You're the voice, try and understand it

Well, hello dear neglected readers. Happy belated 2008 to you all!

I feel I should explain the post below. I've decided that, for me, 2008 is going to be the year of writing. In order to do this, I need to find my writing voice. Now, I already have a writing voice, but I feel I need to get to know it well. What makes it tick? What is it about this voice that makes it undeniably, unmistably mine? Does it prefer marmalade to nutella? Radio to silence? Downhill to cross-country? Does it even want to come out?

In order to answer these questions (and probably quite a few more), I'll be doing a lot more writing this year. I'm even going to bore you all, and put some of it on the blog, inbetween newly made dresses and blathering about knitting. Hopefully some will be a tad more cheery than the one below. Even I'll admit to being a little disturbed by that one.

Feel free to let me know what you think of it. Criticism*, even when it pinches hard like a bastard and leaves a bruise, is always thought-provoking, and probably just what I need to bang down walls and improve.

*Although don't be too mean - I am a sensitive soul, after all!

Incidents involving blood during a 9 month gestation period: a true story.

(i)
I fumble my way into the bathroom, heading towards the sink, mentally trying to prepare myself for the morning hell that is cleaning my teeth. My body, once so well known, is now an alien place to me - I feel weak, with wobbly legs and aching joints, my head continually feeling like it’s about to split open, my stomach churning with a never ending nausea. The radio announcer gaily informs his listeners that it’s going to be a fine sunny day, with a top of 33. These facts no longer mean anything to me, when I can barely move from table to couch to chair to toilet without throwing up. I am two months pregnant.

I lean over the sink, and squeeze out some toothpaste onto the brush. I gingerly put it into my mouth, and gently begin to brush. Within seconds the act of opening my mouth just so combining with the peppermint taste of the toothpaste conspire to make me gag before throwing up what little breakfast I had managed to force down. With a light head, I notice the blood mixed in with the toothpaste mixed in with the vomit. The tiny part of my brain still functioning in a normal manner idly notes that I’d never had bleeding gums before falling pregnant. I lean down, wash the vomit from my toothbrush and splash my face with water, then lower my head further to cool down on the porcelain sink. I feel like death. This baby better be worth it.

(ii)
I’m in the shower, soaping my growing baby bump. It’s sometime in March. Reaching up, I squirt out some cleanser, then proceed to wash my face. Suddenly I feel a sharp pain in my nose. I open my eyes, and see blood pouring down my body, mixing with the hot water to produce torrents of red that flows quickly down the sink. I lose my head and begin screaming for my husband. He rushes into the bathroom and is confronted by me standing naked and horrified in the shower, blood everywhere, screaming “What have I done? WHAT HAVE I DONE?”

(iii)
I am lying on the bed in the labour ward, legs still encased in the stirrups. My husband is holding our newborn baby girl, who hasn’t yet cried, but did make squeaking sounds, like a door without oil. A midwife is over me, pummelling my stomach in an effort to extract the placenta. Nobody is aware at this point that the placenta is actually embedded in the uterus. Unknowingly, we are dancing with the devil. After pummelling some more, the midwife gives up, and with a sigh, reaches in and pulls it out. In doing this act, she creates a gaping wound in the uterus, and within seconds the blood is pouring out, landing on bed, floor, legs, nurses. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!” mutters one, as the room suddenly becomes a hive of activity. I hear a code red being announced. In my dazed state, I only realise it’s for me when the room begins filling up with people, one warning another not to slip in all the blood that is amassing on the floor. They begin cutting off my singlet top, trying to transfer me to a trolley, organising the theatre for the five hours of emergency surgery ahead, not bothering to hide the panicked looks on their faces. All I can feel is the cold coming in. I am terrified of closing my eyes. Against my will I begin to die.

I could have gone for tinsel, but who can resist the Grumbles?!?!

Ahhh, the wonders of the urban jungle! First solo bike ride - rawkin'! Merry Christihanukawanazmass, all you wonderful readers. May your holidays and the coming year be full of joy, happiness and the occasional estactic bike ride.

Lotsa love,
Jorth and co (i.e. Grumbles and Galumph)
xoxoxoxoxo!

PS How cute is that concentration?

Too whit! Too whoo!

"Oh dear!", sighed Mr Dottlepanger as he scrutinised his rather bespottled legs, wings and torso. "I do hope I'm not coming down with the measles. That would put me in a spot of bother!"

Determined to cheer himself up (after all, too much negative thinking can make an owl feel rather dotty), he perched in front of his favourite sewing machine, and gazed out the window, hoping to spot his favourite animal, the lesser-spotted quoll. Having no luck with quoll spotting, he decided that a spot of elevenses would be just the thing, and made himself a lovely big mug full of tea, accompanied by a jam drop or two.

