Just in time for Easter!

Warning! Warning! Cute overload alert! I found this gorgeous pattern for a bunny egg cosy over at Little Cotton Rabbits a few days ago and had to immediately get the pattern. It's adorable! Even though I've (typically) left it to the last minute, I'd like to knit up three of these, and have them sitting over chocolate eggs in egg cups, waiting on the kitchen table for Grumbles when she gets up on Easter morning, with a little trail of mini eggs leading from her bedroom to the bunnies. She'll be delighted!

Five days until Easter, three bunny cosies to knit. Golly gee, I'd better hop to it (groan, terrible pun!)

Stormy weather

Melbourne has just experienced some pretty major thunderstorms - there are warnings regarding damage from hailstone and flash flooding. I, of course, had the good fortune to get caught in the first storm as I made my way home from the supermarket (on foot, bien sur!). I tried to avoid it by lurking in the video rental store for a while, but then bit the bullet and attempted the dash home.

Let's just say that bucking down would be an understatement. I was completely and utterly DRENCHED! I had to come home and strip off then towel off - even my undies were soaked! That'll teach me to ignore the weather warnings and sally forth minus the umbrella.

And here's one for all the knitters out there

If you've got 3 minutes and 16 seconds then I implore you to watch this incredible film clip by French duo Trichot Machine. The clip is done purely using stop-motion animation, but instead of drawings they've used knitting samples - 719 to be exact! C'est vraiment incroyable!

This is what happens when you let them dress themselves...

...they go out looking like escapees from Ol' Ma Turnip's Country Music Academy For Musically Talented But Poorly Dressed Preschoolers.

Whatever you do, don't ask her to sing. The kid can yodel something fierce!

Raise high the roof beam, carpenters...

One weekend, two very different weddings.

The first, a young couple, filled with joy and boundless optimism for a bright future. There was much merry making and many toasts made by guests overlooking a harbour bespeckled with boats as the glow of the autumnal sun faded from the sky to reveal the dazzling bright stars.

The second, an older couple with slightly more world-weary souls who were glad to have found each other to continue their life's journey together. As they spoke their vows, the forest around burst alive with the songs of kookaburras, and all who were present felt the blessings bestowed by nature herself.

Two very different weddings - but a whole lotta love!

Do you take this green clad creature?

Grumbles is lying in bed with a nasty cold, and occasionally, as I sit out here in the lounge room typing this, I can hear a little cough. Poor thing. This does not bode well as we have not one but two weddings to go to this weekend: my sister on Saturday and my step-sister-in-law on Monday. No coughs allowed!

I love going to weddings. I love getting dressed up, and the yummy food at the reception, and seeing friends and family that one doesn't get to see often enough. But most of all I like to check out what the bride is wearing! My other sister had the most amazing beaded strapless gown - she looked incredible. As she moved the beads would catch the light, and she dazzled us all with her beauty.

I, on the other hand, wanted a more earthy sort of look. So I designed myself a frock of green. What can I say - I wanted to look like a wood elf! As I sketched out the design all I could think of was trees and brambles and heather and, um, chlorophyll. I must say the dress went down a treat - at the reception a whole possee of aunties kept following me around, clutching at the fabric as I tried to meet and greet. I was attended by their mutterings of "Would you look at that - she's put flowers and leaves on her dress!" "Yes, dear, and look - those edges on the leaves have just been done with pinking shears - now that's what I call clever!"

Those memories still make me smile. It was a very good day.

From U.F.O to W.I.P in six point five... months

I know many of my dear readers have been relentlessly logging on to Jorth, desperate for news on the progress of Harvey, from Rowan Studio 1. Well rest easy, folks: I'm pleased to announce that I have finished the second sleeve, and am now ready to pick up the stitches on the neckline. Once the collar is done the darn thing will be ready to be blocked, sewn and worn. About time!

Remember me?

Maybe I'll do that tonight whilst watching Harvey. Harvey and Harvey. Lovely! What can I say - I'm a sucker for Jimmy Stewart. Life's always better with a 6 feet tall white rabbit around, hey?

