Rummage

I have new hair. My last haircut was over 8 months ago, an agonising affair that lasted 3 and a half hours of disingenuous conversation interspersed with a slow fry under the hair industry's answer to the sputnik. I'd love to say there was a butterfly that emerged from her chrysalis at the end of the experience but all I could see was a less than enticing shade of beige and a whopping bill for $275. That night I swore I would never darken a hairdresser's door ever again.

The Frenchman assumed sole responsibility for my tresses and was observed watching you-tube videos of pudding bowl haircuts. This should have been a warning to me. A number of months passed by which time my fringe was busily negotiating a march down to the tip of my nose. An appointment was made with the in-house hair technician and I was duly dampened and positioned on a stool in the laundry. I decided that a simple fringe cut would be best in the spirit of harm minimisation. Unfortunately, before I could specify where the fringe should be cut to, I felt something cold half way up the middle of my forehead followed by an unobstructed view of an armpit. As I recall the conversation went something like this:

Me: (in screechy tones)Waaaait, put that back. I didn't say WHERE to cut.

Frenchman: (mildly amused and completely unaware of the seriousness of the situation) Zis is nice, non.

Me: (further incensed)Nice? NICE?? I look like I belong in a remedial reading class circa 1976. ZIS is not NICE.

Frenchman: (gently)But it will not be long before it grows back. A few weeks perhaps.

Me: (verging on hysteria) What do I do for the next few weeks? Wear a bag over my head. (inappropriate and rude hand gesture before flouncing out of the room).

Which is how I returned to the hairdresser's chair. An hour and a half later, I left a brunette having read every inane gossip magazine under the sun. And I bloody loved it.

I'm making you a Christmas present. It's not ready yet, in fact there's some serious tweaking to be done before I can give it to you. I'm aiming for late November which will probably mean early December knowing me. Can't say anymore, the photo's a bit of a teaser but it's not giving much away either. You'll just have to wait...Hope you like it.

xxx

So here's the lowdown. I was mooching about in a little oppie close to my house which, 9 times out of 10, brings no joy whatsoever, when a dusty grey lozenge of polaroid goodness leapt out of the pile of dog eared mills and boon novels bellowing, "pick me, pick me." Seven dollars later and she was mine with dinky carry case and instruction manual to boot.

I was so happy I even bought the knot-headed My Little Pony with the felt-tip mustachios that the little person thrust on the counter in a last-ditch attempt to bring it home, (she's showing him to you in the first photo but he was travelling faster than the speed of light and thus evaded my camera).

 

Making stuff for Kristy's shop and lots of other new things for the Christmas market too! Must fly, have a date with a manual which will be so technical that I will have to pass it along to the Frenchman to absorb whilst I read a magazine.

Are you well? xx

The Frenchman has returned and the world has righted itself, so the camera has come out to play again.

 

Roses have started in my garden and wee tomato babies are making an appearance on the vines. It's also time for the grand white elephant stalls at the many Spring fetes that take place in Canberra where I may be recognised only by my bottom as I fossick through the many exciting bits of old ladies tatt.

Have you seen Kirsty's beautifully curated Redwork Quilt? I've contributed a square in there but don't go and look if you have an allergy to profanities. The other squares are beautiful though and much more tasteful. Hope you are well and happy. xxxxx

See the two little kiddies up there in the lovely timber frame?That's Enid standing and Marigold seated demurely crossing her ankles. I bought the picture at auction a couple of years ago because of the frame but have never had the heart to extract these two little souls from it. They are now honorary members of the Rummage household, overseeing the breakfast table and silently admonishing Kipper's table surfing when we're done.

Are you all vignetted out? Yes? One can only see a few artlessly arranged vases before the eyeballs start to recede into the back of your head. Do you know I've been moving stuff around constantly since I was six years old, arranging and rearranging? I used to move all the pieces of furniture around in my bedroom incessantly until Mum started to let me do it to the rest of the house. I think I chose the wrong career, although I'm not sure if that means I should have been an interior designer or a furniture removalist.

xx

It's mango season.

Did I mention the Frenchman is in San Francisco, SAN FranCISco, without me? Non? Well he is and I am here wallowing knee-deep in offspring and naughty dogs being a temporary single parent. If you are a single parent I salute you with big bloody brownie claps! How you do it all the time I do not know, but you are amazing and a much more enlightened human being than me.

Every morning I wake up with assorted creatures sharing my bed of which I can only claim the merest millimetre due to their penchant for rotating a full 360 degrees at 15 minute intevals. The rest of the day seems to railroad right over the top of me and then suddenly it's 8:30pm and I am slumped on the couch angst-ridden about all the grumpy things I have said to the girls whilst Kipper serves up a plate of unspeakable flatulence for my penance. I am officially a card-carrying member of naughty parents annonymous.

In other news I am reading Resurrection in a Bucket by Margaret Simons. Who'd a thunk a book devoted entirely to compost could be so unputdownable? Did you know George Washington was an inspired composter and that cherry tree story, (I cannot tell a lie, Papa, twas I, yadda yadda), was more than likely a big wobbly by a biographer which is just as well because it made him sound like an insufferable bore.

No crafting to speak of here which is probably making me even crosser, vignettes are calming though. Here's hoping I'm a nicer person tomorrow, love to you and yours.

x

 

Hardly a vignette, more a bit of happy clappy to end the week. I've been collecting old frocks since I was fifteen, these are a part of the collection.

Did I ever tell you about my vintage wedding dress? I'll have to dig up some photos, we don't have many because the photographer got so drunk at the wedding he mucked up most of the photos. This should probably cause me a great deal of consternation but I like to look at it as a compliment, it was a bloody good party.

xx Have a smashing weekend.

 

xx

The Frenchman's in San Francisco, the children have descended en masse on my bed and suddenly the world is a little off kilter. Hope photos are enough for the rest of this week.

xx