Things I am loving

- The above rather spiffy Jorth fambly portrait, done by the awesomely talented Aunty Cookie. Cheers, Shannon!

- The fact that the parcel containing a Marimekko fabric dress for her wee little one plus a little something for Shannon finally arrived, although it took it's sweet time about it, and had me in constant conniptions in regard to it's whereabouts. Phew.

- This biscuit recipe. Yum-o-rama!

- That Grumbles has declared that for Christmas she would like a beard. So I knitted her one. Mo ho ho!

Tradies

I've had quite the morning dealing with tradies. The first fellow, who came to fill in all the ceiling gaps, wasn't exactly Mr. Talkative, but he seemed nice enough, and did a good job. He even offered to vacuum up afterwards (admittedly after I'd vacummed), so no complaints. A chemical headache, but no complaints.

But the guy who came to replace a couple of cracked windows? Um, cracked in the head. Big time. I can handle eccentric, but when eccentric comes with extraordinarily loud and continued swearing in front of Grumbles, and ends with my discovering hundreds of tiny glass shards all over her bed, then that's when it becomes ridiculous. Not to mention unprofessional.

I was going to spend this blog post ranting and raving in a very cutting way about him, making hilarious but snide comments about his personal hygiene etc, but then I remembered that golden old rule: If you can't say anything nice about a person, don't say anything at all.

So:

However, I shall say this - don't expect too much from people wearing Jim Beam hats. I'm not saying, I'm just saying.

Paper, cotton, leather, linen, wood!

On this day, 5 very short years ago, I married the Galumph!




The bride wore green, and a big goofy grin. The groom wore the darkest of blues, and an even bigger grin. And they both carried hearts full of joy, and a promise to walk together in the many days ahead.

Who are the nutters in your neighbourhood?

Grumbles is going through her 'whhhhhyyyyyyyyy?' stage. It was slow to start, and for a few blessed moments I thought that we might have escaped it, but alas, no. It's taken off with a vengeance! I wouldn't mind so much if she actually listened to my answers, but she doesn't, and it's driving me BARMY.

So I began, at the end of the question thread, when no more possible answers were possible, to say in my best Grover-on-speed voice "Because I say sooooooooooo!"

And I've completely and utterly created a rod for my own back, because all she wants to do now is make Mum do that crazy voice, so it's all "Why? Why? WHY?" But who could blame her? It's highly entertaining, especially when I team it with a mad muppet run and up and down the hallway, bellowing "Because I say soooooooo! I'm the Mum, and I know best! GAAAAA-RAAAAAAHHH!". Sometimes she laughs so hard she has to lie down in order to recover.

*********************************************************
In other thrilling news, I'm going on a date tonight. Eeeeeeeee! It's been so long since I've done one of those that I'm no longer sure what to do. Any suggestions, o peoples of the internet, for a night out in old Melbourne town that costs less than $50?

Holy schmoly! I should probably point out I'm going on a date with my husband. Phew! Just imagine that kerfuffle I might have caused if I didn't clarify that!

Doing the photo thang

Firstly, thanks everybody for your good sleep suggestions. Breaking the caffeine habit will be the hardest, I suspect. Such a vicious circle: can't sleep, feel tired during day, have a coffee, too much caffeine, can't sleep and on and on we go. So no more coffee after 11, as suggested by Jo. Also, a good pal told me about the breathing she learnt during her hypno-birthing classes, so each night you'll find me lying in a relaxed position in bed, working that tummy up and down as I breath in correctly. Or so the theory goes.

But really, you don't stop by my little neck of the woods to listen to me blather on about my sleep problems. You're after madcap adventures! Crazy schemes! What new adventure is that loony Jorth embarking upon now? Well, I think I might just enrol myself in a photography course. Stop the old brain from rusting, etc etc. Plus I like to be really good at things I do regularly, like sewing and knitting and now taking photos. So that's the big plan for next year. Photocity, here I come!

Mrs Jorth does Ebay

Well - good news on the health front. All the results came back, and everything appears to be a.o.k. She gave me some sleeping pills to help me sleep, which I don't really want to be taking, but I guess anything is better than the 3 hours of broken sleep I've been averaging for the last couple of months. If anybody has some ideas regarding achieving a good night's sleep, then don't be shy - pass them on! I'm all ears!

Rightio - onto the Christmas cheer. I scored a tree on Ebay! I'm not really a fan of the ye olde plastic tree, but the real ones in pots we bought kept dying on us, and I feel bad about the cut ones. Yet I didn't want to buy something brand new either, as it doesn't quite go with our plastic-free life. Yet I did so want for Grumbles to have the Christmas magic that comes with a tree, and the traditions a family can create that are associated with it (you know, like dancing around to Rosemary Clooney whilst hanging the decs, inbetween getting out the dustpan and brush to sweep up the ones that Grumbles dropped on the floor - note to self: no more clay decorations until she is old enough not to drop them). Sight - whever is a Christmas-loving environmentalist to do?

