Daily life begins

Phew, what a week that was!

I've just written my website account of Impact7, here's where I get to be extra-curricular.

I'm sitting in my studio with the far-side rollerdoor up, waiting for my new (old) wooden map drawers to be delivered. They were supposed to come yesterday, then 10:30 today, then 12:00 today... hopefully soon, anyway. I can't do any print work until they come, because all the flat spaces are covered in the stuff that was in my metal map drawers and they're being taken away for sale at the same time. So I'm catching up on my online writing in the meantime.

It's the first day of my new life, the one where I'm only working at the uni one day a week, and the rest of the week is for my studio. A bit scary, and I'm not sure how it will go financially, but for a short time I have the pay from my recent primary school residency and that should keep me going for a little while once I stop fitting out the studio!



Here's Padge, sitting in the shadows of my new/old double glass doors; they're ready to be installed by my friend Mark in front of the existing rollerdoors so that I can have light and air and not wind and leaves.

AH! Finally, at 1:15, the cabinets come. Dammit, they put the more solid one on top of the wobbly one; I'll have to do some argy-bargy with them once Best Beloved comes back from his business trip (the next 3 weeks in this house are like revolving doors, with each of us coming in & out and always missing each other!).

Here they are, being carried in by the two roughnuts hired by the auction-house. I observed that the guy at the back might lose a toe if he wasn't careful, and he said 'yeah, I've got me Taiwanese Working Boots on'. Ah, yes, well.

So now I have lots of drawers! Huzzar, watch me fill them up.

And lots of photos of my Melbourne jaunt, over at Flickr.

I had a lovely conference, helped by the fact that a friend had let me stay in her empty Melbourne flat for the week, and it was only one tram and one train stop from the venue.

Here's the best thing that happened to me during the week (closely followed by dinners and lunches with other friends):



Isn't he gorgeous? This is the little bundle of joy belonging to Laura (Lucy Tartan) and Dorian (Arty Fufkin), Leonard. I skipped a session so that I could cuddle him and he drooled all over my hand, and I treasured that drool all afternoon when I got back to the grind. He's a dear old soul,.



Here's his more serious side.

After the conference I stayed on for a couple of days.



This is the closest I got to the Grand Final: cupcakes in a show window. The whole day I was in denial about the football, which I figured was my birthday prerogative, it being my birthday that Saturday (all the fours, 44. I think my years are finally outnumbering my chin hairs). I went to a meeting of the Print Council of Australia, and after the meeting we drove around to a few exhibitions and had lunch at the gorgeous Abbotsford Convent. The city was eerily quiet; the last gallery was close by the MCG and I could hear the crowds and the whistles. At one point we were trying to find a taxi for someone to get to the airport. We found what we thought was a taxi rank, but it turned out to be a row of parked empty cabs outside a pub!

After all that I caught a tram up Nicholson Street and went to Gerald's Bar in North Carlton to meet up with a few blogging types.* The blogcall was: Elsewhere, Another Outspoken Female, Will Type for Food and Lexicon Harlot. Also joining us was an old lovey I'd lost from my past until we discovered each other on Facebook, which surprised the hell out of me (the FB bit, not the meet-up) because he's not a computery type. He happens to be a friend of WTFF Tim, and this fact pleases the hell out of me in a very Douglas Adams probability factor way. He brought his children along, and a good time was mostly had by all, I hope. Pol and the kidlings couldn't stay for dinner; AOF took us to a fab little Asian place down the road (it being her locale) and true to a foodie, the food was excellent. (Phew, you passed that test, G :) )

The next morning (Sunday) I was determined to go to the Camberwell Markets. Lucky that I was so detemined, because it was the daylight savings changeover, and I would normally stay in bed. I forced myself up, got out to the road, and lo, the trams weren't running for another hour. Bugger it, I thought, I'll walk. So I did. It was the first rain-free day for ages, and it was only 2 km.

The reason why I wanted to go so much is because of Michelle de Kretser and The Lost Dog. The markets are something Michelle would talk about both in the book and in her phonecalls to me. It's been years since then, but I got talking to Deborah Williams at the conference (one of her dog prints is on the cover) and that got me thinking about the book, and the markets, and I really wanted to go.

I wasn't disappointed. They are great markets, and I found all sorts of things. I came away with little funky hair clips, a magnifying glass, some postcards (of Canberra in the 1960s!)... yes, lots of LITTLE things that will slip easily into an already overstuffed bag for the plane. And then I found these.



OOOOHHHHHHHHHHHH. I loved the one on the left, mainly for the liquid-paper splatters all over the top ribbon cover. Then I saw that the right-hand one had a lovely hard case. I walked past them, and five minutes later came back. How much for the right-hand one?

$35.

I went all wobbly. It didn't seem dodgy, just didn't have a ribbon, but that's easily fixed (scroll down that link). So I bought it, gentle reader, and lugged it back on the tram to the flat. And then proceeded to rearrange EVERYTHING so that I could carry it in on with me on the plane. Hold that thought.

