It must be fete.

It's fete season again. Luckily I only had to buy two armbands this year. For a couple of years there it was a very expensive exercise to get the wee uns on the rides and out of the hair for the day.

When did these big ride fetes become the done thing? I remember taking the boys to fetes preschool when the wagon behind a ride on mower was the thrilling highlight of the day. Ironically they don't do that any more because it's too dangerous!?

See that boy third from the left in a blur of sweat and panic. That would be my second one, Twin 2- he, with astonishing eyesight for finding the tiniest objects and a serious dislike for anything high. It may be because of that time he fell off the bench as a baby. I had been bathing him after making inky hand prints (as you do) when the other one crawled across my foot wanting something. I looked down for a millisecond and the higher one did one of those bionic baby lurches and shot off the bench. He was always a good sleeper so of course he dozed off soon after but I was afraid it might be concussion as I couldn't wake him. He was a REALLY good sleeper. The ambulance men arrived post haste and bustled into the darkened room. I heard a panicked voice call out, "Quick. Get in here! His hands are blue!" I had to apologetically mention that it might just be the residual ink on his hands. Turned out he WAS just a good sleeper.

The other one never slept and has no sense at all when it comes to height, speed and danger. Twins! Today he is going to the Ekka to throw himself on as many rides as his meagre purse will allow. He is going with another twin who is of the same ilk. That twin's twin and my other twin will be staying home to chill because they see no sense in blowing all their money at the Ekka and have better things to do.

Planning where to meet, what rides to go on, what to eat and if we can squeeze a skate in beforehand.

This one, below, also has no fear of height and has also been leaving a lot of DNA on the tarmac around our suburb with the footy and the skateboards, etc. He also appears to be channelling Rodney Dangerfield which he has done since he was two. I  recall him staggering out of a bouncy castle when he was little, wet with sweat in a floral shirt looking for all the world like a frat boy emerging from a mosh pit.

Ah. Good times!

They were giving these hats away in case you were wondering. Mine like to jump the trash and treasure when the fete is finishing to bring home replacement stuff for the stuff we just donated...

 ...like this bunny. Yes. Another stuffed toy. Sometimes life is like walking up the down escalator.

Remember artistica?

She used to live symbiotically with Domestica in our old farm house on the hill. Seems there is less time than ever for attending to her needs lately, especially in household areas like stool painting and op shop trawling. However one of the perks of the job is that I do get to help making some resources and demonstrating techniques for the students.

A couple of things were finished off recently with some kiln firing, another skill that it was nice to dust off.

 These are the Hermansberg style pots. I'm particularly fond of the bottom on the pink lady. It is comfortingly generous.

I'm sure this has been done before a gazillion times but I found these mud wasp nests just as I was loading the kiln one day. There is still some thought going on what to do with them. I'm thinking pastel underglazes and mounting them in a box frame like tiny Baby Bjorns in a row- which they kind of are when you think about it. (Oh look. There's one of the marbles I lost.)

 Last week my esteemed colleague made these with the boys so I had to have a go too because how can you not? Mine is on the lower left with the unfortunate underbite.

There is a strange pleasure to be had in loading and unloading the kiln. It is the magic of the transformation when things are fired. It never gets old. I just can't wait to open it up and see they have become. It's a bit like the cocoon, wasp nest thing I suppose. Here they are all lined up expectantly facing the yawning maw of the open kiln before being fired.

Speaking of being fired,  the northern mountain was thoroughly roasted the other day. On another gloriously clear warm winter's day, the crispy grass went up like paper straight over the hill. We saw it start behind some houses on the way home from soccer when it was just leaping up a couple of trees. An hour later when we drove back over to Nanna's it had spread across the entire mountain.

 Nature is quite dramatic even in the suburbs in Queensland.

Dinner on Johnson

For many months there has been little activity on the op shop front as my work hours are the same as theirs. However, whilst running motherly errands for the evil twins on Sunday, I came across something which I did not know existed outside the realm of fantasy- it was a Sunday oppy and it was good.

There was a jolly red suitcase which I moved by swiftly.

Some gorgeously tomato red pyrex tempted but did not engage me.

 $18 for chipped pyrex?! I think not.

Living in a 1930's farmhouse I was drawn to this sweet old light fitting for $4 but wasn't sure about it. Foolish in retrospect.

Then I discovered the retirement home for old ceramic kettles. What a booty! The one on the top shelf in the middle is just lovely but unnecessary. The endless replacement of elements in these kettles is a deterrent...but it was so pretty. Still I showed steely resolve and moved on.

Time was a ticking for me to get away and purchase the back to school bits when I found a jackpot of old silver. There just wasn't time to sift through it but I did get a big silver tablespoon- the sort you can serve dinner with or eat ice cream with to make it seem a tiny amount. I'll be back, silverware.

