Faster, Jorthy, faster!

No time to blog in a coherent manner. I'm way behind on sewing Grumble's winter wardrobe, and we're going on a bike holiday in a week and I still haven't made any more pants for her. No pants! She's be a pantless rail trail-er! ARRRRGGGGHHHH! The panic button (and the '!' key) has been pressed!

And that photo I took is immensely craptacular. Gah.

A Tale of Two Patterns

Tsk, tsk, Rowan. Look at what you've made me do!

Look, let me start off by saying that I love you. Really, I do. You make spiffy, wearable knitting patterns in gorgeous yarns. But please, what is with the pattern instructions? I'm yet to knit up a Rowan pattern that wasn't in some way needlessly complicated. Take the Dream cardi, for example - why not knit it all in one piece, rather than knit half the bodice in one section then pick up all the stitches to knit the remainder? It doesn't make any sense your way, even taking into consideration that you want to thread the ribbon through. Couldn't you just sew loops on afterwards for the ribbon? Wouldn't that have been a gazillion times easier, and then you wouldn't have an ugly seam hiding out beneath the ribbony bit. I mean, really, what sort of knitter did you have in mind - one who actually enjoys picking up tonnes of fiddly stitches? Huh? HUH?

So, after wrestling with the instructions, I gave a great sigh, picked up my trusty greylead, and rewrote the pattern myself. Strangely enough, I found myself enjoying the process. Just enough maths involved to make me feel smart, yet creative at the same time. And I've done such a good job of it that I've now decided that I want to be a knitwear pattern designer when I grow up. Sheesh! As if I didn't have enough things to do!

I'm pointing the finger squarely at you, Rowan. It's all your fault.

A girl, her dog, and some MC Hammer pants

Finally got stuck back into the sewing!

Project specs

Top:

Design #15, Ottobre Magazine 1/2005

Fabric: Cotton quilting fabric

Pants:

"Desert" pants, design # 17, Ottobre Magazine 1/2008

Fabric: Light-weight denim

Both were really quick sews, about 3 hours each all up, including doing the fiddly topstitching. I'm rather happy with the top, but I'll confess: the pants are a leetle bit too 'MC Hammer happy pants' for my liking. Still, Grumbles gives them a sticky thumbs up and requests to wear them everyday, which either means that she really really really likes them or that she has no taste.

Earth Hour

Saturday night found us quietly at home celebrating Earth Hour. At about four in the afternoon, we went around the house and turned off everything bar the fridge, got the candles lit and settled down for a peaceful family evening. Grumbles and Galumph happily built Lego bridges until it was too dark to see any more whilst I read Sense and Sensibility (I felt it was an appropriate low energy reading choice, and spent far too much time daydreaming about what it was like writing it by candlelight as opposed to reading it by candlelight). We then had a low-impact meal of spicy pasta (I wasn't organised enough to make a raw meal, maybe next year, so I cooked the quickest thing I could think of), then sat around reading Grumbles her stories as it became steadily darker around us.

After a while we all began feeling the cold, so we donned jumpers and hats and sat snugly together, listening to the Galumph's hand wind-up radio and nattering about this and that.

Grumbles: Why are the lights off?

Parents: Because we are celebrating a special evening to raise awareness about global warming.

Grumbles: But why are the lights off?

Parents: Because this special event is all about minimising energy consumption, to reduce our impact on the planet.

Grumbles, behoving a sigh as though to say my goodness you people are thick and as soon as I'm older I'm going to deny being even related to you: But.Why.Are.The.Lights.OFF????

I must have remarked on how cosy! and peaceful! and lovely! and did I mention I'm really rather quite enjoying this! far too often as the evening progressed, as the Galumph finally turned to me and said "Are you going to make us do Earth Hour every Saturday night?"

Bwahahahahah! Um, yeah. Maybe?!

Almost at their destination

QUINCE #2: How long have we been sitting in these boat-like things on the table for? Because, just between you and I, the guy next to me is getting kinda whiffy. Letting off some ethylene or something, and smelling ripe. Can we change spots?

QUINCE #1: Two weeks. But don't worry kids, we'll be at our destination soon.

QUINCE #3: Where are we going?

QUINCE #1: Some place called 'Oven baked in sugar syrup'.

ALL OTHER QUINCES: Ooooooooh!