On the way out of the market, I stopped and talked to one of the stallkeepers about something and noticed his dog, who is obviously a seasoned vet at these markets:



When I found out his name is Gus, I went all wobbly again. You see, Michelle's dog, who was the inspiration for the story, and who is featured on the cover of the book, was called Gus. And that's why I was at the market. Man, some days are just like novels.

I need to stop, only because I've spent most of the day on this computer and my new drawers are calling out to me... but I just wanted to bring you back to my typewriter. I now have 5 typewriters, all with their own charms. This newest one gave me a big surprise when I got home. I opened the lovely hard case, and in the little pocket inside the top lid, was the ribbon, nicely wrapped in a freezer bag, and THE MANUAL AND THE 1984 RECEIPT OF PURCHASE. I am very fond of 1984, it was a year to remember, not always for good reasons. But I do find that most of my significant objects were made or marked for years that have personal significance for me, and I guess this one joins the club. And was a bargain to boot. I haven't seen a working typewriter under $100 for a couple of years now. Yay! Must have been the birthday germs.









*I have to apologise formally to anyone I didn't contact while I was in Melbourne. It was a very intense week, and energy levels fluctuated. I knew it would be so, which is why I issued such a lame blogmeet callout. I also meant to ring people, that didn't happen. I'm back in February, so let's do something then!

Slothness abounds

Goodness me, I have to get through this marsh of sludge and start marching!

Blame Canberra; we've had TWO long weekends in a row, and while I work for myself and can ignore such things, having all my loved ones around me in the house and the cats lingering because we're around doesn't really inspire me to go up to the studio.

I had a lovely birthday. I was cooked my favorite breakfast (Eggs Benedict, with some of the wonderful peppery rocket that is going wild in our garden), received some good presents: a brooch that I picked out in Dunedin, tipped off by a jeweller friend who told me that D was the epicentre of contemporary NZ jewellery design; the DVD of an anime called The Girl who Leapt Through Time; a funky rubber duck from my lovely Sasha in Qld, some good books from family (including Barbara Hanrahan's latest biog) and $100 of book vouchers from Colonel & Lady Duck. Oh, and lots of chocolate from the cats. How lucky am I?

Thank you to Lexicon Harlot for pointing out the significance of turning a prime number just after I'd been working on a project called Prime. Lovely.

We had a bit of a picnic in the park near Floriade, our annual flower festival. It threatened rain, so we had a skeleton turnout, but when it did actually rain I had a posse of practical people, led by byrd, who had a tarp to string up over us. Of course, by the time it was fully functioning, we were quite damp and the rain had stopped, but it was a lovely shade cover as well, and a good time was had. Then we went for a walk through Floriade briefly, but the rain returned with a vengeance, and so we ran back to the cars and went home.

Last night Bumblebee went off to the Duck farm for the week, and tomorrow Best Beloved goes back to work, so I will give myself a good long hard look at my 'To Do' list and roll my sleeves up. In the meantime, I'm still being slow and vague. I think I'll sort out the remainder of my holiday snaps.

Another week that was

So. This week I taught a winter school of typography and general inkiness, 9.30 to 4.30 every day, with a lovely group of keen women who worked their butts off and produced nice things. That, combined with a couple of social events and a very surprising overnight adrenalin rush when our national leader changed gender, has resulted in my general puddleness this weekend. I am lying in bed writing this, after eating a nice Eggs Florentine made by a happy-to-be-home BB.



My type school ladies, setting type whilst listening to Kevin blub.


On Friday, after meeting my pupils at my studio for a quick tour and then wishing them safe trips home (one of them VERY kindly gave Bumblebee a lift to meet his father for the weekend, saving me a wet and tiring drive), I managed to scrape together enough energy to stumble through Woollies and buy a large amount of comfort food and (luckily) cat food (otherwise I think they would have eaten me up in the night) then get home and collapse on the couch, only rising to open another packet of something.

Best Beloved has been in Fremantle all week. I think I've mentioned before that he's studying to be a Superdooper Public Servant; he's been stuck in classes inside a windowless seminar room inside a hotel all week, and missed most of the political excitement, which seems very weird. If I were teaching a course like his, I'd have stopped class for the morning and made them analyse the situation as a group. Or at least celebrate or something... anyhoo, this has meant that Bumblebee and I have been batching it, living without routine or plan.

Bumblebee, because of my course, has had to be a latch-key kid all week, and had asked me what reward I would give him for getting mostly As this term. (He did get one B, but that was for the class where he made fresh profiteroles, so we now believe him when he says his French teacher dislikes him.) After giving him a talk about how proud I was but that doesn't translate into monetary value, I hit upon a fun thing that would slake his thirst for reward and solve the afternoon problem: we went to the local video shop and rented a week's worth of really cheesy movies. He was so happy.

We also shared the cooking, and ate fantastically. He's learned to make stirfry and burgers and we made minestrone together and I whipped up a lovely red beetroot risotto to celebrate a ginger PM.

So Friday night I forgave myself for eating two-minute spicy Thai noodles with a bag of marshmallows and a bottle of cider.