If you're making me ride half way across the city, I want some decent lunch, please

Sunday morning, it was declared, was to be dedicated to a family bike ride. I broke my rule of never eating hot cross buns prior to Good Friday (much to Galumph's delight!) and we stopped at the first park we found and scoffed some for morning tea.

Lazily we watched the grey clouds roll in, as we lolled at the base of the city.

Then across town we pedalled, stopping in South Melbourne for some lunch. Just when we thought we'd found the perfect cafe to a bite and a rest, a dog chained up out the front began barking his little head off. "Ack!" said Grumbles, hands clamped firmly over her ears, "he's scaring me!"

The owner came out, all middle-aged blonde blow dry and designer clothes, and began hitting the dog around the head with a rolled up newspaper, hissing "Shut up, you silly mutt. Shut UP!"

"Ack!", I said, "she's scaring me!"

So we did Japanese instead. Huzzah - I'm no longer a Japanese food virgin! In fact, I think black rice pudding might well be the new favourite food chez Jorth. Preferably served without a side of violent dog owners.

Not a good way to go

Last night, whilst I was at the movies (Easy Virtue, rather good, go see it!), Grumbles and Galumph amused themselves at home by building a Lego house. And boy, is this a good one: two chimneys, lots of windows to let in natural light, a groovy indoors-outdoors aspect, balcony and attic.

However, something is not quite right. Something amiss. Something you don't usually see on a normal house on a daily basis...

OMG! WHAT THE HECK IS THAT LEGO MAN UP TO?????? Get down from there, right now, mister! I swear, you're giving me a heart attack, being perched all the way up there! What are you trying to do? Survey your lovely green piece of land from the best vantage point? Considering diving into your as-yet tragically unbuilt pool? Blast off into the stratosphere? Put a sharp end to your plastic existence? I hate to be the one to tell you, but jumping won't work - you'll just bounce. Being plastic, and all.

Grumbles is at kinder, Galumph is at work and I am sitting here, with no idea what is going on.

Help me, please!

Maybe I should just stick to reading knitting books...

One of the most enjoyable things about buying yarn in hanks is taking the time to wind it into a ball. I do this the old-fashioned way: by draping the yarn around a chair whilst I do a strange yarn-winding dance around it. Besides providing much exercise (and giving loved ones another reason to shoot me odd looks), it also gives me a chance to indulge in a few daydreams.

Now, daydreams I am never short of. Often, in fact, whilst doing something as mundane as the dishes, I'll happily while away the time with a pleasant fantasy starring George Clooney. It will usually involve some simple plot: he'll relentlessly woo me, but like in any good rom-com I'll block him at every turn using nothing but my dazzling wit and some snappy repartee. Thankfully I usually finish the dishes before I need to make the agonizing decision of finally falling for George's charms or sticking with the loyal Galumph (don't worry, honey, it's you every time).

When winding ball of yarn, however, the fantasies take on a far more literary spin. Something about the repitition of winding the yarn over and over usually provokes an Austenian response in me, and my inner dialogue usually goes something like this:

"How good it is to be all together again at Longborn! As soon as I finish winding this ball I should see to getting the lamps lit, for Galumph will soon be home. I wonder what Hil has organised for dinner. For it is the truth universally acknowledged that a man in possession of a long bike ride home must be in want of a good dinner..."

Then I imagine Galumph coming in the door. Instead of revelling in simple, homely delights, the daydream can often take a darker turn at this point into Isben terrority:

Galumph entering stage left: Behold, my little skylark! Winding your ball, just like the little women of the house that I want you to be. Stay, my love, wind that ball, and remain trapped in your stifling marriage, with never a single thought of independance to cross your little mind! Just the way Torvald likes it!
Jorth: ARRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHHHH! Get me out of the Dollhouse!

Usually at this point I fall into a slightly depressed slump. Torvald always does that to me. From here it's only a short hop to Dickens territory, and we all know how cheerful he can be:

"Here I am, winding my ball, always winding as my life slips away, caught in a cycle of defeat and despair. I can't figure out which I'm more like: the wards of Jarndyce, watching their fortune be swallowed up by never-ending legal costs as all hope rapidly disappears, or Miss Havisham, locked in the mindset of the jilted bride, with nothing better to spend her energy on that teaching wee Estella to devour the men. Can that be the time - twenty to nine! Still here I am, winding my ball, over and over. Winding, winding, winding..."