QUINCE #4: What's the hold up already? Why aren't we there yet?

QUINCE #1: Word in the fruit bowl is that she's waiting for a rainy day. Apparently it takes 6 hours to get to 'Oven baked', so she wants it all cold out so it's nice and cosy inside with the oven on.

QUINCE #2: Well it's certainly cold enough now. Is it warm where we're going?

QUINCE #1: Sure is. A balmy 160 C.

QUINCE #3: Oooooh, lovely! Sounds so tropical!

QUINCE #1: Well it's funny you mention that, sweetheart, (nice stem, by the way), as I think it is. We're meeting some characters there called Raw Caster Sugar and Vanilla Bean, which sounds pretty darn tropical to me.

QUINCE #3 (sighing happily): This sure has been some adventure since leaving the tree. I know that we're all going to get along just fine!

Oven baked quinces in sugar syrup

6 quinces, peeled and thickly sliced

3 cups water

2 cups raw caster sugar

1 vanilla bean

1 - Place sugar and water in a saucepan, and bring to the boil. Simmer gently until all the sugar is dissolved.

2 - Preheat oven to 160 C. Place quinces in a casserole dish, then add the vanilla bean, firstly scraping out the seeds. Pour over the sugar syrup, then cover the dish tightly.

3 - Place in oven and cook for 6 hours, or until the quinces are a deep ruby colour. Every few hours take the quinces out and turn them over, covering with syrup.

Serve with yoghurt, cream, on porridge etc. Delish!

Knitting during the credit crunch

Very happy with today's post, for this morning these little beauties arrived from Bendigo Woollen Mill:

Which, in due time, will enable me to make this ultra sweet cardigan from And So To Bed by Lucinda Guy. Seriously, how adorable are the illustrations in that book? It has to be The Greatest Children's Knitting Book Of All Time. Really! I dare you to nominate a challenger. Betcha can't. Nothing can beat those gorgeous illos. Nothing!

Also very well pleased with my yarn substitions. Rowan is a wee bit out of my price range just now, and the BWM was cheap at a quarter of the price and machine washable, which really is a must for a child as grotty as Grumbles. Don't get me wrong, the tiger sure is cute, but she can spill food down her front with the best of them. And since we are about to embark on a time of nasty financial gloom, one must watch the pennies, oui? Particularly with:

- petrol going up due to oil concerns
- food going up due to increased transport costs (otherwise known as oil concerns) PLUS the impact of the drought
- electricity/gas costing more due to all sorts of energy concerns, plus again the impact of the drought on the hydroelectric schemes
- interest rates going up due to inflation AND world economic concerns

Sigh. The ol' dollar doesn't stretch quite as far as it used to, that's for sure. Is anybody else feeling the pinch?

How was my break? It was lovely, I just lounged about and read books.

Testing, testing, one-two-three. Is thing thing on? Oh, hello! It's me, ol' Jorthy, here to blow off the dust and remove the cobwebs. I feel I should explain my unintentional mini-blog break: there's been no good reason, but lots of tiny ones that all added up to prevent me from sitting down and yakking away to you all. And then, because I'd left it so long, I got a wee bit embarassed, as all my news seemed old and suddenly irrelevant.

So, in a nutshell, here's what I've been doing: attending the most relaxed and gorgeous country wedding of all time (well, my time), an engagement party for my sister, loads of bike riding in preparation for our upcoming biking holiday, sewing jimjams and dresses for Grumbles, starting kinder (!) for Grumbles (yes, I cried the first time I dropped her off), swimming in this incredible heat and much planning and prep for Grumble's winter wardrobe. Oh, and I've organised a knitting club.

Plus reading! Lots and lots of reading. Here's a brief rundown:

The Shifting Fog by Kate Morton: Excellent mystery/love story/coming of age tale, slowly eked out of the memories of Grace Bradley, a now old lady who holds the key to the remarkable events of summer 1924, in which she was a maid to one of two sisters, who both loved the same man.

Charlotte Gray by Sebastian Faulks: I recently read Birdsong, and was absolutely rivited by the quality of writing. Some of his depictions of life in the World War 1 trenches actually had me putting down the book and taking deep breaths before I could continue. I was expecting more of the same from Charlotte, but alas, no. Did the same man even write the two books? It's not a bad story (young woman goes over to occupied France to aid the Resistance whilst pursuing her love), but it feels like it was written on autopilot, and that so much more could have been made of the material. Pity.

