J is for the first initial of my only sibling's name - Mr Mooney. He is a sweet, gentle man who lost his beloved wife to breast cancer just over eighteen months ago - she had just turned 47. They were true soulmates and Mr Mooney is, of course, still grieving. I love him dearly and wish I could make it better.
J is for June, the month of Ms 5's birthday and her Grandma Flea's birthday.
J is for July, the month of her Mamma's birthday and her Grandpa Flea's birthday. There is a nice synchronicity there.
J is also for "jumpers" - those things that Aussie's wear in cold weather. They are called "jerseys" in the deep south of New Zealand, and I do believe that those people who speak the President's English call them "sweaters" (I hope sweater wearers remember to bath every day!). We do have regional variations in English in Australia, maybe, just maybe, jumpers are called jerseys in South Australia, but I'm not sure. "Sweater" is becoming more common here - the pervasive nature of television is stealing our identity. I know that when I lived in Victoria as a little child, we called our swimmers "togs", and our suitcases were "ports". We also used an American "a" in words like "castle". I only ever said it once in NSW. I was a quick learner! Amazing how the ridicule of your peers speeds up the ability to learn!
Saturday, 11 August 2007
Encycopedia of Me Meme: I is for icord
I is indeed for icord - a useful little trick to have up - or on - your sleeve, especially applied icord.
I is also for island - the tropical kind, where the beaches are long and white, the water is like a cool bath and little ripples run gently up the shore; where the cool, dark vegetation provides a welcome respite from the heat of the midday sun; where my cabin has a shady verandah with a view of the water and my comfy chair which sits next to a low table where my knitting awaits my pleasure, and a tall pitcher of iced water with lime slices has little cold drops of condensation running down the side - where is this island, I hear you ask? In my dreams, dear child, in my dreams.
The littlest Flea saw her cousins furry scarf with pockets for keeping little hands warm (in the absence of a magical grandma who could knit Sanna, Sorceress Apprentice's self-heating mittens), and promptly ordered one in the same colour - a colour which I could not get again. So, I used some faux fur from my stash and edged the pockets with the left over yarn from Ms 11's scarf, then used the remainder to knit an earwarmer/headband. The yarn is multi-coloured - hence the orange pocket trims and the pink headband. Ms 5 is a PINK girl - I hope she is happy with it.
I is also for island - the tropical kind, where the beaches are long and white, the water is like a cool bath and little ripples run gently up the shore; where the cool, dark vegetation provides a welcome respite from the heat of the midday sun; where my cabin has a shady verandah with a view of the water and my comfy chair which sits next to a low table where my knitting awaits my pleasure, and a tall pitcher of iced water with lime slices has little cold drops of condensation running down the side - where is this island, I hear you ask? In my dreams, dear child, in my dreams.
The littlest Flea saw her cousins furry scarf with pockets for keeping little hands warm (in the absence of a magical grandma who could knit Sanna, Sorceress Apprentice's self-heating mittens), and promptly ordered one in the same colour - a colour which I could not get again. So, I used some faux fur from my stash and edged the pockets with the left over yarn from Ms 11's scarf, then used the remainder to knit an earwarmer/headband. The yarn is multi-coloured - hence the orange pocket trims and the pink headband. Ms 5 is a PINK girl - I hope she is happy with it.
Friday, 10 August 2007
H is for Hoosier ...
I had wondered what Hoosier meant, but found out when this package of goodies arrived at my door from Kathy of Indiana, winner of the prize from the knitting trip around the world on the magic shawl. But where does the word "Hoosier" come from?
I can't wait to try the sweet and sour popcorn, but thought I'd keep it until the biggest Flea comes over again, as she had a year in Atlanta as an exchange student and is still very interested in things from the USA. The wool from an Indiana sheep, no less, feels soft and lovely and I feel a beanie coming on for Master 7 - one with earflaps and pom pom trims in the two natural colours. My fingers have all split from too much getting-the-house-ready-to-move -. I seem to be washing my hands all day long, so I'll be interested to see if the lanolin soap helps - it smells beautiful. But wait, there's more! The James Whitcomb Riley Cookbook, described on the cover as "A cornucopia of delectable delights from the turn-of-the-century world and the great Hoosier poet AND MORE". "AND MORE" is piles of information and illustrations from the "olden days". Wonderful! Thank you so much, Kathy. I am so lucky. I'll have to have a few more competitions if I receive wonderful goodies like these in return! I really enjoyed the knitting trip around the world, and we might repeat it again one day.
