DIY Swing

The Swing

How do you like to go up in a swing,

Up in the air so blue?

Oh, I do think it the pleasantest thing

Ever a child can do!

Up in the air and over the wall,

Till I can see so wide,

River and trees and cattle and all

Over the countryside--

Till I look down on the garden green,

Down on the roof so brown--

Up in the air I go flying again,

Up in the air and down!

Well, it is clear that neither the Strong Silent One nor I have the designer gene.  We both have engineering aethetics.  Function over form.  And so it was with the back deck swing.  Some rather unappealing red and white rope from Bunnings, attached to heavy-duty metal chain and unevenly knotted on the underside, and a recyled slab of timber painted Slate Grey (or is it MDF, I suspect an old kitched cupboard door was recycled - that's another story).  The children love it of course and will swing at all hours of the day and night in the midst of a Canberra winter.  But it wasn't quite the arts 'n craft, heirloom style or the modern, hip version that I wanted. It has subsequently had a rather unattractive metal clasp added to bring the ropes together so the children now have only one strand to hold on to.  Practical but oh so not pretty!

It's become a metaphor for our DIY house renovation (and my sewing ability).  It works, but it doesn't entirely come together in a pleasing way.  I guess you either have 'it' or you don't.  An elusive combination of time, imagination, a good visual memory and a stylish eye plus access to quality suppliers and a fair bit of knowledge or experience to begin with. Perhaps we need to work on some mood boards which I gather are the means to achieving a unified design.  If only we had time.  Might go and sit on the swing for inspiration and wait for the right mood to strike.

 

Poem by Robert Louis Stevenson

Image by me. Lucy the Irish Girl Guide doll, who stayed with us over the school holidays, testing the new swing.

Little Boy Blue

Little Boy Blue

 The little toy dog is covered with dust,

But sturdy and stanch he stands;

And the little toy soldier is red with rust,

And his musket moulds in his hands.

Time was when the little toy dog was new,

And the soldier was passing fair;

And that was the time when our Little Boy Blue

Kissed them and put them there.

"Now, don't you go till I come," he said,

"And don't you make any noise!"

So, toddling off to his trundle-bed,

He dreamt of the pretty toys;

And, as he was dreaming, an angel song

Awakened our Little Boy Blue---

Oh! the years are many, the years are long,

But the little toy friends are true!

Ay, faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand,

Each in the same old place---

Awaiting the touch of a little hand,

The smile of a little face;

And they wonder, as waiting the long years through

In the dust of that little chair,

What has become of our Little Boy Blue,

Since he kissed them and put them there.

 

 
Poem by Eugene Field (1850-1895)

Images by me and Ro-Ro

My day off yesterday and I am still completely flummoxed as to where the time goes.  Hours at home go faster than hours in the office.  In the still silence, I get the rare opportunity to look at the children's playthings and ornaments without them there, buzzing in and out and making lots of background noise.  Toys do take on a rather mystical aura in the absence of their owners.

The day's ending, however, was the same delightful mix of swimming lessons followed by 'Movie Night'.  Last night's feature was a Roald Dahl double: the BFG and Fantastic Mr Fox for Dad and the juniors, while Charly and I watched Julie and Julia on the laptop... in bed... and ate apple crumble there.  Wicked!  Bon Appetit!

Song of the Shirt

With fingers weary and worn,

With eyelids heavy and red,

A woman sat, in unwomanly rags,

Plying her needle and thread

Stitch! stitch! stitch!

In poverty, hunger, and dirt,

And still with a voice of dolorous pitch

She sang the "Song of the Shirt."

Poem by Thos Hood

Image: Beatrix Potter, from Illustrations for “The Tailor of Gloucester”, The Mice Sewing the Mayor’s Coat, c. 1902, pen and ink and watercolor on paper, 9.2 x 11.1 cm, Tate Gallery, London.

 
Busy day at work.  Fingers nimble on the keyboard rather than with a needle and thread.  Totally dissatisfying though.  I'd much rather dabble in the domestic arts and read poetry than write official prose.  I'm changing my area of work shortly so that may improve things.  One can hope.  I really need to get a better handle on work-life balance.  A bit more discipline and organisation wouldn't go astray.   A few menu plans.  Early nights.  More exercise.  Reading of books.  Playing games together.  A few dates with the Strong Silent One.
 