Good Evening, Mrs. Craven: The Wartime Stories of Mollie Panter-Downes, and London War Notes 1939 - 1945 by Mollie Panter-Downes: I got Mrs Craven from a bookshop recently, and scoffed it down in one indulgent sitting. Incredible tales of what life must have been like during wartime Britian, written by one of the masters of the short story. I immediately started hunting for London War Notes, which are a collection of essays Ms Panter-Downes wrote fortnightly during the war for the New Yorker magazine. Boy, is that book hard to find. I ended up buying it from amazon.co.uk, but it was worth it. Fascinating to read her thoughts, from the latest political situations to her cool assessment of foodstuffs available. Very highly recommended, especially together.

Lental disaster

All this wasteful packaging has really got my goat. Geddit - goat? Sigh, you're right, it wasn't at all funny.

Well, it's now official: My Lent-of-No-Waste has been a colassal waste of time. Try as I might, I cannot escape packaging. It's everywhere! Even the organic wholefoods shop, to which I merrily tripped on the weekend with my hundreds of reused paper bags, has moved most of it's dry grains/pulses etc out of bins and into plastic packaging. Grrr. I was all paper-bagged up with nothing to bag.

Still, I did get some rice, oats and polenta from the bins, plus reused a jar for honey. So if you pop around for dinner for the rest of Lent, expect a meal of porridge with honey followed by boiled rice on polenta. Yum, huh? Whaddya mean, you've got other plans for the next 27 days?

Two Fruits and new bikes

Is excess consumption of Two Fruits reason for divorce? Because, I swear to the heavens above, the Galumph is killing me, and my Lent of No Waste pledge, with it. Saturday morning found me happily sipping a coffee in front of the computer, humming mindlessly away and thinking that all was good with the world when I hear the ominous 'crink-crink-crink' of a tin being opened.

That's right. He'd opened another tin of Two Bloody Fruits. And then had the gall to slosh some on to my Weetbix. The nerve! I don't even like Two Fruits! Maybe I should just give up my husband for Lent, and be done with it (joking, sweetie pie snookums darling whatever hey you yeah you).

So that's another tin to add to the recycle pile, alongside the sardines tin, which the Galumph flung mercilessly into the bin, not the recycle bin, declaring it to be "too stinky to recycle". A-huh. Never fear, dear readers, I fished it out, gave it a wash (he was right, it was frightfully smelly) and put it into the recycle pile.

While we're at it, I suppose I should confess to the rotten nectarine and two tomatoes that also were turfed due to excess mouldiness. And the packaging waste of the two minute noodles I devoured on Sunday afternoon after we did the Merri Creek Circuit. Talk about a dull ride. I needed to those noodles to compensate for the mind- (and knee!) numbing drudgery of it.

Speaking of bikes, check out my new wheels! Sweeeeeeet. It's an Electra Townie 7 gear, and I lovelovelove this bike. It's a strange machine to initially ride - I felt for a bit like I was in Easy Rider, what with my straight back and arms sticking out in front on the handle bars - but after a while it all felt so intuititive that soon the machine and I were one. And best bit is the lady-friendly seat ;-P

2 of 40

Yesterday went quite well. I didn't buy anything, so no new packaging waste was generated, and for lunch we had leftovers.

For dinner we had chilli tomato risotto. Normally I use an 800 g tin of crushed tomatoes in this recipe, but since I didn't want to create any waste, I skinned and deseeded 4 tomatoes, then cooked them down into a pulpy mess, and added that to the risotto. The result: much less tomato flavour (I think I'll double the amount of tomatoes next time, and let it cook down for longer), but pretty darn good nonetheless.

I also started a scarf for my Russian step-mother-in-law. Because it's cool and grey and rainy here, which means that a girl has to knit!

1 of 40

Well, the beginning of our Lent of No Waste didn't exactly start auspiciously. I stumbled into the kitchen this morning to find the Galumph cracking open a can of two fruits.