Did I mention... [whips back to the blog to check] no! Gosh, it's been a busy week. Last Saturday I took Bumblebee to the Craft ACT Bingo Night. He's never played bingo before, and I'd been introduced to it by Nana Annie when I was about his age: sitting in a hall with masses of people much older than me, the smell of handcream and excitement in the air, the sound of lightly thumping bingo markers and the tension-filled tight sucking of air through false teeth as the cards fill... it gets in your blood, it does.

This was a bit different... much younger crowd, for one thing. I regretted not bringing my bingo stamper, which is like a flat-ended texta perfectly designed to mark a dot on the card in one motion so that you can play multiple cards swiftly. I didn't regret bringing the boy, because he;s a lucky type, wins lots of things, and while I may be a cheery soul, I am not a commercially lucky person. I don't win things. When I am away on trips, Best Beloved and Bumblebee have a history of winning things (they've won a breadmaker and an icecream maker!) so I thought I'd test the theory that it's due to the lad. And it is. Sitting next to him, I won some fab jewellery and he won a handbag! Mine was a line bingo and his was a door prize. yay!

Snaps to Nana Bingo, played by the wonderful Barb McConchey, for making the evening amusing and urging us all on to greatness.



Then on Wednesday night we had a small but lovely launch for Those Who Travel, the book I helped produce over summer with Patsy Payne and Sarah Rice. Helen Maxwell, who closed her gallery earlier this year, has developed a lovely working relationship with her ex-next door neighbours, a funky furniture store, and they allowed her to have the launch in the store, which was fantastic. Lots of lovely things to sit on, precarious moments with red wine, and a launch speech by artist and writer Kim Mahood, who said lots of beautiful things about the book. We have adjusted the price a tad, and sold 4 books on the night, one to the National Gallery (w00t!). Bumblebee came along, wearing his new (vintage) brown leather bomber jacket, looking very cool, and spent the night pretending not to stare at the gorgeous daughter of a friend of mine, and she spent the night pretending not to stare at him, even though they quite happily Facebook regularly... ahh, I wouldn't be a teenager again if you paid me.

What else? Well, as you can see somewhere on the right there, I managed a bout of Twittering on wed and thursday, because that's where the action was re. the political scene. I had Bernice Balconey staying with me on Wed night, so she was jumping around in excitement and explaining things to me between brow furrows and squeals. The next day my whole class wanted the radio on, so we set type and listened to everything, blow by blow. My goodness, interesting times. Even if Julia ends up to be more more Margaret Thatcher than Helen Clarke, at least we can say we've had a female PM for a while... at the same time as a female GG. W00T again!

Also -- it's Zoe's birthday today. If you haven't already, send her a twit/FB poke/blog comment to send her your salutations. She just got her dream job, working for Stephanie Alexander, so while she hasn't been blogging, she's at least been floating.

Enough for now. I only have a day or so to go at the Book Stud before I have 6 months away from it... and I'm going to spend the next month finishing little jobs, cleaning the studio furiously (my friend Nicci is going to sublet it) and preparing for New Zealand, which looms close!

Postscript: here's a laugh. Here's something serious to think about. Or you can read the original.

Post-postscript: oh! Oh! oh! Big snaps to Penthe, you can now laugh even harder, LOLcatting at the change of leadership...

mucking aboot on the farm + hippo barfday to BB

Justin sighed. It was hard to follow your dream when all they did was mock you.

I've been having fun with my Farmville site on Facebook. There are times when you've done all your chores, and there's nothing much else to do. So I've started making little scenarios with my livestock.


Chatting around the grain silo at lunchtime, they were incredulous that Bruce had managed to get an iPad on the weekend.

While I'm creating, here's a birthday appearance for Best Beloved, who turns 39 today. (He's 3.5 years younger than me -- does that make me a cougar? or just a kitty?) I thought, even though (or maybe especially since) he doesn't read my blog, I'd give you a sneak peek at him:



This is probably as close as I can get to portraying him, anyway. I thought about putting him in a shirt & tie, to denote his Servant to Teh Public status, but he does love his Cartman, and his present today from me was two very silly and quite rude tshirts, including this, which delighted him, but we both agree that it will be hard to find places in which to wear it.

I remembered to buy him a birthday cake to eat last night when we went out with mates, and I cooked him a nice breakfast this morning. Tick, tick, tick tick, most of the birthday boxes ticked. Phew!

Mahri Autumn

On Saturday, I took Bumblebee for a bit of a road trip, leaving Best Beloved at home with the kitties to get his essay done (he's studying to get the Extra Handy badge for his Public Servant merit sash).

Our goal was his godmother's 40th birthday party. My friend Manthy was the first non-medical person to touch Bumblebee, and this was quite an unplanned thing; my mother (birth partner of choice) fanging it on the road to Canberra only to arrive too late, my father, in Canberra on business, too green-gilled to hold my hand, despite being officially licensed to kill (war being more palatable than birth, for some reason). We rang M, and she was there like a shot, bless her. Unfortunately, soon after she moved to Wollongong, and for a variety of factors, one of which is that both of us are self-absorbed artist-types, she hasn't seen much of B in the ensuing years.

