puff n stuff

jack pot

For anyone who doesn't know - I'm a keen op-shopper. I dragged poor Weeze into every charity, community + opportunity shop we spotted between Canberra + Albany, with very little to show for it. My only real roadtrip treasures were a couple of knitted toys (selected from the available hundreds), a fabulous old-man hat, + the best-ever hot-pink hand-knitted arm warmers.*

I'm pleased to report that I finally hit a bit of oppy paydirt today. My haul included:
--some insane 80s earrings

--a perfect-fit pair of cords

--a really pretty summer dress
--a cute blue + white stripey top
--a book on dinosaurs with great illustrations
--a felted mohair jumper, perfect for a couple of crafting projects

Jack pot!

*As an aside I can now confirm that it's scientifically impossible to feel the cold whilst donning a combo of ugg boots + arm-warmers. Yes, I'm all class.

see the sea

Glorious sunshine. I AM friends with the rain, don't get me wrong, but there's so much to be said for the sun. I had my first full day of it since arriving in the Bus + boy, did I bask! Several hours whiled away on the back lawn: stripped down to my undies, reading + developing an unfortunate grass rash. It was sooooo worth it. This afternoon I took another long ramble down the beach, soaking it all up + looking for treasures.

My most recent memory of this beach is from New Year's Eve 2000/01, when Pete + I stopped in on our way down the coast. The mid-summer sea was calm clear sparkling blue + stretched on forever. I was astounded by the debauchery of the backyard party the 50-somethings threw. (Never fear, I know better now!) There was an unforgettable moment when my ma passed me a doobie. The boys went out in the dinghy + came back with a mountain of blue swimmer crabs which we devoured on the balcony.

It's different here now but still beautiful. I've always been amazed by the infinite variety of the sea - glistening like a bright gemstone one day, churning with dark violence the next. This winter beach is plagued by seaweed. Not a little, a helluva lot. The sea heaves dark with it, a seething cauldron of witches' brew. In some spots it's banked up metres high, like strange soft rocks. The birds are loving it + perch in their dozens. The weed is probably teaming with food for them. The mere thought of it gives me a shudder. There are all sorts of living or once-living things littering the drifts along the shoreline. Some I can't even look at, others I can nudge with a foot, until finally I progress to the few I deem safe to poke with one finger.

There's not much in the way of shells but there's an incredible array of sponges, different shapes/textures/colours/sizes, fleshy + alive. I feel guilty about the couple I've collected + will return them once I've had a chance to draw them. Like most sea-things, they seem to lose their magic once they're removed from the beach.

The walk back took me past a beachfront retirement home + some very elderly residents who were also enjoying the sun. One asked if I'd been fishing + when I looked confused she pointed to the plastic bag I was toting my treasures in. I explained that I'd been walking + collecting, + pulled out a lump of old fencepost I'd found to illustrate my point. The lady looked at me, nodding + giggling, + told me I was very lucky. I'm taking her words as wisdom rather than confusion. I can hear the sea now, the gentle thudding thunder + roll of the waves, + I FEEL lucky.

meme me, part three

This blog is experiencing technical difficulties. I can't get my comic meme images (below) to open in a separate window, + hence be read + understood. Makes the whole exercise a bit useless really. I'll revert to Plan A. Stay tuned... again...

sunday self portrait

meme me, part two

After Tones' very sensible suggestion I've taken a couple of bodgy photos of my "10 years ago" comic. Not the best but they'll do. There's a heart-on-sleeve warning with this one. May contain traces of emotion, confession, sex, drugs + rock n roll. I was 22. It was an eventful year. C'mon. Gimme a break.

this week i ave mostly been...

I thought a return to an old format of mine was well warranted. After all, I've gotta find some way of managing this post-a-day malarky + I haven't come up with anything interesting yet! (I may brainstorm new options next week - or steal some? - but for now you'll have to put up with same old same old.) So a summary of my week. I've mostly been...

...smiling at
--last days with Weeze: exploring my new hood; unearthing a Cue dress that fit her perfectly + cost 15 bucks; nearly breaking my ass on my first bike ride in 500 years; taking a walk down Busselton jetty accompanied by three dolphins; watching Thelma + Louise + celebrating our very own roadtrip; waiting for the bus with the Bunbury bogans; waving goodbye :(
--all the things that have arrested my loneliness in its tracks: loads of lovely emails + at least one phonecall every night. THANK YOU!
--my new shadow: Jack. It's nice to have some canine company again. Even if she is ancient, stinky, arthritic company.
--fire: girl make fiiyaaah... arrrr. Getting a bit primal there, sorry. I can now get the pot-belly cranking in approximately five minutes. It makes me happy. There you have it.
--rain: I didn't realise it could rain this much without the whole world being washed away. But I am friends with the rain. I will not be defeated.
--1998: having the time + space to reflect on it.

...eating
--whatever I can be bothered cooking.
--porridge, oh how I love porridge, which is a tad bizarre seeing I never did before this winter.
--a big pot of home-baked chilli, with fiery reds + herbs fresh from the garden.
--an appley strudelly thing, on Gin's suggestion that a bit of baking would make me feel right at home. It worked AND I got to eat strudelly thing. Thanks Gin!

