me this incredible rush of ecstasy that I can ride for days!
Sure, there's bits that aren't so fun - the mountains of paperwork, insurances and licenses for a start - but every job has its downfalls, and the good stuff far outweighs the bad stuff.
The good stuff: playing with themes and ideas, creating the most outrageous things you can come up with, transporting people from the normal to the amazing, hearing someone talk about something you helped create months (or even years) later, improvising, imagining and innovating.
This time last year I'd been two weeks in a job I already hated. I was a recent uni graduate with no savings, no decent job prospects and far too much debt. I felt defeated, frustrated and lost. Now? I still have no savings, another year of study to get through and far too much debt. And I've still got a dodgy knee and a lot of things that frustate me. But I've also got a direction, and I'm pretty sure that I wouldn't be going in the same one had I not torn my ACL, and been forced to up-end my whole life and reconsider where I was heading. I don't want to give my knee too much credit, but maybe someday I can say this little drama is responsible for helping me become the Aussie version of Colin Cowie, creator of stuff like this:

A Wedding in Cabo San Lucas

I'm sorry you have to hurt

2010-10-27T23:09:00.000+10:00

This writer guy, he says that it's easy.

You just sit down at a typewriter and open a vein.

But what if you're running out of veins?

From: I Wrote This For You

Sometimes people suck. Not all the time. For the most part I think people try to be good people and love, and give, and hope and dream without hurting others. But sometimes they don't.

Sometimes poeple hurt other people. Sometimes they take words or actions and sharpen them, grinding them down to a glistening, glinting, angry point that slides straight through your heart, leaving the splintering wood of the handle to callus and corrupt the place where you once dared to hope there was love in the world. Sometimes they create excruciating, unnessary pain and confusion. Sometimes they do this without even realising it.

Sometimes - and we are all at fault in this to some degree - sometimes people take something they've learnt, or know or simply believe, and hold it so much higher than anything else. Sometimes it gets in the way of their view of everything else possible, or plausible, or real. When everything else is shrouded by this overarching 'thing' they hold so impossibly high, there's no hope at all for them to care a thought for the damage they might do by whispering a half-formed thought filled with ignorance and spite. And that's when their poisonous barb jabs deep thorn into the soft skin of some other someone, who's done and knows nothing of the so-called crime they've commited.

Sometimes, in believing too hard or protecting too strongly, people become exactly that evil which they are trying to guard against.

And then what?

Someone else suffers the consequences of their blind accusations and angry assumptions.

And for what?

So they can feel self-righteous in the belief that they've been stronger through the storm than the petty mortals surrounding them.

Sometimes my strength of faith in people is shattered by blind negligence, and the inevitable destruction it spreads because of the thoughtless actions of a person (or persons).

Sometimes I think faith in the good of others is something akin to trusting in my ability to write. Both require the decanting of some deeper part of you without knowing for sure what will be received in return. Both require the alltogether stupid belief that what you are giving is perfect enough to be not just accepted, but respected. Both risk utter destruction from the very moment of conception.

So how many times do you tap another vein of faith and love for one's fellow man before you run dry? And how sullied or weakened is that love from all the times before?

Whole lotta love

2010-10-20T23:29:00.000+10:00

Driving back from a whirlwind trip home to drop my father off tonight, I plugged in my ipod and scrolled through, searching for someting I hadn't listened to in a while. Lo and behold, I stumbled across the Dawson's Creek soundtrack (I know, that show...but the music was good). It was a toss-up between that and the hilarity of bopping along to a Kylie/Madonna mix, which I just didn't think was safe given the rain and fog.
So I pressed play and rediscovered this song by Sixpence None the Richer. I loved this song. I still love this song. It's sweet without being mushy. And it's love at it's simplest - kiss me and the world explodes with music and song, just like in a Disney movie.
I also kinda love what Leigh Nash is wearing in the songclip. That sweet and girly dress with the punky boots! And her voice is just lovely.
Hmm...Seems there's a lotta love going on in this post.

Oh dear...

2010-10-15T17:16:00.000+10:00

I filled out a survey a few months ago because I was offered, in exchange, a set of very pretty coffee mugs and a free wine tasting.
Said coffee mugs arrived this afternoon, as did the free wine tasting - along with an incredibly attractive, unbelievably sweet French salesman. I knew straight away I was in trouble. We sat at the rather dirty (how embarrassing) kitchen table, and he told me all about the wines and their regions. I tasted whites, roses, reds, ports. He compared me to his new wife (dammit!), informing me he knew exactly what I'd like and praising my wine knowledge and good taste. He promised to be my "personal wine guide - you deal wiz just me, no ozer persons from our office".
I swooned.
And swooned some more.
And then, suddenly, I was purchasing 400 (FOUR HUNDRED!) dollars worth of French and German wines. I was handing over my credit card and smiling - laughing even - as I signed away my savings, which were to be bond on a new place. We laughed at the shitty hours his job keeps and all the wine he gets to taste, and he sypmathised with my desperate assignmenting.
Then he packed up his wines and shook my hand. And, with one last shot of his beautiful smile and a bumbling apology for his "not so very good English", I was left feeling utterly broke and desperate to place another order at the same time.
And all because of a bloody survey and some free coffee mugs!

What a dream boot

2010-10-14T22:19:00.000+10:00

I should be doing assignments. But why do assignments when I can waste hours discovering beautiful things I can't afford, only to spend Sunday night seconds from meltdown because my assignment isn't finished and it's 3am? Am I making any sense? No? Hmm...
Oh, the things I've discovered this evening! Have you heard of Poetrie? Everybody needs to. I discovered Poetrie through one of my very favourite crafty blogs, Grosgrain, and am thoroughly in love. Don't get me wrong, at first glance some of the prices seemed a bit high, but as I scrolled I discovered some perfectly perfect bargains, like this:

The Wildflower Dress $US24.99

And these:

Sun Baked Shortie Boot $US59.99

Sadly, they only ship to the US and Canada. Here's hoping one day that changes.
Someone who does ship to Australia (probably because she is Australian) is Pipduck. Who's that, you ask. Well it's actually two whos to be exact: florist Pip Graham, and Helen Duckman a lawyer (!) got together to create a line of stylish, waterproof shoes for the Aussie girl with wet feet. Thus, Pipduck was born. And thank the Lord it was! I've been dreaming about Hunter Wellies ever since I caught sight of them in a House and Garden magazine three years ago. Dreaming of them, but never venturing to buy because they are quite the pricey gumboot. And then tonight I found Pipduck, not much cheaper than Hunter I'll admit, but a girl can never have too many dreams, right? Besides, I think these ones from Pipduck quite easily replace my Hunter love:

Noisette Tweed Boot $AU159.00

Oh, how I love them! And they'd be so handy right now with the constant weeks of rain we've been having. But then maybe that's just me making excuses to buy them....

When all is broken

2010-10-12T22:31:00.000+10:00

"Let me be your wings

Leave behind the world you know

For another world of wondrous things"

This beautiful picture (and words) is via ilovedoodle which I found through my amazing friend Miss V. It's specially for my beautiful Wabi who has a cracked heart and a broken wing.
Please don't despair - I know it hurts, and hearts are the hardest to repair - but I'm here, and my wings are good any time you need to fly.

Sni sna snappy

2010-10-05T23:00:00.000+10:00

So I'm going to start by sharing the fact that I just typed "darlingbotty" instead of "darlingdotty". I certainly have a lot of both of those things, but I think dots are much more adorable than excessive bottoms. Another thing I have a lot of at the moment is photos to share. A few weeks back I made a New Spring Resolution - which is something akin to New Year's resolutions. Anyway, my resolution was to take more photos, to document my life more, so that the amazing camera I keep whinging about wanting will actually be worthwhile and - more importantly - used.
The first of those photo sessions was the super fun crate men I posted about yesterday. The second of these relates less to modern art and more to old-fashioned creation. While I was 'holidaying' in Toowoomba a few weeks ago I tagged along with Darling Mother to an exhibition of wedding dresses through the ages, held in an old church and the adjoining hall. We started in the church browsing photographs and letter of past weddings held in the beutiful old building.
I'd been to this church once before - for Christmas Eve Mass last year - and had fallen in love with the incredible wood carving throughout. From the moment I pulled up to the church my mouth tweaked in a tiny smirk. With an exterior this beautiful, I knew the inside would be something special. Walking through those heavy wooden doors the forst thing you see is this:

Isn't it amazing! This is the lectern the minister uses when not in the pulpit. Directly behind the pulpit is a petite pipe organ with delicately carved wooden doors:

The size of that thing is decieving - the sound that emerges from those baby pipes would rival that of any I've heard from this little one's larger cousins. Oh and speaking of old-school instruments of beauty, the first thing I photographed in the hall:

When I was a kid I remember watching Betsy's Wedding and falling in love with her dapper style. I can't find a picture (probably because it's a b-grade 90s movie) but I'm sure she wore boots similar to these and it inspired me to dream of a winter wedding with beauitful white boots. Oh and speaking of inspiration, this pretty scalloped and decorated bodice is just divine:

Especially when you think that it was most likely all done by hand...or veeerrry carefully on one of these:

Isn't she pretty? This was one of my favourite photos of the day. Not because it's very good (it's pretty really bad, if I'm being honest), but because old sewing machines are just delightful.
And so ends photo entry number two. Hopefully as the entries continue so my photography skills will improve. Although it seems there may be further levels of crapness to deal with on my way to greatness, i guess you gotta start somewhere right?

Crate invasion!

2010-10-04T22:31:00.000+10:00

While wandering absent-mindedly from the city the other day I was admiring the incredible lushness of the grass around Brisbane. It's amazing! Australia has been stuck in drought for such a long time I'd almost forgotten how green grass could be, and so I stopped to take it in and admire the scenery as I crossed the bridge from the city to home. Standing there, I gazed out over the river before turning my view to QPAC (Queensland Performing Arts Centre) and suddenly my serenity was invaded with utter fear. There was a daylight invasion there in front of me!
The terrifying Gargantuan Blockhead Gang (GBG) were invading QPAC while tourists stood and watched! My old journalistic skills kicked in and I pulled out my camera to get some snaps of the action just in case the ABC hadn't been informed yet:

They were everywhere! on the roof, climbing the walls, even taunting passers-by with their big square heads:

And all the while going about it with not a worry of being caught - I even saw a policeman walk past and smiled at this guy!

I yelled out to him to call for backup but he just shook his head and walked away. I had to think he must be a ditry cop, why else would he let these guys get away so easily? There wasn't even a story about it on the news that night. I hate to think what society's coming to when the GBG can pull of such a crate invasion in broad daylight!

Catching up

2010-09-29T19:12:00.000+10:00

I'm a bad blogger. I have these lapses of weeks that slip by in what seems like days, and then I realise how long it's been. Then I feel like I should leave it until I have something really exciting to share so that at least the wait will have been worth it. But then I think what I find exciting (yarn sales, vintage button expos, food, food, and food) is maybe not what you'd find exciting, so that's probably silly of me. Instead, I'm just going to do a catch-up post and call my absence exactly what is is: laziness and writer's block. Or should that be blogger's block?
To start with, things I'd totally buy if I wasn't flat broke:
Irregular Choice sells the most amazing clothes, shoes and accessories and their site entry page makes me sigh. I'm pretty sure I want every single thing in the store, but just for now these are my favourite:

These little babies are called Abigail's Party, and they secretly make me wish I was Abigail.
While we're on the topic of shoes, Shoes of Prey = fantastic! For three reasons: One, you can design your own shoes. Two....actually only one reason but really, when it comes to shoes isn't one enough?
Oh, and on the topic of designing, let's talk about food design. In summer I love me a good popsicle (or ice-blocks for us Aussie kids), but I hate how sugary store-bought ones are, and I crave fruit non-stop. I've also always been a big fan of playing with my food. You know that old cliche about love being a four-letter word? Well that word is Zoku, because this little beauty lets you create popsicles on the bench top, in fifteen minutes. And not just any old popsicle, popsicles like this:

It's almost too pretty to eat. Almost.
On that note, let's discuss food blogs. One of my very favourite blogs is the darling Sasa, epecially her detailed account of the dreaded Hangrrr. Her witty and inspiring food/life blog always leaves me with something to think about, while also leaving my stomach begging for attention because of things like this:

Oh Sasa, why must you tempt me so!
Sasa also has a blogger friend I love. Alex's Cuts and Burns is the sometimes melancholy, often witty, and always amazing exploits of a chef experimenting with all sorts of awesomeness. What sort of awesomeness, you ask. This sort:

That's an artichoke salad that really is too pretty to eat (but I'd probably give it a go anyway).
And finally, after much poking and prodding from me and dear Wabi, one of our very best friends has created her own blog!