So I thought that this would be good for Bumblebee, in a variety of ways. We booked a cheap motel room, threw some odd bits of clothing in a shared bag, and drove to the Gong, ready for anything.

Of course, the party was lots of fun. M is a musician, and teaches drumming and dancing, so the attendees were a lovely bunch of people who cheerfully helped make a no-dig garden as a birthday present, complete with accompanying gypsy-style music played live by those who brought their instruments.

No-dig gardens are very easy to set up when you get all the ingredients and invite a large bunch of willing helpers to set it up. I'm quite inspired.


Here's the garden in progress, with musicians under shelter in the rear. More photos at flickr.

The woman in the green dress is someone I hadn't seen in years. We shared a house together at university 20 years ago, and it felt like This is Your Life when I saw her (and another friend) walk in the door, looking just the same except with the same crow's feet I see every morning. It was fun to catch up.

Here's a little video that has hardly any vision because I was sitting in the half-dark listening to everyone play later in the evening, and my phone doesn't cope with darkness. The main thing is the spontaneous music, played by people who jam together in different groups, but happened to be in the same space that night. I didn't know most of them, although I chatted to one fellow at some point, and he turned out to be a member of Waiting for Guinness, whom I enjoyed at Woodford one year.



Manthy herself has a number of music projects on the boil at any time, one of which is called Mahri Autumn. She's just released an album under that name, and as a celebration of her birthday, I have two copies to give away to anyone who is interested. Have a listen on her website and decide if you like what you hear, and then email me (don't put it in the comments!) & let me know if you want one (don't forget your address). The first two emails will get a CD, but I'll only post to Australia, sorry. FWIW, my favorite song is Jack. It's my new jogging-on-the-treadmill song at the gym.

In fact, here it is:

Jack from Marianthe Loucataris on Vimeo.

Enjoy. If you like it and I've already given away the CDs, buy one directly from her. I don't think it's in any stores.

There was masses of delicious (mostly) Greek food, and birthday singing. Manthy sat through us all singing Happy Birthday to her, and then, in typical conductor style, made us all stop, hum in tune, and then made us do it again, drumming us through it. Classic M!



Of course, while B enjoyed the gardening and running around in daylight, as soon as the sun went down, he & the other kids discovered that they all had gameboy consoles with them, and suddenly there was a game circle inside, playing together wirelessly, ignoring the adults and the pleas to join in with the music etc. Sigh.

Yesterday we had brekkie on North Beach, drinking smoothies whilst watching old war planes circle the city for ANZAC Day, and then drove southwards to have lunch at Berry with my lovely aunty Sue (in torrential rain!) and then up the cliff face via Kangaroo Valley, into the (dry) Southern Highlands for a cuppa with Bernice (who lent me the new Brenda Walker to read, which I've gulped down overnight, and am determined to buy my own copy) and then home to a big lamb roast and Dr Who.

Bliss.

Bumbleteen

Over the past few weeks I've been meeting really lovely people who read my blog. One such person came to the opening of 3 Chords and introduced herself* and then asked me how Bumblebee was going with school. Others were at Mackay, and there are always people who come up at things like the LifeLine Book Fair (WHICH STARTS TODAY PEOPLES) and shock the hell out of me, but it's to be expected, since I put myself and my loved ones out for show constantly.

Well, here's an update:

Today is Bumblebee's 13th birthday.




I like to think I've managed to capture a few of the many moods of teenhood here. He's in his new beloved (and progressively crustier) uniform of black skinny jeans, a black suede waistcoat (a great bargain found at the Folk Festival) and his black Dunlop Volleys, teamed with a progression of fave t-shirts and his permanent hat.

We (parents, grandparents) teamed up and bought him a laptop, which hasn't arrived yet, but I'm sure when it does he will start to develop his own distinct online presence. I've deliberately kept him from constant computer use, but it's time for him to immerse himself, at the recommendation of his teachers.

Over the last few days I've given myself what can only be decribed as a minibreak, a phrase I've up to now disparaged as English pompompery to be found in movies like Bridget Jones. Why couldn't they just call it a weekend away, I've always sneered. But having 2 days anytime in the week where you can just ignore the world is definitely a minibreak, and a wonderful thing.

Bumblebee and I had one day where we had a 'boyfest': we watched Iron Man and Clash of the Titans (one in our pyjamas, one in the cinema) and ate pancakes and choctops. The next day we did a chickflick fest and watched When Harry Met Sally and Sleepless in Seattle and ate pancakes and Chinese dumplings. I love the fact that he's enthusiastic about both genres.

Today we are driving across to Harry's Discount Emporium in Fyshwick to check out his Star Wars stock and then we will poke our heads into the Book Fair. And then he goes to his Dad for the weekend, so, just like the day he took his first steps from his dad to me on an access visit, we both get to spend his first teen day with him.

What a dude, eh?








* and dammit, I can't find your card! Can you email me at ampersandduck[nospam, insert symbol here]gmail.com and give me your detalis again? I am SO LOUSY at these things. It probably got washed in my jeans by my overzealous hubbie...

how many roads must a woman drive down?

