Vintage fabric and other gratuitous nonsense.

Now I  know I showed you the pile of old fabrics that had been in the back of the car for a while but last chemo round I washed them and ironed them. I know! Ironing! 

They were very pretty on the clothesline. This is what chemo drugs do to me. 

It seems to be some kind of bizarre nesting compulsion before each round. Last time I also cleaned out the pantry for the first time in two years.

We are talking the big clean where you completely empty it and throw out the 2010 Lavash crackers. Do not judge me unless you have a minimum of five offspring. 

I did similar things before babies were due. Stripped paint, scoured the linen cupboard, built shelving...as you do.

Last chemo I had the flu thing too so I was quite deranged. 

There may have been the culling of baby clothes and toys involved which forced me back to the oppy lugging unmarked black bags of booty. I don't like to see what's in them lest I become sentimental and relent.

I have been known to rescue a doomed giggling Ernie from a transparent plastic bag in a moment of weakness. It may have been the tragic giggling more than the clear bag.

I find if it is unseen for a few days I can rarely remember the contents and it is a cold and remorseless drop off. Easy. 

The problem lies in what comes home again. This sheet binge was just too good to pass up. Lucky that assistant took the huge carton away when only this much had been fluffed and folded into my booty pile.

So today is the last visit to the keeno club. Numero Six. I have mixed feelings. Dread and excitement. It's a bit like graduating. Will there be a certificate of completion? There is talk of a small stuffed toy given by the counsellor. If so, it may be heading for the Black Bag of Destiny. Anything that reminds me of the 'rooms' may end up in the bin as it brings on a little nausea.

I am hoping my retirement from the keeno stage might herald the return of the making mojo-hito. Some art might get finished, some domestic duties undertaken, some sewing machining and zip insertion may even take place. 

There could be a good year of sewing in this lot.  What have I done? Any thoughts on what to do with it all? I see cushions and tote bags and frocks...oh my!

All ideas will be appreciated as I twiddle my toes in their socks and stocks again and consider the mysteries of the universe and the sudoku app on my i-pad. Onward and upward, my friends!

Home Festival

On Saturday we were invited to a lovely event called Home Festival in Kangaroo Point's Raymond Park. We arrived late after soccer games and break ups but it was still warm and lively in the long afternoon light. The whole thing was most homely indeed. 

This was the most enjoyable festival I have been to in years. It was much less crowded with a gentle, happy community ambience that really did feel like you were in a congenial host's large back yard. It just shows how a gathering of the local folk can be about fun and music and sustainability without being a money grabbing juggernaut.

There were some particularly homely touches like the clothesline full of art work made in one of the many free workshops for all ages. Yes, I said free. These people were running their festival from the heart with volunteers and friends.

 There was the paper mache bird making stall to create a large installation to be erected as a Bimblebox protest. It looks a bit loaves and fishes nestled away in the basket there.

Of course every back yard needs a cubby house or twenty made from enormous cartons and cardboard and industrious groups of chillun... and quite a few adults.

The back fence was lined with some thought provoking art about our neighbourhood.

There were even mini op shops and...

screen printing workshops to print your own tote and save on the plastics.

 Then there was the obligatory fair fare- snow cones,

 and bicycle powered smoothie makers paid for by the benevolent aunty society.

The hit of the day though had to be the bike bus powered by lots of little legs doing endless laps of the park without it EVER becoming boring. Not a screen in sight!

Some of the local delinquents preferred to loiter at the bus stop indulging in a spot of sugar....

but were eventually enticed into some bike-bussing with the added incentive of holding the gold coin donation tin.

So as they pedalled into the sunset to the merry strains of live Rockabilly and some cheerful rapping, people settled back into sofas and rugs to enjoy a balmy spring evening in the park with like-minded folk ...and it was good.

                               See you there next year. I'll be reminding you when it's on again.

Just asking!

Why do children vomit in long parabolas on carpet then along a hall and through a bathroom before they get to a sink/ loo by which time they are all empty?

Why is it easy to open drawers but apparently very difficult to close them?

Why are there so many socks that nobody will wear that match and all the popular socks are mismatched? (A metaphor for life?)

Why does a child always get sick the day you have planned a major Ikea/ op shop excursion?

Why do my children all play huge instruments?