The Other Renae, or Miss Vodka as Darling readers will have known her previously, is already one of my favourite reads, and is sure to be filled with a mixture of musings on art, design, food, and coffee. There's also bound to be the odd post on music (pertaining especially to guitars) and everything French - Vodka's two greatest loves. So if you like ay of these things even a bit, or if you like reading my blog (please say you do), then you should go check her out. She's pretty cool.

Septapril?

2010-09-01T21:59:00.000+10:00

when faces called flowers float out of the ground
and breathing is wishing and wishing is having-
but keeping is downward and doubting and never
-it's april(yes,april;my darling)it's spring!
yes the pretty birds frolic as spry as can fly
yes the little fish gambol as glad as can be
(yes the mountains are dancing together)

when every leaf opens without any sound
and wishing is having and having is giving-
but keeping is doting and nothing and nonsense
-alive;we're alive,dear:it's(kiss me now)spring!
now the pretty birds hover so she and so he
now the little fish quiver so you and so i
(now the mountains are dancing, the mountains)

when more than was lost has been found has been found
and having is giving and giving is living-
but keeping is darkness and winter and cringing
-it's spring(all our night becomes day)o,it's spring!
all the pretty birds dive to the heart of the sky
all the little fish climb through the mind of the sea
(all the mountains are dancing;are dancing)

E.E. Cummings

Mankind Is No Island

2010-08-30T13:31:00.000+10:00

Jason Van Genderen created this for Tropfest NY 2008. It won. Deservedly so.

Lessons in awesome

2010-08-30T11:41:00.000+10:00

Not only is this gent's talent off the richter, what he's saying actually matters. This is the kind of rap I like.

Bad ideas and good friends

2010-08-29T00:59:00.000+10:00

This is how my Saturday night began:

Yes, that is my hair. Sitting on my desk. With a pair of not-exactly-hairdressing-quality-scissors. Why? Isn't it obvious, I cut my own hair of course. Shall I explain?
See, after a week of very little sleep, a month of living on my credit card while sorting out government money, and a year of feeling pretty much like I'd achieved a big fat 'F' in "Life Class", I decided something needed to change and it needed to change immediately. It may have had something to do with my frustration at not fitting into any of my clothes, and probably a lot to do with the PMS that kicked in yesterday, but I decided my hair was going to be that thing that changed - so I cut it off. leading of course to almost instantaneous regret at the realisation of what I'd done.
Thankfully, I have amazing friends. I called out to my housemate, who also happens to be the ever-funky and most incredibly fabulous KAO, and she came running to tidy up my disaster and assured me I'd done a "great job considering you did it yourself". She absently placed a bobby pin in my *ahem* fringe, and sent me on my way with a big hug, assuring me it looked cute. I spent the rest of the night with Miss Crunchie and Miss Vodka, making fools of ourselves and laughing until our sides hurt. They both gushed about my new do, although noted I did indeed need to fix the fringe a tad, and we finished the night with these:

White Chocolate Raspberry Brioche Dumplings* from Freestyle Tout (come to Brisbane, eat them, discover heaven).
Needless to say, my night ended muchly better than it started, and made me unbelievably greatful to have such amazing and incredible friends.
Thankyou girlies.

*Photo Courtesy of Eat Drink + Be Kerry.

Remembering why

2010-08-28T16:54:00.000+10:00

Hands up if you're from somewhere less than amazing? I am. I grew up in several little towns in an area skirting the largish town of Toowoomba. I say town because, as much as it tries, Toowoomba is still very much not a city. This is one of the many things about it that I both love and hate. I love that it lacks the anxious pace Brisbane offers, but I absolutely hate that there's almost nothing to do in Toowoomba outside visiting gardens and going to the movies. The first of these activities, however is also a reason I absolutely love the place.
I often forget just how beautiful Toowoomba is, and it will take a drive through the quiter streets, or a picnic in one of the many parks for me to remember that there is actually plenty to do if you're willing to think outside the square. Aside from picnics, the streets around town are filled with gorgeous old houses and cool tree-lined pavements which are perfect for a summer afternoon photo sesion, and there's even a park with a croquet court (which I've been meaning to get to for oh, ten years).
Lucky the newly married Tina and Tim didn't forget about Toowoomba's beauty. Even luckier for me, their photographer, Darren of CK Mettrophotos, did such a fantastic wedding shoot that Green Wedding Shoes featured their wedding, then I stumbled across it and fell so in love I just had to share it with you.
These are my favourite shots, courtesy of Green Wedding Shoes:

All the parks are so full of trees that you can sit almost anywhere and be guaranteed that sun-dappled patches of cool grass will surround you. And the council's obession with hedges and flower-dividers makes it all feel a bit Alice-in-Wonderland.
So pretty.

Everything's apples

2010-08-24T22:42:00.000+10:00

Do you have any words that just make you happy? You know, the kind of word that, every now and then, you'll just think of and smile, or you'll say and all of a sudden the sun is shining a bit better. My friend Wabi and I recently discovered a shared love for the word biscuit. Not only does it make you think of delicious treats, it just falls from the mouth in such a lovely manner, and looks ever so lovely on a page. Maybe it's a word nerd thing, or just my special style of crazy, but I've also got a thing for the word pumpkin. Then there's snickerdoodle, spanakopita, and foie gras.
Now before you say anything, no, it's not just a food-word thing. I also get a tad excited by the idea of defenestration, discombobulation, and borborygmi (although it's not very sexy). And how much fun are shenanigans?! Then there's my fondness for words in other languages. How much prettier is Lumiere than "light"? And tempo freddo sounds more like a jazzy treat than cold weather.
But my all time favourite word is simple: apple. In Indonesian it's apel, German is apfel, and even the completely different French pomme sounds delightful. Say it out loud in any of these forms and you get that reverberating hummm that's so satisfying in a word, and a mouth shaped a little like a kiss. In fact, a some-time model friend once told me they use the saying "black apples" to get that purfect sexy pout. Then there's memory formed from that scrumptious word! The juicy crunch as you bite into one, the slurp of juice from your chin, the sweet, fresh smell that tickles at your nose. I love eating them, cooking with them and bathing in gels that smell like them as well.
And now I have a new apple love. It's called Shabby Apple - yep, this was just a round-about way of introducing my new fave store. But it's totally worth it! Let's see...there's the sweet stuff for the little ones:

The juicy tips and tricks for making your pear-shape pervalicious, as well as a blog. And of course, crisp new styles in forgiving and flattering cuts for all us ladies desperately seeking ways to hide our not-so-sexy bits:

Oh, and did I mention that each item of clothing comes with it's own story? Fashion and Fiction all at once - it's too perfect! Plus the Shabby Apple girls, Emily and CK, are all about creating wearable clothing for girls of all shapes and sizes (hurrah!), while also supporting the empowerment of women everywhere (double hurrah!). AND they ship internationally (can we just give them the Nobel Prize for Fashion Fabulousness already?)!

Check 'em out, promise you won't be dissapointed.

How To Be Alone

2010-08-22T12:06:00.000+10:00

I've had a headache for the last two days and it's driving me nuts. I'm struggling to squeeze my money far enough. I'm not getting any call-backs for the part time jobs I've applied for. And most days I feel kind of like a faliure because my friends all have 'big things' happening in their lives - successful long-term relationship, career advancement, overseas adventures.

But then this morning I found this via The Tumtum Tree who discovered it on Designmom. It made my heart happy. Even if you're not alone you should watch it, Tanya Davis is wonderful.

More amor

2010-08-12T19:04:00.000+10:00

Remember Landon Pigg? I mentioned him in a couple weeks ago. Well, since then I've been a little in love with his music. And I'm probably really behind and really uncool, but this guy = fantastic. I'm especially fond of "Falling in Love at a Coffee Shop", partially because that would be a fun thing to do, but also because the clip for this song is just so, oh! And "oh!" really is the only way to descibe it.

I'm sure I'm not the only girl who likes to pretend she's not soppy and pathetic but really, who are we kidding? If a cute boy stopped time for you wouldn't you just be head-over-heels?

Maggie and milly and molly and may

2010-08-10T23:09:00.000+10:00

Maggie and milly and molly and may
went down to the beach(to play one day)

and maggie discovered a shell that sang
so sweetly she couldn't remember her troubles,and

milly befriended a stranded star
whose rays five languid fingers were;

and molly was chased by a horrible thing
which raced sideways while blowing bubbles:and

may came home with a smooth round stone
as small as a world and as large as alone.

For whatever we lose(like a you or a me)
it's always ourselves we find in the sea

Without a heartbeat of a lie, I would marry any man who presented me with a book of E.E.Cummings poems.

*Poem lifted from Poets.org

Powerlessness

2010-08-10T10:51:00.000+10:00

It's been quite the gap in between ramblings hasn't it? There's not been any exceptional excuse for my truency, I've simply not really been in the mood and that tends to make for fairly bad, usually rather sooky writing. Last night I was in the mood, but last night had other plans for me.
Last night we lost power. There was a pop and then darkness. And then came the absurdity of finding a key for the power box, discovering we didn't really know all that much about powerboards, and trying to get in touch with our landlord through his rather unfriendly mother-in-law. There were calls to the power company to be told the call-out would be free, unless of course it was just a switch issue - then it would cost us $300 for their trouble. And there was eventual contact with the landlord who promised an appearance within a half-hour or so.
In between all these little adventures was the constant grumbling of our hungry bellies as we mourned what was to be dinner - potato soup, and herb & cheese bread. And with no end to the darkness in sight we sat down to cold mashed potato with steamed vegetables and avocado (with no "d"). Another call to the power company, two visits by the landlord, and an hour-long game of oven-on-oven-off with the on-call electricians, and we headed to bed with power restored and the promise of a new line of wiring to replace the decrepit and illegal hook-up we have currently.
The truck has been outside all morning, beeping and crunching and hopefully fixing our wires, which gives me some hope that tonight may involve a little less darkness. Meanwhile, here's something I've been meaning to post for a while:

These fantastic cards are courtesy of Crankbunny's Etsy store. She also does some amazing paper puppets, and a pair of magical Zizzors that give you magical crafting abilities. Seriously thinking of buying a pair.

Fairytale love

2010-07-29T12:02:00.000+10:00

I love cartoons, especially fairytales - they reach to the heart of the hopeless romantic, impossible dreamer in me. One of my favourites - and I'm sure I'm not alone - is Shrek, so of course I rushed out to see Shrek Forever After the moment I could. The animation was wonderful as always, but what I really fell in love with was the soundtrack. There was one song in particular that I loved and I had meaned to track it down as soon as I god home but, as sometimes happens, life got in the way and I completely forgot about it.

Imagine my surprise (and excitement) when my very favourite wedding blog, Green Wedding Shoes, posted about the very song I'd fallen in love with - Darling, I Do by Landon Pigg + Lucy Schwartz! These two artists by themselves are amazing, but together - oh the joy!

And of course I had to share it, because what good is something wonderful if you keep it all to yourself?

Goody two shoes

2010-07-25T22:03:00.000+10:00

I'm known amongst my friends as a bit of a shoe addict, which I guess is a fair comment seeing as at one point I owned eighty-five pairs. My collection has dwindled somewhat with all my moving in recent years, not to mention the self-imposed shoe diet I placed on myself (five of any style per year, plus an extra pair of heels). In fact, it's dwindled so much in recent times that I'm finding myself shoeless on many occassion, because my favourites are all wearing out.
What I need most right now is a pair of simple black flats and a smart pair of sandals. I've decided the sandals can wait until it gets a bit warmer, but black flats are my go-to shoe when it comes to comfort and style, so I've been on a mission this week to find a pair I love. And did I ever find a pair I love, along with several other pairs I'll be lusting over for a long time.

So they're not black. But they are flats! And I can always buy a black pair as well...
Ok, enough excuses, let me tell you about these babies. Not only are they incredibly pretty, they're also handmade, vegan and 100% organic! You can find them in a rainbow of pretty colours and styles at The Generation.
Nothing like a pair of pretty shoes to make you feel good about supporting a great cause.

Remembering what to forget

2010-07-22T11:31:00.000+10:00

"…and that’s exactly how you make people forget - keep parsing the facts in half while folding in newer, harder to understand information until no one piece of data serves as a salient point anymore. Think of it as dispersant on a mental oil spill."

So this was John Mayer talking about BP's oil spill* in the Gulf of Mexico, but this resonated for me in so many other contexts, most prominently in the area of work/life.