So one morning I was browsing away on Ebay, and I saw second hand trees for sale. Geeeeeez, how exciting does that bidding get? I think I gave myself RSI from the refresh clicking I was doing, but I was determined that nobody, but nobody, was taking my second-hand tree away from me!

So I'm pleased all around. We didn't cave in and buy a new plastic tree, and we've recycled (the person who sold us the tree said they were going to throw it away - gasp!). Hoorah!

Home made paper

Ta da! How's this for an eco-friendly Christmas: home made paper, made with scraps of coloured paper saved all year long (Nerd alert! Nerd alert!), then mixed with old print outs from Galumph's dad's work. I like to recycle where I can, and according to The Guardian, "One of the biggest sources of waste in the UK each Christmas is wrapping paper, with more than 8,000 tonnes being used each year - the equivalent of approximately 50,000 trees." Well, make that 8,000 tonnes minus about 3 metres from us. Except that we're not in the UK. Now I'm confusing myself.

Anway, that's my Christmas gift wrapping all, er, wrapped up, bwahahahahah bad pun intended. Although, since I let Grumbles help me there may have been a bit of a story invented about how we are making Santa's life easier by providing him with the paper, so he doesn't have to wrap the pressies, being so busy and all. Now, when he gets to our place, he grabs the gifts from his sleigh and then does a bit of Santa-style magic and hey presto, gifts wrapped in paper we made for him.

So, the paper is pretty nifty, hey?And this was only one batch, done on those crazy hot days last week. Tell you what, don't make paper on a 37 C day. Not a smart idea, being out in all that heat, squatting down and lying the sheets of wet paper pulp just so. (Don't worry, Grumbles was inside having her nap at this point - she more helped with the ripping of paper) At one stage I got up and was soooo dizzy I thought I might pass out. At least I was out the front, where hopefully a neighbour would have spotted me sooner rather than later, preferably before I was pecked to death by crazy maternal nesting magpies. Because death by 'pies would be a sad way to go indeed. Plus the Galumph would never get his bond back if he couldn't remove the blood stains from the front steps.

Ewwww! Enough of that. Back to the heat. You should have felt the effect it had on my heart! It was going ker-whallop, ker-whallop, ker-doing. Actually, it's been doing that for a while now. So yesterday I trotted off to the doctor, who 'hmmmmmmed' in a most disconcerting manner before ordering blood tests and an ECG. Oh, the fun!

Test results on Monday. I'll keep you posted.

It's a privilege - don't take it lightly

Oh Australians, I'm not one to tell you whom to vote for, but please please please don't vote with your wallet or with your own superficial interests. Vote for the good of all others. Think about those who will come after you. Think of them and our future. Think of your children and their children and of all the children who will ever be, growing up in this world of ours, which maybe never to be repeated in regards to good environmental fortune and sheer simple luck. We have so much to treasure - and so much to (rapidly) lose.

Think of them all. And for God's sake cast your vote accordingly. As the Guardian says, this is the first environmental election.

A dress for Election day!

Do you remember a while ago I was blathering away about my summer wardrobe, and how spiffy it was going to be, what with the hand knitted matchy matchy cardigans and all? I'd forgive you if you had forgotten, as the silence around these parts concerning aforementioned wardrobe has been somewhat on the deafening side, ja?

Well, let us be silent no more! This week has seen me put aside projects for Grumbles (and when I say projects I mean two more spotty tops, plus another top with a fitted bodice and flared bottom, AND a dress for the daugher of a friend and yes, hopefully I'll blog about them all when I take a decent pic) and finally claim the machine as my own.


I've been using Vogue 8184, which is a terrific pattern, as the basis for the dress. I've pretty much kept the bodice intact (because who wants to make their own bodice pattern? Pwah, too much hard work!), taking the side seams in 1 cm at the top, tapering down towards the waist in order to make the dress fit my not-so-ample bosoms, but I have gone all freelance like on the strap and skirt.

The skirt has been quite easy to do. I slashed and spread the front and back skirt to create extra fullness (take a peek here for how to do it, although I didn't utilise the dart points), then did random gathering to make the flouncey look. Fingers crossed I get it finished tonight, because I think it's just the thing to cast my vote in this Saturday! Elections only occur once every three years - you've gotta dress up for them, right?!

Playing with dust motes swirling in the afternoon sun

The Walk

Wow - what a day! The Jorth fambly joined 50,000 (!) others on the Walk Against Warming, and what a walk it was. We'd organised to meet Nichola, but unfortunately we completely failed to find each other in the crowd. Darn!

Hopefully all these people walking will get the message across to the pollies that we want something done about climate change, and we want it done NOW!

