It's Curtains.

The King's Ring

by Theodore Tilton

I.

Once in Persia reigned a King,

Who upon his signet ring

Graved a maxim true and wise,

Which, if held before his eyes,

Gave him counsel, at a glance,

Fit for every change or chance:

Solemn words, and these are they:

“'Even this shall pass away!'”

II.

Trains of camels through the sand

Brought him gems from Samarcand;

Fleets of galleys through the seas

Brought him pearls to rival these.

But he counted little gain

Treasures of the mine or main.

“What is wealth?” the King would say;

“'Even this shall pass away.'”

III.

In the revels of his court,

At the zenith of the sport,

When the palms of all his guests

Burned with clapping at his jests,

He, amid his figs and wine,

Cried, “O loving friends of mine!

Pleasure comes, but not to stay:

'Even this shall pass away.'”

***

This week I seem to have been pacing through my working hours waiting for the factory siren to signal knock-off time.  It's been tediously slow, and just as well, because we've been captivated by the Machiavellian twists and turns in federal politics.   Good old ABC 24 News live broadcasts have been keeping us informed as we gather around wall-hung television sets to watch the succession of media conferences. 

Lyndall Curtis has been t'rrific on the telly and Latika Bourke unstoppable on Twitter.   There's no waiting for press clips as we've been able to hook-in minute-by-minute with online coverage and social media commentary.  I'm no political junkie, but the outcome of the ballot on Monday will have direct repercussions on my paid employment, being a loyal public servant and all.  So I come at it from the perspective of a Canberra insider (which makes it all the more gripping) and a voter (which makes it all the more tedious). 

But what is really bothering me this weekend, getting down in the micro-world of my daily life (!), is the choice of blinds for the "side room" (pictured). I never like the fabric samples I bring home to suspend from the window sill on their coat hangers. They looked so promising in the show room. I don't know whether to go custom-made with exquisite Warwick materials or buy ready-made from BQ Designs. The proprietor of the local curtain shop must despair of me as I've been on her books since 2008, unable to make a decision.   Like the Labor Party, I just need to get it over and done with, make a choice and accept the consequences.  There seems to be a strangely apt analogy here!

 

It will all pass ... eventually.

A Home

~ Sarah C. Woolsey

What is a home? A guarded space,

Wherein a few, unfairly blest,

Shall sit together, face to face,

And bask and purr and be at rest?

Where cushioned walls rise up between

Its inmates and the common air,

The common pain, and pad and screen

From blows of fate or winds of care?

Where Art may blossom strong and free,

And Pleasure furl her silken wing,

And every laden moment be

A precious and peculiar thing?

Messy Rooms

Messy Room

Whosever room this is should be ashamed!

His underwear is hanging on the lamp.

His raincoat is there in the overstuffed chair,

And the chair is becoming quite mucky and damp.

His workbook is wedged in the window,

His sweater's been thrown on the floor.

His scarf and one ski are beneath the TV,

And his pants have been carelessly hung on the door.

His books are all jammed in the closet,

His vest has been left in the hall.

A lizard named Ed is asleep in his bed,

And his smelly old sock has been stuck to the wall.

Whosever room this is should be ashamed!

Donald or Robert or Willie or--

Huh? You say it's mine? Oh, dear,

I knew it looked familiar!

Poem by Shel Silverstein

Photo by me: Little Wanna's doll's house the morning after the tooth fairy visited and the toys had a party.

Oh boy, the housework involved with maintaining a family of five.  For someone who likes things to be orderly, it is an endless task picking up, wiping up and putting away.  Such a vast array of small bits are accumulated by three children and they invariably end up in extraordinary places far from where they ought to be.  We don't quite have the space to disguise the clutter artfully.  Hardly enough storage for the essentials.   I'm yearning for a custom-built house with an abundance of cupboards and flat surfaces for work and play.  Meantime the doll's house looks spookily like ours in miniature...and I'm starting to resemble the exhausted figure in pink slumped in the foreground.

Cape Cod Designs

This is where we were six years ago. 

If only I had known what I know now.

If only A-M had been on my radar.

I'm quite delirious that my poster girl has posted a comment on my last post.

How can I even begin to become so familiar with roof pitches, roman blind fabrics, tap fittings and garden drainage systems?   I can't even find a dining table or a ground cover for the footpath.  It is truly a gift.

I bow to you.

(Now tell me your sources.)


'Twixt my house and thy house the pathway is broad,
In thy house or my house is half the world's hoard;
By my house and thy house hangs all the world's fate,
On thy house and my house lies half the world's hate.

For my house and thy house no help shall we find
Save thy house and my house -- kin cleaving to kind;
If my house be taken, thine tumbleth anon.
If thy house be forfeit, mine followeth soon.

'Twixt my house and thy house what talk can there be
Of headship or lordship, or service or fee?
Since my house to thy house no greater can send
Than thy house to my house -- friend comforting friend;
And thy house to my house no meaner can bring
Than my house to thy house -- King counselling King.

Poem by Rudyard Kipling
Image by me
Inspiration by A-M