...listening to

--NOT my stupid frickin new iPod, which died approximately six hours into our trip + has been returned after much whining + wrangling + yelling.

--many amazing compilation cds. Thank goodness we had back up! And it was brilliant, thanks guys! Next step is a radio station... + then we take over the world!

--Kate Bush's 'Hounds Of Love'. Genius. I had no idea. Thanks Nico!

--Hot Chip's 'Made In The Dark'. One of my Library Farewell Stash. Electropop magnificence for anyone who's into that kind of thing.

...watching

--waves

--fire

--rain

--the bunnies playing on the back lawn. (Yes, I know they're feral but they're still cute.)

...reading

--'All The Pretty Horses' by Cormac McCarthy

--'Names For Nothingness' by Georgia Blain

--'She Played Elvis', soon-to-be-published memoir of my pal Shady Cosgrove. Congratulations Shady! Sooooo exciting!

Okay. That's me. Bed time.

PS: I just put that emoticon in there to shit you Weeze!

meme me, part one

Ahhh... I have had such a lovely, lazy, luxurious day. I've been trying to get back into a reasonably early routine (read: 8am instead of 10am) but also trying to make friends with the almost-constant-rain in this part of the world. The rain told me to sleep in, so I did. That's my story + I'm sticking to it!

The day began with hot coffee, yummy porridge with banana + birdseed, + a "quick" email check. So many gorgeous friends have been writing to me + I feel incredibly spoilt. (Also a tad guilty - I'm not responding at nearly the rate I need to in order to keep up!) One such friend was Lady Adi, telling me that I'd been memed...

---------------------------------------------
Back to basics comic meme
Draw a ten panel comic about what you were doing ten years ago. Put pen straight to paper - no pencil, no computer, no planning, no starting again if you make a mistake. Simply draw, scan, publish. Tag some people who you'd like to see do the meme too. Oh and if you want to do it even if you haven't been tagged you are most welcome!
---------------------------------------------

How exciting! Interactive blogging! I haven't done anything interactive since my few forays into Illustration Friday. And that was a loooong time ago. I love this idea of reflecting on the past + creating a comic out of it. (Adi's take is brilliant of course. She's such a natural illustrator + has been drawing for as long as I remember. That's a lot of drawing given that we've known each other since preschool!) At first it was a struggle to even think of what I was doing ten years ago. But walking does wonders for the old brainspace + by the time I'd paced the beach for an hour (in momentary sunshine) I was bursting my seams with memories, ideas, enthusiasm. Holy moley it's good to have this time!

My week so far has been devoted to creative play (+ lazing, let's be honest) + I've been messing about with a couple of old projects while I get back in the groove. This one fits the bill perfectly! I was absorbed for hours. It brought up all sorts of stuff - happy, sad, confused, confusing - + then gave me something constructive to do with it. Brilliant!

The drawback? I don't have a scanner, I don't travel with a scanner, there is no scanner at the shack. So you can't see my meme. I'll email Adi next + ask if we can do an old-fashioned mail + scan job. Hopefully my meme will join the likes of Adi, Amber, Adam, Ord + Anthony sometime soonish. In the meantime I'd like to tag Nicole, Tones, Birdsworth, Kristy + anyone else who's interested. Come jump on the meme-wagon!

It might also be fun to drop me a quick comment + tell me something you were doing in 1998. Whaddaya reckon? Anyone out there? I don't bite!

shack graffiti

1. attend to the working surface
2. the work is more important than your thoughts about the work
3. stop when it's time to stop

back on the bus y'all

Okey dokes! I promised Weeze that it would be a post a day once she left, + really, there are no excuses. I'm unemployed + on my own. Allllllll by myseeeeelf... don't wanna be... Sorry, channelling Gin's recent karaoke show-stopper for a moment there! But it's true. Weeze headed home to Canberra yesterday + I am now on my own: a lonesome pine swaying in the breeze; a solo performer in the middle of a lonely stage; a single serve of jam waiting to be spread on a piece of toast. We had a rollicking roadtrip + hopefully I'll have time to flesh out a few more of the highlights at a later date. But for now it's a new adventure! Six weeks of housesitting at a beachside shack located between the Bus (as I'm calling Busselton) + the Boro (as I'm calling Dunsborough).

The shack belongs to longtime family friends, Libby + Martin. It's the maddest junk shop of a home: stuff spilling off every available surface; a broken-down hodge-podge of furniture; scarred lino covered in drifts of dust/sand/fur; doors graffitied by legions of kids + friends + hangers-on; a lifetime of beach holidays rolled into a handful of small rooms. The house has had the same absolute open-door policy for as long as I can remember - all comers welcomed from the heart. I could probably move in for six months without a second glance from L+M. The house reflects them pretty acurately I think. Chaotic but incredibly warm.