The children are zooming through primary school and there are fresh challenges in having children from 6-10 years of age for a working mother I am finding.  It's harder, by far, than having littlies in long, work-based day care which we had grown accustomed to.  The school days are shorter days and there is after-school care to manage and school holidays to contend with.  No cooked lunches.  Homework and music practice put extra demands on every-one, as do the extra-curricular pursuits.   This certainly is a year of adjustment for all of us. A slower, gentler time when items were hand-sewn sounds very attractive.  Which is just as well, as there are plenty of those Guide badges waiting for me and my sewing basket.

Stone and Bronze

Let's face it, some days you're the pigeon and some days you're the statue.

- Maria Morgan

On my walk to work in the work in the mornings, on days when I am too late to score an underground car park, I pass this stone bust in a little rotunda outside the Italian Cultural Centre.  As I approach, I always think its Bert Hinkler wearing aviation cap and goggles perched in his head, but of course it must be some esteemed historial Italian figure.  I should find out who.

...and here, come rain or shine, is my friend Robbie Burns, sitting cross-legged and contemplative a  little further along outside a Government department on the corner of Canberra Avenue and National Circuit.

The children always wave and say hello to Robbie when we drive past.

To a Louse

(On seeing a louse on a lady's bonnet at church!)

Ye ugly, creepin, blastit wonner,

Detested, shunned by saunt an' sinner,

How daur ye set your fit upon her,

Sae fine a lady!

Gae somewhere else and seek your dinner,

On some poor body.

Poem by Robbie Burns.

Junior BP Award and sew on and sew on

Tonight I received a Junior Baden-Powell Supporter's Badge.. to my own surprise and bashful delight. Huh, what?  Who, me?

We all trooped off to attend a special Girl Guide ceremony for new Guides making their Promise and Junior Guides receiving the Junior Baden-Powell (BP) Award - the latter of which included Charly.  It transpired that BP awardee's parents are also acknowledged for their efforts to help the girls (and taxi them around!).

Frankly, I think I also need a Very Large Badge specifically to recognise my dubious skill in sewing cloth badges on a Guide sash.  I mean, I read so many crafty blogs and am in total awe of the talent out there, but I am all arthritic fingers and terribly cock-eyed when it comes to needles and threads.  Just look at that collection of badges we've accumulated, and they all have to go in a particular order. I've been up two nights running doing variations on long stitch, blanket stitch, cross stitch (very CROSS stitch) and daisy chains.  Needless to say, the quick unpick has had a work out and my finger tips are very tender.

For the modern working mother I note that some badges come with an iron-on backing.  But tempting as it is, heaven help you if you place any incorrectly.  How would you get them off?

I think Guide leaders should sit with the girls, quietly and patiently, and teach them how to sew the badges on themselves, or at least offer remedial classes for mothers (for it is still, I believe, mostly a feminine pursuit).  The fathers I spoke to suggested military standard velcro attachments, not thinking of course that the fuzzy backing would also need to be sewn on in the first place.  

Anyway, my badge is metallic with a neat little butterfly attachment.  No sewing required.

Well done Charly girl!

National Capital Goat Tracks

Anywhere is walking distance, if you’ve got the time.

I walked from work again today, choosing from among the many goat tracks on a vacant lot, all thistle and gravel-encrusted, leading to employee-only, boom-gated car parks.  Then crossed a major thoroughfare to the respectable, tree-lined enclave of Forrest, along National Circuit, catching glimpses, now and then, of Parliament House. 

Past the Italian Club and the Serbian Orthodox Church.  Looking upwards to see the bare skeletal branches framed against the darkening sky.  No-one else was walking.  It was the commuter hour in this car-centric city.  No buses I can recall.  Just the glow of red tail lights receding.  The pulse of traffic.  Me in my stout ankle boots, satchel over my shoulder, camera in hand, homeward bound.