Remember when you were a kid and you dreamed big? You dreamed of becoming a ballerina, or an astronuaght, or a prince/princess. Some parents may have reinforced these dreams - assuring you that anything was possible if you beleived in yourself - other parents may not have been so supportive. Whatever the case, you were sure as sure that when you were a big person you'd live out these dreams becuase dreams are possible.
And now you're all grown up and living that dream, right? No? I thought as much. Yes, it's true that as a child you really are just dreaming - it would be pretty tight in Windsor Castle if all the little girls in the world really grew up to become princesses. But what about the dreams you dreamed in high school, or at university, or even last year? How many of those did you fulfil? How many did you even honestly believe you could succeed at? Not many, eh?
Why? Probably not because you tried and didn't succeed. Probably more because you didn't even get around to trying, after someone told you you couldn't succeed. You see, that's how it is with success - there's all these people out there throwing reasons at you as to why you can't or won't reach that goal, telling you why you just aren't capable enough, imploring you to look down the safe road or the easy path. And eventually you forget that once upon a time you really could do anything, and the small child inside you gives away their fantastical dreams in favour of a 'more practical' profession.
But it doesn't have to be that way. Yes, we need lawyers, accountants, doctors, and the like. And I'm sure there's someone out there for whom that is honestly their dream career. But if it's not yours, why do it? Why spend such a large part of your life turning up to classes, cramming for exams, and sucking up to the big boss if in the end all it's going to get you is a pat on the back and a lot of regrets? Forget it. It's not worth the hastle.
Instead, take that big bowl of BS everyone's been filling with reasons you can't succeed, toss it down the sink, and forget about it. Then figure out what you really want to do, what really excites you here and now, and figure out how to do it. Maybe it won't work. But maybe it will and you'll be the next big self-made millionaire. Or at the very least you'll be doing what you love.

*I know, Wiki! But it does have quite the extensive explaination.

City Lights

2010-07-20T18:44:00.000+10:00

It's been a while, hasn't it? Disappointingly, this is going to be a very nothing post because I'm feeling a bit rusty. I thought I'd show you my new/old home - Brisbane. New because I'm newly moved in and closer than ever to the city. Old because I've lived here for four years before moving home for the last six months.
When I left Brisbane in December last year I was thoroughly sick of the city. I'd originally moved here for uni and was, at first, overcome by the size and pace of everything. Being a country mouse everything about city life overwhelmed me, and I honestly thought I wouldn't survive the first six months. But I did. I realised the city wasn't so big or scary, you just had to learn your way around. Once I started settling in and getting comfortable, my relationship with Brisbane changed. It became boring and lived in. The weeks became predictable, and the bright lights became garish and tacky. By the beginning of last year I was thoroughly disenchanted with the city, desperate to move somewhere with new experiences, new life, and new reasons to wake up every day.
Moving back after six months in a town trying far to hard to be a city, I have a newfound love for Brisbane. The pace seems not fast but exciting, the places I'd been to a million times have become old favourites rather than last resorts, and the lights at night make me smile at the brightness of possibilities swimming around me.
I think maybe my difference of opinion has come from a new direction - a designated path that wasn't there six months ago. Maybe it's also come from the knowledge that I can leave if I want, and so the city has become my playground rather than a jail cell. I still miss the quiet of the small town, the blanket of stars at night, and the freedom of living with family rather than housemates. But I'm falling in love again with the ability to walk everywhere, the astounding mix of people and ideas, and the never-ending list of places to visit, or revist, at the nearest opportunity.

When anything is too much

2010-07-09T23:24:00.000+10:00

I feel a weariness that no
amount of sleep will ever heal.
I've aching bones that
rattle and grrrriinnnd
against the hands of time
and wretched weeping long-dead
dreams (or
wishes), dissolved in eyes of
false elation. Anticipation...
smarts the open-wounded heart
of faliure to succeed.
At life.
At love. At anything
more real than
second-hand emotion, purchased in
a moment
of desperate need and constant longing for
a nanosecond heartbeat
of nothing but sure and certain calm.
And none of...
This.

Etsyholics Anonymous

2010-07-06T19:43:00.000+10:00

It's no secret I have a bit of an Etsy Addiction. I probably should restrict my use, or get help, or do something at least to curb my habit. But, like any addiction, I'm still in denial - convinced I don't really have a problem. After all, I only waste maybe two or three hours a day - that's not really so bad is it? It is? Oh...
Then I probably shouldn't show you these fun things I found today...
But I'm going to anyway because they're too fun not to share! I mean, how could I not share this fabulous Mary Poppins two-piece from Zwzzy's vintage emporium:

The only thing stopping me buying this is the fact it's a teenie bit too small, which made me incredibly sad.
But then I found this amazing teacup obi:

and then I didn't feel quite so bad. When I found out that Marian Smale was from New Zealand I was even happier because that means the shipping is heaps cheaper (there really are not enough sellers on the Asia Pacific side of the globe).
Of course, I could have stopped there, but a true addict keeps searching for their next high - and I found mine in the form of a cake-topper from the lovely Concarta:

The best part? The bride has red hair, just like me!

That's sheet

2010-07-03T01:26:00.000+10:00

You know what sucks?
Scouring the internet desperately searching for Australian sites that sell pretty, patterned sheets and then discovering it's now one in the morning and you've wasted 3hours of perfectly good sleep.
You know what sucks even more?
Discovering that for approximately eighty Australian dollars I could buy 100% cotton sheets this cute:

Then discovering that Bed Bath and Beyond don't ship internationally.
I just want queen sheets that aren't boring, is that really too much to ask?

Sweet addiction

2010-06-29T15:45:00.000+10:00

I like to bake. Yeah, you're right, that's an understatement. I love to bake. Which is probably a good think because I tend to be the designated "foodie" whenever there's a need for cooking to be done. As mention in my last post, my friend Kao had a party on the weekend. I headed there early to help out, and a good thing I did - she'd been waiting for me all afternoon because she had no idea what to do about food. We rustled up a few salads, some cheesy breads, and a plate of pita chips and all was sorted. I'd also had the forsight to realise most would forget that a birthday party usually requires a birthday cake, so I'd baked some cupcakes and they went down a treat. Wanna see?

And that was merely the first batch for the weekend. Darling Mother works a few hours at the local store each week, to keep herself busy and save some extra Christmas cash. Today they're doing stocktake and asked each of the staff to bring along something for morning tea or lunch. After ~~much~~ ~~very litte~~ no real arm twisting on DM's part, I decided she should take cupcakes with her. So yesterday afternoon I cranked the oven and made another batch of baby cakes. I had to rush off half-way through the process, so I ended up icing the little darlings at midnight, which hopefully explains why some of them have mohawks... This was one of the better dressed:

For both lots of cupcakes I used Magnolia Bakery's vanilla cupcake and buttercream recipes. I made half vanilla and then added 3/4 cup of cocoa to the mixture for some chocolate lovin.

Magnolia Bakery's Vanilla Cupcakes
Makes about 2 dozen cupcakes (depending on the size of your cupcake papers and muffin tins)
1 1/2 cups self-rising flour
1 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
1 cup unsalted butter, softened
2 cups sugar
4 large eggs, at room temperature
1 cup milk
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
1. Line two 12-cup muffin tins with cupcake papers. In a small bowl, combine the flours. Set aside.
2. In a large bowl, on the medium speed of an electric mixer, cream the butter until smooth. Add the sugar gradually and beat until fluffy, about 3 minutes. Add the eggs, one at a time, beating well after each addition. Add the dry ingredients in three parts, alternating with the milk and vanilla. With each addition, beat until the ingredients are incorporated but do not overbeat.
3. Carefully spoon the batter into the cupcake liners, filling them about three-quarters full. Bake for 20–25 minutes, or until a cake tester inserted in the center of the cupcake comes out clean.
4. Cool the cupcakes in the tins for 15 minutes. Remove from the tins and cool completely on a wire rack before icing.

Vanilla Buttercream Frosting
1 cup unsalted butter, softened
6 to 8 cups confectioners’ sugar
1/2 cup milk
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1. Place the butter in a large mixing bowl. Add 4 cups of the sugar and then the milk and vanilla. On the medium speed of an electric mixer, beat until smooth and creamy, about 3-5 minutes. Gradually add the remaining sugar, 1 cup at a time, beating well after each addition (about 2 minutes), until the icing is thick enough to be of good spreading consistency. You may not need to add all of the sugar. If desired, add a few drops of food coloring and mix thoroughly. (Use and store the icing at room temperature because icing will set if chilled.) Icing can be stored in an airtight container for up to 3 days

Getting smashed

2010-06-27T18:39:00.000+10:00

I spent this weekend in Brisbane celebrating the birthday of Kao, one of my very best friends. As I zipped along the highway in Celeste - my new (to me) little car - I made an excited note to photograph and introduce her to you when I got home. Sadly, I did have reason to photograph her, but the introduction is more of a display of her injuries than her beauty.
But let me start at the beginning...
As I mentioned, this weekend Kao had a small birthday celebration in honour of turning twenty-six, and invited me to stay the night and spend her acutal birthday with her as well. Last night we joined her many friend eating and drinking to excess. We played board games, mingled, and headed out for a spot of drunken Karaoke, which was incredible fun. And then we headed home - still a little drunk, very sleepy, and incredibly hoarse. Today we had brunch with her housemates and wandered the streets of West End, running into lots of fun people she knows. A wonderful weekend, had that been the end of it.
But it wasn't. We came home last night to find Celeste looking less than the proud red lady she had been only hours before. While we were out, somebody (or bodies) has wandered past, most likely drunk, and proceded to jump on my little car repeatedly, smashing her windscreen, denting her roof, and leaving her scratched and broken. I was shocked. And saddened. And confused.
What posesses someone to damage someone else's things for the mere sake of damage? What drives them to such a foolhardy act? And how do they feel afterwards? Did they think about it this morning with guilt, or mirth? Did they give a second thought to who might have owned the car, and how it might affect their lives? It hurts to think people can be so uncaring and so unworried about the consequences of their actions. And it angers me to think that they will face no punishment for their actions, while I will have to pay an excess and lose my no-claim bonus simply for being unlucky.

Selling myself

2010-06-24T14:21:00.000+10:00

I finally did it! I'm an Etsy seller! My shop is still really trashy and only has one item in it, but it exists and will hopefully make me a bit of cash to fund a travelling adventure next year. Check it out and help make me ~~rich~~ less poor.
That is all.

Wonderful waste of time

2010-06-20T12:58:00.000+10:00

I'm supposed to be getting my butt into gear and organising my very own Etsy store, but first I figured I'd do some 'research'. By research I mean, trolling some of my favourite Etsies and falling in love with them all over again. Oh, and how I love Timeless Vixen! Everything in her store is amazingly lovely and amazingly far out of my budget. This makes me sad, bad doesn't stop me dreaming about how pefectly summery I'd feel in this:

Or how much better my work ethic would be in this lovely dress/jacket combo:

And I just know all the boys would be swooning with such a sweet bit-o-sparkle:

A-sailing we shall go

2010-06-18T23:13:00.000+10:00

I've been sick all week. Again. My head feels like it's going to explode, or implode, or just simply combust. Usually when I'm sick I take to bed with a good book and read the sniffles away, but this week it's been impossible for me to focus on anything for more than a few minutes, so I've slept. And slept. And slept some more. And then spent the nights awake trying desperately to get to sleep.
Tonight I decided to stay up a bit later and try sneaking up on sleep. And it's a very good thing I did, or I never would have found the ship to dreamland:

Is she not the prettiest little ship you ever did see sailing on a ribbon sea? Her name is The Delightful Marie Rose, and she's currently docked at Chatham Girl's place. But oh! To have her for my very own, then I'm sure the fair winds would blow me straight to the land of nod!

Bootylicious

2010-06-18T14:49:00.000+10:00

The only thing sweeter than these 'Nick's Kicks' booties:

Are these plaid 'It's Raining' gummies:

Both from Mod Cloth, you know, in case you wanted to buy them for me...

How do i feel today?

2010-06-14T10:26:00.000+10:00

Elephant dreams

2010-06-12T11:32:00.000+10:00

How sweet are these pillow cases from Sunday Morning Dreaing! I love really nice linens, and never seem to be able to find what I want in the right size for my bed. So I buy far too many pillow cases. For me the bonus of these is the beautiful elephant sleeping beside me. I think he'd look super cool on my bed dreaming elephant-sized dreams. Maybe he'd even magically bring my own super-sized dreams to life. And in the meantime he could be my temporary boyfriend - until I find a real love.

All my friends are loved up at the moment. It's fun. They giggle like school girls, swoon over the mention of their love's name, and babble constantly about sweet moments and cute quips. I love that. I love the joy the big L (Love) brings, the excitement the little l (lust) creates, and the crazy-talking, big-dreaming, heart-run-away-with-your-head delight when someone is smitten. It fills the rooms, and the life of someone more completely than any other feeling, and seems to have the ability to wash away the greys.

"Sorry, you're probably completely sick of hearing about this," they apologise.

I promise I'm not.

Keep talking. Keep dreaming. Keep loving. It looks good on you.