According to Wikipedia,

Douglas Adams was asked many times during his career why he chose the number 42. Many theories were proposed, but he rejected them all. On November 3, 1993, he gave an answer on alt.fan.douglas-adams:

“The answer to this is very simple. It was a joke. It had to be a number, an ordinary, smallish number, and I chose that one. Binary representations, base thirteen, Tibetan monks are all complete nonsense. I sat at my desk, stared into the garden and thought '42 will do.' I typed it out. End of story.”

Adams described his choice as "A completely ordinary number, a number not just divisible by two but also six and seven. In fact it's the sort of number that you could, without any fear, introduce to your parents."
...
Stephen Fry, a friend of Adams, claims that Adams told him "exactly why 42", and that the reason is "fascinating, extraordinary and, when you think hard about it, completely obvious." However, Fry says that he has vowed not to tell anyone the secret, and that it must go with him to the grave.

Another reason why I think Fry would have made the ULTIMATE Dumbledore. *Sigh*

42

How do I love thee? Lots. I've always thought that 42 would be so much better than 40, and much much more fun than 43 and counting. And so here I am, and the last year was pretty good, so let's hope this one lives up to its promise.

Thank you to all those lovelies who sent me birthday greetings on Facebook, a place I very rarely haunt anymore, because life is just too short. It's hard enough writing here, and I'm trying to keep away from the computer as much as I can these days.

In fact, Bumblebee and I decided to take the shortness of life into our hands and run away to the beach yesterday so that I could wake up on my birthday to the sound of the sea...

In fact, I woke up on my birthday to the sound of Bumblebee clutching me and hissing

MUM... SOMEONE'S UNZIPPING THE TENT DOOR!!!!

at 4:00 am this morning. We were sleeping side by side in our sleeping bags on a shared large airbed, and the noise did indeed sound like a zipper, but not a tent door zipper.

Groggily, I patted him and said 'no, it's not, go back to sleep'.

BUT WHY DID IT STOP WHEN I STARTED TALKING?

Good question. It did stop. I knew it wasn't a zipper, more likely a lyrebird imitating a zipper, but he'd woken me up enough to be aware of every. fricking. night. noise. including mosquitoes and possums. And so we didn't go back to sleep for HOURS, no matter how much I tried to lull B into relaxation. I think I slipped back into blissful unawareness at about 5:30, but Bumblebee got out the Gameboy and stayed awake... guess who is going to bed early tonight?



Here we are, in our utmost favorite spot, in the pebbly cove between Depot Beach and Pebbly Beach on the NSW south coast. It is a slate beach covered in rocks and pebbles, and when the water comes up and covers the rocks and pulls down again going out, the pebbles hiss as they push together and the rocks get up an amazing rolling rattle as they tumble and smooth themselves. The place is covered in gorgeous perfectly round smooth rocks that you can't take home because it's National parkland.



Bumblebee can skim stones here for hours. I can sit and read for hours. It's perfect. On this trip I started reading The Jesus Man by Christos Tsiolkas (a Lifeline find): absolutely unbeachy book, but fascinating so far...

I also made some friends.



And I had a quick dip in the sea today, just before coming home, so that I could feel the beach on my skin and hair for the rest of the day. It was very cold. I can still feel it on my skin, and if I lick my arm... mmmm, salty!

When I got home there was an answering machine message from one of my lovely aunties wishing me the best and hoping that I didn't feel too bad about the anniversary. It took me a moment to realise that she was talking about my grandfather's death last year. It's funny, I hadn't thought about it until that moment. Doesn't mean I don't miss him -- I do, badly, but I've been missing him for a long time, and dying when you're old is different to a young, tragic death. So I'm grateful that she reminded me, but it isn't going to kill the day, I think.

There was also a parcel from my mother-in-law containing the new Margaret Atwood novel. SQUEEEE! How excitement! Other pressies are apparently waiting until tonight, when I have dinner with BB, Dr Sista Outlaw and Zoe, which is about as much excitement as I will be able to manage before a better sleep than last night.

Can't go without a chuckle:



PS
Love the fact that the Lolcat mirror image is just someone typing the words backwards, not flipping the speech bubble... other presents were some gorgeous smelly flowers, a graphic novel of Coraline, and a fabulous Patsy Payne artist's book (Murmur)... just had an extraordinary drunken scrabble game with Dr Sista Outlaw and Zoe that is documented on crazybrave's twitter thread. Great birthday. You're all beautiful, trooooly.

A week's worth of post

Wow, where did that week go?!!

It seems like every time I sit down with the intention of writing, an email arrives asking me to do something, or a real life distraction captures my attention. I think I'm only going to catch up by using the dreaded dot points...

-- Bumblebee was very excited about going to his grandparents last week. He kept himself busy for the ten minutes or so that we were in my (poor, under-utilised studio) with one of his favorite toys, the whiteboard:



-- And so went to Bega, where I discovered that Colonel Duck's new satellite internet connection is only marginally faster than his old dial-up, except that now their phone line is freed up when they're using the computer. So checking my emails took ages, and I just couldn't be bothered wrestling it to get a post through. So there went my resolution to write something deep and meaningful. Instead, I lost my self in Byatt, various trashy mags and op shops.

