i made this

During the sick + sorry space of the weekend I cast an eyeball over my endless To Do List. I can't help wishing that it wasn't occupied by quite so many unfinished projects. It's one thing to have an abundance of ideas. It's quite another to be surrounded by endless clutter. Unrealised dreams made manifest.

I am still trying to create a clear workspace in my newly-spare room. And I still can't wade through the bits + bobs. The Special Thing for a (now not so) recent Mr + Mrs. The cushions for a friend who's birthday is in December, + no, I am not working that far in advance. The tabletop waiting to be painted. The clothes waiting to be mended. I get so bored + despondent when I think about it all. I thought it might be novel to think about things I have made this year, rather than the stuff I nearly made, or wanted to make...


--three cushions for my new workroom
--hundreds of yummy meals
--lots of adjustments to op shop finds, some glamorous, many completely unsuccessful
--Sally's lemon + yoghurt birthday cake, which sank in the middle but tasted good
--a crazy lion softie for Olive
--a Flickr site
--a blog
--dozens of drawings + doodles

--several notebooks worth of word-drawings + word-doodles

--half an exhibition worth of art work
--a handful of birthday cards (although generally sadly neglected this year)
--some jewellery
--loads of lovely new friends
--a comfortable little cubicle at work that reflects me (it took a year + a half, but I got there in the end)
--a heap of crazy dance moves
--endless party decos, paper flowers, lanterns, flags
--some grafitti scribbles (blame Bez)

--another garden

Yep! I feel so much better when I look at it like that!

illustration friday: phobia

riding a giant snail out of the sea of fear + uncertainty

mixed media on found paper

Inspired by Nina's snails.

(I didn't actually get this up in time for IF. Beware the back-dater!)

miserable...

I have to be the world's worst invalid. I've always been pathetic when sick, + this is coupled with a few other unfortunate truths:

a) I am a hypochondriac, I confess
b) I have no patience for anyone else's maladies

So basically I have a desire to be mollycoddled through even the most minor of afflictions, + no ability to do the same for anyone else. I'm not even much schtick at caring for myself. This scenario doesn't work when I'm sick + on my own. No one to stroke my head + feel sorry for me; no one to send out for fresh supplies of ginger ale; no one to administer cups of tea + soothing words. Only me + my own bad company.

This is where I've been for the latter part of the week... in my own bad company, with my own nasty throat infection. Yesterday I slept for about 20 of my allocated 24 hours, + spent at least one of the remaining sitting in the bath - aching, sweating, crying. It's lucky that wishes don't come true in these situations, because I wish myself dead with most minor headaches.

Of course it's the weekend now, + that has to have some kind of positive impact. I'm about to drag my weary bones out for my own ginger ale + Deadwood therapy. Wish me luck + a shift in the malaise.

snails within snails on top of snails

this week i ave mostly been...

...eating
--strawberry trifle... mmm...
--a delicious pear + raspberry smoothie. Best homemade-weekend-treat brekky ever.
--pea, potato + watercress salad with a mustardy dressing
--my usual two milky coffees, in the face of a vague desire to cut back to one
--the last of the apples, with mango season on its way, hooray
--fresh licorice

...smiling at
--my sister. A beautiful, intelligent person with so much integrity + strength. I love you Weeze.

--all my new opportunities for baby cuddles. Manu, Luiz + Pasquale, Olive - what blessed bundles of perfection.

--at least twelve pelicans, wending their way above me on my drive down to Gerringong yesterday, like graceful dinosaurs of the air. The pelican joy continues. I am so digging that drive too, with the rolling green hills + the coral trees flaming into bud. Scarlet highlights against rain-fresh greens + then the blues of sea + sky. And when I get to Gerringong Ruth, Willy, Nina + the twins are waiting on a sunny porch for me. An afternoon digging tunnels in the sand, singing songs to the ocean, cuddling babies + talking with Ruth. Nina gave me an amazing drawing of snails within snails on top of snails. Life doesn't get much better.

--my ongoing show of adventurous spirit. I went to a ball on Friday. Who woulda thought it! And it was kinda fun... in a daggy, drunken kinda way.