If you get a chance, pop over to Kathy's blog and look at the socks she knitted from the sock wool in her possum parcel. She calls them a "Homage to the possum"! They are so pretty - a wonderful match of colour and pattern.
There must be a flea plague in the northern hemisphere at present - I seem to be getting LOTS of hits from Google seaches for pictures and information on flea-bites.
Being a non-technical nerd, when Ravelry started asking for Beta Testers, I assumed that BTs would be technical wizardy type people (maybe you are!) but as people started to fret about being thousands down the list, I thought I'd sign up too - the worst they could do was reject me. So slowly, ever so slowly, I'm making my way up the waiting list - it sounds almost as long as the waiting list for elective surgery in this crazy country of ours.
You signed up on July 20, 2007
You are #18956 on the list.
10335 people are ahead of you in line.
5461 people are behind you in line.
34% of the list has been invited so far
One day ..... I'll find out what it's all about!
I can't wait to try the sweet and sour popcorn, but thought I'd keep it until the biggest Flea comes over again, as she had a year in Atlanta as an exchange student and is still very interested in things from the USA. The wool from an Indiana sheep, no less, feels soft and lovely and I feel a beanie coming on for Master 7 - one with earflaps and pom pom trims in the two natural colours. My fingers have all split from too much getting-the-house-ready-to-move -. I seem to be washing my hands all day long, so I'll be interested to see if the lanolin soap helps - it smells beautiful. But wait, there's more! The James Whitcomb Riley Cookbook, described on the cover as "A cornucopia of delectable delights from the turn-of-the-century world and the great Hoosier poet AND MORE". "AND MORE" is piles of information and illustrations from the "olden days". Wonderful! Thank you so much, Kathy. I am so lucky. I'll have to have a few more competitions if I receive wonderful goodies like these in return! I really enjoyed the knitting trip around the world, and we might repeat it again one day.
If you get a chance, pop over to Kathy's blog and look at the socks she knitted from the sock wool in her possum parcel. She calls them a "Homage to the possum"! They are so pretty - a wonderful match of colour and pattern.
There must be a flea plague in the northern hemisphere at present - I seem to be getting LOTS of hits from Google seaches for pictures and information on flea-bites.
Being a non-technical nerd, when Ravelry started asking for Beta Testers, I assumed that BTs would be technical wizardy type people (maybe you are!) but as people started to fret about being thousands down the list, I thought I'd sign up too - the worst they could do was reject me. So slowly, ever so slowly, I'm making my way up the waiting list - it sounds almost as long as the waiting list for elective surgery in this crazy country of ours.
You signed up on July 20, 2007
You are #18956 on the list.
10335 people are ahead of you in line.
5461 people are behind you in line.
34% of the list has been invited so far
One day ..... I'll find out what it's all about!
Tuesday, 7 August 2007
G is for GIRRRLS
Yes, little GIRRLS - what I don't understand, is why little girls love pink? Is it because from birth, they are dressed in pink by their parents and this Grandma who should know better and promulgate non-sexist clothing, but can't help herself (or that's my excuse)? When I was a little girl, I loved blue - but then, I did really want to be a boy because everything I wanted to do was forbidden, because I was a girl ...
Speaking of which, reminds me - in response to B is for books, Gemma commented that she always saw herself as George in the Famous Five books- now that is unfortunate, so I had to email her, and tell her that sadly, SHE can't be George, because I AM!
Kate said that she too loved the "Coral Island" when she was a child. I spent many happy childhood hours marooned on the Coral Island with Robinson Crusoe and the Swiss Family Robinson for company - that's when I wasn't having midnight feasts at boarding school with all those jolly English lassies. ( I'd still like to know what breadfruit tastes like. Does anyone know?)
Speaking of which, reminds me - in response to B is for books, Gemma commented that she always saw herself as George in the Famous Five books- now that is unfortunate, so I had to email her, and tell her that sadly, SHE can't be George, because I AM!