"What the hey-diddly-hey are you doing?" I yelped. (Actually, I husked. You should hear that morning voice o' mine. Sexy doesn't even begin to describe. Phlegmboyant, however, does come close)
"I'm getting some fruit for our Weetbix", he replied.
"Galumph!", I chatised. "It's supposed to be all about making no waste, and here you are wasting, you... you... waster!"
"Well, I'm sorry, but I did look in the fruit bowl and I must say, I didn't really fancy this" - dangling a sad dried up chilli that had been sitting all by it's lonesome in the vast expanse that is currently our fruit bowl - "on my Weetbix."

Ahem. So it's point, set and match to the Galumph.

However, the rest of the day went splendidly. A friend came over for lunch, so I served up some soup made from vegetables that were hanging around, and red lentils from the bins at the organic wholefoods place (no, not those sorts of bins!), accompanied by cheese toasties. Both bread and cheese only came wrapped in recyclable paper. I could have skipped the paper for the bread, but I was so busy yakking on about nothing in particular that I didn't realise it was wrapped until I got home.

Grumbles had grapes for afternoon tea, then for dinner tonight we had caramelised onion and feta pizza, with a green salad. The only packaging there was the flour bag, which is still currently in use.

Waste Summary:

Non-recyclable: None

Recyclable: Paper from cheese, paper from bread, two fruits tin

Compostable: Vegetable peelings and scraps

Waste free for Lent

Tomorrow marks the begining of Lent, which is the forty day period before Easter where many Christians fast, or at the very least give up something they enjoy, like scoffing down a block of Cadbury Fruit n Nut when nobody is looking.

Now, I could do something like that, but I don't usually eat chocolate of any description, so that would be a bit of a cop out. Plus, well, I like a challenge. I thought about going Plastic Free for a month, again, but I feel that Lent deserves something a little more hard core. So, I'm going to give up creating waste.

That's right, waste! For the next forty days, I'm going to try to only bring into my house things that can be composted or recycled, and to cut down on the recyclable packaging to boot.

I came up with the idea on Sunday, when I was lounging around with the Galumph. Excitedly I sat up, and said "Hey! Let's do a waste fast for Lent! We won't buy anything new, except for food, and even then all the packaging must be minimal or recycable. Won't that be GREAT?"

I heard a desolate little sigh from beside me. Turning, I looked over to see the Galumph looking at me with deploring eyes. "Can't we just have a fast where we eat chocolate three times a day?", he begged. "These things you do are always so hard!"

"Oh, pah!", I said, smothering his face with a cushion. "Hard, schmard. I've got it all planned out. We'll ride on our bikes to CERES or the organic grocery, and get all our pulses and grains and things in reusable paper bags. We'll eat heaps of fresh fruits and vegies, and compost the scraps, and everything else has to come in glass jars or bottles that we then reuse for jam. Or cardboard. Too easy!"

"But what about all the things already in our cupboard, like pasta and tins. Can we still use them?"

Listen up, buddy, I told him. Here's the rules:

- Waste creation must be kept to a minimum. If it can't be recycled or composted, it shouldn't be purchased.

- Exceptions are allowed for essential items i.e. medicines. (Galumph: Is chocolate essential?) Plus one or two other items that might be too expensive/hard to buy otherwise. In our case this will be milk, which we'll buy in cardboard, rather than glass. (Galumph: What about cordial? Please, let me keep my cordial!)

- You can eat what is already in your cupboard, but when replacing it, try to find a more sustainable way. For example, buy bread from your local baker in a reusable paper bag you bought from home, rather than in plastic from the supermarket. You'll be supporting the local economy AND helping the environment.

After nutting all this out, I turned to the Galumph and said "So, whaddya say? Are you in? Huh, huh?"

Galumph: "Do I have a choice?"

Me (with perhaps a little too much glee): "Nope!"

That's that what I'll be doing for Lent. And here's the bit where I invite you all to join me. I know 40 days is a pretty long time, so I'm going to relax the rules and let you decide how long you'd like to do it for, be it a week, a fortnight, or the whole hog! And you can be as strict or as relaxed about it as suits your life style/situation. I know not everybody has access to small local shops where these things are possible, but it would be amazing to reduce waste if we could. And don't worry about falling off the wagon, as I'm sure I will at some stage in proceedings.

So c'mon - hope on board the Lent waste-free train! Send me an email if you'd like to join in.

Moan, moan, grumble, grumble

I am having a craptacular week.

Firstly my brother was in a car accident, then my great aunty died, then Grumbles had her first day of kindergarten (a good thing, but still a trifle emotional for moi), then a pimple the size of Mount Vesuvius erupted on my face.