Those of you who know my Neat Freak side won't be surprised to hear that the shack thrills + terrifies me in equal measure. My major challenge for the next six weeks will be NOT to don mop + gloves + scrub it from top to bottom. But I've already given the kitchen a good going over... so that's not looking likely. The going-over revealed that 95% of the food L+M generously suggested I help myself to was either growing ten types of mould (fridge) or best eaten sometime last decade (cupboard).

Of course there's lots more to be thrilled about: comfy bed, cranking wood stove + diverse book collection. Lovely companions Jack (ancient cattle dog) + Leon (enormous ginger cat). A stroll through the backyard + over the bike path + onto the beach. What a thing to gaze at while I'm washing the dishes! And, more than anything, time + space for my creative self, for recuperation + reinvigoration + a wee bit of heart-mending. On that note I'm ready to slip into that comfy bed + off to sleep, lulled by the sounds of storms + waves + a crackling fire. How bloody lucky am I!?

sunday self portrait

for weeze

takin that ride to nowhere

Phew! It's been a massive couple of weeks. I've got so much to say but also a minor block to deal with after so much time without writing. Blog Block... sounds painful +/or messy! Wish me luck with the unblocking. I've got me plunger out!

Weeze + I hit the road last Saturday + are into Day Four of our Outrageous Outback Odyssey. My mind's eye had us driving comfortable distances with long hair streaming in the wind + a hip soundtrack belting out in the background. Each evening - at a glamorous hotel with firm-but-not-fat pillows - I hammer out a witty update before we stroll to a stunning-but-surprisingly-affordable restaurant for a spot of tea. Of course reality is slightly different. After fanging it down the Road To Nowhere for six or so hours, the last thing I've felt capable of is witty updates. A couple of glasses of vino, a flick through cable tv + an early night have been waaaaay more appealing. But hey, don't get me wrong, I'm not whinging. I'm unemployed, I'm discovering new places, the world is my oyster. In fact we've just entered Oyster Country!

Tonight finds us in Port Augusta, enjoying the spacious comfort of the Poinsettia Motor Inn. It's spacious because the only option left was a family room encompassing two wings + five beds. The proprietor suggested we might like to bring a couple of fellas home. No, I am not joking. The guidebook tell us that this industrial town is known by South Australians as 'Port-a-Gutter'. The sign on the back of our door tells us that we should use the security chain at all times. Call me a wuss, but trawling the streets for fellas seems a tad unwise given the little we know about the place.

There have been some risks taken so far, let me assure you. Crazy new car-dancing moves, loud car-singing, impromptu waves to passing motorists, a tiny bit of fruit smuggling. We've even considered writing "Weeze + Claire woz ere" in some outback dunnies. There's plenty of scope for crazy behaviour out here in the wild unknown. Let me tell you.

Okay... so... highlights thus far...

--the place names: Widgewa, Curlwaa, Gumly Gumly, Gol Gol, Goolgowi, Oodlawirra, Orraroo.

--the expansive landscapes + huge skies: everything feels enormous + somehow like we're at the very end of the earth, although clearly we're not... yet. I can only imagine how it might feel when we hit the Head of the Bight.

--the differences in the land as we motor across it: dry rolling alpine country around Yass + Wagga; lush farming land surrounding Griffith; the flat flat flat of the Hay Plain; red dirt making its dramatic entrance before we hit Broken Hill; a sense of real live desert beyond the silver city; + finally unxpected green + actual hills (not just occasional hillocks) as we moved back towards the coast. The variations seem infinite!

--the wildlife: plenty of it dead on the side of the road as we'd expected, but also the live stuff - an enormous range of birds, hundreds of feral goats, occasional kangaroos + emus.

--the tumbleweeds: they tumble, they gather in families in the middle of paddocks, they find themselves choralled into fences or sitting in strange (juxta)positions in fields of green vegies, they rock. I wanted to hug one until I discovered that they're highly prickly. I also wanted to take one with us as a mascot but I had to be happy with a couple of photos.

--the soundtrack: it IS hip + we HAVE been belting it out. We have wonderful friends with amazing taste in music, it must be said.

--the company: silly jokes, dance routines, good coffee, bad coffee, great conversation, shared driving, fun fun fun.

Okay... I'm even boring myself with my endless lists. I'll attempt to get some photos up on my Flickr site tonight so there's a pictorial version instead. Tomorrow we head into the Serious Desert - Ceduna + then onto the Nullabor. No such thing as internet out there my friends. So I'll be seeing you on the other side.

Hugs to everyone who finds time for a read + even those who don't!

xxx

for weeze

for weeze

for weeze

little miss basketcase

I’m having a basketcase day. Not in any overblown kinda way. The melodrama ratio is not as high as it could be. The histrionics quotient is under control. I’m not shouting or cursing or crying. But I do feel severely wobbly round the edges + like the drama could kick in if it wanted to.

There are so many emotions swirling round my little brain. I can’t keep track of which ones are important + which are merely distracting me with BS. I’m feeling left out… the Crafties are planning to craft without me (as I encouraged them to); Holl + Ethan are looking for a new flattie (as they need to); Sarah didn’t send me an invitation to her movie night (because she knows I won’t be here). Then I’m craving solitude + some serious downtime. All of a sudden I’m lonely. Or I’m questioning my decisions. Or I’m feeling like throwing a tanty. Boo bloody hoo.