When I linger no longer

2010-06-08T17:33:00.000+10:00

It would seem to most quite morbid to think about your own death in detail. In particular, to prepare arrangements for your funeral when you're perfectly healthy. But it's something that has always been on my mind, and something I think is actually quite important.
As a kid I was surrounded by death quite a bit. My childhood home was right next to the town cemetry, so my brother and I would spend afternoons and weekends wandering the graves, making up life stories for the brave soldiers, beloved grandparents, and sweet children 'sleeping' next door.
But it wasn't just the neighbours that kept death in the forefront of my mind. My family has long had a history of illness - my nanna had breast cancer and suffered a number of strokes, my granddad was run over by a tractor and suffered mental illness, my mother has been pronounced clinically dead on 8 separate occassions - meaning we frequented hospitals quite often as kids. As a result the fickleness and fragility of life was never something I was shielded from.
I watched as my mother suffered through heart and brain surgery, as her best friend fought off breast, throat, lung, skin and finally bone cancer, as my nanna spent the last month of her life in a medical coma after a severe stroke. And then I stood by as, one by one, we buried each of my grandparents, boxing up their lives as though they were a theatre production that had run its course.
The thing that stuck in my mind, even at thirteen, was the agony, the distraught emptyness that seemed to hang in the air as my mother chose hymns for the funeral, or my uncle struggled to write a eulogy that could honour my Granddad when all he wanted was to have him back.
Funerals hurt. That doesn't really need to be said. But the thing is we - living, thriving, breathing human beings - avoid that pain until it hits us, or our loved ones, square in the face. I don't want that. I don't want that for my husband, or my children, or (God forbid) my parents. So I've planned my funeral as I'd plan any other event in my life. I know that I want to be cremated, and that I want my funeral in the early evening. I am adamant that Amazing Grace would be the absolute worst choice for my funeral song ever. Instead, I'd like something that celebrates the people who have come to see me off. That thanks them, and offers them joy and peace. And, most importantly, something I would have listened to myself, if it were them and not me no longer here.
I heard The Parting Glass the other night while watching some late-night TV. The gent singing is Luke Macfarlane whos voice, I think, makes this version more beautiful and haunting than any other I could find. I knew immediately that this was the song I would like playing as I say my final goodbyes. It is sad, true, but it speaks of a full life and bequests love and joy to those remaining.
I will smile from whereever I end up to know my life is toasted with a good whiskey, a smile, and this song:

Musically speaking

2010-06-05T13:32:00.000+10:00

I volunteered at a youth music and arts festival last year. I was given the task of main stage co-ordinator and performer liaison, which basicly translated to making sure a bunch of teens were happy and on time. Easy (not)! I was given another volunteer to help with the wrangling and the kids were great. Some were incredible artists, but there was one in particular that really shone.
I was told Andrew would be "helping out, performing, and emceeing for the day. Just make sure he's on time...oh and he's taken." The organiser said with a wink. I laughed. This was a youth festival, even the volunteers were all under 25, I was guaranteed to be the oldest person helping out. And I certainly wasn't keen to be hitting on a younger man. I had no idea what she was going on a bout. Until he showed up.
Faded skinny jeans. Loose, button down shirt, sleeves rolled up. Vans. Wayfareres. Masses of messy, casual curls. The kid was like a young Heath Ledger. In fact, my helper stated that very fact the moment she saw him, as did others throughout the day. If that's the look he was going for, he'd mastered it. He was polite, softly spoken, helpful, and friendly the whole day. He even organised an extra performance when we were down an act. And then he sang. And everyone stopped to listen. His voice was brilliant, but so were his lyrics. He was definitely the star of the day.
Now, I wasn't overly fond of the Heath Ledger look. But the kid could sing, and I told him so, and he gave me a copy of his EP. I listen to it quite a bit, and often wonder if he's made it any further with his dreams of becoming a singer/actor. So today I figured I'd share him with you. Who knows, maybe you'll tell a friend about him, and they'll tell another friend, and eventually we'll be secretly responsible for helping launch him right into superstardom.
Have a listen:
Part of it all by Andrew Hearle

Bag lady

2010-06-05T01:11:00.000+10:00

I'm going back to study. After a year of desperate job searching, six months of unemployment, and far too long feeling utterly useless. I decided this about a month ago and started seriously researching courses, finally getting up the courage to apply about two weeks past. I found out two days ago I had been accepted into my first and only preference, and have been thinking non-stop about it ever since.
While I'm thoroughly excited at the thought of moving back to Brisbane (where the course is run) and catching up with old friends and favourite haunts, I'm also sad to be leaving the comfort of my family and the newfound closeness I have with Miss V and Wabi. I also have to admit to some trepidation at the thought of being a new student again.
I decided I should find a way to make the transition back to studentdom a bit easier. And what better way to do that than with a fun vintage bag that says "I'm smart, I'm sassy, and I'm super sure I'm going to ace this class":

1. Houses are fun, especially if they look all Hansel and Gretel like. And bags that look like houses, well even better! This one's from Cosas Raras etsy shop.
2. I'm a bit of a tan leather fan so this handcarved satchel tote from Bags Babylon is top of my list so far. What do you think?
3. A Swiss military fly-fishing bag as a uni tote? Why not. Although I also like this, and this from Meatbagz.
4. Ok, so I wouldn't use this for uni but for storing my needles and yarn. Although Aunt Carrie says the insert is removable so it does have the potential to be a cute wicker picnic basket, right?
5. Um...I need somewhere to store my sewing stuff as well. Yeah, so I got a bit sidetracked, but this sewing caddy would totally keep all my bits and bobs neat. And dirty birdie's basically giving it away.

All items courtesy of my Etsy obsession.

Words in the winter wind

2010-05-30T17:10:00.000+10:00

Two men I have loved all my adult life are two men I will never meet.
The first of these is a love I learnt of from my first real love. He sent me a poem which made me both cry and smile and which, even now, after hundrends (if not thousands) of reads, I still discover anew each time:

Anyone Lived in a Pretty How Town
(E. E. Cummings)
anyone lived in a pretty how town
(with up so floating many bells down)
spring summer autumn winter
he sang his didn't he danced his did

Women and men(both little and small)
cared for anyone not at all
they sowed their isn't they reaped their same
sun moon stars rain

children guessed(but only a few
and down they forgot as up they grew
autumn winter spring summer)
that noone loved him more by more

when by now and tree by leaf
she laughed his joy she cried his grief
bird by snow and stir by still
anyone's any was all to her

someones married their everyones
laughed their cryings and did their dance
(sleep wake hope and then)they
said their nevers they slept their dream

stars rain sun moon
(and only the snow can begin to explain
how children are apt to forget to remember
with up so floating many bells down)

one day anyone died i guess
(and noone stooped to kiss his face)
busy folk buried them side by side
little by little and was by was

all by all and deep by deep
and more by more they dream their sleep
noone and anyone earth by april
wish by spirit and if by yes.

Women and men(both dong and ding)
summer autumn winter spring
reaped their sowing and went their came
sun moon stars rain

The second is a man I discovered accidentally, flipping idly through a library book in a thirteen-year-old angsty haze. He was simple and yet profound. The way we often forget life is:

Winter Trees
(William Carlos Williams)
All the complicated details
of the attiring and
the disattiring are completed!
A liquid moon
moves gently among
the long branches.
Thus having prepared their buds
against a sure winter
the wise trees
stand sleeping in the cold.

The Red Wheelbarrow
(William Carlos Williams)
so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens.

*Poems courtesy of FamousPoetsandPoems.com

Donut touch my cake!

2010-05-28T20:23:00.000+10:00

So I innocently wandered onto Citrus and Candy earlier this evening, thinking to have a bit of a browse and drool before dinner. And that's where I fell victim to her cooking wiles, overcome with the desperate need to bake her Apple 'Donut' Cakes. Dear Lord! If I am to ever commit a crime so violent it leads me to death row, I will be sure to ask for these as my last meal.
The recipe calls for buerre noisette, or brown butter, which gives the cakes an incredible moorishness. When they come out of the oven they're rolled immediately in cinnamon sugar, hence the donut reference. The sugar combined with the beuatifully crisp top is absolutely the most perfect smile-inducing moment. And the apple - well it's a fruit, so that makes them healthy, right?
My mother, who usually complains that my baked goods are too sweet, sheepishly asked for a second one and gobbled it down like a little girl with an ice-cream cone.
I somehow restrained myself to one. Well, I tried to...

I do(n't)

2010-05-27T12:51:00.000+10:00

My grandad brought my nanna her morning cuppa in bed every morning of their married life. It was a ritual that lasted from their honeymoon, right until the day she died.
My mother and father, as much as they yell and scream at each other, always go to bed and chat about their day. They discuss the weather, politics, and their children. I know because I would listen to them at night when I was a kid.
My friend, Kao, is planning her future in tandem with her boyfriend's, even though they've only been together seven months, and even though he's been on the other side of the world for the last five of those. She says she's sure because everything she wants, he is.
I've had love on my mind a bit lately. Between my aunt and uncle's rocky marrriage, friends saying 'I do' for all the wrong reasons, and a dodgy proposal by a friend desperate for an Australian Visa I guess I could be a bit cynical about the whole thing. But I'm not. I'm a romantic at heart, convinced that love - real love, not the stuff in movies - really does exist.
See, the thing is...well, I guess it's that if I don't believe, if I give in to the relentless notion that the heart-exploding, swept-off-my-feet, can't-breath-without-that-person love doesn't exist, then why play the game? And what about life without that comfortable, trackpants-and-no-make-up, cleaning-up-my-vomit, sharing-denture-cream, worn-in love. It's not worth the sacrifice, the energy, or the hurt. It's not worth saying no to a second helping of cake, watching movies I know I'll hate, waxing, shaving, bleaching, or tanning. It's not worth being polite to his obnoxious sister, dirty-minded father, or self-righteous mother. The whole relationship game becomes pointless. And so does everything that goes with it.
When my friend, let's call him Harry because it's suitably British, 'proposed' to me (whilst we were playing scrabble no less) I started thinking about what would make me enter into a fake marriage. How much cash would it take me to say yes? And the answer hit me immediately - none. I just wouldn't do it. It's not a matter of the illegality of the situation (although I'm sure that would have been the next issue), or the complete and utter rediculousness of the idea. It's simply about a promise.
Again, I'm a romatic. But I'm also a traditionalist, and firm believer in honouring your word. When you stand there and pledge forever, that's exactly what you're pledging - forever. Not 'until my visa comes through'. Not 'until I find a better offer'. Not 'until I get sick of you/you get fat'. Forever. For me marriage doesn't have an out, there's no escape clause. And I refuse to enter into it with anyone who believes there is. Because when (if) I do get married it will be forever, good or bad, for better or for worse. The poor sucker is stuck with me (and I with him) until death finally drags us apart.
I don't believe things can't be worked out. I don't believe there's a better option. If you once loved that person enough to promise them forever, then forever it is. And if you're not sure you can hang out til forever then for goodness sake don't get married. Don't do it to hide your sexual persuasion, or to please a pushy parent, or just because all your friends are doing it. And certainly don't do it just to get a visa. I mean, really? There's all sorts of problems with that.
I'm sure I probably sound like an uptight cow, preaching about the values of good old-fashioned Christian love. But I'm not. I'm just a girl who honestly believes that there's a guy out there just waiting to share forever with her. I guess you could say I believe in the Disney moment:

Do you believe in happily ever after?

Of pie and pears

2010-05-22T13:58:00.000+10:00

Last Monday, feeling the need to cook for as many people as possible (I know, who get's that craving?), I invited Miss V over for dinner.
Being fluey, I'd been craving chicken soup for a good week and had bought a lovely chicken for just that purpose. I hadn't really thought much past the chicken though, so I ended up low on ingredients for the soup I had in mind - a Thai-style ginger-filled broth. So I bunged the chicken in a pot, threw in some vegetables and a few seasonings and hoped for the best. Entree done.
Now, my family are huge carnivores. Growing up I remember nights involving meats-other-than-beef were savoured only once a week. I'm not a huge meat-eater. My cravings for roast lamb kind of foil any vegetarianism ideas I've ever had, but I don't need meat every night - once or twice a week usually satisfies the carnivore in me. So in an effort to reduce my family's meat intake, and save myself from beef overload I've hitched us to the Meatless Mondays bandwagon. This meant main for the night was vegetarian, which much excited me. I pulled out my tried and true Spanakopita recipe, made by a real Greek lady on SBS's Food Safari and used by me at least once a month, always to rave reviews.
Being a cold night I decided to put a bit of a twist on the typical Greek salad for the side, and threw some tomatoes, olives, red onion, and baby cucumbers in a a fry-pan to get some heat under them, then tossed through the fetta at the last minute. I'd already marinated the onions in caramelised apple balsamic and that, with the juice from the tomatoes, was enough to make a nice warm dressing. V caught the foodlove and decided to photograph the yum for all to see:

Dessert. So impressed by my efforts! Does that make me sound obnoxious? If dessert was placed in a ratio of effort to tastiness I'd say it would look something like this 1:5000. Or maybe this:

I couldn't find any bowls big enough to sit them how I wanted to, but I still think they looked alright. What exactly are 'they'? Let's call them Spice Poached Pears with Orange and Pistachio Cream. In reality they're just pears poached in red red wine with a chai teabag thrown in for flavour. My mum hates cream so I used 250g of cream cheese and about 5tbsp of icing sugar with 1/3cup of orange juice to create a fake orange cream, and then sprinkled each dollop with a good serving of crushed pistachios. (The cream was so good we had it the next night with a dodgy pizza shop dessert and it improved it no end.) When the pears were done, I added some Nebbiolo Verjus - purchased from here (as was the apple balsamic) - with the pan juices to create a delish little syrup to spoon over the finished dish. Soooo good.
Did I mention while dinner was cooking V taught me guitar? She's giving me lessons which I'm so excited about. I'm going to be a rock star (in my dreams)!

