not a love song

It may not be a love song but this didn't stop me falling in love with this awsome package from the rockin'est Cornelian Cherry.

Not only did I get a copy of her brilliant 'CD Swap 2' CD complete with stunning cover design, I also got 2 bonus CD's, each packed with really really good music (that's been making me very happy).
And not only did I get CD's but I also got sweet stickers!
And an adorable envelope!
And the most perfect quilt impersonating card with a lovely embossed padding effect! (I love the card).

It's all soooo much more than I expected and put me in a hyper-grateful mood for the rest of the week. Thank-you so much Allison. (I'll comment more on the actual music when I've had a couple more listens, but so far I'm really liking all of it, especially 'Cursive').

I actually have been thinking all quilty lately, and have had a pile of fabric and wadding waiting patiently for me to start sewing for about 3 weeks now. I just need to get this other little project I'm working on out of the way first (expect a sneak-peak when I'm done). At least I know I'll have loads of excellent tunes to keep me sew-happy. (heh heh, sorry, bad pun).

See how chirpy I am? And now it's a long weekend! Bring it on.

please remain calm

Thinking about the ‘escape’ theme for Illustration Friday last week reminded me of our last fire alarm at work.

We pried our boss from his email as the alarm rang out across the building. We each checked one another were there, did a quick headcount and hurried in an orderly fashion out the door, down the hallway, into the fire escape, and STOPPED!

We didn’t get more than 5 steps down before being blocked by a wall of elderly bridge players trepidaciously negotiating the stairs. In a fatal design flaw, a bridge (card playing) club occupies the entire first floor of our twelve storey office building, and shares the same fire escape as the other 11 floors.

Two by two they ambled into the stairwell from the floor below us. Clinging onto each other and then handrails on either side, they formed a fragile yet impenetrable cobweb of elderly limbs across the width of the passageway. Now, these are the folk who either zoom into the lifts on their ride on buggies nearly running you down in the process, or inch their way in bit by bit on their zimmer frames, or a best, block the lift doorway from anyone else getting in before the doors close as they hunch over the buttons squinting to find their floor. So, all things considering, they were having immense trouble with the stairs. (Its probably lucky they weren’t on the top floor).

The fire escape quickly filled like a silo of grain, with people pouring into the stairwell from the other 11 floors, and stopping in their tracks. What made it worse was that much like clowns in a mini, the old folk kept on coming! There must have been 300 of them in there, and just when you thought you’d seen the last one, the door would spring back open and another endless stream of them would start up.

Assuming it was a false alarm or drill, everyone remained calm and quite well spirited. There were various muffled giggles from the spiral of people above, and before too long the jokes started:

“Why don’t we each pick one up and run down the stairs”
“How many of them are in there?”
“Shouldn’t they have their own escape hatch, like a firemans pole”
“…or a spiral slippery-dip like at a playground”
“…or one of those inflatable slides they have on planes”
“I’m going back to work”
And even an anonymous panicked “They’re old, they’ve had their life, let us live!”

Eventually the bridge playing battalion made their way out and the rest of us followed. By now (some 12-15 mins later) all sense of urgency was lost – we ignored our meeting points at the designated assembly areas and nicked off to a café.

We found out later on our return, that there had actually been a fire in one of the upper floors of the building. After the shock and mortified silence had passed we decided next time to take the evacuation into our own hands: unravel all our socks, knit the thread into a rope ladder and each climb out the window – which would likely be a much quicker means of escape!

fresh garden glory

My Illustration Friday entry for 'fresh'.

The smell of freshly cut grass is a new sensation in our household (or gardenhold). We moved into our house just before Winter kicked in this year. Out the back where a patch of grass may have been at one point, were a series of mini replica WW1 bunkers dug into the dirt, with not a sprout of grass to be seen.

When the previous tenants came back to pick some stuff up not long after we'd moved in, the cute little girl of the family asked "Do you have a dog?"
"No, do you?" (living in a rental house we're not suppose to have pets)
"Yes" she replied chirpily
"Oh, is that who dug the holes in the back garden?"
"No, that was our bunny"

Our Winter gardening efforts consisted of flattening the dirt patch out, and filling in the bunny-burrows. Once the worst of the Winter chill had passed we sprinkled some grass seed (which the birds were most delighted about), and lo-and-behold we now have a lovely delicate spindly lawn! It's like magic!