Kate said that she too loved the "Coral Island" when she was a child. I spent many happy childhood hours marooned on the Coral Island with Robinson Crusoe and the Swiss Family Robinson for company - that's when I wasn't having midnight feasts at boarding school with all those jolly English lassies. ( I'd still like to know what breadfruit tastes like. Does anyone know?)
F is for Front Teeth and F is for Feet
Now we come to TEEF - oops - I mean TEETH. The other night, the shy little possum looked out of her box to see what the possum fight below was about - and for the first time I saw these cute little teeth! I hope you enjoy them too.Yes, FEET - what can I say about them, except that whilst I am glad that I have a pair, they are a downright disappointment! When I was young(er), I LOVED shoes - quirky shoes, shoes with embellishments, goofy coloured shoes, strappy shoes .... get the picture? I went to my GP the other day, and she was wearing a pair of low heeled, peep-toe shoes, made out of red patent leather with white polka dots! I didn't know whether to kiss her feet or rip the shoes off her and run! In the end, I settled for saying (through gritted teeth) "I love your shoes" and she said, with a HUGE smile "Aren't they wonderful? I just HAD to have them".
Yes, FEET. I have now entered the age group where I have to wear "orthoses" - inserts that go in your big-unfashionable-because-they-won't-fit-in-any-other-shoes shoes. These are to correct flat feet, and bunions, achilles tendonitis and hip pain. Just add any other complaints to the list - I probably have those too ... However, totally unrelated to the dreaded orthoses, I had made the decision many years ago to never wear high heeled shoes again - this was partly in response to having my consciousness raised about high heels and straight skirts being tools of the oppressive male class to hobble women, and partly in response to having fallen down the front steps when my heel caught in a crack in the concrete. Not that there aren't wonderful flat heeled shoes - take my GP's for instance (yes please!), but high or low, it just isn't possible to wear those beautiful to die for shoes I regularly pass in DJ's shoe department. Sigh.... But, if that's the worst of my troubles, I'm doing okay.
E is for .....Eloise, Extra and Egg
When I was checking earlier posts to see if I had posted this before, I discovered that I have posted photos of ELOISE and Ms 11's scarf .... twice! That's indicative of the my state of mind at present - EXTRA stupid! The jumper above is for Ms 11. I bought the wool, Patons Vintage Hues, to do the jacket that Kate knitted in Vero, but in my haste to knit it, I automatically started doing it in the biggest size. Being lazy, I did the two sleeves first, rather than knit a tension square. When I was a few inches into the back, it became apparent that the thing was going to be HUGE. So, checked the tension - okay. Checked the pattern - right number of stitches - BUT - for once, the pattern catered for a number of larger sizes, the largest being for a 122cm bust. Now, while I am rather larger than my Avatar (I didn't like the clothes for the fuller figured avatar!) and my hips may well hit the 122 or larger mark, I certainly don't take that size in a jacket! So I unpulled the back, but at that point I couldn't face reknitting the sleeves in a smaller size, so I picked another pattern in the book with a semi funnel/boat shaped neck, and knitted it for Ms 11. Fortunately, I have been told that it fits but I have yet to see it on. I like the way that the shorter rows in the sleeves give a mottled effect while the body is striped.
E is also for EGG - I have a rather ambivalent relationship with eggs - I like the chocolate kind, but am not too fussed about the other sort - and certainly not those with runny , or even moist, yolks. UGH!
Saturday, 4 August 2007
C is for .... and D is for
carton - but that's just a box which is" B is for box" - what a relief! That's C done! Just kidding.
C is for - what? Colour! Colour is an essential part of our lives - imagine a grey world with only shades of black and white - and yet, when I look at black and white photos, I'm blown away by the clarity of perception that they induce - have a look at Ree's blogs and scroll back through until you find her black and white photos - in one post she compares the same photo in colour and B&W. Somehow the essence of the face in black and white seems to come through in a depth not present in the colour photos - if that makes sense. I fell in love with B&W photos years ago when my youngest daughter was in a B&W photography phase - she is talented with her photography and does take beautiful photos.