-- While in Bega, I persuaded the local museum (a.k.a. my mother) to formally lend me their wonderful trays of woodtype in return for an annual poster:





(If that last photo looks vaguely familiar, it's because when the trays were donated abandoned on their doorstep (as I've mentioned before), I was asked to help them sort it, and I took some photos that with a bit of Photoshoppery became my current blog header!)

The coloured bits are coloured because whomever used them last didn't clean the ink off their surface. Tuh. Still, very pretty, no? Anyway, I got them not a moment too soon, because they were dying in a dusty backroom, wrapped in plastic and going a tad damp and whiffy. Using the type is the best way to keep it alive, and I'm more than happy to use it for the benefit of the museum whenever they ask me to. Goodness, I'm so happy, my heart keeps leaping with joy at the thought of all that woody goodness, saved from a dusty death.

-- And then, still in Bega, I wandered into the Regional Gallery to say hello to Megsy in her bright new shiny job, and was pounced upon by Gallery (and Library) staff who had 'only just been talking about me the day before'! I was asked to give a public talk and a weekend workshop about artists' books and ways to incorporate them into an artistic practice, to coincide with this year's Meroogal Women's Art Prize. Wow, how cool is that! It'll be happening in early June, so if you're interested, I'll mention it again closer to time, or you can contact the Bega Regional Gallery for details (although they haven't been finalised just yet!).

-- STILL in Bega, it was Bumblebee's twelfth birthday on Thursday. I get a little lump in my throat just thinking about it, and impending doom as he hurtles towards his teenage years. He had a lovely birthday, wot with the archery set given to him by Colonel Duck (along with a target fashioned out of an old trampoline) and a long romantic silver velvet cloak given to him by myself and my lovely sister-in-law (from the Folk Festival, of course). He spent the next day or so dressing up and stalking around posing with the bow and long hours at the target, practicing his shooting (and getting better each time!).


Feeling dramatic and romantic...


...undermined a tad by the green crocs. The day before he'd been in all-black, with black boots and the cloak, and wishing he hadn't cut all his hair off. But I forgot to get out my camera that day :)


Note the target in the background. It was fantastic when he hit the centre, but if he hit the sides things got a bit weird.

He also made his own cake, with the help of Colonel Duck, since all the women had scarpered off to town to talk about important things like wood type.



They had a lot of fun with food colouring. The outside was yellow with myriad colours.



The inside, as you can see, was red and green. We invited some friends over with their delightful children to share the cake (and the latest gossip) and discovered that the cake was actually really yummy.

We had more friends over for dinner, making our own pizzas in the home-made pizza oven, washed down with copious amounts of wine, and ended up in fits of laughter while B shot his arrows down the driveway with sparklers attached to the ends of the arrows. Kept him busy, kept us happy, and only one arrow lost in the dark.

-- Back to Canberra, to find that if the house wasn't cleaned very soon, my marriage was going to implode. So Saturday was spent channelling Annie.* The thing I hate about cleaning -- REALLY cleaning, not just giving the place a once-over -- is the fact that when you look hard at something you try not to look at, it grows exponentially. I wanted to vaccuum, for the first time in ages. But I thought I'd better clean the kitchen benches properly, so that if things fell on the floor, I'd get them with the vaccuum. And then I needed to wipe the shelves above the benches, and then I noticed the windowsills, which led to me cleaning the windows. I moved across the benches and picked up the toaster, which meant I had to clean the toaster. Oh, ecetera frigging ecetera. Finally, late in the afternoon, I managed to vaccuum, and then demanded that we go to the movies so that I wouldn't notice any more dirt. There was plenty around, but I knew that if I broke the obsessiveness, I could go back to just walking through the house blissfully NOT seeing.

-- So we went to see Good. And lo, it was good. And put me back into a mind for thinking about things I really WANT to think about, like memory triggers, and the way music can take you places you've forgotten about, or even into books you want to read.

Have I mentioned how much I loved AS Byatt's The Children's Book? Oh, how I loved it, let me count the ways. It's the book I've been wanting to read for a few years now. Stuffed with facts and references to an era that intrigues me, it is nonetheless extremely readable, and very hard to put down. It is set in the thick of the Arts & Crafts movement of the late 19th century in Britain and Germany, and takes you through to the end of WWI, over two generations. She is such a clever puss, she keeps the subject firmly in that time, but evokes such pertinent parallels to Babyboomers and Gen X as she does so. I can't really say more than that, since the book isn't released until next month, but I highly recommend it when you get the chance. I came out of that book in a spell which housecleaning absolutely trashed, and felt that I needed a voice of reason to snap me back into the world. I settled upon a re-read of Helen Garner's The Feel of Steel, which has formed an excellent buffer between Byatt and my next book, Tracy Crisp's Black Dust Dancing -- managed to get a copy today! Hooray!