Then I turn into Ada Doom from Cold Comfort Farm, hunched over my ball, as I begin to mutter about seeing something nasty in the woodshed.

Pity the poor Grumbles or Galumph who happens upon me at this stage. I'm a sight to behold, clutching my ball of yarn and beginning a keening wail, eyes madly darting about as I hop around the chair.

I'm telling you, books and yarn winding: not always a good mix. Does, um, anybody else have such vivid daydreams? Anyone? At all? Pleeeeaaase tell me I'm not the only one who embarks upon literary flights of fancy - or fancies the pants off George Clooney!

I think a poll is in order:

Is it a bird? Is it a plane?

No - it's a facewasher!

I'm not really sure what's come over me - maybe it's all the economic doom, maybe it's the colder nights and crisper days - but I suddenly felt like staying in and making something useful.

Now, usually in times of recession, people would go to their stash and whip up a facewasher or two with odds and ends. I was just about to do this when the thought struck me: If we're worried about making ends meet, what's it like for those who have far less than us, but with many more burdens to carry?

The thought stuck around for a few days, but was just about to burrow into the deep recesses of the forgetful chamber of my mind when I chanced upon an article detailing how charities are especially feeling the pinch, as more and more people stop donating money as the credit crunch gets worse.

I knew then what I had to do.

Jumping online, I ordered myself some amazing organic cotton yarn, produced by EcoYarns. The yarn is 100% organic (good for the environment), is plant dyed by hand in Peru (reviving ancestral techniques) and is Fair Trade certified. To quote from the label:

By buying this product, you are contributing to the welfare of the women (and their families) who work to bring you this product. The women often come from the poorest localities in Lima, they are given Fair Trade conditions and a litre of milk per day that they work. The money that they make helps their children to obtain an education.

All this, and it's also the softest, most exquisite cotton I've ever handled. Normally I'm not a fan of cotton at all, but this yarn is an absolute dream to work with. It's turning me into one of those sad creatures who sits around fondling and crooning to their yarn - yikes!

On a more serious note, as a crafter I'd much prefer to work with high quality products than cheap and nasty items of dubious origins, and it's marvellous to think of the profound impact schemes such as these have on struggling communities. Sure, it's more expensive than what your big box craft store would sell, but I'd rather my craft dollars went to a noble cause, such as keeping traditional skills alive and helping women feed and educate their children, rather then just lining the wallets of some corporate fat cats.

Now excuse me, but I'm off to save the world, one hand knitted facewasher at a time!

How do you spell idiot?

J-O-R-T-H.

I just walked down to the doctor's surgery for my checkup, only to be told that my appointment was tomorrow, not today.

Moron!

I'm going to stare at this picture of Fudge the dog until I feel better.

To quote gallant Captain Oates, I may be some time. After all, that's quite some stupidity I need to recover from.

Yet another Jorth apology

Good grief - I'm so sorry folks! I've had nagging concerned emails from many corners of the globe, wondering what the heck has happened to this here blog and, by extension, myself. I'd like to offer up some sort of death-defying excuse, like being mauled by a rabid rooster, and only just emerging from my coma, but I'm pretty sure you all know that roosters aren't exactly aplenty in my corner of the inner city woods.

Truth be told, I just felt like being quiet. For many reasons, not the least of which was seeing Grumbles off to kinder. She's doing two full days this year, which has been a bit of a shock to my system. I've been so used to having my little mate around me for the last four and a half years, that I found it to be quite distressing to watch as the cord that binds us became more and more frayed as she ventured further into the world without me by her side.

Don't get me wrong - I'm pleased as punch that she's walked forward so confidently, displaying such eagerness to embrace the magical big wide world. Inside, however, I felt like I'd been sucker-punched each time I kissed her goodbye then walked down the street by myself, instead of having my lovely girl chattering away besides me.