Hot Air Balloons

That vague paisely-shaped shadow at the base of the street light is a hot air balloon descending over Manuka Oval.  Scene: Short-term parking bays outside Coles supermarket. Time: 8.30 am.  Temperature: 4 degrees Celcius.  Mission: The last-minute purchase of a few kilos of oranges and bag of jelly snakes for 'fruit' duty at soccer. 

This is one of the few things I love about Canberra, that you can spy hot air balloons in the most unlikely situations and when you least expect them.  I love it when an errant balloon lands in the paddock opposite my office window or sails past while I am on the phone conducting a serious discussion of national import (of course) with someone on the other side of the country, or when, like today, I am on a speedy trip to the shops.

We can see them from our breakfast bar too, looking out the glass doors over the rear deck.  The children are so used to seeing them now that they simply look up and make a casual, nasally announcement - 'hot air balloon" - as if they had just noticed something as inconsequential as a blow fly circling in the kitchen, and then carry on chomping their Weetbix.

      

"The labors of these hardy pioneers of science are now about to be knit together by the daring project of Dr. Samuel Ferguson, whose fine explorations our readers have frequently had the opportunity of appreciating.  

This intrepid discoverer proposes to traverse all Africa from east to west in a balloon. If we are well informed, the point of departure for this surprising journey is to be the island of Zanzibar, upon the eastern coast. As for the point of arrival, it is reserved for Providence alone to designate."

Five Weeks in a Balloon by Jules Verne.

Image: Early balloon designs 1818.  Wikipedia

Audio Books in the Car

Swimming lessons resumed tonight and for the 30 minute journey across to the Australian Institute of Sport, we are listening to Morris Gleitzman's book, Girl Underground, read by Mary-Anne Fahey (I can hear nothing but Kylie Mole - her comedic alter-ego which is extremely off-putting). 

We love audio-books in the car.  So far we have listened to lots of Morris Gleitzman who writes in shocking Aussie vernacular for a target audience realistically of 8 years and up.  Poor little Wanna just perseveres in the back seat, rather grumpily contesting the choice and demanding something more interesting next time.   It will take us three swimming lessons to complete the entire book.

We have also listened to a reading of The Famour Five Five Got To Mystery Moor which had us jolly well captivated and also shocked at the frequency with which they call each other 'idiots' - in that polite plummy English way, of course.

Oh must off, Charly and I are about to watch 17 Again ... again.  That Zac Ephron!

Housework Haiku

Subterranean

hum of spinning drums cleansing

my dirty stained life.

Incrementally

I clean unearthing a clear

space on the table.

God rest ye merry

gentlemen? I don’t see them

lifting a finger!

If every meal

were cereal, we’d all have

more hours in the day.

Source: a haiku a day - keeps obtuseness away
Image:  Ewood Signs

Young Lad

Young and Old

When all the world is young lad,

And all the trees are green;

And every goose a swan, lad,

And every lass a queen;

Then hey for boot and horse, lad,

And round the world away;

Young blood must have its course, lad,

And every dog his day.

When all the world is old, lad,

And all the trees are brown;

When all the sport is stale, lad,

And all the wheels run down;

Creep home, and take your place there,

The spent and maimed among:

God grant you find one face there,

You loved when all was young.

~Charles Kingsley

Ro-Ro turned eight a few weeks ago.  He and his Dad slicked the toxic pink icing on an over-cooked marble cake and stuck on some motley, used candles from the cupboard.  Poor lad!  Still, look at those adoring sisters.  Adequate compensation especially when Charly played "happy birthday to you' on the piano and we all joined in in four-part harmony.  Note also the ball he is clutching.  A gift from a school buddy.  An eyeball is suspended in the middle and it glows and flashes when bounced*. Just what every eight year old boy craves.  Perfectly compact and ghoulish.  Other 'awesome' gifts included a multi-function pocket knife with pliers, screwdrivers and other essential tools for ... whittling sticks, say, rather than doing damage to persons or property, and a door hanger intruder alert.   The latter is an ideal accessory when you have a glow-in-the-dark eyeball that everyone else wants to play with. 