-- On Sunday we entertained the still glowing newlyweds from Sills Bend, fresh from hanging out with obsessive Regency dancing obsessives. We love entertaining in the morning, it's when your friends are looking their best, all freshly slept and hungry. Best Beloved does a marvellous brunch menu of Eggs Benedict (or Florentine if our guests are vegos) followed by fresh coffee and cranberry crumble muffins (whole cranberries and a sweet crumble topping). It's pretty delicious. Zowen** came too, bringing as an offering an amazing mushroom/tofu baked dish with a zingy relish. Food heaven. Then I gave Laura & Dorian a tour of my still sadly-neglected studio, and then we went and mocked a lot of portraits for a while, which was excellent fun. I haven't had so much fun in a gallery since Fluffy and I mocked a whole heap of steel engravings in Melbourne a few years ago. Dorian decided not to take his faux top hat home with him (he would have had to wear it on the plane) and donated it to Bumblebee's hat collection, which made my young'un very happy, and it was in fact used today for his holiday learn-to-be-a-clown workshop.

-- And finally, there's only weeks to go until the opening of my bookbinding exhibition at Craft ACT. All the books are pouring in; I gave a pretty early deadline because I knew there would be stragglers, but also because I wanted to see the work properly before I started writing the room brochure essay for the show, and now we'll be able to install slowly and carefully. So I've been getting lots of exciting parcels, like this one:



Bugger brown paper packages tied up with string; this one was wrapped in softly shining gold paper, and then a package tied up with soft leather thonging! very lush, and indicative of the gorgeous book within. I'll save that for a future post, when I can showcase some of the books together. How excitement!

When I first put the exhibition idea together, I fully planned to not only include the edition binding of Poems to Hold or Let Go, but also to create my own individual binding. But time and opportunity have rushed past, and I resigned myself to just being the 'provider' of the book, rather than a contributor in my own right. But the other day I unearthed a box of materials that I'd stashed, and came upon a stack of beautiful momigami paper that I'd made as a student. WIZZ! went my mind, and now I'm determined to make a special binding of my own. I think I've nutted it out; I'll document my progress and show you when it's done. And when I do, I'll tell you what momigami paper is. But for now, I'm posted out, and you've probably had enough too! Good night!





* Evoking the spirit of my late Grandmother, who was a dedicated and obsessive cleaner.

** The easiest way I know to say Zoe and Owen and their two sprogs.

Wandering (slowly)

I'm running hobbling away to the Duck Prickle Farm this afternoon, to spend a few days in the bosom of my family, since they've been whinging about not seeing me for months. The funny part is the Colonel and Lady Duck are incredibly busy this weekend, so I'll only really be seeing them in the mornings and evenings. Still, it will be much nicer doing my daily short walk around the property rather than tottering up & down my street.

Tathra Girl -- by the time you read this, you'll probably have heard from me. If not, I'll be the next phone ring.

A few dot points for your reading pleasure:

-- It's birthday week, apparently. Naomi (beloved 'Dr Sista Outlaw', termed so because she is my ex-sister-unmarried-to-my-brother-in-law and thoroughly PhDed) hopefully celebrated her guts out after a fairly trying year; Laura is a bit low, but cheered by typed cats. Coz looks splendid, entering the hair cycle yet again. I love the hair cycle. Short, long, and the infuriating stages between. Makes life worth living.
Happy Birthday to you all, and any others I've missed.

-- Jahteh nearly split my stitches this morning with her pre-Christmas post. Be warned though, don't read it on your feed-reader; mine only showed the coloured lines and not the commentary she provides. Which actually made the whole post much funnier when I dived in.

-- Charlie Sofo, one of my favoritest living artists, wrote a beautiful post about libraries. Please read and enjoy. And then look at his other posts. And then look at his art.

-- Thank you to Bernice, who came to Canberra for her usual weekly visit (she commutes for work, poor love) and gave me a studio present -- a wee little bar fridge! Yay! Cold white wine at the end of the day! We borrowed the keys back from Byrd and went to the space to oooh and aaah again. It was so worth the walk.

-- Best Beloved went to (one of) the opening(s) of the new National Portrait Gallery last night. I didn't go because I wasn't invited. *His* friend Barbara Blackman has long known BB's valuable skills as a handbag at openings (which is the role he played with me before we fell in love) and takes him all sorts of posh places.

So I had takeaway noodles in front of Wallace & Gromit with Bernice and Bumblebee while he sent me text messages like ANY MESSAGES FOR ROLF [Harris]? HE'S RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME (to which we replied FIND A STICK. POKE to which he replied WHO NEEDS A STICK?) and WHAT SHOULD I SAY TO MR AND MRS HOWARD? NXT TO THEM to which our reply was absolutely unprintable.

Unlike Kevin, who was apparently very gracious about John Howard's role in encouraging the gallery's new premises. Unlike Ron Radford, who apparently allowed the jackhammers of the National Gallery's renovations to not just start up just as Kevin got up to speak, but to continue to emit horrendous noises freely (in the very late afternoon, cocktail hour!). And that is about the extent of BB's gossip, apart from recognising a few faces like Margaret Olley, William Yang, etc. If I'd been there it would have been juicier. Never mind.

OK, BRB. Might even be able to blog from the farm computer...