This is the first time we've lived in a place with a garden, so the whole magic of Spring is a very new novelty. Each time I go outside I discover yet another plant has un-expectantly burst into bloom, even ones I thought were nearly dead.
And who knew the tree out the back would transform into an amazing constellation of tiny white flowers?

a cup of tea instead

One of my favourite desk decorations is a card I got from the art gallery some time ago. Accompanied by an adorable illustration, it says:
"Unable to make a decision Cecily made a cup of tea instead".

If I ever had to sum myself up in 50 words or less, this is what I'd write.

(is that the kettle boiling I hear? excuse me a minute...)

with added plumpness

So, I’m not the most girly of girls when it comes to the regimes of beauty, skin care, hair care and fancy nails. I’ll admit I dye my hair, have more products than I need for this and that, and I can’t remember the last time I left the house without at least a quick lashing of mascara, but I like to think I don’t fall for gimmicks.

I maintain a healthy cynicism when those ads come on t.v. touting the newest “technologies” from the “institutes”.

t.v.: “…noticeably lengthens your lashes up to 3 times”
me: “HA! And how, prey-tell does it do that?”

t.v.: “…a new ultra shine lip gloss with actual diamond shine particles, for real diamond shine”
me: “ Real diamond shine particles? What is a diamond shine particle exactly? Who’d fall for that?”

t.v.: “…new foundation with added caffeine to wake up your skin!”
me: “Marketing team comes to the rescue after Beryl spills her coffee in the mixing cylinder.”

But every now and then, in a moment of weakness (usually after accruing a new wrinkle), I get sucked in…

… BIG TIME!

It’s mega. It’s plump. It’s hot. It’s pouting. According to Jonni on the packet “Plump lips are soooo sexy”, AND claims “…to keep you healthy looking and beautiful forever”.

And I tell you, it really works!
Well, it sort of works… …it might work.
Okay okay, I can’t see any difference… at all.
So I’m a mega, plump, hot, pouting sucker.

Mr You couldn’t believe I put it on for the first time yesterday morning, he thought he could notice plumpness already. “You’re crazy! You should have tried it on a weekend first. What if it kicks in half way through the day while you’re at work, and something hideous occurs!? Like on The Nutty Professor.”

He ogled my lips intently, waiting for some kind of sudden movement. Then, as I attempted to kiss him goodbye, he held me at arms length with all his might.
“Stay away, I don’t want that stuff on my lips!”
There was a struggle and then some chasing, but eventually I landed a kiss square on his forehead.

Then I headed off to work feeling “sooooo sexy”, leaving him fearing the sudden onset of a plump luscious lump in the middle of his forehead for the rest of the day. Worth every cent I tell you.

weekend escape

My Illustration Friday entry for 'escape'.

Just this last weekend we had an escape of our very own. We spent the weekend moseying through the Blue Mountains. I spent my high school years there, so it was a bit reminiscent for me. We had a great weekend and managed to do so many things without feeling like we were rushed or cramming things in and it was all very relaxing.

I took Mr You to a spot I remembered from back then called the Mushroom Tunnel. It’s an old disused railway line that leads into a tunnel right in the side of a hill, and you have to walk through the bush to find it. I was amazed how I was able to remember the way after all these years, just from a visual map somewhere in the depths of my memory. I remembered the creek, and the hill, but also subtle things like a fallen log, and the flatness of a certain area. It’s an amazing sight: a railway tunnel entrance made from large sandstone blocks, that hasn’t been used in close to 100 years, buried deep in the bush.

We also managed to go to an incredible lookout, we happened upon a craft market with fresh strawberries the size of golf balls, bumped into some dear old friends, looked at lots of little galleries and craft shops, and had coffee and bread and butter pudding in a quaint café in one of the many cute villages.

The next morning we got up bright and early and headed down out of the mountains to the ‘Trash & Treasure’ markets in the suburbs. We packed our car until it bulged, and we’re thinking of going back for another go in the not too distant future.
I tell you, only the deep suburbs can do ‘Trash & Treasure’ markets like they can!

(OOPSY! I gave it away there. Yes, unfortunately, we were actually travelling in a green car, not a purple patchwork balloon. There’s always a next time.)

riveting

Have you seen this Ex Girlfriend Project thing yet? I'm so hooked, I can't explain it yet, it's just compelling.

It's like all the things you've always wanted to tell people but never have.
And at the same time hearing all the truths you always wished people would have just told you, but never did.

Remember blog etiquette though, especially with this one, I'd die if he had to stop before the end. Like I said, I'm hooked.