At the bottom of it all is fear, + fear comes with any major change. The desire for things to stay the same locking horns with the desire for new adventures. I want both but of course that’s not possible. A static state isn’t even possible. I could shut myself down in the same position forever + things would simply change around me. Sometimes I can accept that. Sometimes I’m shitscared by it. Fear is a natural by-product, as is excitement, + I have to roll with that. I’ve set the wheels in motion + now I have to let them roll me where they will.

Suddenly the wheels are in motion
And I, I'm ready to sail any ocean
Suddenly I don't need the answers
Cos I I'm ready to take all my chances with you

Who? You? Yes, me. It’s sometimes scary to take my chances with me… but it’s exciting at the same time. And I’m all I’ve got.

[How bloody psychic is Smokey? She sent me the lovely lyrics featured above just as I was writing this. “Song in head today is 'Suddenly' from Xanadu. Apparently Olivia NJ sang this with Cliff Richard.” Thanks mate.]

I’m going to have my basketcase day. I may even go home, skip trivia, grouch around, cry over a hot bath + a glass of red. I may feel slightly shite all week. That’s okay. It happens + it will pass.

for weeze

for weeze

when we go to melbourne
we can host opulent dinner parties for new + old friends

powerful owls

The very talented Miss Birdsworth made this last week to cheer me up. It worked! It's a very special portrait of me, Lizzie + Nicole finding our inner powerful owls at Tumba in February. (No luck with the real thing but there will be more torchlight walks + conversations with brumbies next year I'm sure!)

Thanks Elizabeth - you're a sweetheart!

for weeze

it's in the songs

Phew! I've survived a rocky weekend. Don't get me wrong... Chess was a blast, the Hope Street Markets were inspiring, I loved lunch at Two Good Eggs, King Street was fun, + the company was top-notch. (Thank you everyone.) But I was mildly messy due to ongoing panic over my move + two insomniac nights. Yesterday I hit a wall, picked a fight, had a cry, lost it somewhat. I was pulled back from the brink by The Dude, Holley's burritos + some (more) chocolate. It felt awfully close for a second there though.

I've noticed that lots of peeps have been feeling awfully close... or at the very least mildly messy. I think it's just one of those patches where we have to hold, seek out all available opportunities for hugs, + keep muttering this too will pass to ourselves. Cos of course it will pass!

This morning the radio kept speaking to me as I pondered my approach to this fresh new week.

First the slap...
I don't know why (she's always complaining)
A roll of the dice (she's always complaining)
A twist of the knife (she's always complaining)
Trouble + strife (she's always complaining)
What can I say (she's always complaining)
(The Skybombers)

Then the sympathy...
I guess I'll let it slide by
I wanna take it slowly honey
I'm feeling like a fake
Every move I make
And I don't know why
The world is feeling
Like it's passing me by
I'm fixing to lose it
And I don't know why
(Ben Kweller)

And finally the encouragement...
Sometimes when we fall
We just land in the right place
Cos we're magnetic
And we land in the right place
(Faker)

Bring on that Right Place! I'm ready!

what do i do when lightening strikes me?

Elton had it all wrong when he said that "sorry" seems to be the hardest word. (We've all seen the monumentally positive power of sorry in recent months, after all.) Goodbye is waaaaaay harder. There are good goodbyes + bad goodbyes but, for old softy Claire here, there are rarely easy goodbyes. Predictably - given that there's only four weeks now til my move - my goodbye moments are starting to hit a little harder + faster. I'm feeling it, dammit.

The first big one kicked in the day that I resigned. Carolyn got teary over a celebratory drink that afternoon + of course that set me off. She has since been banned from displaying emotion until at least the farewell party.

I had a weird goodbye moment when I went arse-over-teakettle on the back step + did aforementioned damage to back bottom left rib. The fact that I had just quit my job hit me acutely as I lay winded in the rain, contemplating severe spinal damage. Funny that. The fact that I am about to quit the best ever sharehouse hit me acutely when Holley, Sal + Ethan turned up at the hospital a couple of hours later with love in their hearts + chocolate in their hands . See... good and bad.

Last week I sifted through a large grab-bag of personal emails + plunged head-long into goodbye moments. The weird thing about some of those goodbyes was that they had nothing to do with my move. Relationships change + shift regardless of whether I stay or go (now). I have a strong tendency to hold on but not everyone lets me. There will always be the Ev's of this world who refuse to be held. As my ma says - in one of her very rare pieces of wisdom - there are friends for a reason, friends for a season + friends for life. Last week I farewelled some of those seasonal friends + shed a tear for good times past. It was hard not to when stumbling across the sparkling email repartee of Bez + Mr T. Example: the 5-day a week centrifuge is spinning out of control. today, a mere day, is just one little spokey dokey clinking with joy. Ah Thorny, how I loved you + how I release you!