*The glow factor, unfortunately,  does not work under the bed clothes by hitting the ball on the mattress or against the pakm of your other hand, and thus, it cannot double as a torch for reading purposes or a micro-disco ball.  We tried.

Life drawing

Said Hamlet to Ophelia,

I'll draw a sketch of thee,

What kind of pencil shall I use?

2B or not 2B?

Poem by Spike Milligan
Images by Little Wanna and Ro-Ro

Term 3 and we are off and racing.  Guides, soccer training, swimming lessons, flute and piano. Weekends filling fast with birthday invitations pouring in.  An assembly line of sandwiches in the morning.  No car parks in the parliamentary suburb of Barton by 9.00 am.  Dark when we get home.  Scratch meals, bath-time hussle, bed-time stories way too late and washing machine still whirring when the lights are off. 

Not the lifestyle I grew up with that's for sure. Really, I don't know "whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or take arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing, end them."  But perhaps, "though this be madness, yet there is method in 't."   I'm sure there is.  The children seem to adapt to any routine wonderfully.  They are always joyful and exuberant; full o' beans and smiles.  Don't let their childhoods go too fast! They are hurtling way faster than mine did. I want to savour it all from, 'Can I have breakfast' to 'Can you tuck me in?", which I am off to do very soon. Goodnight little ones.

Seaside: Bosom Beach

Seaside

Sand in the sandwiches,

Sand in the tea,

Flat, wet sand running

Down to the sea.

Pools full of seaweed,

Shells and stones,

Damp bathing suits

And ice-cream cones.

Waves pouring in

To a sand-castle moat.

Mend the defenses!

Now we're afloat!

Water's for splashing,

Sand is for play.

A day by the sea

Is the best kind of day.

Poem by Shirley Hughes

Photos by me

We had a lovely few days with the children's great grandparents and great Aunt at Currarong on the south coast of New South Wales.  We traipsed down to the improbably-named Abraham's Bosom Beach, also referred to as Bosom Beach, where you can, quite providentially, on occasion, find broken chards of sea urchin shell with a distinct nipple-like feature (of which, more later). It is sheltered cove with a rocky headland.  Shallow water, gorgeous views and just enough people to provide a cheerful atmosphere.  A fisherman, some dogs, other children and a boat anchored off-shore.  Perfect.

Despite the fact that it is mid-Winter, the children were determined to wear  their swimming costumes and put their toes in the water.  They ended up wading up to their thighs by the time the sun was setting and the temperature started to plummet.  We figured they could decide for themselves whether or not it was too cold.  Nothing like building a bit of stamina!  The girls were running around working up a sweat drawing 'cake shops' in the sand and decorating sand muffins while Ro-Ro spent the entire time finding large sticks to use as swords or crooks, and collecting seaweed and kelp, and poking about in rockpools.

I took advantage of the shafts of sunlight making long shadows up the beach to take a family photograph inspired by the Moerks and some arty shots of Charlotte's footprint in the sand and the sea swirling around pot-holed rocks drawing on the Kerry's recent tranquil seascapes (and right now - unbelievably she has a Bosom Beach sea urchin photographed in a tea cup.  No kidding, straight after I wrote this paragraph I clicked over the get the link and there they were, lo and behold, an exquisite, authentic set of shell bosoms! Check 'em out).  Thanks for helping me look at life through a different lens, gals.

Christmas in July

Martha Stewart Holiday Calendar

(Change dates as applicable for the Southern Hemisphere)

December 1

Blanch carcass from Thanksgiving turkey. Spray paint gold, turn upside down and use as a sleigh to hold Christmas Cards.

December 2

Have Mormon Tabernacle Choir record outgoing Christmas message for answering machine.

December 3

Using candlewick and handgilded miniature pine cones, fashion cat-o-nine-tails. Flog Gardener.

December 4

Repaint Sistine Chapel ceiling in ecru, with mocha trim.

December 5

Get new eyeglasses. Grind lenses myself.

December 6

Fax family Christmas newsletter to Pulitzer committee for consideration.