(Tip: There's a "read this first" on the right, to give it all better context).

just before the dawn

One of my favourite passages from The Alchemist comes at a point in the book when the boy and the alchemist have been riding through the desert for four long days, and have been speaking about the quest to realising your dreams:


"So what should I do now?" the boy asked.
"Continue in the direction of the Pyramids," said the alchemist. "And continue to pay heed to the omens. Your heart is still capable of showing you where your treasure is."
"Is that the one thing I still needed to know?"
"No," the alchemist answered. "What you still need to know is this: before a dream is realised, the Soul of the World tests everything that was learned along the way. It does this not because it is evil, but so that we can, in addition to realising our dreams, master the lessons we've learned as we've moved toward that dream. That's the point at which most people give up. It's the point at which, as we say in the language of the desert, one 'dies of thirst just when the palm trees have appeared on the horizon.'
"Every search begins with beginners luck. And every search ends with the victor's being severly tested."
The boy remembered an old proverb from his country. It said that the darkest hour of the night came just before the dawn.


Dreams come every day, some are small and can be achieved in a few moments, some dreams last years, some a lifetime. The darkest hour could last a blink, or much longer, it's all proportional. Holding out for the dawn is what makes it worth while.

depth

My Illustration Friday entry for 'depth'.

The journey, while delving into your psyche, sometimes seems endless…
The deeper you go, the more depth you uncover, and the deeper you need to reach. The depths are daunting, and right now I feel like I’m running out of air. Dizzy and desperately wanting to gasp.
But eventually the pressure will fade, and you’ll reach a place to breath again.

this weeks crush

Things I love this week:
- Isabel! She's brand new! This Wednesday she will be 2 weeks old. She is my very first 'close friend baby', and is in the safe and loving hands of Lacey and Pat.
- I'm now collecting many cute things to start sending to her including this adorable grey lamb, I'm awfully fond of it.
- I love this alice in wonderland stuff by Mariana
- I love my new pillow cases. It took a while to get used to their brightness in the first eye opening moments each morning, but now I find them invigorating. (The best thing is that Mr You and I found them together and both liked them).
- I'm loving being able to hang out with my great friends Elle and Kilkenny again. They've just moved back to within walking distance from us, after living in Dublin for the past 2 years. It's so much fun having them back!
- This cool grass hut (bure) we bought back from Fiji. I've never really been one for souvenirs, but we splashed out on this trip, and now there's no turning back.
- Cashew nuts
- Yesterday my friend Henna gave me this amazing red coat. She bought it in America years ago, and has been holding onto it all this time. It's taken her this long to come to terms with the fact it was always too small for her, so she graciously passed it on to me. I'm small, it has its perks.

old bergerky-chooken-p

Fiji was filled with delightful chance encounters. When it seems you are in the most remote place with no-one to be seen, someone will suddenly pop out of nowhere.

Driving along the surrounding dirt roads we encountered many instances where someone would pop out, wave hello to us as they crossed the road, then disappear into the bushes on the other side of the road.
Usually this was someone with a goat.
Sometimes it was an old man with a young grandchild, and once it was two young boys balancing a large suitcase while riding bareback together on one tired old looking horse. (We laughed about the possibilities of them going to the airport, or perhaps running away from home).

One day we walked all the way to the end of a very long beach looking for a good spot to snorkel out near the point. We hadn’t seen anyone. Then, out of the nearby shrubs appeared a man carrying a jerry can in one hand and a small fish in the other. He came right up to us, introduced himself and shook our hands. He pointed out his village around the point and told us about the dolphins and the island across the channel.

During the conversation he asked how old we were.
Mr You: 31
Fish Man: Yes yes 31 (then he looks at me)
Flossy-p: I’m 29
Fish Man: No no. Not 29. You look… You look… like a chicken.

Not sure if he meant old chook, spring chicken, or literally that I look like a chicken, I was never to know.

He immediately went on to ask if we were married, being in a heavily Christian country, Mr You lied “yes”. I hid my left hand from view, but not quickly enough. Much like my age and species, he didn’t believe us. I avoided lying by telling him we’ve been together for 9 years (which is the truth).
“Oh” he said seeming impressed. And he went on for another 10 mins telling us that it’s not the ring that matters, it’s the size of your heart, and the amount of love within it that counts.

Then he waved goodbye, waded into the water, and swam across the channel towards the island, (presumably still holding his jerry can and small fish), leaving this delighted old chook feeling enchanted by his presence and impressed with his understanding wisdom. (But also determined to start a rigorous neck exercise regime on our return home, to rid myself of any flappy-chicken-neck that may be evident to complete strangers).