On the weekend I started packing in earnest. I needed to get some momentum up in order to feel like I'm on top of things, but momentum is a double-edged sword. With it comes the acceleration of change - good and bad. Monsieur Change does not discriminate between the two. I packed up my books - good. I swaddled my pretty glassware - good. I pulled all the posters down off the walls - bad. I stumbled across a box of love letters from he-who-shall-not-be-named - very bad.

I don't know what the moral of this story is... + my small handful of loyal readers know that I do usually lean towards a moral. I guess it's just that dems da breaks. Life is full of the good + the bad, the lightening strikes + the snuffed out candles, the goodbyes + the au revoirs. And there's nothing we can do to change that... regardless of whether we stay or go (now).

for weeze

for weeze

livin + lovin

I had the gorgeous gentle weekend that I needed. Spent Saturday in a creative headspace playing with party plans + invitations. (One of my all-time favourite activities... almost as good as celebrating itself!) I had a ball at the Oxfam trivia fundraiser that night + then spent most of Sunday chilling with Annie, Genevieve + Olive up at the treehouse. The girls have an incredibly warm home, filled with treasures + music + love. And of course they always turn out an amazing feast + have to roll me down their million steps to send me home again.

At some point in the afternoon we got talking about love + marriage + maybe even the baby carriage. Not exactly an unusual topic of conversation, but it was funny cos it tapped straight into a current theme. I love it when ideas/musings/conversations converge + pop out into the open at around the same time. The current ideas/musings/conversations relate to romance + expressions of romantic love. It's an enormous topic + not something I can do much for in one little post... but please humour me while I ramble on for a bit.

First, let me say that romance is a funny theme for a gal who is about as far away from 'in love' as she's ever been. For the first time in living memory I'm alone and comfortable with that. Don't get me wrong: I'm not claiming that I'll be alone +/or comfortable forever. Me + Monsieur Change know each other pretty well by now + I'm not cocky enough to suggest that any state is forever. But for now I'm reveling in this unfamiliar state of comfortable-ness. Single life no longer freaks me out, being childless doesn't regularly send me into panic, + I'm not even that concerned about my nooky drought. I can suddenly live without. What I can't live without is love + friendship + romance. And I think the really stunning realisation of the last six months is that I don't need a partner for that. I live my life surrounded by love. I have the most gorgeous group of friends. I am incredibly lucky.

What does romance have to do with anything? Well that's the stunning bit. I've always been a romantic + I've always aimed that squarely at the love or lust-interest in my life; seeking romance in romantic love + wondering why the results are often disappointing. But the nature of romance is suddenly as clear as fresh new nail polish. It has nothing to do with flashy weddings, expensive gifts or tables for two at opulent restaurant. It has everything to do with imagination, creativity + care.

Going by the dictionary, romance is...
--characterised by imagination and passion
--readily influenced by the imagination
--appealing to the imagination and feelings
--imaginary; purely ideal
--fantastic, extravagant, quixotic; going beyond what is customary or practical

Going by me, romance is...
--a little note from Holley on the kitchen bench
--Weeze on the other end of the phone when I need a cry
--Mewi on the other end of the phone when she needs a cry
--Toni calling me girl
--a take-home pack of Emma's carrot cake
--a shirt that Annie tailor-made for me
--Genevieve's brownies
--Smokey leaving something crazy on my desk
--Carolyn knowing when something's wrong without having to ask
--a hug from Jen or Simon or Steve
--a cuddle with any of the kids
--being jumped on by Nicky
--a homemade necklace in my colours from Bella
--Bec being forever interested in my creative work
--Celeste telling me she loved my visit
--Ethan offering to check my oil before I go away
--Judy sending me an article on crossing the Nullarbor
--coffee with Kristy
--a cheeky email from Sarah or Bez
--a phone date with Adi
--Nats giving it to me straight
--Scott saying something outrageous
--a compliment from Sal
--Shady's enthusiasm
--Jaci's exquisite gift-wrapping
--Birdsworth's comments
--a bunch of scarlet flowers from Amy's garden

Thank you all (+ more) for bringing romance into my life!

for weeze

I somehow managed to lose the back of this one so Weeze might have to fill in the blanks. I think it went something along the lines of...

when we go to melbourne
we can wear wild outfits
+ you know I will!

Pop culture aficiandos may recognise it as Shirley Manson from Garbage. Please don't hold that against me. Crap band. Cool outfit.

it's in the stars

Gemini: Sometimes it's necessary to take a cold hard look at your life + see where there are things that simply do not belong there anymore. This is the right time in your life to do this, shed some dross from your life + lighten the load.

mysteries

Technology remains a mystery to me + that's the way I like it. I feel a deep kinship with children who believe that the television is populated by small + versatile actors. If I apply the same logic, my iPod must be a timeshare holiday house for Joan Armatrading, Patti Smith + the Arcade Fire. They can't possibly all live there at the same time so I'm guessing the changeover happens beneath my very nose in the dead of night. Joan ambles out + Patti lopes on in. That big Arcade Fire organ takes a bit of manoeuvring.