December 7

Debug latest Windows update

December 8

Decorate homegrown Christmas tree with scented candles handmade with beeswax from my backyard bee colony.

December 9

Record own Christmas album complete with 4 part harmony and all instrument accompaniment performed by myself. Mail to all my friends and loved ones.

December 10

Align carpets to adjust for curvature of Earth.

December 11

Lay Faberge egg.

December 12

Erect ice skating rink in front yard using spring water I bottled myself. Open for neighborhood children's use. Create festive mood by hand making snow and playing my Christmas album.

December 13

Collect Dentures. They make excellent pastry cutters, particularly for decorative pie crusts.

December 14

Install plumbing in gingerbread house.

December 15

Replace air in mini-van tires with Glade "holiday scents" in case tires are shot out at mall.

December 17

Child proof the Christmas tree with garland of razor wire.

December 19

Adjust legs of chairs so each Christmas dinner guest will be same height when sitting at his or her assigned seat.

December 20

Dip sheep and cows in egg whites and roll in confectioner's sugar to add a festive sparkle to the pasture.

December 21

Drain city reservoir; refill with mulled cider, orange slices and cinnamon sticks.

December 22

Float votive candles in toilet tank.

December 23

Seed clouds for white Christmas.

December 24

Do my annual good deed. Go to several stores. Be seen engaged in last minute Christmas shopping, thus making many people feel less inadequate than they really are.

December 25

Bear son. Swaddle. Lay in color coordinated manger scented with homemade potpourri.

December 26

Organize spice racks by genus and phylum.

December 27

Build snowman in exact likeness of God.

December 28

Take Dog apart. Disinfect. Reassemble.

December 29

Hand sew 365 quilts, each using 365 material squares I weaved myself used to represent the 365 days of the year. Donate to local orphanages.

December 30

Release flock of white doves, each individually decorated with olive branches, to signify desire of world peace.

December 31

New Year's Eve! Give staff their resolutions. Call a friend in each time zone of the world as the clock strikes midnight in that country.

Don't know what happened to Day 16 and 18?  A little lie down with some schnapps, perhaps?  Speaking of which, we are off to the beach for the week-end - a last gasp excursion before term 3 begins. We're up for some mid-Winter soccer practice, a bit of frisbee throwing and long strolls along the frosty shores.  I'm craving that sea air in the lungs.  Might even chase some seagulls.    Must off to pack!

Source: Humor Matters

Friday Photo

{this moment} – A Friday ritual. A single photo – no words – capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember.  ~SouleMama ~

Woman to Child

Woman To Child

You who were darkness warmed my flesh

where out of darkness rose the seed.

Then all a world I made in me;

all the world you hear and see

hung upon my dreaming blood.

There moved the multitudinous stars,

and coloured birds and fishes moved.

There swam the sliding continents.

All time lay rolled in me, and sense,

and love that knew not its beloved.

O node and focus of the world;

I hold you deep within that well

you shall escape and not escape-

that mirrors still your sleeping shape;

that nurtures still your crescent cell.

I wither and you break from me;

yet though you dance in living light

I am the earth, I am the root,

I am the stem that fed the fruit,

the link that joins you to the night.

Poem by Judith Wright

Painting by Pablo Picasso

It's been a while since I last blogged.  Somehow life - work, children and domestic duty - got in the way.  Or rather the interweb was getting in the way of real life. So I got my priorities in order and turned away for a while.  I missed you all though!  

Today we near the end of school holidays. It's the final week day of the two-week break.  The children have mostly been to special holiday programs.  No rest for them either.  Ro-Ro attended a week-long indoor cricket program, Charly and Wanna toddled gleefully off to the National Zoo and Aquarium for its terrific "zoo-cation' program and the rest of the time was spent at the school's vacation program with familiar staff and at a location conveniently close to work.  A day off to relax at home today and they are playing together happily - Lego, DS and play acting some Famous Five-like narrative - after some initial tension and tears over possessions and who was allowed to do what, with whom.  Love 'em to bits but these spats drive me nuts.   I promise to absorb some of Judith Wright's philosophy and smother the irritations with calm and affection. Ommmm!