Dress-ups

THE LADY's DRESSING ROOM

(an extract)

~ Jonathan Swift (1667-1745)

FIVE Hours, (and who can do it less in?)

By haughty Celia spent in Dressing;

The Goddess from her Chamber issues,

Array'd in Lace, Brocades and Tissues.

Strephon, who found the Room was void,

And Betty otherwise employ'd;

Stole in, and took a strict Survey,

Of all the Litter as it lay;

Whereof, to make the Matter clear,

An Inventory follows here.

Oscar night 2010. 

Here's to Hollywood dressing rooms and the little princesses who are enthralled by the magical world of moving pictures and who dream of dress-ups every day. 

"I think I was probably eight years old and staring into the bathroom mirror, and this would have been a shampoo bottle." Kate Winslet, 2009. 

Little things

One Inch Tall

~ Shel Silverstein


If you were only one inch tall, you'd ride a worm to school.

The teardrop of a crying ant would be your swimming pool.

A crumb of cake would be a feast

And last you seven days at least,

A flea would be a frightening beast

If you were one inch tall.

If you were only one inch tall, you'd walk beneath the door,

And it would take about a month to get down to the store.

A bit of fluff would be your bed,

You'd swing upon a spider's thread,

And wear a thimble on your head

If you were one inch tall.

You'd surf across the kitchen sink upon a stick of gum.

You couldn't hug your mama, you'd just have to hug her thumb.

You'd run from people's feet in fright,

To move a pen would take all night,

(This poem took fourteen years to write--

'Cause I'm just one inch tall).

{this moment}

{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.  Inspired by Soule Mama.

Friday Movie Night: The Chronicles of Narnia: A Gripping Moment.

B-Well Report: Walk to Work

There was a Young Lady of Dorking,

Who bought a large bonnet for walking;

But its colour and size,

So bedazzled her eyes,

That she very soon went back to Dorking.

***

Looking forward, looking back, on my way to work.  This is, unbelievably, the National Capital of an advanced economy.  Here I plod over State Circle directly across the road from Parliament House, just after 9.00 am on a weekday morning and there is no traffic whatsoever on the roads.   School's in and the good car parks have gone, so most workers would be hunched over their desks.  Still, it seems remarkable that there is such grand infrastructure in such a small city.  Does this make it soul-less (as it has been oft accused and does on occasion feel)?  Or  are we lucky to enjoy so little traffic and commotion?

My Old Sewing Machines

As ye sew, so shall ye rip. ~Author Unknown

The Lady With The Sewing-Machine

~ Dame Edith Sitwell

Across the fields as green as spinach,

Cropped as close as Time to Greenwich,

Stands a high house; if at all,

Spring comes like a Paisley shawl —

Patternings meticulous

And youthfully ridiculous.

In each room the yellow sun

Shakes like a canary, run

On run, roulade, and watery trill —

Yellow, meaningless, and shrill.

Face as white as any clock's,

Cased in parsley-dark curled locks —

All day long you sit and sew,

Stitch life down for fear it grow,

Stitch life down for fear we guess

At the hidden ugliness.

Dusty voice that throbs with heat,

Hoping with your steel-thin beat

To put stitches in my mind,

Make it tidy, make it kind,

You shall not: I'll keep it free

Though you turn earth, sky and sea

To a patchwork quilt to keep

Your mind snug and warm in sleep.

Still procrastinating on sewing the Guide badges.   But don't you like my old  children's sewing machine pictured above?  It must have belonged to my grandmother.  I played with it as a child , rusty and cranky though it was, with the table clamp and hand-turned wheel.  

Then I graduated to this portable Singer which was in the spare room of my family home, and there I stopped for years until I married and purchased a cute little Husqvarna with which to make curtains.  Big mistake.  It now resides in a top cupboard.  One day I will release it from solitary confinement. 

Slow days

The Sleepout

~ Les Murray, 1987

Childhood sleeps in a verandah room

in an iron bed close to the wall

where the winter over the railing

swelled the blind on its timber boom

and splinters picked lint off warm linen

and the stars were out over the hill;

then one wall of the room was forest

and all things in there were to come.

Breathings climbed up on the verandah

when dark cattle rubbed at the corner

and sometimes dim towering rain stood

for forest, and the dry cave hunched woollen.

Inside the forest was lamplit

along tracks to a starry creek bed

and beyond lay the never-fenced country,

its full billabongs all surrounded

by animals and birds, in loud crustings,

and sometimes kept leaping up amongst them.

And out there, to kindle whenever

dark found it, hung the daylight moon.

Same old days with dozey starts. Getting into the swing of things but consistently rising and retiring too late.  Must do better!  Parent-teacher night revealed that the teacher, who caused so much inner angst in the first week, is in fact a warm and bright soul (probably the pick of the bunch).  Just goes to show that shouldn't necessarily jump to hasty conclusions based on a child's initial assessment of the situation.  Must trust your instincts of course, and I sensed this was a matter of schoolyard comparisons rather than anything more troubling.  We can't have 'Mr Chips'- style teachers every year sadly.

As much as I have high regard for teachers, in terms of their administration, I did think, as I sat in the classrooms listening intently to their explanations of the term ahead, that some could do with a stint in the bureaucracy to learn how to organise their presentations and timetables.  Some were persuasive and authoritative, others seemed to have no idea what sort of reassuring information we needed.  They clearly work with children and not government ministers.  I guess if you are a public school you have neither the wherewithal nor the inclination to look too polished or cultivate a customer service mentality.   It's very odd.

Photos: Canberra street scenes by me.

Slow sew

From the Tao Te Ching:

It is not wise to dash about.

Shortening the breath causes much stress.

Use too much energy, and

You will soon be exhausted.

That is not the Natural Way.

Whatever works against this Way

Will not last long.

***

Back to work today after one of those weekends where there was plenty of scheduled activities and lots of pottering. Nothing much practical was accomplished.  Ironing basket still overflowing and we live in a general state of disorganisation.   A few Guide badges are yet to be sewn on the bag but the main sash is finished.  That's something!

One of the highlights was checking out the Handmade Market at its new location in the Canberra Convention Centre.  Little Wanna and I circled the stalls looking repeatedly at the fabric elephant and giraffe toys.  Turns out she wants to make one.  So we spent a good portion of yesterday learning to do running stitch and chain stitch on a calico sampler.  So out of my comfort zone.  We have a children's craft book called Made by Me which provided invaluable advice in the absence of a great Aunt or Grandma who might otherwise have have done so.  Next thing I'll be getting the sewing machine serviced.  Possibly.  Making no rash decisions.  Best not to rush about in a fit of enthusiasm and then have it fizzle.   I'm good at that.

   

Photo: Granite Island, Victor Harbour, South Australia