It doesn't matter how many hours of music I load to the thing, the JAF (Joan Armatrading Factor) remains in affect. I admit I do own the best-of, + it is substantial, but surely not enough to turn up in every second shuffle, or even every fifth.

It's my technological mystery of the moment. Is the entire shuffle concept a lie? Is the nature of randomness random enough to throw out the same results continuously? Does it have anything to do with butterflies' wings or Brazil? Let me know if you have any theories. Patti + Joan will act as your guides.

PS: How cool is Arcade Fire's site design? Take a few minutes to check out the illustration if you have a few minutes up your sleeve. Yes... okay... you can use the few minutes you might have spent pondering my mystery...

treasure

i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of a sky;and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday;this is the birth
day of life and of love and wings:and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any--lifted from the no
of all nothing--human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

e. e. cummings

trash-bag

Today feels kinda like a day for returning to the blog, kinda like a day where there is nothing to be said at all. I'll slap some stuff down + see what happens. Let the words decide. Trash or treasure? It could go either way.

For the 0.2% of my people who don't yet know... I broke a rib, nana-style, a week + a half ago. I was racing a basket of washing through the rain + turned impromptu acrobat when I hit some slippery steps, completely knocking the stuffing out of meself in the process. It was a scary exercise + definitely not something I'd endorse. It's also plunged me into a melancholy, I must admit.

I've never been a great invalid. I get all mopey + pathetic + bored. So far the rib incident has been akin to a bad case of laryngitis I had just before P + I broke up. Day One of silence was almost a buzz. I'd never really lost my voice before + it had novelty value. By Day Seven I was ready to scream... although, of course, I couldn't. The novelty of my first broken bone has completely + utterly passed. I'm now oscillating between hammy hypochondria + genuine pain-fest. I keep waiting to snap out of it + feel consistently better. And I guess I will. In six weeks when the fracture has actually healed. For now I can survive with hurting a bit, not being able to walk much, not being able to lift stuff + generally not being able to do exactly what I want to do. I am thankful that it wasn't anything worse. A broken arm, for example, or a crushed skull. But when I'm ouchy + grumpy the tendency is to return to woeful-invalid-girl. Moan moan moan. Get over yourself woeful-invalid-girl!

for weeze

for weeze

for weeze

claire's writing book

my gals

catalogue of claire

I feel like I need a Chaser-style crazy warehouse guy to introduce this bit...

Yes! That's right! I'm emptying the bucket! Or half of it anyway. Keep an eye on the Catalogue of Claire for things that take yer fancy. Photos coming soon. Travel fund donations gratefully accepted as are bids of nought/nothing/nada... see how far it gets you... after all, it could be the best offer I get + it all has to go!

If you're interested in anything contact me or post a comment via the link at the bottom.

furniture etc.
--barbecue - pretty bloody average condition
--couple of mangy pieces of outdoor furniture - ditto condition
--white + yellow teapot cabinet - average condition but very cute (Annie + Genevieve?)
--large wooden dresser with mirror (Nat + Scott)
--two matching drawer units (Nat + Scott)
--solid wood door, painted white - used as a tabletop but could be happily returned to its original role
--two pine drawer units, painted white
--small wooden desk
--large wooden coffee table - surfboard inspired, very cute, but in need of a little TLC

appliances etc.
--microwave
--kettle
--toaster
--colour printer, Dell Photo 924

clothing etc.
--a large selection for any of the more curve-a-licious gals out there - contact me for more info
--two pairs Birkenstocks, size 39 - black clogs + brown sandals
--a range of other shoes, size 8-8 1/2

general miscellanea
--a selection of second-hand fabrics
--a selection of second-hand maps - mostly geological, beautiful, great for display/cards/general crafting purposes
--a selection of xmas decorations - orange fibre wreath, tinsel, assorted gold + silver baubles, gold bead string stuff, all pretty cheap and cheerful

claire's writing book

for weeze

claire's writing book

emptying the bucket

Phew… it’s a long one! I’m on the verge of a revolution (or at the very least a biggish change) and credit goes to Holley’s dad for helping me to articulate it!

Holley’s folks visited for her graduation last year. She’s one of those lucky sods who come from a functional, close-knit family and she clearly adores her mum and dad. I’d met them once before but felt like I knew them largely through her stories of home and growing up. I’m always curious about meeting friends’ parents, and even more so when they’ve created a family that works. There was no disappointment. Dave and Pam are lovely warm people who arrived with a big box of chokkies (great start!) and a willingness to converse for hours. If I had to pick one thing that Holl, Ethan and I all really delight in it would be a good conversation so – needless to say – everyone got along just fine.

Pam is quiet and reflective. She has a gentle, relaxed air about her, quickly settling back and taking it all in. She’s an artist and we spent time talking textiles and looking at my work. Dave is a bundle of boyish energy and makes it very clear where Holl gets her optimism and enthusiasm from! He kept us well entertained over the kitchen table. We soaked up his stories about making a way in the world and consciously choosing the less obvious path.