Visit my Flickr for more photos -of Fiji that is, not my neck.

Although this story may seem strange, it's nowhere near as odd as the story 'Noah from Chicago' told us about the man who appeared the night after with a pack of Barbie branded Uno cards. He insisted everyone play, then after a few rounds he disappeared into the night; never seen before and never to be seen again. A Uno loving phantom we thought...

natural hair colour revealed

My Illustration Friday entry for 'roots'.

The theme is very pertinent this week. Guess what I'll be doing this weekend?

would you make a difference?

Tonight I witnessed a woman do a u-turn on a double-lane one-way street.

I stood by and uselessly watched , transfixed like a bunny in the headlights, as she drove back down the street the wrong way. Like watching a tennis match, my eyes diverted from her car to the traffic lights down the road, and back again.

Then, almost as though a higher force was teaching me a lesson in taking action, a man leapt out onto the road, waving his arms and practically threw himself onto the bonnet of her car! He flailed about attempting to mime the international signal for “you’re going the wrong way” through the windscreen. She swiftly u-turned back again, waved a grateful thank-you, and the superman chivalrously bowed in an “all part of a days work” kind-a-way.

The crisis had been averted, all while my head (now gaining a pleasant momentum) was still swinging back and forth, in a hypnotic yet useless fashion.

scones

My very first attempt ever at making scones! I'm so proud. They tasted pretty good too; hot and fresh with butter and strawberry jam, topped off with a hot cup of tea. Now all I need to do is learn how to cook a mean steak and three veg, and I'll be in the running for the 1950's woman of the year award.

not the ritz

We were heading to Fiji, to accommodation whose tag line is “We’re not the Ritz. But we are famous…”.
Dot dot dot? What’s that? It’s the written equivalent of “yada yada yada”.
We’re not the Ritz, but we are famous for bugs the size of small monkeys?
We’re not the Ritz, but we are famous for regular sightings of rare exotic sea creatures?
We’re not the Ritz, but we are famous for the cannibal massacre of ’99?
Our curiosity had been well and truly built.

We flew with a new discount airline, and were somewhat relieved when the flight attendant announced that the cabin was “pressurised for our comfort”. Here I am thinking the cabin was pressurised for survival, but hey, I was officially on holidays so comfort was just fine by me. Then during the safety demonstration they announced that the life jackets came equipped with a whistle and torch to “attract hot sailors”, and the fun began.

At the end of a long bumpy dirt road, we were welcomed to a cluster of little huts, nestled on the coast in a remote area well away from the towns and cities. A view of the islands across the still sea in one direction, across the reef to surf breaks in another direction, and back up to the rippled hilly landscape behind us.
We were pleasantly surprised to discover it was indeed not the Ritz, but I’m assuming what they are famous for was the fantastic atmosphere, genuinely friendly staff, and authentic Fijian experience.

A land who’s people would give the Irish a run for their money in a “friendliest people in the world” competition. A land where everyone smiles and waves at everyone else. A land where people shake your hand and introduce themselves the moment they see you. A land where most people walk along the sides of the roads to get from place to place, and spend most of their time outside. A land where traditional village life is still completely normal, and is respected. A land that gave us the most fun holiday yet!

Fiji is a place that still has hand painted billboards by the side of the road, where happiness seems simple. Its carefree nature abandons the need for seatbelts or punctuality. The city streets and main highway are sealed, but all side streets and roads are a variety of coloured dirt, from rich ochre yellows through to reds so deep they’re almost purple. The people are a combination of proud native Melanesian Fijians, and newer Indian Fijians, so there’s a lovely mix of bright Hindi temples and grass roofed Christian chapels dotted across the country side. There are sugar plantations everywhere, and the landscape is lush, lumpy and hilly, like a soft un-made bed.

Like the dry dust on the roads, Fiji covered me in a fine layer of colour and joy. It got under my skin, and I cried as we flew high above the endless Pacific, away from Fiji, towards home.

My God we share a beautiful globe!

belated but heartfelt

I can’t start until first expressing the distress about the hurricane devastation and the horror that has followed. I’ve been out of contact with the rest of the world for the past week, so coming back to this was both upsetting and overwhelming. It’s amazing how much of that distress we must carry around with us each and every day, the pain of all of the horrible things going on in the world. I felt the tension stack back on immediately. I can’t begin to imagine what all of those people must be going through.

Sending them the very best wishes and vibes, and hoping they are able to find the strength to cope and find serenity in the future.