Poppalina

Zen Presco

Reading Sandra's post about Zen and the Art of Simplifying got me thinking seriously about the destructive effect of mess and clutter on my equilibrium.

4am found me still in the studio, humming blearily to myself, bent over the (extensive) bead and button collection and sorting it neatly into the compartments of this:

The Presco Type Cabinet is the ultimate answer to the eternal Crafter's Riddle,

'Where the Fuck Does One Put 23,555 Really Little Things?'.

Each drawer can hold this much:

and I call that A Beautiful Thing.

I finished just in time to catch a dawn screening of a documentary on Russian Iconic Art (which, in my already elevated state, completely blew my mind), took the OMGwhathappenedtomybaby off to her first day at high school (which went just fine, thanks for asking), and returned to my first full day at home during school term in 2 years.

No more driving across town, no more peak hour traffic, no more parent-at-the-gate (don't get me started), no more petrol cost blowouts. Just me and my espresso machine and the paper and the sunshine and Arabic internet radio and Big Stupid lying on my feet hoping for toast and the rest of my life ahead of me.

Of course, it's now 7pm, and I look like death warmed up, and I feel like I've been on a 3 day whiskey bender, but a quick peep into the type cabinet is all that's needed to restore me to a state of inner serenity that is almost...

well....

Zen.

(Tomorrow... beads. I plan to work my way, slowly, through the house, until I am at one with God.)

Allahu akbar.

All Grown Up

The Creative Genius starts high school tomorrow, and I must confess that the prospect is making me misty.

I mean, whatever happened to this?:

And at what point did she give up the Barbie and develop a penchant for Tommy Hilfiger, black nailpolish and mutant guitar parts?

I'm deeply confused...

(photo courtesy of Mym's Dad)

Learning Curves

43 years old, and only now am I learning how to use an industrial sewing machine.

It's a bit alarming, but also rather exciting. I haven't sewn over my hands thus far, but hey...

And I expect that by the time I have mastered these,

I'll be feeling a lot more confident.

Like learning to drive a car all over again. It's all about braking....

Thanks go to the Frock Fairies, from whom I inherited this wondrous machine, and to Kapinny, in particular, for the Industrial 101 lesson.

I have named the machine Max, in homage to its charming and delightful previous owner, Maximillian.

Heat Stroke

The doctor arrived around 3am, but by then I knew that things had started to improve.

A quick check confirmed that yes, it was heat stroke, but fortunately not too severe, and she was already on the mend.

Still sleeping at lunchtime today. No way am I going to wake her. I might even get the dishes done.

Thank you once again for the emails of support and advice.

Isn't the blogging community an amazing thing? However did I manage without it?

This is how relieved I look, now that it's over:

Sunburn Update and Thanks

Thanks all for your helpful tips and advice. It was much appreciated.

But 30 hours on, we've got fever, chills, can't be touched, can't walk, and in a State of Delirium. She's completely off her head.

I've just called up a locum.

All this from just a couple of hours on the beach, in moderate temperatures. Her poor grandmother is mortified.

Australian Sun. There's nothing like it.

Silk Sunburn Smoke

Can't talk, I'm busy...

Be back when I've more to show you.

And can anyone give me some fabulous home remedy for severe sunburn? The 12 year old (with the complexion of a redhead) thought she might try her hand at sunbathing at the beach today.

She's an absolute mess, and very, very unhappy, and I don't know what to do. I am the World's Worst Nurse. I just suffer with her.

And smoke more.

6 Weird Things

Tagged by Kate...

I don't sleep much at night.

I have enormous trouble remembering people's names. Even people I really like. I'm obliged to use the terms darling and mate a lot. I have no trouble at all remembering the names of dogs, however. Maybe because I like dogs more than I like people.

I have an embarrassing tendency to acquire the accents of people I am in company with. People think I am being pretentious, or worse, taking the piss, but I honestly can't help it.

I see things. People, mostly. People who aren't really there. They don't talk to me or interact in any way. They just go about their business, often over and over again, and I can see them, usually in my peripheral vision. If I look at them directly, they mostly disappear. This has been happening all my life.

When alone, I have a tendency to live so completely in my head that I lose all awareness of the Real World. A day can go by and I won't be able to tell you anything about it. I have been known to fall down stairs because I have forgotten that I was walking down them, and stepped straight out into space.

I am an empath. I often feel the emotions of other people, as if they were my own. This is much more problematic than it sounds. I spend a lot of time trying to work out which emotions are mine, and which are coming from outside. Parties can be overwhelming.

I'm reluctant to tag, but if you're so inclined, do the meme. It's quite enlightening. I'm even weirder than I thought....

Dying Happy

For CSH, as promised.

I don't profess to be a motorbike expert, and I can't ride, but I was raised with bikes and love them. And I can tell you this: there is nothing in the world more satisfying than riding around Bombay on the back of an Enfield. It's better than sex.

I can't tell you much about it, other than it has the most beautiful note, is fabulously comfortable, especially with your arms around the waist of a Big Blokey Bloke, and that you will turn heads absolutely everywhere you go. Of course, you will pretend not to notice. You will be acting all nonchalant and breezy, but privately tripping out on the fact that you are finally getting to ride without a helmet.

Fall off the back of this baby and you are almost certainly cactus. You will be run over by several large trucks, a dozen-odd Ambassador taxis, two pushbike riders and a Brahmin bull before anyone even notices. 

But you'll die happy, I promise.

Bombay Booty

Home from Bombay.

Never mind the personal details. Let's just show the STASH:

Crochet silk. A suitcase full:

And the world's most beautiful antique silk braid:

How gorgeous is that?

I also made these little baby shoes, to keep myself sane:

   

Okay. Enough said.