Dave and Pam have forged a creative life for themselves – working from their small property, selling what they can, living on modest means and with deliberately modest needs. It’s exciting to meet someone who’s walking the talk. As Dave puts it, they’ve chosen to empty the bucket. He wasn’t free to explore a creative life while he grappled with the responsibilities of fulltime work. He could only carry one bucket and it was filled up with the daily grind. There was no time or energy left for anything else. His only option was to empty the bucket and that’s exactly what he did. He gave up most of what he knew in order to make space for what he wanted. The act of emptying the bucket freed space for a more meaningful and satisfying life.

Serious de ja vu kicked in as Dave talked about making the decisions that I’ve discussed with friends one hundred times over but am yet to commit to. Several times Dave’s words mirrored my conversations with Ethan exactly and I had to laugh. It was hard not to feel as though the Universe was stepping in.

It seems like everyone around me is grappling with an overflowing bucket, trying to stuff more and more on top of what is already a crippling case of overload. I know I’m not alone in dealing with the problems that creates. I’ve been working with that bucket my whole adult life: attempting to perfect the contents, polish them to a high shine, rearrange them so they fit better. But the bottom line is that there is just too much in there. My life is crammed with superfluous stuff. I’m a hoarder, a collector, a magpie. I accrue mental and physical baggage everywhere I go and find it almost impossible to let go. I fear a future where I’m smothered by the lot of it. A potentially beautiful life buried under a mountain of meaningless accumulations.

Well I say NO! 2008 is my year of emptying the bucket. I’ve made the decision to leave Wollongong mid-year and take time out for myself. I want to pare my life down to something manageable. For a start I plan to get rid of at least 50% of my possessions before I head off. I’m daunted, I’m overwhelmed, I’m a little freaked to be honest, but here’s where YOU CAN HELP!

Check out my growing list of possessions to be pared [...COMING SOON...]. Fancy anything? Is there a nice nook at your place that could do with some sprucing? Always coveted my teapot collection? Now’s your chance fellas! Get in with your offers (a 50 cent donation to the Travel Fund, a willingness to collect me washing machine) and help me shed my stuff!

Over the next couple of months I’ll be extending the list, adding photos, and shipping things off to the highest/most deserving bidder. The whole process will probably culminate with a giant garage sale and birthday celebration in June. You're all invited!

blog blah blah blah

For me, the hardest part about writing is coming back to it after time away. There’s so much that I want to say, but somehow the overwhelming volume of it strikes me dumb. When I attempt to record something – however small or straightforward – I feel like I’m writing in Russian or Rubbish. My typing fingers clink + clank + don’t do justice to the white noise of my brain, or perhaps the white noise is muddling my fingers + not the other way around!? My head reels + my fingers reflect the reeling. When it comes down to it there's nothing to do but start!

for weeze

claire's writing book

eres un tiquis miquis

My obsessive-compulsive nature befuddles even me most of the time. It’s funny to have a part of my personality that I can’t make much rational sense of. But what can I say? Sometimes… thankfully less + less as I come to know myself better… my need for order steps in as my major driving force. Suddenly she’s the biggest, ugliest passenger in the late-model, fuel-guzzling car that is my brain… + she’s leapt into the front seat to take control of the wheel!

Case in point – I’ve got a pretty busy day lined up. I have to fit in a couple of hours work in the Gong (boo) before heading up to Sydney to catch an old uni friend for a drink + then see Sufjan Stevens with Mewi (yay). I’ve had a mini sleep-in + enjoyed a slowish start to the day, whilst being conscious that there’s lots to do + not that much time in which to do it. In the midst of making my morning cuppa I was hit by the sudden compulsive ‘need’ to clean the dishwasher. I could put up with its crusty residue not one second longer, in spite of having endured it for six months so far. So all deadlines + constraints are thrown to one side while I take time out to scrub the dishwasher. What a dork!

The happy side of this story is that – believe it or not – there are lots of other people out there battling the dark side + I know I’m not alone. I also know I’m on the sane end of OCD + lucky enough not to be a hand-washer or oven-checker. Plenty of us contend with a minor anal-retentive streak in some dimension of our lives, + learn to live with that in a way that doesn’t impair our existences too badly. Other people are completely controlled by a bigger, scarier streak. I suspect it’s a pretty fine line between the two, but I’m happy to be on my side of the line.

It’s a bit rough to be subjecting y’all to stories about anal streaks this early in the morning – sorry! But it’s also funny to think about how the word ‘anal’ has entered into contemporary vernacular + all the meanings this word has taken on. I have fond memories of discussing retentive tendencies with a group of girlfriends, somewhere quite public, + one of them calling out “Anal? I love anal!” to much general hilarity. You gotta watch those words!