The lurgy

2010-05-19T10:31:00.000+10:00

My flu has finally cleared up and, for the most part, I'm feeling a lot better. Except for the cough. I joked to a friend that I sound like a walrus on heat. So in an effort to avoid becoming Seaworld's latest attraction, I headed back to the doctor. He did the mandatory chest-test, checked my glands, and took a throat swab. Today I have to go back and have a blood test, but he's pretty sure I have Whooping Cough. Whooping Cough - or pertussis - is characterised by uncontrollable coughing fits followed by a high-ptiched "whoop" as you struggle desperately to breathe again. The ever-wise Wikipedia informs me that these fits " can occur on their own or can be triggered by yawning, stretching, laughing, eating or yelling". Excellent. As it's highly contagious and can lead to all sorts of other complications (pneumonia, seizures, encephalopathy), if the bloodwork comes back positive everyone I live with has to be treated for it.
I remember having Croup (as my mother calls it) a few times as a kid. Waking up in the dark, struggling to draw in breath while my chest exploded. My whole body would be wracked by such violent convulsions as I coughed that after a few days I would cry in pain, only adding to the agony as I tried to breathe through the tears. I remember being shuffled into the bathroom, mum cranking the shower as hot as it would go, and sitting with me on the bath mat as I inhaled the steam, trying to heat and clear my airways. There was a time or two I would cough so badly mum and dad would bundle me off to the local hospital where I'd be shuffled into the humidcrib for the night. With sleep out of the question I would sit reading, the nurses bringing me lemonade and lollies, playing board games and cards with me, until dawn broke and the warmth of a new day warmed my lungs and allowed me a small window of respite.
Having been there with me as a child my mother was immediately sure what was wrong. Stubbornly I denied it, knowing full well the hacking pain in my chest and back each time I coughed could only really be one thing. Even with the medication Whooping Cough usually last six weeks. Six weeks of hacking cough and strangled breathing. And six weeks of chest, back, neck, ribs, all aching constantly from the exertion. Needless to say, today I'm feeling a bit sorry for myself. I'm also hoping I haven't infected anyone else. I have no idea where I picked it up, but Whooping Cough is something I wouldn't wish to share with anyone.
Fun note: My cousin suggested I make the best of the next few weeks and contact the BahaMen. Turns out I do a damn fine 'Who Let the Dogs Out'.

Alastair McLeod's nuts

2010-05-16T23:43:00.000+10:00

Tonight is cold. Today was cold. And I’m still a wee bit sick. You’d hardly expect me to jumping around in excitement would you? BUT…Even with a day of ~~little~~ no sunshine and a cough which threatens to dislodge both my lungs, today was my favourite day in a long while. Why, you ask (ok, so you don’t really care. Humour me, yeah).

Today Darling mother and I, after a night of craftiness with the ever-fabulous Wabi and friends, headed out to a local food and arts festival. We tried jams and jellies, dukkahs and dips, and a rather delish ice-cream (because it’s never too cold for dessert). We ran into Wabi there as well and she tagged along with us, laughing at my childish excitement all the while. You see, as much as I love food - and as much as I adore free stuff - my real purpose for traipsing around in the cold was to see my very favourite chef in the whole world. Alastair McLeod just happened to be cooking at the festival today!
Who? Alastair McLeod is an Irish-Australian chef, probably most famous for his boisterous bouts on the Australian version of Ready Steady Cook. He is also head chef at Brett’s Wharf, touted as Brisbane’s best seafood restaurant and the place on top of my “must visit” restaurant list. He has cooked at a number of five-star restaurants around the world, and even worked at the Michelin-rated Da Giovanni in Torino, Italy.
But that’s not why I love him. His use of new and fun ways to cook - like today’s five-minute berry sorbet, made using dry ice - and his strong belief in continued learning, mean his food is always on the cutting-edge of foodie fashion. He’s also big on growing the next generation of top chefs, actively involving himself in apprentice education. AND (and this is the best bit) he’s a champion of supporting local food and local producers, believing that sourcing food locally cuts down travel, creating fresher, better-tasting food while lowering our carbon footprint at the same time.
Mr McLeod is passionate about his food, the way it is prepared, and the process the produce goes through before getting to him. He’s also passionate about educating others and creating a food experience revolving around the simple joy of the food, not the snobbery and arrogance which seems to have become a part of the whole foodie culture. And he’s wickedly funny to boot, telling jokes about horse’s appendages and offering us a taste of his nuts (wink wink, nudge nudge), throughout his cooking demo.

His comrade in the kitchen today, Matt Golinski, is a champion in his own right. Mr Golinski also supports the Slow Food Movement and actively promotes the consumption of in-season fare (he claims to only eat strawberries when they’re in season in his local area—imagine going more than half a year without a strawberry!). Throw in his cheeky wit (kitchen condoms for your cheese-making?), and he was an adequate competitor in today’s cooking war.

Wanna see some photos?

Alastair getting saucy.

Matt talking about perfect potato pillows (aka gnochi)

Dry-ice-assisted sorbet in the making

Doing cheffy things

Serious face during his (impressive) rant about buying local

Mr McLeod's wild Barra with pan-roasted vegetables and caramlised nuts

Deconstructed cheesecake and berry sorbet (YUM!)

Feeling good

2010-05-15T15:11:00.000+10:00

Yesterday something wonderful happened. My lovely friend V texted me to let me know presale tickets for Michael Bublé were opening and wondered if I'd still like to go? YES! was my immediate response and I waited with bated breath all day, crossing all appendages we’d get good seats. It seems, as with Mr Mayer, luck was on our side: Front row. Centre! Suffice to say I’m a very happy girl. Only 273 days to go (not that I’m counting)!

Too cool for school

2010-05-09T14:01:00.000+10:00

Two posts in one day. Hurrah!
This is just a heads up for you to check out an awesome blog. Style Rookie is an incredibly witty, intelligent, and rediculously cool blog all about fashion and fun. And the coolest bit. The writer: fourteen years old!
Dear Tavi, if you ever read my blog, I think you're awesome. Can I be you for a day?

Treats for mum

2010-05-09T13:10:00.000+10:00

Dear Mum,
Today I'd like to thank you for growing me in your belly for nine months, and then going through the agony of childbirth so I could be here. Thanks for feeding me, clothing me, and looking after me when I'm sick. For teaching me to read, write, and dream. Thank you for teaching me manners, punishing me even when I thought you were being unfair, and explaining the difference between organised chaos and mess.
Thank you for dealing with my small dramas and my big catastrophies. For laughing with me, crying for me, and standing silent when I needed to yell at someone. For the Tuppaware, the sheets, and the spare couch. Thank you for keeping secrets, telling white lies, and turning a blind eye sometimes. Thanks for listening, understanding, and explaining. Thank you for allowing me to make mistakes, and for being there to clean up the mess.
Thanks for the music lessons, the netball Saturdays, and the birthday sleepovers. For the Barbies, the overly-large stereo system, and the over-priced party dress. Thank you for taking the time to help me move house, find my direction, and change my mind. Thanks for helping me learn to sew, teaching me to cook, and giving me the skills and recipes I need to keep me going both in the kitchen and in life.
Happy Mother's Day
Dotty

Darling Mum's Light and Fluffy Pikelets
4eggs
4cups SR flour
3cups milk
8tbsp sugar
4tbsp butter, chopped
1.5tbsp golden syrup
1. Whisk eggs until light and fluffy. Add sugar and continue to whisk, adding in butter to combine, followed by the syrup (it will get lumpy, don't worry, the flour and milk will make it all better). Add the flour and milk alternately, one cup at a time, whisking well between additions.
2. Heat an electric fry pan (you can do it stove top but a fry pan seems to cook them more evenly), and brush lightly with butter. Drop large spoonfuls into pan, cooking until the bubbles appear on the top. Flip and cook for a further 60-90secs. Remove, spread with lashing of butter and your favourite topping. Save some for mum.

Spooning

2010-05-09T00:30:00.000+10:00

I'm sick. I have some kind of flu. Usually when I get a flu I wait it out and let it get better on its own, which inevitably leads to a trip to the doctor two weeks in and an endless round of medications and return visits. This time I figured I'd be good and catch it at the start, so off I trot to the doctor expecting a pat on the back for being so health conscious. Instead she tells me I'm not sick enough. Not sick enough! So I trudge home and deal with it by downing panadol at every opportunity and emptying tissue boxes with rapid succession. And still I feel sick and miserable.
The miserableness comes less from being sick, and much more from just being cold. Winter is settling in slowly, and as it does the nights become less and less comfortable. I hate winter. Well, not completely. I love winter clothing - patterned stockings, soft scarves, beautiful leather gloves, and lovely jackets. But the cold wind, the dry air, the dark mornings and early sunsets? Yuck.
For me the worst part is going to bed. I hate having to get into a cold bed and lie, shivering, by myself while it warms up. I love having a warm body to snuggle into, to wake up with warm breath on my shoulder. For me, winter is the time when being single means being alone the most. It's the time when I pine for a someone to steal covers from, to keep me awake with their snoring, and to huddle with under the covers giggling about the silly things that happened in each other's days. Winter is the time when, more than anything, I want this:

Picture ripped from a bedding catalogue via Google Images. Was looking for a fantastic artwork but nobody seems to like spooning as much as me.

Things to celebrate your life

2010-05-05T21:25:00.000+10:00

My friend Wabi (I may have mentioned her once or twice) turned twenty-six today. After a tough year learning to deal with a disease that is stealing her youth, a move back home, and an endless stream of uni assessment she decided she'd rather not celebrate her birthday this year. I totally understand. I wish I could make it all go away so she could enjoy today (and tomorrow, and the next day) without pain, stress, and sadness. In lieu of that, maybe a trip somewhere she can traipse the streets of a foreign town, nibbling on a local treat. Sadly, my pocket is devoid of both fairy dust and gold coins. So instead, a list of things I dreamt of getting her:

A pack of goat's milk Chocolate Donut soaps from Soapopotomus to keep her skin smooth and soft.

A funky jacket to keep her warm through the winter, courtesy of LittleHouses.

A family of Owls to keep her company, and maybe provide some assessment inspiration now and then. These ones are form Brisbane store Nook.

An apple to give to the teacher, or just keep the doctor away. Or even this lovely print from YuliyaArt.

This milk glass candy dish, both to extend her milk glass collection and stash some candy. I found this at Hannas Vintage Stew.

A dvd from Amazon to watch with her on a girly night in.
And last, but certainly not least, a hug and a big Happy Birthday. Because even if I can't give her any of these I can send her happy vibes and hope she has had a lovely day.

Where I want to be right now...

2010-05-03T12:40:00.000+10:00

San Blas, Panama

Photo taken by my friend, Crunchie.

So Frenchy

2010-05-02T10:32:00.000+10:00

Theme nights. I've always found them slightly tacky and just a bit on the ostentatious side. That was, of course, until last weekend. Inspired by a viewing of the incredible Julie &Julia and all the delectable recipes within, my Darling Friends Vodka and Wabi decided a French theme night was needed. And so we set about creating a night of all things French.There was French film - La Vie En Rose - French word use (limited to our very lacking French vocabulary), French music, and French style in the form of stripes and a black beret.
And then there was the food. My God, the food! The lovely V provided the mandatory baguette and cheese (Brie and Camembert of course) which we ate with gusto, leaving naught but crumbs as evidence of its existence.
For dessert Wabi pulled out the. most. amazing. Orange-scented Creme Brulee I have ever eaten:

You should definitely check it out and perhaps make it for yourself sometime. Don't share it, you'll want it all for yourself. Promise.
And me? I turned to the master for the main. Of course if you're not French and you want to cook French food there is only one person to learn from, and that is Julia Child herself. And so I tracked down her famous Boeuf Bourguignon recipe, along with a side of her Choux de Bruxelles Etuves au Buerre (or Brussels Sprouts Braised in Butter for all us non-French speaking hethans). I swear to you, even if you hate Brussels Sprouts you will love Julia's - they're amazing. Seriously. And the boeuf? WOW! I'm not going to say it was easy. It wasn't. There's two separate dishes within this dish (the mushrooms and the onions) that must be cooked while the boeuf is doing it's thang, and it takes three hours to cook - not including prep time. But so worth it. The meat practically melted on our tongues, and the sauce was an absolute treat. With the sprouts and some steamed potatoes I'd willingly say it's now in my top ten meals of all time.
You should make it. I know you'll love it. Look how delish it is:

If only you could smell it, you'd rush out and buy the ingredients today. Tres Magnifique!