Speaking of all things environmental, if you fancy figuring out your carbon footprint, the Galumph found a most excellent site last night: ZeroFootPrint. It's the most thorough one either of us has found to date, and it offers great, well thought-out suggestions for lowering your impact, based on the answers you give. Well worth a couple of minutes of your time.

Okay, that's enough blathering on for today. Hope you all enjoy this sunny Monday (or whatever the weather is in your part of the world).

Thank you!

Well, there's a whole heap of good feelings going on around chez Jorth in regard to the response to the whole Etsy shop thing. Cheers, maties! You'll all be mucho pleased to know that I've decided to take the plunge, and open up me own wee little shop.

Check it out right here! I've put the earrings from the last post up, so if you really did fancy a pair then you'd best get cracking and snaffle yourself a pair, as they are all very extremely limited edition, few-of-a-kind wonders! And as a happy, make-you-feel-good bonus, $2 from each sale will be donated to Greenpeace. Hooray!

Rightio, that's enough blathering from me. Hope you all are having a tremendous weekend. Don't forget about the Walk Against Warming tomorrow, Aussies!

Should I or shouldn't I?

I've been having a little think lately about crafting and blogging, and Things In General, and, well, I'm wondering if maybe, just maybe, I should open up a little Etsy shop.

I could have spotty tops, and clothes for big people and small, and maybe even a few of these:

Whaddya all think?

Walk Against Warming

What are you guys doing on Sunday, 11th November at 1 o'clock? You're doing the Walk Against Warming? Excellent - so am I!

The more people we can get, the more notice the politicians will take. This is a fantastic way to let them know that we are serious about what is at stake, and committed to preventing any further climate change. It's especially important that we get the message across in these crucial weeks before the Federal election.

So get your friends together, pack a picnic basket, and meet up to do the walk. If this plea of mine doesn't move you, then just think of the penguins. Oh, the poor global-warming-affected penguins!

Walk for meeeeeeeee!

7.5 weeks - yikes!

I glanced at the calender the other day, and was most surprised to discover it was a mere 8 weeks until Christmas. And now that 8 has turned into 7 and a half - yikes! Where has the year gone? Sometimes I wish that I lived in a very cold part of the Northern Hemisphere, where it was be so darned freezing outside that you'd be happy to stay in, pottering away, plenty of time to get all those hand made gifts created.

But oh no. I had to be born here, in hot hot hot Australia, where Christmas season means being out and about as much as possible. No time for craft, nosireee. There's parties to attend, and end of school years, and beaches to lay upon, and horse races and "Let's catch up before Christmas!" drinks and work dos that you really can't not go to so the husband doesn't look bad and simply no end to things to take you outside and away from your craft table (not that I'm really complaining, it isn't too bad a life, you know).

But if you like to be a handmadey gifty person like me, it means you had better be organised. Which I'm not. In my brain I am, but alas that somehow doesn't translate to aways.getting.things.done. Thus today I am rushing around like a headless chicken, making lists and checking them twice, panicking about how little time I have to do everything, and instead of being sensible about it all, and actually working my way down my list in an organised manner, I'm doing a trial run of gingerbread biscuits, even though I made them only a couple of months ago and know perfectly well that the recipes works.


Still, it fills in the time that might otherwise be spent doing a bit of planning so I don't end up frazzled and barking at everyone and bugger-off-with-your-ho-ho-hos-can't-you-see-I've-got-a-deadline-here attitude. Cos who wants to miss out on that?

Spotty Top

First cab off the rank: One spotty top for Grumbles, using the pattern I always use. I can't help it - it's the perfect top! Easy to make, easy to wear, washes well, and is cute without being too girly. And she can play in it. That's the most important bit. Nothing worse than feeling constrained by your clothing, no matter how trendeeeee it may be.

I can't fully take credit for this top, though - Grumbles helped. After every seam was sewn, I'd clip my thread, and hand them carefully to Grumbles, who would dutifully race around the table to plonk them in the bin. Occaisonally, when she could see I was sewing a tricky bit, she'd rub my back and say "Good work, Mum!" What can I say - I LOVE this kid!

Once done, we trooped outside for our photoshoot. It began to gently rain as we did it, for the day was muggy, dark and dense, so we packed up the camera and then remained outside to suckle our homemade strawberry yoghurt icypoles. Suddenly the rain really began to pelt down, but instead of being sensible and heading inside, we stayed out, squealing with delight, and attracting a few odd looks from people scurrying by. Grumbles was a tad concerned about the birds getting wet, so kept squarking out "Bird! Get.Out.Of.The.RAIN!", waving about her icypole as she bellowed. I was beside myself with laughter - she looked so funny, wearing her stern, bossy face, ordering the minor birds around as the rain came down.

Man, it was a good afternoon!