When the internet is really helpful

I hate folding washing.

It's probably my most hated household task.

It's probably because there's ALWAYS mountains of it.

It's probably because it NEVER ends.

I stumbled on this video today. I'm sure it will wear off but at the moment it's actually fun to fold (T-shirts anyway).

Thank you the Japanese, thank you the internet.

I'm off to Google Origami Undies now!

Crusty

I've made a cardigan for the Historian!

He has problems with the concept of the "cardigan". He has problems with the concept of hand-knit too. Born, I suspect, out of years of hand-knits from loving relatives that were too short, or wide, or acrylic, or otherwise weird.

I've been able to knit something he'll actually wear in the past but have until now had no success on the cardigan front. He thinks they're fuddy duddy.

Here's the thing.

The Historian didn't think that History was a crusty enough profession for him and so he is now in the thick of a post doctorate degree in Archeology.

Now an Archeological Historian or a Historical Archeologist simply must wear cardigans, don't you agree? . . . preferably with suede elbow patches and corduroy trousers.

I'm pleased to say that he has finally embraced the idea of hand-knits and cardigans but I can see with his new profession that I'll have to be careful not to steer him down a wrong path...

Mick Aston from the Time Team

Nothing is sexier than a good brain

Thinking a lot about evolutionary biologists lately (more on that later). In the meantime, for your viewing pleasure, a mind altering talk from one of our world's sharpest minds; and an evolutionary biologist, Richard Dawkins. Who is married to Princess Astra/Romana from Dr Who by the way (remember her?).

Neighbourly Lessons in Gratitude

I love where I live.

I met an inspiring woman the other day. She's in her eighties and lives a few streets away. We got talking about the neighbourhood and old houses and she invited me into see hers. As soon as I stepped past the threshold I knew I was in the home of a remarkable person.

Every neat-as-a-pin, yet comfortable, room was sparingly furnished with elegant teak pieces that looked as though they had been newly purchased last week . . . in 1955 and on every wall hung enormous, beautiful painted canvases, mostly portraits with pleasant personalities that seemed to reach out of the surface asking you to get to know them better. I lingered at a handsome smiling young man that absolutely shone with yellow tones from mustard to marigold.

"My long ago paramour, he stayed in France," she sighed.

"Are you the artist?" I asked,  impressed.

"Yes, most are mine. Oh, I wanted to see how it was done," she said as she noticed me studying a really convincing copy of the Mona Lisa that hung in her sitting room.

She told me that she has traveled and lived in many places around the world but that this is where she has put down her roots. She has lived in the house for 55 years, her children grew there, her grandchildren love to visit and she has two studios out the back where she takes small groups for painting lessons. She said that when her friends come to stay from overseas that they are blown away at how close she lives to the city and yet what a relaxed and idyllic life she has.

"It's paradise here," she said smiling at me.

I came away changed from that meeting.

I had been feeling rather antsy, flighty, foot-itchy lately. Some friends have recently relocated to London (making me really envious, it sounds so exciting) and Dette is about to set off on her incredible European escapade.

Blah, I thought. Boring, I thought. We should pick up and go somewhere. Relocate. Have an adventure. I even made a mental (googled) list of places that I thought would suit me: Victoria, Canada; Aarhus, Demark; Gotland, Sweden; Somewhere nice that I haven't narrowed down yet in New Zealand?...hmmm.

But I do actually love where we live.

I love our lifestyle. I love that we have roots and family here. I love the community. The people, who will share life lessons and readily invite strangers into their homes! The skinny musicians loping along with guitars slung across their backs - just like generations of hip kids before them. Elderly Italian and Greek families with bursting vegetable patches, illegally planted but ignored by the authorities, on their front council verge. The pink and grey galahs nesting in street trees and the magpies hopping about in their brilliant white and black below them.

I love the mild winters and the spectacular spring and autumn days (we don't have to talk about summer). I adore our house that we are making so comfortable and beautiful and the memories that my children are creating here daily.

I love the open blue sky that we enjoy (3200 hours a year).

I love that we're walking distance to friends, the best park in town, foreign restaurants, art galleries and cool little wine bars playing original music. I love that we can holiday nearby in really pristine wilderness, deserted beaches with the softest, whitest sand and world-class wine regions

Perhaps I'll just content myself with fantasy international holiday plans. That way I can come back to "paradise".

A Love Letter to my Dearest Friend on the Occasion of her Birthday

Dear Dette,

Thirty years ago we found each other at high school and I am forever grateful that we did.

We were together through the teenage angst incredibly important dramas of our late adolescence. We created our own styles together, sewing and knitting clothes (urg, remember the black polkadot jodpur things I made? And our anti-fashion stance of mixing colours that we thought shouldn't go together...only to find pink and yellow were the "new black" of 1982 and the competitions to see who could be clothed for the least money - curse those undies, they always bumped up the total cost).

We felt passionately about so many, many things and causes and talked endlessly about our hearts and who was trampling all over them or who we wished would trample on them a little bit...staying up all night giggling insanely, eating "magic" french onion dip in my bedroom window.

Since then we've both had relationships and break ups, joy and sorrow but your friendship has remained a strong constant in my life, like a pair of warm and loving arms always there to catch and comfort. I am continually inspired by your courage, strength, kindness and creativity . You really do make me a better person.

When we were 17, we imagined the sort of old ladies we would one day become. We vowed to be as naughty as we could possibly be and exasperate everyone with our tricksy ways while we wreak havoc in our super-fast shiny red sports-cars. I'm looking forward to that in another 30 years.

Happy Birthday.

Love Anki

Some Music for You

One of Australia's most brilliant bands, The Drones, performing Kev Carmody's "River of Tears".

Here he comes again

I'm prejudiced.

Against.

Mauve.

Mauve has never done anything to me and yet I can't even stand the sound of his name. Mauve. Yuck.

It's a truly visceral affect he has on me. I hide my prejudice. When the Wisterias are in bloom, I naturally ooh and aah with everyone else but inside I'm shuddering...Mauve. Too much Mauve. Yuck.

As with any prejudice, I see him everywhere, I distrust him and am uneasy when he's around. He seems to sneak into so many colours and try to ingratiate himself. The silvery, mother-of-pearly colour that I yearned for in the dining room has him lurking in the darkened corners. And now he's threatening to show up again in the pale grey colour that we have chosen for woodwork at the front of our house.

Dulux Lunette

. . . not to mention the colour we've chosen for the walls.

Dulux Bilby

The Historian keeps saying, "Look, if you're going to stare at the colour long enough, you're going to see it. Relax, and get that look of disgust off your face, it's grey . . . . . . . . . .with a hint of purple".

But I know that wily character Mauve, he lulls you into a false sense of security with his purple-ness or his pink-ness but he's still Mauve under it all.

Maybe I need to accept him. Embrace him. Plant a Wisteria and name the house "Mauve Manor".

Pssst...I've changed the main colour...that should foil Mr Mauve...

Dulux Raku