Rummage

N: Nurse, Nose, Neck, Nails

Sounds are big in this house at the moment both single sounds and blends (sh, ch, th). I'd like to run with the idea but the vast, vast majority of sound cards and books out there do my head in. Luckily, Roy came to the rescue with his lurid, pop-art spin on first sounds and I'm back in the game. Thank you Mr Lichtenstein.

I'm learning to embrace my inner icicle here in Canberra with the temperatures plummeting and I am taking a close personal interest in thermal underwear and the like. Does anyone know where one can find decent winter smalls for both adults and kids? Socks that will withstand the pressures of frost? Wellingtons without inane pictures of Dora the Explorer? Ooh, and adult wellingtons too, I fancy striding about in a pair of the Kate Moss-at-Glastonbury variety, (if only they did not come up to my armpits). Your sage advice is always greatly appreciated.
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Pieces of Me

Staying with the theme of blurry pictures here. Generally speaking, I don't like to post photos of the small people but this one just makes me happy and I thought it might make you feel that way too. Eighteen months I've had with her so far and it's a beautiful thing, each and every day.

PS I like this and this courtesy of Olivelse, thought you might too.

x Be good.

Trippen

A long time ago, the Frenchman and I were loitering around the Marais district doing some general mooching when I came to the window of a small well-stocked shop and came to a braking and immediate halt. Amongst other things the shop sold shoes, and what shoes!

A vegan's nightmare the leatherwork was exquisitely well-tooled from the thicker hides to the finest calfskin (eek!) and I bloody loved it, all of it, and I wasn't leaving until I could take a pair home with me. So I did, despite the fact that they cost me nearly a third of my savings and possibly a vital organ or two. Do I regret it? No sir! Ten good years these boots have had and whilst they are now a bit grey about the gills I love them so. To see what they looked like ten years ago, go here for an infinitely better photo and a more slender ankle (I'm hoping it's just the effect of the stripes)!

x Have a gorgeous weekend.

Fabric As Narrative Device

Once upon a time, long, long, ago when dragons roamed the land and hobgoblins nestled under bridges there lived four bonny sisters with cheeks of amber rose.

These four led a calm industrious life of craft, cooking and tending to the wild creatures of the forest.
The three eldest were of a gentle and patient nature,  whilst the fourth was willful and headstrong. Sharp was her tongue and impatient her hand as she wove her tapestry.

One fine Spring morning as the sisters sat at their handiwork they observed the dance of a pair of turtledoves out their window. As the courtship proceeded they wove the moment into their tapestry and an expectant hush stilled the chatter of the forest.

The youngest sister with a flounce of irritation  left her place at the table and went out into the cool Spring morning. As she strode through the forest she was met by a dashing fellow in linen breeches and shining naval cap who clasped her to his bosom and claimed her for his very own.

So it was, dear reader, that the three eldest sisters waved goodbye to the younger as she rode off into the distance. And as the sisters wiped their tears and the calm of the craftroom descended once more, the question remains unanswered. Whose fate would you choose for your own? The willful fourth or the eldest three in their little home in the woods.

I Shot the Serif

There was a time when I thought that people could be divided into two groups: the serifs and the sans. A bit like the Beatles/Rolling Stones divide, I saw this as an immutable law - fixed and unwavering. For myself, I was sans-serif through and through. Curlicues are for nancy-boys, thought I.
I still lean towards  all things sans-serif - it's just that little bit more rock and roll, but somewhere along the line the black and white faded to grey and suddenly I'm mixing my helveticas with my couriers. These are a sample of my flour bag collection, go here for more typeface diatribe.

x to you

Summer - I bid You Adieu

We've been through this before you and I. The break-up and then bittersweet reunion - the briefest of moments in the sun..but not this time. This time, Summer, it's curtains.

Farewell, my favourite summer dress.

Summer, it was great while it lasted but it is Autumn's turn to have it's wicked way.

The Change

The Solstice brings with it the cool evenings and the falling leaves. We are snuggling up under the covers here.

Hope you are well and happy.
x

PS Thanks to Abby for our Autumn doll.

It's All a Bit of a Blur

That's right, it's not you it's me. Actually, I'm blaming the camera. Did I tell you that I lost the tripod somewhere in the move? Most mysterious. But then something always seems to disappear in the process of moving house for me. Why can't it be something like the meat thermometer or a turkey baster? Vital items when one is in the business of haute cuisine but I am flat out trying to get scrambled eggs on the table. Tripods are another matter entirely. I still like the photo so please just indulge me.

The Art of (De)Construction

I love listening to the wireless. During the early days as a contestant in Extreme Breastfeeding, Radio National was my only window into the world outside. For me, the claustrophobic atmosphere that surrounds a newborn's first few months was lessened by the radio waves. 

I still listen when possible which is typically on the school run. The other day one of my favourite programs 'By Design' with Alan Saunders involved a discussion with some of the world's leading architects. I can't really remember what the discussion was about but there was a general agreement that one of the best stepping stones in developing a sound design aesthetic was playing with lego as a child. I didn't know whether to be pleased or disheartened by these words. Lego is my worst nightmare, I would like a dollar for each time I have stepped on a brick or three in a darkened bedroom. I have nightmares in which I am in Emergency with a piece of lego impaled somewhere on my person, (I'm not even going to consider the Freudian implications of that one).

You can understand the quandry I was in. I could donate our teetering, volcanic mound of lego to St Vincent de Paul thus assuaging in part my guilt at stealing from my offspring but jeopardising their futures as designer/architect/all-round smarty-pants or I could continue to run the gauntlet of lego bricks at 3am.

I'd love to tell you that good sense won out but it didn't.

We kept the lego.

PS Also got in a wee bit of crafting. This is going to be a quilt for one of the small people.

x

Une Belle Journée

Mail. Thank you

Bushwalks

Picking Flowers

Reading books (this might be one for you Pip)

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