I had to laugh when Bec sent me her latest Spanish catchphrase yesterday, translated as you are anal. Yes I am! But hey, I’m learning to deal. Now! Back to the day’s schedule. Better just check that I locked the door behind me ;)

golden

i'm living my life like it's golden
living my life like it's golden
golden

i'm taking my freedom
pulling it off the shelf
puttin' it on my chain
wearing it 'round my neck
i'm taking my freedom
puttin' it in my car
wherever i choose to go
it will take me far

i'm taking my own freedom
puttin' it in my song
singing loud and strong
proving all day long
i'm takin' my freedom
puttin' it in my stroll
i'll be hop-steppin' y'all
lettin' the joy unfold

i'm holdin' on to my freedom
can't take it from me
i was born into it, it comes naturally
i'm strumming my own freedom
playing the god in me
representing his glory
hope he's proud of me...

i'm living my life like it's golden
living my life like it's golden
golden

‘golden’, Jill Scott

my friend said stick to your guns, but instead I just got stuck

Forgive me for coming at this post with a little sadness of tone, yet another morsel of moroseness after such a long break. While I’m at it I should probably also apologise for this annoying alliteration habit of mine. Sorries on all fronts. You have once again been warned.

I’m sitting at my kitchen table, enjoying the green formica on the most perfect of Saturday evenings, the sun only just starting to sink on a cloudless sky. Doing my usual end-of-year thang… thinking bout the twelve months that have passed + what the next twelve might bring. Surveying the mountain of thoughts, feelings, symbols that spring up with this simple change from one day to another. I’m not attempting to explain the personal significance that the new year holds for me – I had a go at that last year – more just noting that it’s upon me again.

I’m not feeling the energy I’d hoped to at this point in my brief summer break. In truth, I was hoping for some big bright beam to shine down + make everything new again. The hand of the universe, the choir of angels, all laaaaaaaaa + light. Surprise surprise, it hasn’t happened. Instead I’m feeling mildly exhausted, as I suspect many do at this point in the so-called season of good cheer. And a little blue tonight, although I admit that three rotations of Radiohead’s newy, In Rainbows, isn’t helping. Hey I’m a true believer in the occasional wallow, + man this album is made for it… sublime + sexy + sad. Add a glass of wine + I’m away.

My chrimbo was a pretty good one + it feels wrong to complain. Home-life continued to shine, friends reached out with greetings + affection, material benefits were bestowed through some lovely thoughtful presents, family time was spent. But none of it has given me the lift I wanted. Probably because that lift can only come from inside. (Der Clairey, do you have to relearn this lesson every time?! Apparently so.) I’m low on self-love right now. That’s the crux of it + that’s what the lift is going to take. At this point I have no means of tapping into it but I’m still hopeful… not only of it arriving, all beam-like, but in fact of it already being there + simply being buried under some shitty 2007 debris.

Without descending into a self-help-esque diatribe, I do know what the lift needs to look like. It needs a kick-in-the-arse jumpstart which at this point will probably involve my…

--getting drunk
--getting more sunburnt than I already am
--watching a couple of trashy movies + crying, a lot, perhaps even stretching to sobbing + exhausting a large pile of tissues. I watched Sixteen Candles + The Notebook last night… seriously, that’s what it’s gonna take
--finding someone to give me a good hug
--getting drunk again
--dancing all night or at the very least until my feet hurt
--cutting myself some slack + not expecting perfection
--making a positive return to work in spite of hating the place right now
--faking a decent attitude until it builds its own momentum
--working my small piece of grit, aka The Plan (stay tuned), until it’s transformed into some kinda pearl

These are simple starting points + more will come. The main jist is a therapeutic wallow with a strict 24 hour expiry date, followed by the banishing of all negativity. 2008 is my frickin year. It’s the year of shovelling myself out of the shite + getting well + truly unstuck. It’s the year when I rediscover my guns + remind myself that they’re big + they’re fully loaded.

PS: No credit given to my limited creative prowess re: the title of this post please – love you M. Ward, you’re sheer genius.

PPS: This is my one-hundredth post... wowsers... fancy that!

gobstopper

I learn something new most days. It’s the nature of life in general, but also of life under the same roof as Expert Ethan. Every conversation involves imparting the wonders of a scientific or mechanical process; exploring something gross with boyish curiosity; or sharing yet another of his amazing colloquialisms. The latter seem to be inexhaustible. Supply of fresh ideas tapers off from time to time + he falls back on the standards… I could eat the arse out of a low-flying duck, hard as a honeymooner’s proverbial et al. But just when I think they’re running dry as a dead dingo’s donger, a new one finds its way to the fore. Last night it was something along the lines of “That heap of crap won’t make 90 without revving its ring out”. Ah… Ethan… life would be so dry + colourless without you.

Something new was thrown at me from an unexpected direction this morning. I walked into the tearoom + caught a group of colleagues mid-conversation… “she was wearing a short skirt +, honest to goodness, you could see her breakfast!” There was an audible gasp from the assembled crowd. Someone may even have cried out “No?!”

I had to naively refer the expression to Jen, Resident Super-Librarian, + yes, breakfast signifies the obvious. Neither the Oxford English Dictionary nor the Urban Dictionary can confirm this particular permutation but I’m going with it. More personality than downstairs, less offensive than anything you’ll find in Roger’s Profanosaurus. Good stuff.