And now, to top it all off, today I came an absolute cropper on my bike, skinning two knees, one elbow and a large section of my leg. Thankfully I stayed within the bike lane. I mean, it's bad enough to fall off one's bike, but then to be run over as you sprawl on the road - geez, now that would be embarassing. Not to mention life threatening.

If anybody wants me I'll be in the bath (leg lifted gingerly out, other knee raised) with a glass of champagne, toasting my bad fortune/drowning my sorrows. Waaaah!

I do like me some stripes

Is this the must knit of the year? I sure think so!

It's from the 2007/08 Winter Vogue Knitting. Oh my sainted aunt, I can't wait to get my paws on that magazine, just for this pattern alone. It's got stripes! AND puffed sleeves! It's totally bringing out the Anne Shirley in me. I'm actually heavy breathing, I want it that badly! Must.....get......Vo-hooooogue.....Knitting!

What's everybody else planning on knitting this season?

Ow ow ow ow ow

Do you ever find yourself in one of those strange coincidental curses? For example, you tell a friend you've never been stung by a bee, then the next day one comes along and stings you?

Well, yesterday I had one of those, big time.

Grumbles and I have a little dishes arrangement, where I hand her the knives and forks that I've just dried, and she carefully puts them in the drawer for me. The big sharp knives, however, don't go anywhere near her. Instead, she points to the knife block and tells me to put them in there.

So, as we were doing this yesterday, we were having a natter about how she can help with the cooking when she gets a bit older, but she's not allowed to touch any of the big knives, because they are big! and sharp! and you could cut yourself! and you might bleed! and that would really hurt!

Fast forward to later that day. My best friend has come around for dinner so I'm manning the cutting board and gasbagging away. The cutting goes a little something like this: onion, onion, onion, finger, ow!

Best mate whisks me off to the bathroom, cleans up my finger (she's training to be a nurse, and a darn fine one she'll make, too!) and then Grumbles wanders in to watch. She looked at the mess, then calmly informed me to be "Careful with big knife, Mum!" before heading back to her trainset.

So there you have it. I completely and utterly cursed myself. And then I drank too much champagne to forget the pain in my finger (anything over, um, nothing is too much for me, old fart that I am), so now I have a sore finger and a sore head. I am such a duffer.

Crazy and paisley

I've been beavering away, sewing up a pair of summer jimjams for Grumbles. Because that's how I roll: I knit her cardigans at the end of winter, then make her summer pjs at the end of summer. Pathetic!

Fingers crossed I'll get them finished today, if I don't make any more colossal stuff ups. I'm not even going to tell you what I did wrong, so elementary was it and therefore all the more shameful. Let's just say that, as always when rushing, I find myself falling into traps laid for young players. Sigh. Time to hunt out my quick-un-pick...

Bald monks and dry beds

Three dry nights in a row! Go Grumbles! I followed Nichola's advice, and got her up for a twinkle before I retired each evening, and that seems to have done the trick. To celebrate, we headed out for lunch downtown today. Nori rolls all around (or worry-wolls, as Grumbles would say!)

Downtown. Such a cute word, but one I very rarely use. Once I had a lecturer ask a friend and I out for lunch "downtown". We laughed for weeks over it. "DOWNTOWN!", we'd snort. "How affected!" He also told us the graveyards were perfect places to make love, especially to red-haired young maidens. My friend (a natural redhead) and I (an obviously false one, back then) didn't quite know what to make of that, especially since he was our lecturer, he was old, and he had a bald patch/hairstyle just like a monk in a bad movie. Still, he was an affable enough sort of chap, really quite harmless. And he did have a lichen named after him. I was always quite impressed by that.

The pegs are grumpy

We've just started night time toilet training for Grumbles. Oh my sainted aunt, the washing! It's never ending, at least two loads a day. The pegs (new chant: If we see one more doona, we'll go on strike sooner!) are making rumbles about calling in their union, claiming that it says in their contract that bedsheets will only be hung out once a week, max. Tough luck, my little wooden friends.

My personal favourite is when she manages to wet the sheets, the doona (all the way through), her pillow and various assorted stuffed animals. Thank heavens for mattress protectors.

On the plus side, two nights out of six have been dry. Is it bad to give chocolate as a reward?

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.