Remember to breathe

Weekend fun: Saturday

Well. Let's see. I started this as one post, but I think I'll split it, for reasons that will become quite obvious in a minute.

SATURDAY

was Lady Duck's birthday. Her and my birthdays are four days apart. That makes my birthday...




...this wednesday.

So we had a picnic at Floriade on Saturday. I've been having birthday picnics at Floriade for about 15 or so years now, off and on. I thought it would be a quiet day there, since most of Australia was glued to the tv watching Hawthorn flog Geelong, but no, it was PACKED. Obviously there are a lot of people out there who care as much about football as I do. Which is not a lot. Mind you, Colonel Duck came but ran away to watch the football, as did some other picnic-goers. Never mind.

Anyhoo, the day was gorgeous, we had yummies, and since mum and I are Librans, I gave us cake options, mainly because I couldn't decide which one I liked best and I knew she wouldn't be able to decide either:



These are slabs of Amore Cakes, from the Canberra Farmers' Markets. Clockwise from top left:

-- Ginger and macadamia cake
-- Lemon polenta cake
-- dark chocolate cake (not as sweet as you'd expect; made with Stout, and quite zingy)
-- Clover honey and Lavender cake
-- Sour Cherry cake
-- Pumpkin Lime cake

Gosh, it was fun to carve it all up and sample bits. That box fed lots of people with leftovers for brekkie this morning, it's all so rich!

That was the only photo I took of the actual picnic, because I got so caught up chatting to everyone. After about three hours, it's traditional to wander around the flaars and have a few rides on the fairground things, and then take photos of the annual gnome-painting competition. I remember vowing to enter this some year. This year the theme was Aussie films, and while I didn't enter, I did take photos:


This is what whole swathes of grass looked like, covered in sometimes very roughly painted gnomes (done by little children) and at other times very well-painted gnomes. Somewhere in here is Wally. And the other dude from Where's Wally (Waldo in other climes). Dunno what they had to do with the movies, but they were fun.


These are The Gnomes that Ate Paris. They have everything to do with Aussie film.


Chopper was pretty popular. This was one of the better ones...


...as was this, complete with bleeding ears, lurking in the grass.


Kenny, as we all know, is now completely iconic, joining the ranks with


Priscilla, and


Muriel.

A new, loving addition to the ranks is


Heath Ledger playing the Joker in that cult hit The Dark Gnome. Please note Tina Turner from Mad Gnome III in the background.

I loved the extra thought put into a few things this year, like


Storm Boy! Standing in front of one of umpteen Babes.


And Mr Perceval made an extra appearance, hungrily eyeing off (g)Nemo.



These were in another section that seemed to be devoted to 'random' entries.


And this could be from any movie, your guess is as good as mine, but Zoe and I liked the rendition of their hair.


This was pretty cute...


... as was this, Picnic at Hanging Gnome. If you're wondering why the gnomes are wearing Scout uniforms, it's because the Scouts submitted this and I suspect they've recycled the gnomes from another display. Or perhaps they're making a joke that if the girls had been Scouts, they wouldn't have got lost.

And so we went home, replete and entertained and glowing from a day in dappled shade. Colonel and Lady Duck took Bumblebee (who survived the Big Merino dumping -- sorry to leave him stranded in the narrative back there. His dad picked him up :) ) down to Bega for most of this week, and Best Beloved and I had a late afternoon nap that lasted well into the evening -- you know when you shut your eyes for a minute and suddenly it's hours later and you awake in the dark? I hate those times.

No rest for the wicked with a toy-boy

I've just spent the weekend in the Southern Highlands of NSW, checking out Bernice Balconey's new hidey-hole, which is small but gorgeous. The weekend away from my studio was a bit of a birthday present to Best Beloved, who turns 37 today (I love being married to someone younger than me). He loves the chance to talk politics with Bernice, and also to pop into a certain Berrima jam shop and swap cooking tips. I love the chance to talk art with her, and not averse to popping into Peppergreens and The Art of Bookbinding. So a good time was had by all. Funnily enough, we always stay in that area around this time of year.

Today's Book Design class was on box-making, and we got halfway through making a clamshell box, something I'm quite able to do on my own but am nervous to make with a group, because my maths is so bad and it shows as I'm calculating bases and sides and gaps etc. Luckily I'm quite able to expose the flaws in my personality and very open to being laughed at, so I don't try and bluff my way through these things; instead I confess all at the beginning of the class and we all have a good laugh and help each other get things right. It makes classes a lot of fun. I can prove my abilities in other ways later on, when I can show how to fold the little tuck in the corners of the bookcloth, or how to glue out a large swathe of cloth without getting glue on the neat side. In the meantime I get to hear a lot of student gossip, which is also enormous fun.

When I got home after doing all the shopping and pre-preparing a self-saucing chocolate pudding to follow the pizzas that I would pick up after my yoga class (the requested birthday meal), I found an email from artist book mistress Adele Outteridge, who shares a love of cats with me, especially cats who torture cardboard boxes. She sent me the link to a very funny cat video called An Engineer's Guide to Cats. Do yourself a favour.

As you were.