Why does blogger never seem to work when I have a lot to say?

Why do all the parties happen on one week end?

Why does nothing happen on the potty but always a few minutes after dismount?

Why does it take three minutes for a three year old to put on 'morning clothes' and thirty minutes for a thirteen year old to put on a uniform with less components?

Why do they like to get dressed in a public area of our house leaving jamies strewn around like the morning after a frat party?

Why is my phone always out of charge when I get in the car in the morning when I know I charged it last night? (Must change that password again.)

Why has the three year old started responding with "Why" to every answer I give her?

Why?

WHY?

Hey, Poncho!

Hey Cisco!....Hey Poncho!

The Bosnian orphan will wear nothing warm over her chosen uniform but a size 1 baby poncho that belonged to her cousins. It barely keeps her neck warm.

We dug around in the vortex of the black hole under the house and found old polar fleece I had begun to make into jumpers for the thirteen year olds when they were not yet one year olds. I was busy!

We chopped out a neck hole and ruled some lines to cut some cheat's fringing.

It's colourful, right? Does the job? Matches the eclectic nature of the Short one's taste, albeit more Mexican orphan now? 

It got about fifteen minutes of wear before it became a blanket in the consumption ward of her dolls' hospital bedroom. Even the dollies have the lurgy now. 

Looks like the crafty mojo-hito was short lived.

When Life Gives You Lemons...

A lovely friend dropped in some lemon curd last week when I was feeling fairly average with the 2012 cold/flu thing. She had written the old 'when life gives you lemons...' on there. The fifth round of keeno was a pretty big lemon but look at all the 'curd' that turned up on my phone when I looked back after emerging from the chemo cave.

My intuitive sister brought me a nostalgic, healthy, clean lunch of Hare Krisna food from Jovindas. It's been a while but it tasted SO good.

Painting has become the pastime of choice around here again after a long hiatus. I am yet to recatch the bug. That mojo, like the hair cells, seems to be stunted by the drugs for a while.

There was a  moment before the last keeno when I started nesting and ironing all that gorgeous linen I was finding at Ron and Brian's. Here's a taster for all you old linen goils. This one will make a tempting linen cushion, methinks. Just got to get over the zip phobia.

In the meantime there is this bit of supreme loveliness which arrived a while back from Kath of Prints Charming. It is a stash of beautiful fabrics and yarn and an embroidery kit that she put together just because she is thoughtful and knew I was a bit of a fan. She used to be the original designer for Art Park, a linen company from the 90's and naughties. There is quite a bit of their stuff in my linen cupboard and I have even found some nice pieces in the oppie lately. That variegated wool asked to be made into a scarf if there's enough.

You know somebody is throwing you a bone when you walk to the bin to put out the rubbish and this is at the end of the driveway. There have been some spectaculous ones lately.

However I can't even show you my shoes from Round 5 as I was reduced to thermal socks and Birkies. 'Past caring', I believe it's called and the photo literally makes me ill. With an overflowing bag, I thought I'd do some sorting to distract myself....

and look what I found at a rather low moment. The universe was throwing me a bone, I tell you!

On the way home from keeno I took a detour to a spot where I used to take the boys in the pram. It's where the old farmhouse with stables was replaced with a security fenced eco-nightmare of a Mc- Mansion. I'm still a bit mad at them. They didn't manage to wreck the view though.

Having opted out of bigger fete projects this year for school, this pleasant project unfolded while I was chatting to my Dad for a while in the sunroom. They ended up being little hairclips for little girls. They were so easy and my girls loved them so I may have to make more. They are a combination of crocheted flower, half a felt ball and a bit of DMC stitchery. The crafty mojo has entered the building- for a moment.

There have been soccer matches, a laser skirmish party and a first three year old proper party with new kindy friends. She even tried to put their decorations in order.

Getting bored with beanies, I tried a new hat a friend gave me with a Curly Pops brooch. It felt very Spring on a sunny August Saturday re-emergence. With all the boys out we had a girls' night in. Something about three year old arms in flannelette jamies makes things feel much less of a lemon.

Meanwhile, as Rome burns, there is always crazy hair day, sock day, book week dress up and a bit of fiddling in case anyone wanted a lie down. The big lemon had a lot of sugar to sweeten things up!