Colour is also a thing that I'm wrestling with for our new place. The floors and paint coloours are set in stone by the builder, but I'm having the lounge recovered and have to get window coverings. But what colours to choose? The last time I had to choose colours I used the local interior designer and loved the final result so he is organising things again. But it seems to take forever to reach agreement! He is very keen to use a neutral palette with some hideous patterned highlights, but I love really bright colours - Noro yarn, Indian numdah rug colours. I have told him this and he takes NO NOTICE. He is keen to give us a "smart new look" - but I'm a slobby casual person! Yet I know that eventually I'll do what he wants and I'll be pleased with it. That's why I use him, as I'm no good with imagining things from a small swatch, nor am I good at putting colours together. My friend the ID just smiles and says "trust me" - just what the crocodile said when I smiled at it!
D is for dogs. We don't have a dog at present, but they have been faithful companions all my life. When I was child I had a black and white cocker spaniel called "Ben" (Chifley) and my brother had a golden cocker called "Doc" (Evatt). Later we had another cocker called "Timmy", then a pair of puppies whose mother was a pregnant stray that my parents took in. The twins were called "Boof" and "Tweedle". Later, after I'd left home my parents had an Irish wolfhound called "Gough" - no prizes for guessing our political persuasion! (Ben, Doc and Gough are all the names of Labor politicians - similar to the Democrats). Gough met with a nasty end, a bit like his namesake, and later my parents had another refugee - an English Border Collie, called Margo, that we were all terrified of - she'd been maltreated as a puppy and was very protective of Mum and Dad - she'd run snarling to the gate, barking and generally bluffing us all. I wouldn't go in until Dad came and called her off. Once inside, it was alright.
My own children had first a severely inbred Maltese Terrier - given to my first child on her first birthday - without consultation, by my father. This dog had the peculiar appellation of "Seaswirl Dodo Boy", but we called him "Smokey". Smokey nearly drove me to the brink of desperation - when he wasn't mounting my little crawling babe, he was having fits of diarrhoea all over the house - apparently a problem with some of these dogs. Charming with a little baby. Sadly, but fortunately, the wretched little thing kept escaping, and was run over by one of the neighbours, who was very upset. I tried to look as if I was upset, but I truly was overjoyed, horrible as it sounds. Our next dog was given to our son when he was five - we arrived in the country at the other grandparents' house after a VERY long drive. Grandma, who was waiting out the front, rushed over to the car and said "Pedro, I've got something for you, IF YOUR MOTHER WILL LET YOU HAVE IT" - what was a mother to do when a tiny little black and white fox terrier puppy was produced? Promptly named "Pooch" by it's new proud father, Pooch was a part of our family for many years. After she died, I would hear the jingle of her collar around the house for many months.
Before we lost Pooch, both my parents died. What to do with their animals? Someone took the peacocks and peahens, but that still left the cat and the dog. My brother was clever and got in first - "I'll take Chairman Miaow because I've already got three dogs and that's the limit allowed by the council - you'll have to take Margo". Poor Margo was so distressed after Dad's death that she was quite prepared to love anyone who'd feed her, so we became best friends. I drove back to Sydney from the country with Margo breathing down my neck and drooling in my hair. Once home, we had to let her sleep in our bedroom because she was fretting so much - I think she must have slept on Dad's bed after Mum died. I couldn't even visit the bathroom without the dog - she shadowed me constantly. And because Margo was allowed to go on the carpet (how could I stop her?), Pooch decided that if it was good enough for the intruder, it was good enough for her. SCREAM! That's how we became a doggy smelling household. So, we lived in smelly harmony for many years and replaced the carpet after Margo died. We lost both the dogs quite close together, around the time that the Fleas were leaving (and coming back and leaving etc) home. In the later years of their lives, the dogs would fret very badly if we put them in kennels when we went away, so we had to organise our holidays around a timetable that involved one of the children coming to stay to look after them while we were absent. So we decided not to get another dog until we stop travelling.
C is for - what? Colour! Colour is an essential part of our lives - imagine a grey world with only shades of black and white - and yet, when I look at black and white photos, I'm blown away by the clarity of perception that they induce - have a look at Ree's blogs and scroll back through until you find her black and white photos - in one post she compares the same photo in colour and B&W. Somehow the essence of the face in black and white seems to come through in a depth not present in the colour photos - if that makes sense. I fell in love with B&W photos years ago when my youngest daughter was in a B&W photography phase - she is talented with her photography and does take beautiful photos.