Freefalling

2010-05-01T19:50:00.000+10:00

Last night a gentleman took me to heaven. With his hands and mouth he comforted, caressed, and thrilled me for hours. The gentleman was John Mayer. And no, (sadly) I did not sleep with him.
My friend Vodka and I were lucky enough to score front row (!) tickets to his Brisbane Concert. I'm not sure who was more excited, although I would suggest she would be considered more of a die-hard fan - she could guess the song simply by seeing which guitar he picked up! That said by the end of the night I had rekindled my love affair with John (yes, we are on first name basis - he looked at me dammit!), and only wish he was playing again tonight.
Yes, the media have given him a grilling lately, and he may not have the glitz and showiness of say Pink but, putting that aside I would suggest he gives good gig. In fact, the best of gig. His fingers move across the guitar like he is caressing a woman, and (save a tragic drop at the end) Mr Mayer moves around the stage with such ownership of the moment you can't take your eyes from him. And then he sings. Wow. I've spent many an hour trying to come up with the words to aptly describe his voice but, truth to tell, it's impossible. There's a smoothness there that lulls and calms you, and yet an underlying raspiness that's all sex and badness. It's good and evil perfectly combined. It makes it easy to see why the girls love him.
Now of course this magic, while almost totally John-created, also comes in part from his fantastic band. They were brilliant! And I have to give a shoutout to Robbie simply because he looks so very much like one Harold Bishop from Ramsay Street (of Neighbours soap fame, for all you non Aussies and Brits).
We drove home, V and I, thoroughly exhausted and exquisitely content. Best. Night. Ever.
And now, some photo love courtesy of Miss V. He's a bit of a looker.

Button it

2010-04-22T11:25:00.000+10:00

If you're smart (and I'm sure you are) you'll have gathered I have a bit of a thing for Etsy. By bit of a thing, I think we all know I mean a serious obsession. But then can you blame me when people like Beanforest and the Calamity Collective are pumping out badges and magnets with witty, charming, and just plain cool quips? Just check out this bunch:

And that's just the first couple of pages.
I think this one's my favourite, I giggle every time I think about it:

My life's not quite that exciting at the moment, but if it ever was I'd totally wear this badge.

Bit of a show off

2010-04-18T18:03:00.000+10:00

Darling mother and I went to the local show yesterday. Having grown up in small towns, shows to me have always been about the animals - livestock, equestrian events, sheep dog trials - and a lot less about naff games and deep-fried, over-sugared snacks. I believe we spent a total of three hours wandering the animal exhibits and about twenty minutes elsewhere. Those twenty minutes were thoroughly wasted. The three hours, however were not.
I took Darling father's camera and managed to snap a few shots of the more photogenic creatures. I say creatures because the two-legged locals were very much unphotogenic in comparison to their fury friends. But then, it's hard to look as cute as this little fella:

I'm not sure about this haircut or the bib, but maybe I'm just not fashionable enough:

And this little lady had me itching for a packet of Jersey Caramels. Is that wrong of me?:

I've got a crush on you

2010-04-15T10:43:00.000+10:00

I've got a crush on a lifeguard at my local pool. I swim three or four mornings a week, and whenever I catch site of him I push extra hard in an effort to impress him. This morning he held the door open for me. I squeaked out a thankyou and fell that little bit more in love with him.
Then I came home and fell in love all over again, but this time for the Banana bread I baked last night:

I found the recipe on Butter Sugar Flour the other day while drooling over her baking exploits. Luckily my family is a huge fan of bananas, and often buys far too many to eat all at once. Enter "the prefect opportunity to bake banana bread". I changed the flour in this to wholemeal for a little extra healthiness and replaced half the chocolate with walnuts because my mum demands nuts in her banana bread, but I reckon it would be just as tasty, if a little naughtier, with just the chocolate.

Butter Sugar Flour's (BSF) Chocolate Banana Bread
250g Plain Flour
2.5tsp baking powder
big pinch of salt
125g dark or milk chocolate, chopped
1tsp vanilla extract
1cup caster sugar
2 large eggs
4 large, very ripe bananas, mashed (BSF reccomends not using any more than this or it becomes to stodgy. I tend to agree, it is definitely a bread, not a cake, so it's quite dense)
1. Preheat oven to 200C, and grease and line a bar tin.
2. Sift together flower, baking powder, and salt. Stir through choclate.
Mix together eggs, sugar, vanilla, bananas then combine with dry ingredients, being carful not to overmix.
3. Pour into pan and bake for 40mins, until golden brown and skewer inserted comes out clean. Cool on wire rack.

Or, if you're impatient like me, cut a slice and eat in straight away "just to check it's cooked properly".

Peace for the cost of a ring

2010-04-13T17:33:00.000+10:00

So, i'm pretty sure I'm in love with everything in imooi's Papernstitch shop, but this ring is probably the piece I will yearn for whenever I put on a pretty dress next summer:

It's called the 'peace ring' and is made from polished stainless steel, with a rubber/resin inlay. And I love it. Problem is I'm also falling madly for the red 'mosaic ring', direct from their website:

And if someone could buy theses and send them my way I'd consider a trade for my firstborn:

Ok, so I wouldn't really trade a child for jewellry, but I would be your best friend forever.

Monday must haves

2010-04-12T12:51:00.000+10:00

Along with bikes, balloons in any variety are a bit of an obsession of mine, especially ones this pretty:

This is a linen print from Spread the Love's Etsy store. She designs the doodles herself and then prints them on all sorts of different canvases. I'm a little bit in love.
I'm also much loving these stockings from Post:

Even though I hate Twitter, I love birdie motifs. And I think these would be fun to wear out to a club, even if it was just to tease the boys.
And speaking of teasing, Foxglove's postage stamp jewellry has been teasing me for weeks. In fact, I even dreamt about these little darlings last night:

They're resin and sterling silver cuff links made with a Chinese postage stamp from the 1960s. I think these would look super cute with a power suit and a sexy pair of heels. Or maybe as a gift for a special boy...if I had one.
And a gift for the baby who has everything? How about this:

E Ria Designs has an incredible collection of personalised sterling silver, gold, and vintage brass jewellry. They're all very simple pieces, which makes them perfect for any age, boys and girls.

Fanta Pants

2010-04-11T14:42:00.000+10:00

Last night two of my favourite Darling friends likened me to Botticeli's Birth of Venus:

They claimed, in all seriousness, that my hair was luxurious waves of copper-gold, or some such frippery. Now, I can't deny that the resemblance to venus in body is possibly there - Miss Venus certainly wasn't all skin and bones - but, being a redhead, I had difficulty believing her beauty or mine, lies in our shared hair colouring.
That said, I've spent most of the morning trolling sites devoted to redheadedness, feeling an homage to my fire-headed sisters and brothers is deserved.
You see, us redheads are a special breed, a race of our own, if you would believe Jonah from the hilarious Chris Lilley's Summer Heights High:

Doug: How is it ok for you to bully Ben?

Jonah: 'Cause he's a Ranga.

Doug: A what?

Jonah A Ranga sir. 'Cause he's got red hair. Orangutan, that's what we call him.

Doug: And does that make it ok for him to be bullied, because he has red hair?

Jonah Well, people are racist to FOB's...

Leon: To us.

Jonah So, so we can be racist to Rangas.

Doug: But red-heads aren't a race, Jonah.

Leon: But sir, there's heaps of them. They're everywhere.

Taken from wikiquotes

But we're also, it seems, a thing to be sacrificed, feared, and revered. Throughout history people with red hair and green eyes were said to be witches, warewolves or vampires, the Greeks sacrificed us to the gods to create fertile land, while a long line of esteemed leaders in history - including Queen Elizabeth I and the Celtic Queen Boudicca - were redheads.
Botticelli, Modigliani, and their fellow artists throughout the centures have painted their fascination with flame-hair, the colour 'titian' deriving itself from the painter of the same name who often coloured the locks of his images in shades of red and copper.
Literature delights in redhead rogues and burnished beauties also. Lucy Mongommery's Anne of Green Gables bemoans her tresses, stating "you'd find it easier to be bad than good if you had red hair...People who haven't red hair don't know what trouble it is". Mark Twain believed that "while the rest of the species is descended from apes, redheads are descended from cats".
And even facebook can't deny a strange obsession with our kind. There's the Humans Against Redhead Extinction (HARE), The official Hug a Ranga Day page, and even a fella willing to legally change his name to Ranga (apparanlty he went through with it).
Even with all the nicknames - carrot top, ranga, ginga, ginger, fanta pants, firecrotch, gingernut, just to name a few - it seems that everone either wants to know us or wants to be us, and who can blame them when we have the propensity to look this good:

1. Aussie Actress and Borat's wife, Isla Fisher. 2. The ever-handsome actor, Damien Lewis. 3. Prince of Gingers, Prince Harry. 4. Timelessly beautiful actress, Julianne Moore.
Of course, I have to acknowledge the most famous redhead of them all, the one and only, Ronald:

And the Legend who allegedly declared, "once in his life, every man is entitled to fall madly in love with a gorgeous redhead" - Lucille Ball:

And, just in case you still haven't got enough fire in your life, and you think us bloodnuts good enough to eat, you can buy our sauciness in a bottle to slather on all sorts of things.

The flipside of Easter

2010-04-04T14:46:00.000+10:00

Easter has always represented a bit of a mind-fuck (excuse the french) for me. See, easter is all about the birth of new life, specifically Christ dying and rising again. But it's also represented by the birth of spring - eggs, bunnies, spring flowers, etc. The thing is, on my little scrap of the earth, as I'm sure it is for most in the Southern Hemisphere, it's nowhere near Spring right now. And so I find myself - as I do at Christmas with the snow/blinding heat paroxism - finding easter's acoutrement of all-things-spring somewhat ironic. And then I find this little gem and have to take a photo, because apparantly even the mushrooms are getting into the swing of things:

It looks like an egg, no?
I snapped that yesterday, while wandering around my Uncle's farm in the mountains behind the area I spent much of my childhood. I also stumbled across this perfectly framed glimpse of the endless hills ambling along the horizon:

This year easter is a little less ironic for me, and not just because of the mushroom. With the rains we've had over the last few months, and the fires of last spring, these hills are greener than I've ever seen. They've found new life in the last moments of summer and, with that, brought new life to a once dead valley and all its flora, fauna, and peoples. The easter message - from death springs new life and hope - seems to resound around this place, even without spring on the doorstep.

"Candy Mountain Charlie! Candy Mountain!"

2010-04-01T22:50:00.000+10:00

Look what I did:

Ok, so I should say look what Darling Cousin and I did, but still. Look! We spent about 3 hours tonight and a couple nights ago, and produced over 250 (!!) chocolates. Some of them are a little sad looking but most are cute as a button. Oh, and the little chocolate cup ones are filled with caramel and nuts, so they taste like snickers. Yum!! Ah...only problem: I'm now completely over chocolate, and have no idea what to do with them all. Anyone want some?

"Excuse me while I change in front of you"

2010-03-26T21:12:00.000+10:00

There was a store in the centre I worked that displayed my post title on a huge sign out the front for months. They were renovating the store. For the first week I thought it quite witty. By the second week walking past every day it became maddening unfunny, to the point I wanted to knock on the door and tell them to go change somewhere-bloody-else! I don't know why it annoyed me so. Maybe because I hated that job...
Anyway, long-winded way of telling you I'm playing with my blog again. I discovered blogger in draft! So forgive the ever-changing craziness while I redecorate my little plot of webland.

Check this out:

2010-03-25T14:29:00.000+10:00

stunning, gorgeous, amazing. Just incredible right? Now take a closer look:

Yep. That's right my friends. It's made completely from cotton thread, wire, and more than 14,000 tampons, and it's 5m tall. I found it on one of my favourite design blogs, The Mogg Blogg, and just had to share. It's creators (the blog, that is, not the tampondelier), Joy and Janet, scour the design world for the 'fugliest' and craziest design ideas and display them for all the world to see.

Mundane medicine

2010-03-23T15:35:00.000+10:00

Even as a child I would make my bed every day. When all around is chaos, that island of smoothed sheet and plumped pillow can calm me more than almost anything. I think the ultimate thing in making a bed is that it allows at least one task to be completed, even if nothing gets done all day, and that gives my life some small semblance of worth.
I stumbled across this article excerpt on Wide Open Spaces and had to share it, because it's the only way I can describe what making my bed means without sounding insane. Of course, my life is sans the children, husband, and fabulous career, but nonetheless full of small moments of desperation and unsteady waters.