--lunch with Gin, who continues to be a gorgeous, effervescent presence in my life. It's impossible not to smile around you honey. Thank you.

--my idiot love life

...listening to
--Patti Smith. Trying to get in touch with my 'I am woman hear me roar' streak. Not working.
--Teenage Fanclub. Trying not to get in touch with my sad-ass, romantic-but-lonely streak. Failing miserably.
--A crazy Tim Buckley album, Starsailor, which I am struggling to fathom but will persist with. The beauty of Song to the Siren demands it.

...watching
--very little. Back into the telly-free zone which is a good thing. It means my life is full of other stuff. I will be breaking out tonight with a sew-a-thon in front of Grey's Anatomy. Ah... Monday night veg out...

illustration friday: farm

sometimes we live under a prussian blue moon

mixed media on found paper

sometimes we live under a prussian blue moon

I arrived at work on Monday (after a lovely long weekend) to find my desk laden with anonymous gifts. Four envelope-yellow book-covers + a beautiful postcard of a raven print. Who could it have been but Smokey?! We were supposed to catch up at the Ox on Friday night, but she never made it. She mentioned having one of those teary, at-home nights + blamed the moon. Actually, that might explain Friday night more broadly, as it was a funny one for me too. After a gorgeous day of op-shopping antics, our night never quite got off the ground.

But it was last night that was nearly a teary one for me. Various factors – having worked a twelve hour day; getting stung with a parking ticket (st-rike two!); getting a call from Gemini who declined another invitation (st-rike two!); having the shits with P (st-rike ten thooousand!); + yes, my period is on its way. I resisted the urge to weep + turned to Smokey's gifts instead. Found that beautiful balance between moping + productivity with some melancholic creativity. I spent four hours scribbling away to a soundtrack of Ryan Adams, Bernard Fanning + Neil Young. Those sad country lads met my need for self-pity – always best expressed via a loud sing-along + occasional moist eyes. And the envelope-yellow book-covers coaxed me out of myself + onto paper. I wasn’t entirely thrilled with the end result, but that wasn’t the point. A night which could have been filled with morose navel-gazing turned into something far more useful... + fun!

Thanks Smokey.

atomic museum

EXHIBIT #2

mask

she wears a mask – machine translations
here comes another ballroom story
those low dead dice the recent past
sweet innocence has lost her glory
in modern living so she wears a mask
she wears a mask

she's up until four in the morning
swimming in a cocktail glass
it's cold when blue lets the dawn in
it's winter when she wears her mask
she wears a mask

if that's a look on her face
then no we're never ever going to find out
if it's a five or an ace
that takes her out

on saturday nights when it's raining
she dresses up and drives too fast
there is no use or complaining
she's singing and she wears a mask
she wears a mask

crikey! idiocy unimpeded

I can't resist adding this one to the list:

--The Lameass dudes halting in their tracks at news of Steve-o's demise. Could it be true? Could we seriously be so lucky?

One of the crew is reportedly reconsidering his approach to wildlife. Did he do this after... wait for it... taunting a bunch of sharks and then presenting himself as bait? (According to El Heraldo, he... "pierced a hole through his cheek with a fishing hook that was attached to fishing line and a rod and then, with blood dripping from his face, jumped into the ocean.") NO! It wasn't this act of masculine daredevilry that took our Lameass friend one step too far. It was the impact of Irwin's untimely death at nature's hand. Steve is helping us all from beyond the grave.

quintessentially australian ways to die

I don't want to buy into the Steve Irwin malarky, because I don't give that much of a shit. It's sad that someone has died (in quite surprising circumstances it must be said) + Steve-o probably did at least as many good as completely stupid things. Beyond that, I have to confess that I didn't know the man personally.

What does fascinate + in many respects amuse me is the cult of public grief that springs up around these kinds of events. People who may barely have mourned their own nana's passing are suddenly hysterical. And all manner of morons are leaping up + down with something to say.