As I rounded the corner to leave, the skies parted and I heard choirs of angels or it may have been the other customer's phone ringtone. There, stacked on a  table, was the motherload of Johnson dinnerware. This is the stuff I have always regretted not getting when they revamped

the convent or primary school I grew up with. From the age of seven till fifteen, I observed this dinnerware carrying scones and pikelets and delicious left overs baked by floury little old nuns too ancient to teach. They were relegated instead to a grand old kitchen full of warm smells and towering ceilings like something out of a Bronte novel. Maybe it was actually very poky but in my memory it was everything I would love a kitchen to be..and it housed THIS crockery.

So I bought it. Not all of it but enough for a roast for the family or scones with a friend or...

a burnt mandarin cake for the boys and their friends.

The knitting needles were an afterthought and I restricted myself to one set of each colour. I do love these old knitting needles. They must be full of very good nanna karma like little rainbow wands of kindness and caring. In my mind, elderly hands held these and gently coaxed cuddly garments and toys for beloved small people. I am assuming they were elderly hands because of the age and style of the needles. I have a bouquet of them and they radiate warmth and goodwill from the yellow jug in the sunroom.

You may remember this photo from a long time ago. Rainbow, knitting, nanna-ness...what's not to love?

Dog

We have a little dog named LOLA. 

She is small and very funny.

The wee-uns were all kinds of happy-

- mainly incredulous happy.

I made her a crocheted blanket...

and a yet to be fired black and white bowl.

It is not every day you get a text from the husband saying, "I have changed to a female!" 

It was my only stipulation as the balance of power is now four all between the genders in our house.

I think the farmhouse is happy to have a dog in it again after many years without. 

This should be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

Park It!

After Lala's soccer match we spent Saturday mooching in one of my favorite Brisbania parks- Newfarm Park. 

 We've been taking the wee-uns there since there were only two wee, wee-uns. It has become even groovier over the years with the wonderful Powerhouse complex and cafe and river.

They always have to climb those gloriously spooky and fantastical trees and hide in the roots where fairies live, I'm told.

Last time I was at this bar/ cafe it was with some girlfriends and a few  mojitos. This time it was for a shot of coffee and some chippies for the goils. Lala was allowed to view and not purchase what I regard as the emperor's new clothes of bakery- the much over hyped maccaroon. 

This little curly number was much more appealing. We'll be trying those next week end aas they are far and away more spectaculous than the "mac".

That good ol' Brisbane River is always salve for the soul I find. It may be brown and muddy but it is magnificent in its own steady way.

There were photos to be taken around the crusty walls of the Powerhouse.The girls were mimicking a wedding that was being photographed. Is it just me or are all the weddding photos from the naughties going to look like feature pages from Frankie magazine with the boys wearing wool berets and old man waistcoats and short trousers a la Jerry Louis. The deadpan scowling at the camera does not bode well for years of marital joy ahead.

Nevertheless we were impressed with the brickwork and the old graffiti....

and found ourselves moved to a philosophical mood.

There was a considered conversation about how we are all the same even though some people have plaits and some have pom poms. Four year old philosophers can really nail it some times.

Then we went home and got a dog!

Yes Michael. A dog...

Hey there! Hoopla....

The circus is in town!

Have you seen the elephant?  Have you seen the clown?

Maybe not so much elephants as water buffalo, llama and camels! It seems domesticated animals are the new beasties of the circus world and just as thrilling and much happier to hang with humans.

 I remember going to the same circus as this when I was ten in a football field in the country town where I grew up. I remember laughing till I hurt at the clown's bottom related jokes. Seems nothing has changed. The Shorter one is still shaking her head and chuckling at the clown bottom jokes last week. It never gets old.

I may have been just a little more excited than the girls. In fact I may have cried at the beginning when the circussy music started and the ringmaster came out in all the dazzling lights. We had driven past a week earlier and made the usual, "Maybe later" response. Then it dawned on me that this might be the one chance I ever get to take the goils to a circus. Seize the day and all that. I'm doing a lot more of it lately.

Throw money at the clown or pirate for a sparkly toy and acrobatic hopping about. I stopped saying "No" for a couple of hours and just went along for the ride.

It's worth it sometimes to just make the memories for them and for me.

 Note to self: Never ask your child to smile like the clowns...

 or to make fashion choices too close to circus exposure! I call this one, "Degas at the Disco"!

There is no way to segway this picture to the circus but Shorty Divine brought these up from the coop this morning with her little mate who is visiting. It reminds me of us. Six bigguns and a short one. 

Does this mean one of our domesticated animals has hit "the change"?