"Making the bed":

The simplest, most satisfying activity I do all day is making my bed. In seven minutes or less, I accomplish something small but worthwhile. I give myself a new beginning.On a morning of chaos, children hollering, misplaced homework, and a husband looking for clean socks, it's the calm in a storm. I love the physical, methodical act of tugging sheets and plumping pillows. I sense my jumbled thoughts being sorted as I exact the length of the blanket along the horizon of the bed. If I am anxious, stretching my arms wide and lifting the sheets high in the air releases some of the unease into the universe along with the eyelashes and the lint. It's organizing in the most gentle of ways.

Life is hard sometimes - hard for everyone differently, but hard. For me, there are intricate blended-family calisthenics, concerns about overcrowding in my kid's school, money worries, children worries, parent worries, and wrinkles in weird places. It can be overwhelming, but I find making the bed is a good first step to getting a handle on it all. Being a mother and a wife, a writer and an actress, is wonderful, really wonderful, but I don't know that I do it right all the time. I make mistakes, feel in search of out-of-reach answers; but I can assemble something that has been dismantled, straighten what has been undone. When I make the bed, I am caring for something important to me and my husband (and sometimes, in the middle of the night, a child.) A made bed is good to come home to. It says to the world and, more important, to you, "I am not unhinged."

It's never to late to make the bed. If it doesn't get done at 7:45 am because I had to start over with the eggs or I slept a little too long, it will still be there later that afternoon. Sometimes I make the bed 15 minutes before I get in it again.
And, inevitably, while i consider if the sheet is on the correct side or pull out a down feather that has poked through the case, there is a moment when it strikes me how lucky I am to have a bed."

The article, published in Real Simple, was written by writer and actress Isabel Gillies. For those of you who loved this passage as much for the writing as the content, you should do as I am and track down her book Happens Every Day.
And in the mean time, make your bed - it'll make you feel good.

Pledging

2010-03-22T10:31:00.000+10:00

My cousin and I both read a lot, but what and how we read is very different. She is devoted to fanfics and much prefers scrolling computerised pages, with the tv on in the background for the occassional break. She reads books as well, but only if she is unable to find the story she's after online first.
I, on the other hand, despise reading online - aside from obsessive blog trolling of course. For me the story is not just the words on the page but the whole experience: the cover art, the feel of the paper, the location it is read in, the history of the writer, the story, and the book itself. Reading online takes so many of these features away, the story becomes cold, sterile, almost hostile in its reading. It removes a level of connectedness that compells me to read.
I think I've mention once or twice that I love old things, and old books are no different, because they link you to the past in an amazing way. Their smell, their feel, their color, even their war wounds excite me and comfort me. For me, finding a book with yellowing pages, scribble marks, chocolate smudges and dog-eared edges is akin to discovering a Burbery trench - in just the right size - for 75% off. Picking up a book like that means not only is the story obviously worthy of reading (and maybe re-reading), the book was loved by the reader (or readers) and then passed on so that I could share in the goodness inside. It's the same reason I love good food, because sharing either is a chance to share with someone something more than an experience, something more akin to an adventure.
To me the outward appearance, the look, feel and smell of the book are just as important to the reading as the words themselves. With online reading you lose all that. Gone is the ability to put a face to the long-suffering victim on the front cover, gone is the mustiness that reminds you Dickens wrote these words some eighty years ago, gone the exquisite touch of thick, smooth pages that warrant the blowing of your monthly budget to live vicariously through an imaginary vixen. And gone the all-important ability to luxuriate in the reading in any location you choose (for me it's usually under the covers with a naughty treat).
Yes, I am aware there are now portable tablets that allow you to store and read hundreds of books, just like an ipod would music. I'm also aware that laptops can be moved from place to place. But this merely solves the problem of location, and perhaps cover-imagery if there is a photo available. And these factors without all the others are not enough to prevent me rueing the dreaded day when printed word is completely usurped by the multitude of media varieties available. For me, even cooking from a recipe book gives me more pleasure than scrolling the endless blogs I love for the perfect afternoon sweetness.
So you'll understand why, after noticing my dear friend Wabi had pledged, that I must do the same. And so I do:

Muffin tops (the good kind)

2010-03-19T15:59:00.000+10:00

I've never been a skinny girl. In fact, for the bulk of my childhood I was larger than I am even now. I was the token fat kid. Suffice to say any dreams of Supermodel stardom were short-lived. During high school I slimmed down a bit, and in my early twenties I was even a size ten for a while - A size I never thought I'd see again.
But, after three almost four months of resting my knee and three months of food overload, I looked in the mirror last week to discover that my muffin tops have muffin tops. And not the yummy, crunchy on the outside soft on the inside, baked treat type either.
So, in an effort to banish both layers of muffin topage from my middle I decided to start swimming with a vegeance, and stopped eating with one. The second part of that plan is the hardest to fulfill, what with my vow of eternal loyalty to chocolate and all. I put my plan into action this week and am already feeling better for the early morning swims and almost-always-good meal choices.
The hardest thing has been finding snacks that are both healthy and delicious, and ones that use the neverending supply of fresh veges Darling mother produces with her incredible green thumb. So when I came across this muffin recipe on the Australian Master Chef website I was chuffed. I know muffins aren't exactly the god of all things healthy, but they are a tasty baked treat that doesn't blow all your good eating out the window like, say KFC chips (I know, so bad...but sooooo good).
I changed the recipe slightly to accomodate my family's need for meat in everything, and also to give it a bit more flavour, and I think the paprika and bacon gives it a lovely smokey flavour that is really satisfying. I also baked mine at 180C instead of 200C because I hate that burnt-mouth taste a lot of muffins have because the flour hasn't been cooked out enough.

Savoury Zuncchini Muffins - Dotty Style
2cup self-raising flour
1cup vegetable stock
2tbsp olive oil
2 eggs, lightly beaten
1/4cup parmesan cheese, grated
1cup tasty cheese, grated
2tbsp chopped chives
1tsp mustard powder
2tsp paprika
2 medium zucchini, grated
1/2-1cup bacon, diced
1. Preheat oven to 180C and line 12-cup muffin tray. Cook off bacon until crispy and cool.
2. Combine Sifted flour, mustard powder, paprika, chives and cheese in large bowl. Add zucchini and bacon and stir well. Combine stock, oil, and eggs in jug and pour into dry ingredients, mixing until just combined.
3. Spoon into muffin tins, filling 3/4 full. Bake for 30mins, or until golden on top.

Oh, and here's what they look like:

Writing things down

2010-03-17T14:49:00.000+10:00

I applied for a job this morning with both excitement and trepidation. A friend of mine told me she'd put in a good word for me with her superiors if I applied for the position, add to that the horrendous amount of skills I have and I think I've got a rather good shot. The problem: it's as Assistant Manager in a retail store and I'm incredibly sick of convincing people to buy things they just don't need. I'll save my consumerism rant for another time but, suffice to say, after ten years in retail I know how much mark up is on products and I also know the shiny leather Gucci bag isn't really $2000 of better quality than the shiny leather unknown-brand bag.
There are countless other reasons I'd rather not go back into retail - standing on your feet all day, working every public holiday, nasty customers, the threat of being stuck in retail forever! Yes, that last point is the one that scares me the most, why do you ask? But when it comes down to it, I'm also excited at the possibilities retail offers me. It means I have a job, but it also means I can move back to Brisbane, have a purpose in my days and save some money. And the money is the most important, because with that I can afford to go back to study, travel, and maybe...just maybe create my own little business on the side.
Besides, the company I'd be working for, kikki.K, is one of my all time favourites. Just look at the cuteness they sell:

Cykle A5 laminated cloth notebook

Oh and of course, it's not all about cute, they do sophistication:

2010 A6 leather diary

and style as well:

Felt A4 wrap notebook

Now all I have to do is get the job. Cross your fingers for me.

Scrumdiddlyumptious

2010-03-15T10:39:00.000+10:00

I've been lazy again. But I've also been away. A Darling Friend turned twenty-four on March 7 and, while this is not such an auspicious birthday, I packed a suitcase and headed south to celebrate with him.
My friend lives in Orange, a medium-sized town about three hours north-west of Sydney. While there I spent countless hours wandering the oh-so-English gardens and parks, snapping photos of all manner of flora and fauna, and eating...eating...eating. Although, with much less of a gap between each bite.
Yes, as with all adventures, much of my time centred around gluttony, the sin for which I'm sure I will eventually be cast into death by heart failure. The area around Orange is prime farmland, filled with cattle, sheep, vinyards, and all manner of delicious foodstuffs. Ironically, Orange is not famous for oranges, rather apples and cherries of which, again ironically, I tried neither while there. I did however buy some local honey (for a belated Christmas gift) and experience a restaurant that you simply must try next time you're in the neighbourhood.
Tonic is situated a half-hour drive from Orange itself, in a town which I'm sure I'll go back to experience sometime in the future. But for now, Tonic. Set in the old Millthorpe picture theatre, the restaurant itself was enough to make me smile (I love old buildings and architecture), but the food: Heaven.
The menu on the website is slightly different to that available on the night, but I'm sure even the fussiest gourmand could appreciate their Vennison with duck liver parfait, or the rediculously delicious amuse bouche of roasted capsicum and tomato soup. It sounds simple but fresh capsicum, basil, tomato, lime...I'm drooling!
Dessert was no less fabulous. My Darling Friend had a raspberry chocolate semi-freddo we all agreed would substitute sex quite nicely, while my mango souffle and french vanilla-bean ice-cream would easily entice me to take a vow of chastity in order to taste just one more bite. If I could offer any advice it would be to skip the complimentary petit fours as they left a dry, dirty taste where once had bean* only sweet delight.

*Still dreaming about that ice-cream...

Nice wheels

2010-03-01T11:39:00.000+10:00

No doubt you've discovered my bike love already. I've got a bit of a thing for big-wheeled, high-seated, old school bicycles especially. So when I found this:

I had to share. The best part: this t-shirt is created by a Pretty Racoon from Canada who makes and silk-screens a bunch of fun and funky printed tees and other things. Love!

Hedonistic delights

2010-02-27T17:16:00.000+10:00

This week has been one of hedonism of the food variety. It was my birthday on Wednesday, so the days have been filled with lunch and dinner dates in honour of the occasion. Tueday night we (Mother and Father Dotty, and I) were invited to the neighbours for dinner and, ever needing a reason to get into the kitchen, I offer to prepare to dessert. Enter Mango and Peach Coconut Pavlova:

YUM! The base was a recipe spied amongst Wabiwabi's ever-so-lovely ponderings, which I prepared with great excitement and shaped into one giant macaroon. And just as she said, it was delectable topped with fresh cream, mangoes and peaches, and a wee bit o'lime just for good measure. It was so good all males present had second desserts, and all ladies sat, as ladies do, and wished they too could be uncouth enough to gobble down two giant helpings of joy.
With Mother and Father Dotty gone exploring the northern-most tropics yesterday, I declared it the perfect time for a night of Italian feasting and fun, inviting some of my very best ladies to dine with me for the evening. And didn't we dine! There was course after course of delisciousness to be had. And still so much left over! Darling Wabi shined with a scrumptious pinenut tart and a crunchy asparagus salad, and the other lovelies brought food treats aplenty to temp all tastebud. And me? Well I racked my brain and, in true Dotty style, decided at the last minute that Italian Food Forever's Chicken Oreganata, and Orrechiette with tomatoes and pecorino would be our fate. It was a tough choice, because every recipe was completely droolworthy. Look:

Does it not make you want to race to the kitchen and cook yourself perfect pasta?
Cut to today and, after cleaning the kitchen from last night's events, I pulled out my green mixing bowl and matching spoon and set to work on a bounty of baked treats, including these:

I discovered the recipe for these brownies years ago on A Spoonfull of Sugar, pilfered the recipe and never returned, only now discovering the blog still exists and is still unbeleiveable fabulous.I took the basic recipe, changed it to suit myself, and created a brownie that not only never fails, but is always greeted with sounds unbecoming of any self-respecting person. They cook in 30 minutes and come out crispy and crunchy on top and gooey and chewy in the middle.

Country Fair Brownies A La Dotty

3/4 cup butter, softened

1 cup sugar (any you have on hand will do, I've tried the lot)

2 eggs

1 tsp vanilla

3/4 flour

1/2 cup cocoa

250g compound chocolate buttons

Beat butter and sugar until well combined. Add eggs and vanilla nd mix well. Sift in flour and cocoa, ensuring the mixture is thick, similar to cookie dough. Break in chocolate buttons and any other additions and stir well. Pour into well-greased ceramic baking dish and bake at 180C for 20mins then turn oven back to 160C until brownie is crisp on top and a few crumbs still stick when tester is inserted.

Ps. I've made this mixture with gluten free flour many times and, not only does it work, I think it tastes better. The gf flour makes it chewier and more fudgey, just make sure to add extra flour if needed to keep the consistency nice and thick. I've also added all sorts of fruit and nuts and it only seems to get better, so feel free to get creative.