Some favourites:
--Naomi Robson's addition to her proven track-record of complete idiocy. Good gawd I loathe that woman.
--Russ + Germaine stepping forward to offer the voice of Australia - one right, one left but both equally ill-considered + sensational.
--And our very own leader once again adding his tokenistic + silly comments to the milieu, saying that Irwin's death occurred in "quintessentially Australian circumstances". Keep yer lid on, Johnny-boy! I mean, seriously, we have four cases of death by stingray in recorded Australian history. Compare that to 47,512 of cardiovascular disease in 2004 alone + you may agree that heart disease is the quintessential Aussie method of death. Next comes cancer. No mention of crocs, let alone stingrays. So how, exactly, this qualifies as quintessential is a mystery to me.

I've entertained myself for the last few days, thinking of other means of death that might qualify as quintessentially Australian. Choking on a ring-pull from a beer can maybe. Being pummelled to death by a boxing kangaroo, or suffocated by a cuddly koala-beer. Insert the cliche of your choice here.

We visited Mewi, Steve + Manu in the Mountains yesterday (more on that later) + Steve confessed to an irrational fear of pressure-cookers. He was telling us that when he encountered them in China he would cross to the other side of the road in order to avoid them. I had a sudden thought that death by exploding pressure-cooker might be a quintessentially Chinese way to die... ?

If you have any thoughts on the quintessence of death - in any of its guises - please feel free to add your comments!

mash...

Still residing with one foot in pancake territory, as evidenced by a few clues…

a) watched the crappiest of movies on telly + howled like a baby. I cried at the pure sap content. I cried at the injustice of it all. I cried cos I’m not living in Italy, renovating an ancient palazza, writing pontiferous memoirs, + embracing swarthy lovers. I cried cos I don’t look like Diane Lane when I get my kit off. And mostly I cried about watching ‘Under the Tuscan Bum’ all on my lonesome on a Sunday night.

b) ate an entire cherry ripe before 10am.

c) agreed to meet P for coffee in the midst of a P Ban. The whole “ban” concept isn’t working out too well. I don’t think I’ve ever made it past eight weeks, + this will only be in the vicinity of three. My prediction is a half-hour, caffeine-fuelled, head-butting session… but who can rightly say? I just hope that one day I’m brave enough to let the head-butting habit go. There must come a time when the void is better than the same old rituals of failed communication.

But there’s also plenty of good stuff afoot… apologies for the feet theme...

a) I had a lovely weekend with me ma. We went + saw The Audreys at the Heritage Hotel in Bulli, a most civilised venue. It would have been nice if the drunken loud-mouths who talked through the entire show had kept that in mind. But that was a minor glitch in an otherwise perfect evening. I’m still digging those down-home-country Adelaidians, even if they do come off a tad too slick at times. There’s a big part of my heart devoted to bluegrass + a night out where I can yee-haw. I'm willing to admit that their version of Jolene gives me the tingles. Yesterday we walked the Sea Cliff Bridge + had a lesiurely brekky in Stanwell Park. Then we checked out Holley + Sal's soccer semi-final. Unfortunately the Uni Hippos were not triumphant... but... you know what...? I went + watched SPORT + I yelled from the sidelines + I followed what was going on (sorta) + I enjoyed it. Woo hoo!

b) Emma rang last night + we went for a coupla drinks at the Ox. Her call was slightly out of the blue... or was that just how my muddle-head felt on awakening from its nana-nap? I had new-friend-nerves, especially given that we're both a bit shy, but it was great. A summery evening in a beer garden. Cold Coopers. Good conversation. We yakked away, covering everything from her upcoming nuptials to sex-tourism. (Don't ask me to map out the tangents. You've gotta love where a discussion weaves + wends!)

c) I have the loveliest of weeks ahead of me too. Time with Ruth on Wednesday, Weeze arriving to stay, dinner with the uni gang on Thursday, a day off with Mr T + Bez on Friday, uncharted expeditions to be experienced.

It's all good! Pancakes begone!

gobstopper

A meeting moment from yesterday. Tuning in from sleepy time to:
And obviously we are using digital object identifiers in this case.
I mean, obviously. I love working in a library.