Saturday, August 30, 2008
To finished it off I made a little pin out of an old tortoiseshell needle. I just put it in boiling water and slowly bent it.
I'm not sure which I'm more proud of.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
This little guy is my favourite.
Despite the fact that she, and her beautiful 2 month old bub were sick, sick, sick, she made the simple things special.
I dream that one day we will not suffer the tyranny of distance and be able to see each other more than once annually. We met in 1989 when Lil was my billet for a music festival. Nearly 20 years later and we've travelled, lived, worked and played together and maintained an amazing friendship despite distance and lack of communication (primarily by me!!) I miss you already big Lil.
One of the best things was that on Friday night I had Big Lilly, my sister and Lil all together - all my favourite girls in the one place at the one time. And we laughed (mostly at an extremely wired little four year old) till we nearly cried. Great restorative for the soul.
Anyhoo, I've about 15 post that are floating about in my head, so I'd best get to it before one of the little darlings wakes up. Paddy's been feeding at 5.30 ish so I just stay up and get an hour or so to myself! Woohoo!
Sunday, August 17, 2008
And didn't realise that I'd not replaced the glass canister. I salvaged enough for one cup.
I also held a little tea party for Nath and LilyPad the other day. Avalonne had told me that there was a new French Patisserie in the Belconnen Markets (where the scungy takeaway used to be). So I had to try it, you know, because I might need to recommend it to someone... Anyhoo I got me some pecan pies and set up Lil's little table with the 'good' linen (which gets used all the time) and the wedgewood vase with some pansies, and some coffee for us (natch) and chocolate milk for Lil.
Our coffee ended up mocha because Lil kept serving us 'more tea maaaad am [madam]' .Paddy just got a rusk. Raw deal for him, because those pies nearly blew my socks off. Just devine - and with a slight bourbon flavour and huge chunks of delicious chocolate.
My lovely lace ribbon scarf, for my even lovelier sister. I'm enjoying this pattern, but can't wait to finish it so that I can cast on a new one in my Malabrigo.
Also, my Beech Wood (Rav link) is approaching the end of its first repeat. But I can't be arsed photographing it. Even though its stunning. But join me at SnB today at the Labor Club and you might get to fondle it.
Another wip is a loom that I made using the instructions in the latest edition of Craft magazine. However its been thrown across the room in disgust because I can't get the alternating wefts (attached to the heddle bars) to work according to their diagram. There's nothing for it - I'll just have to buy a proper one...
Saturday, August 16, 2008
And it is as soft as I remembered it. Lily's rather attached too. Can't wait to cast on for that...
Also got a thicker one which within an hour of getting it in my hot little hands I had yarn caked, and cast on for the Beech Wood cowl (inspired by Avalonne's beauty in Smoothie). Man alive its beautiful.
Was going to do the appropriate links, but Mr Man is up so i'll get back to them later...
Wednesday, August 06, 2008
Something tells me that getting a serious family photo out of my brood is going to be a hard slog...
Sunday, August 03, 2008
My favourite poem is 'Clancy of the Overflow' by Banjo Paterson. If you've read my blog before then you'll know my son is called Paterson, partly because of my love of this poem (although mostly because I had hayfever caused by 'Paterson's Curse' when I was pregnant). This link is the link to the copy of the poem illustrated by Kilmeny Niland that I read to Paterson every night before I put him to sleep...
My favourite line is
"Clancy of The Overflow" is a poem by Banjo Paterson, first published in The Bulletin, an Australian news magazine, on December 21, 1889. The poem is typical of Paterson, offering a romantic view of rural life, and is one of his best-known works.The poem is written from the point of view of a city-dweller who once met the title character, a shearer and drover, and now envies the imagined pleasures of Clancy's lifestyle, which he compares favourably to life in "the dusty, dirty city" and "the round eternal of the cashbook and the journal
"And he sees the vision splendid of the sunlit plain extended,
And at night the wondrous glory of the everlasting stars."
Clancy of the Overflow
I had written him a letter which I had, for want of better
Knowledge, sent to where I met him down the Lachlan years ago;
He was shearing when I knew him, so I sent the letter to him,
Just on spec, addressed as follows, "Clancy, of The Overflow."
And an answer came directed in a writing unexpected
(And I think the same was written with a thumb-nail dipped in tar);
'Twas his shearing mate who wrote it, and verbatim I will quote it:
"Clancy's gone to Queensland droving, and we don't know where he are."
In my wild erratic fancy, visions come to me of Clancy
Gone a-droving "down the Cooper" where the Western drovers go;
As the stock are slowly stringing, Clancy rides behind them singing,
For the drover's life has pleasures that the townsfolk never know.
And the bush has friends to meet him, and their kindly voices greet him
In the murmur of the breezes and the river on its bars,
And he sees the vision splendid of the sunlit plain extended,
And at night the wondrous glory of the everlasting stars.
I am sitting in my dingy little office, where a stingy
Ray of sunlight struggles feebly down between the houses tall,
And the foetid air and gritty of the dusty, dirty city,
Through the open window floating, spreads it foulness over all.
And in place of lowing cattle, I can hear the fiendish rattle
Of the tramways and the buses making hurry down the street;
And the language uninviting of the gutter children fighting
Comes fitfully and faintly through the ceaseless tramp of feet.
And the hurrying people daunt me,and their pallid faces haunt me
As they shoulder one another in their rush and nervous haste,
With their eager eyes and greedy, and their stunted forms and weedy,
For townsfolk have no time to grow, they have no time to waste.
And I somehow rather fancy that I'd like to change with Clancy,
Like to take a turn at droving where the seasons come and go,
While he faced the round eternal of the cash-book and the journal
But I doubt he's suit the office, Clancy, of The Overflow.