Stairway to heaven

2010-02-24T09:20:00.000+10:00

It's been almost three months since my knee surgery now, and I'm finding every day it gets just that little bit stronger. I still have days on end where in aches, and I can't bend fully or put too much pressure on it, but it's getting better slowly.
Problem: For the past two weeks I've been having dreams I'm running downstairs. The horrid thing is I can't yet walk downstairs let alone run. It's driving me nuts! Every night I catch myself halfway down the stairs and subconsciously remind myself to slow down. My bloody knee is taking over my dreams! When I wake I find myself yearning to have more freedom, desperately wanting to spring up the stairs to the backyard, run after Darling Dog, or simply be able to sit on the ground without having to use military precision to stand back up. It's like my own dreams are taunting me. (Okay, probably a bit of paranoia there, but seriously, no more stairs dammit!)

What I like about you

2010-02-21T14:25:00.000+10:00

As you've probably noticed from my new blog layout, I'm quite a fan of the "too much is never enough" style of decorating. This is in constant conflict with my need for all things to be practical and useful. The downfall comes when I see cute figurines and crocheted amigarumi characters and think "being incredibly cute and cuddly is a practical use, yes?" Ah...not really. But sometimes you just have to give yourself over to the fun and fabulous and forget about the fact that it's only going to take up space, or it's going to be impossible to wash/iron/breathe in.
My latest impractical crush is tulle. Layers and layers of it. I've always been a fan of frou-frou frocks and sweet ballerina skirts, and embelishments always look better when they POP! And what pops more than endless layers of tulle swinging from your hips.

1. Deep Teal Dupioni Raw Silk Wrap from Bonzie. It's not tulle, but I had to show you how cute it is.
2. Made to order bridal skirt also from Bonzie's Etsy shop. (She's amazing, check her out.)
3. "Blushing in Pink" gown by Ouma. I'm completely in love with this too.
4. "Formal Affair" ballet style adult tutu by Princessdoodlebeans, who makes these as well.

I'm also a little too in love with blue, in all shades and patterns. When I was seven I convinced my father to paint my room in what Behr paints are currently calling fountain spout (I'd love to know who gets to choose the names). When asked why I chose that colour I shook my head sadly: so that I could be surrounded by the sea all the time, of course! I got sick of that colour after a few months but still love being surrounded by anything that reminds me of the sea. It's my happy place and blue is my happy colour, especially when it comes in the form of cute stuff.

1. "Water and Fire" feather earings by Hayashibeads. She crochets as well, look!
2. Navy vegan wrap boots from Toms. I've been wanting a pair of Tom's for ages, not only are they super funky, they were founded for a cause greater than themselves.
3. Wedding cake love bird toppers and place card set by Little Vale, who also makes stuff like this.

What secret obsessions are you harbouring at the moment?

Frustration

2010-02-18T22:49:00.000+10:00

Comments don't work anymore :0(
I wish I was more computer literate...

House of pretty

2010-02-18T18:44:00.000+10:00

I did it! I finally did it! You may have noticed that my blog has been undergoing some changes lately. I've been trying to make it more 'me' and less blogspot but, with a far lower than average computer IQ, it's taken a while to get there. A long while. Now it's done, and I'm so happy with it. It's very colourful, very overpatterned, and very much like my life in general (lots going on but not much really happening).
I have to thank Wabi for her attempt at helping me. Sadly I suffer from the same affliction as she does, making it impossible for me to settle for anything outside what I have originally imagined, even when a better option comes along. I'm glad I didn't settle because I'm completely in love with it, which I think will make a huge difference. I've always been drawn to pretty things and find that I work better, and create better, when I have a creative, pretty, decorative setting. And I think this covers all these categories just nicely.
Time to get on with the rest of my life...

Hypocritocrisy

2010-02-15T23:14:00.000+10:00

I'm 26 in a bit over a week, and I've been single for nine years (GASP!). Yes, I realise this is a ~~long~~ ...~~very long~~...exceedingly long time (it's like a prison sentence). I'm not saying I haven't had...moments, they just haven't eventuated into anything more. And yes, this lack of lovin' has been, in large part, my own fault. See, the first guy I dated was (for the most part) a bastard - but he was also pretty damn amazing sometimes. Being my first boyfriend, he also won the ability to set the standard for every single guy that would come after him, and he set it mighty high.
And therein lies the problem.
You see, now I have this list of attributes a guy must tick off before he is considered worthy of more of my attention. I'm not saying the whole list has to be checked within the first ten minutes, there's just certain goals to be achieved before moving to the next level. (And I've just compared my lovelife to a video game...) Before I go on, I should probably state that not all things on this list are conscious decisions. In fact, a number are attributes I honestly thought I disliked, until someone pointed out the very opposite to me ( Apparantly I'm into big noses. What's that about?).
I'm rambling.
The thing is, I've realised recently that I need to stop using this list - consciously or not - when considering a guy because, clearly, it's not getting me anywhere. Problem: giving up the list means I'm settling, and I don't want to settle dammit! I'm sure there's a 6'1, bronzed, brown-haired/eyed, buffed, surfer boy out there who can sing, dance, play the guitar, and deal with my mood swings, all while being incredibly understanding, funny, intelligent, kind, sensitive, and honest. And I'm sure he's totally happy to settle for a short, chubby, redhead, with no current job, a dodgy knee, and an uncertain temperement, right?
HA!
I also realised a while ago that maybe beggers really can't be choosers, and if I don't lower my standards just a few inches I may very well be the crazy cat lady I keep joking about becoming. I think I've got a rather bad case of hypocritocrisy.

And yes, I do know that hypocritocrisy isn't a real word. But then this post is all about my own little world isn't it?

Bake me away

2010-02-12T18:02:00.000+10:00

When I was a kid, my brother and I would spend the best part of the weekend running amok outside. We lived in a small country town next to the macinery firm dad ran, and had unhindered access to all manner of tractor, plough, ride-on mower and farm thinga-ma-bob. On Sunday afternoons, after a full day of yabbieing, "driving" tractors, and (ahem) aquiring and selling golfers their own golf balls (we were wicked children), we'd scramble inside, grass-stained and sunburnt. And that's when the real fun would begin.
See, Sunday afternoon was baking afternoon, the time when my mother would roll up her sleeves and restock the cupboard with afternoon tea and lunchbox treats, and we got to help. Now, there's nothing too shocking in that, most kids have helped their mum bake cookies at one time or another. The reason I share this is because it was the start of a life-long love, a love that may just rival that I will have for any man. Ever.
When I was six...and ten...and even fifteen, cooking was a time I spent helping my mother with chores. But it was also a time we could spend learning each other, and teaching each other things. My mother is a smart woman. She understood that bakeing wasn't just about flour, sugar, and butter, it was about learning new skills, creating something yourself, and giving something to others that you can't find in any Oreo or Tim Tam.
The great thing about cooking is that, when it's done purely for the love of it, it is an experience well outside the chore we often make it. We cook because we must eat. But we can also cook to give those who eat our food, a little taste of ourselves. My days of climbing tractors and ripping off golfers may be over, and the timing may be less Sunday afternoon and more whenever the urge kicks in, but the excitement at watching a cake rise, or a mayonaise thicken is still the same. And the feeling of satisfaction I get when someone 'Mmmmm's at the taste of my brownies is pure joy.
I spent almost an hour today gasping and thumbing through the cookbooks in my local department store. It felt like a mere ten minutes. Among the treasures I would gladly have sold a limb for was a book by Monica Trapaga that sums up a large chunk of why I love cooking.

She's Leaving Home is a bunch of Monica's family's favourite recipes, stories, and cooking tips, originally created for her daughter when she left home. Luckily, she has also decided to share it with the rest of the world. The recipes that fill the book are accompanied by family annecdotes and some super sweet illustrations, and seem to swell with the love and fulfillment they surely have provided generations of her family.

Outside of the book, Monica is a seasoned entertainer and a veteran of Australian children's television. For me, this adds to the charm of the book. As I skimmed through the stories and glanced at the pictures I couldn't help but remember sitting a-top a beanbag with a warm anzac, watching Dr Monica and Miss Polly put Jemima Dolly straight to bed.

It's a jungle out there

2010-02-08T13:08:00.000+10:00

Hi there. I've been away for a while. Not anywhere special, just not here. But I have been making new friends, and they'd love to meet you.
Thessalonius Tortoise is a lovely young Greek boy. He loves swimming, hanging ten on the EAC with Nemo and Crush, and just chilling in the sand. He originated from Roman Sock's pattern, but something went a bit awry, and he ended up a little fatter and a wee bit more staionary than her little fellas. But still ever so cute.

And then there's Ermintrude who came about all by herself. She's a sweet little Elephant with a bendy trunk, who loves trumpeting loud and long. She's a big fan of roaming wild in the open plains, and says her idol is none other than the King himself, Babar.

Oh, I almost forgot, she's also good at flying, but only when nobody's watching.

I haven't spent all my time just makeing friends tho, there's also been improvement in my doily ablilities. AND Ta-da!

I took the pattern for this bow tie, ammended it a bit, and turned it into a sweet little clutch. I love the sweet, yellow-flowered lining too and only wish I'd had enough to make a whole bag out of just that.

Card Luck

2010-01-23T11:33:00.000+10:00

More lovin for random objects, this time it's cards. There were a few years recently when I decided not to give cards with every gift I gave. I love sweet cards, so any time a birthday came along I'd spend hours wandering the walls of newsagents, department stores, and little boutiques searching for that perfect card. I'm anal when it comes to gifting (and most other things too) so not only did the card have to say something special, it had to match the theme of the gift and the wrapping I was using. I'd go to immense pains and spend any amount needed to get exactly what I wanted. Sadly I've discovered most others don't share my supreme love of all things paper, so I decided to save card-giving for extra-special birthdays only.
That's all changed, and every gift is now accompanied by a card, large or small, sitting just so. I tried resisiting, but it's ever so hard when people like Yellow Beetle Bug are making things like this:

The sweetness of the drawing and the cheeky wit made me fall in love at first sight. And there's even one that fits my current situation perfectly:

Riding along

2010-01-17T14:44:00.000+10:00

I can't ride a bike. When I was a kid my parents just never got around to taking my training wheels off, and then my bike broke. As you get older the fear of falling sets in, and the idea of balancing precariously on a rail-thin device with two large wheels and no real safety element gets put in the "risks I'm not ready for yet" basket. I've tried once or twice but, as with all things, riding takes many hours of practice to master, so I've just never got there.
Because I've never learnt to ride, bikes have taken on the fantastical, almost dream-like quality in my mind and the idea of biking through the country-side sits alongside a hot-air balloon ride, or sailing around the world in an itty-bity boat. So when I see a picture of a bike as sweet as this one, I have to share it with you:

I'd love to share a bunch of other work from Clare Owen, but you should go check them out yourself and find one that make your heart flutter as much as this does mine.

Punk'd

2010-01-16T18:58:00.000+10:00

I've fallen slightly in love with Steampunk. "Ah...What?" I hear you say. Steampunk, according to the internet's most *cough* reputable source, Wikipedia, is a style derived from science fiction and speculative fiction. It incorporates elements of the steam-power eras, mixing them with fantasy and giving them a mechanical yet whimsical look.
Maybe it's my yearning for all things old, or a homage to my father's mechanical tinkering, but I'm a wee bit obsessed with it. And why not with pretty headpieces like this, snatched from a wedding shoot on Green Wedding Shoes:

There's also a huge collection of handmade steampunk pretties on etsy.com. Look at this from Antige's shop:

And this from buildersstudio's shop:

Spare parts have never looked so sweet!

Dreaming of you...

2010-01-10T19:18:00.000+10:00

Having very little money this year, I've neglected updating my wardrobe as regularly as I'd like. Sadly, all my favourite dresses and skirts are slowly falling apart. So I've been trolling the internet looking for sewing inspiration for when I pull the sewing machine I got for Christmas out of its box. I have a few favourite sites that I return to regularly, dreaming of the day when I can maybe wait excitedly for a box from across the seas.
I'm in love with the sweet-but-sexy, girliness of everything on Posh Girl Vintage. I think if I had been a Varga Girl, this is the kinda thing I would have worn:

And even if I can't be a Varga Girl, I think I'd feel mighty Hollywood in almost anything from Mod Cloth, especially these:

I'm completely in love with that bow skirt, and the pink and brown dress from Posh Girl is being coppied in chocolate with a pale green floral skirt/trim ery soon. And if only I could make my own shoes...

Sorry, I'm not myself today

2010-01-08T19:17:00.000+10:00

Twenty-six. Broke. Living with my parents. Jobless. Single. Lonely. Completely discontent and broken. The last two days I've been on the verge of tears every minute, skulking around the house trying desperately to avoid anyone, to no avail. And when they ask what's wrong, my automated response: "Sorry, I'm just not myself today". Because how do you tell your family that living with them means you've failed?
My life feels a bit like this at the moment:

But small pleasures, right? That was my resolution...