Colour is also a thing that I'm wrestling with for our new place. The floors and paint coloours are set in stone by the builder, but I'm having the lounge recovered and have to get window coverings. But what colours to choose? The last time I had to choose colours I used the local interior designer and loved the final result so he is organising things again. But it seems to take forever to reach agreement! He is very keen to use a neutral palette with some hideous patterned highlights, but I love really bright colours - Noro yarn, Indian numdah rug colours. I have told him this and he takes NO NOTICE. He is keen to give us a "smart new look" - but I'm a slobby casual person! Yet I know that eventually I'll do what he wants and I'll be pleased with it. That's why I use him, as I'm no good with imagining things from a small swatch, nor am I good at putting colours together. My friend the ID just smiles and says "trust me" - just what the crocodile said when I smiled at it!
D is for dogs. We don't have a dog at present, but they have been faithful companions all my life. When I was child I had a black and white cocker spaniel called "Ben" (Chifley) and my brother had a golden cocker called "Doc" (Evatt). Later we had another cocker called "Timmy", then a pair of puppies whose mother was a pregnant stray that my parents took in. The twins were called "Boof" and "Tweedle". Later, after I'd left home my parents had an Irish wolfhound called "Gough" - no prizes for guessing our political persuasion! (Ben, Doc and Gough are all the names of Labor politicians - similar to the Democrats). Gough met with a nasty end, a bit like his namesake, and later my parents had another refugee - an English Border Collie, called Margo, that we were all terrified of - she'd been maltreated as a puppy and was very protective of Mum and Dad - she'd run snarling to the gate, barking and generally bluffing us all. I wouldn't go in until Dad came and called her off. Once inside, it was alright.
My own children had first a severely inbred Maltese Terrier - given to my first child on her first birthday - without consultation, by my father. This dog had the peculiar appellation of "Seaswirl Dodo Boy", but we called him "Smokey". Smokey nearly drove me to the brink of desperation - when he wasn't mounting my little crawling babe, he was having fits of diarrhoea all over the house - apparently a problem with some of these dogs. Charming with a little baby. Sadly, but fortunately, the wretched little thing kept escaping, and was run over by one of the neighbours, who was very upset. I tried to look as if I was upset, but I truly was overjoyed, horrible as it sounds. Our next dog was given to our son when he was five - we arrived in the country at the other grandparents' house after a VERY long drive. Grandma, who was waiting out the front, rushed over to the car and said "Pedro, I've got something for you, IF YOUR MOTHER WILL LET YOU HAVE IT" - what was a mother to do when a tiny little black and white fox terrier puppy was produced? Promptly named "Pooch" by it's new proud father, Pooch was a part of our family for many years. After she died, I would hear the jingle of her collar around the house for many months.
Before we lost Pooch, both my parents died. What to do with their animals? Someone took the peacocks and peahens, but that still left the cat and the dog. My brother was clever and got in first - "I'll take Chairman Miaow because I've already got three dogs and that's the limit allowed by the council - you'll have to take Margo". Poor Margo was so distressed after Dad's death that she was quite prepared to love anyone who'd feed her, so we became best friends. I drove back to Sydney from the country with Margo breathing down my neck and drooling in my hair. Once home, we had to let her sleep in our bedroom because she was fretting so much - I think she must have slept on Dad's bed after Mum died. I couldn't even visit the bathroom without the dog - she shadowed me constantly. And because Margo was allowed to go on the carpet (how could I stop her?), Pooch decided that if it was good enough for the intruder, it was good enough for her. SCREAM! That's how we became a doggy smelling household. So, we lived in smelly harmony for many years and replaced the carpet after Margo died. We lost both the dogs quite close together, around the time that the Fleas were leaving (and coming back and leaving etc) home. In the later years of their lives, the dogs would fret very badly if we put them in kennels when we went away, so we had to organise our holidays around a timetable that involved one of the children coming to stay to look after them while we were absent. So we decided not to get another dog until we stop travelling.
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