Throw in swimming lessons, music lessons, French and photography lessons for me, plus a whole heap of craziness on the side, and you'll find a rather full-on start to our year. My brain has been running around, trying to absorb and digest everything, as has my slightly breaking wee heart. So even though my inner dialogue has been racing along at it's usual pace, I just found that I've had not much to say.

I've also been wrestling with the big question: what will I do with myself when Grumbles goes to school? It's less than a year away now, and I still have no idea what I want to do when I grow up. Should I become a knitwear designer, a fancy that often fills in a few happy hours of daydreaming? Or should I write the book that the Galumph swears I have in me? Maybe I should just suck it up and settle back down into the corporate world, working for the man as a tech writer, glad to have a wage coming in, even if my creative side feels stifled and dulled. So many questions, so few answers! If anybody wants to figure it out for me, let me know!

I will say one thing, though: I thoroughly enjoyed writing this. It's good to be back.

Self Portrait In Filthy Car Mirror

Wowsers! This is my 300th post. There's not many things I've managed to do 300 times in my life, but blogging can now officially check the 300 box. Nice red tick - lovely!

Now, of course, I feel compelled to make a list of things I have actually done 300 times. I have a hunch it will be short, as I'm not going to include things like sleeping, or brushing teeth. This shall be a list of things that I have deliberately set out to do. Even if I didn't want to.

- Made soup. Oh heavens above, I love soup, and since we have it at least every second week, and I've been cooking for myself for at least 14 years, I think I've made soup about 504 times. Or there abouts.

- Read 300 books. Easy peasy for this bookworm. Although the last one was a complete and utter dog of a book. Waste of trees. Maybe I should ensure the next 300 are good books, at the very least.

- Shaved my legs. Probably. Less in winter, but more in summer, based on the soup calculations. So it evens out nicely. Says me.

- Drank 300 bottles of red wine. Oh dear. Well, over 14 years it's not too bad, but still, I suspect I can feel my liver revolting as I type this. The soup calculation suddenly isn't looking so favourable. Hic!

- Sang "Moon, moon" to Grumbles. Actually, now I think about it, I sing it twice a day, so it only takes 21.5 weeks for me to accomplish that. Next!

- Hung out the washing. Actually, it feels like I've done that 3000 times. Ditto for doing the dishes, making the beds, sweeping the floor, cleaning the toilet and getting down on hands and knees to clean up the crumbs from under Grumbles chair. And the squashed beans. And pieces of corn. And squished sultanas. And anything goopy that will adhere to the floor with the efficiency of concrete.

- Bruised myself in unorthodox places by doing ridiculous yet mundane things. Check! I swear I do this every other day. This morning, for example, when sorting out the laundry, I backed my bottom into the corner of the bathroom cabinet. Why? WHY? I know the cabinet is there. I know the general promixity and spatial existence of my arse. Why must they meet and leave a bruise as a calling card? At least there was nobody around to hear me collide and then utter "Ooooof! Oh, bugger!"

- Told the Galumph and Grumbles that I love them. Some things can't be done enough.

Lunch box ideas

Grumbles is off to kinder for two days this year, which means that for the first time she'll need a packed lunch. Sniff, sniff, they sure grow up fast. Now, I could just bung in a sad and sorry white bread, Vegemite and Kraft cheese slice sandwich with a floury apple like my own mother did for years, but I think I'd rather exercise my culinary muscles a wee bit more than that, plus provide something far more nutricious and enticing for Grumbles.

No offense, Mum, but c'mon - the same sandwich for 13 years? Geez.

So here's a list of things to inspire me when I find myself in kitchen at 8:45, butter knife in one hand and the Vegemite jar in the other. History shall not repeat!

Sandwiches:
- Potato salad and cheese
- Dates and goats cheese on rye
- Red cabbage coleslaw and cheese
- Hummous with cumminy grated carrot
- Curried egg salad and rocket
- Marinated peppers, eggplant, roasted sweet potato and feta
- Chutney and tasty cheese
- Olive tapenade and roasted vegie slices
- Salad with beetroot dip
- Roasted tomatoes with basil, oregano, rocket and feta
- Beany Sloppy Joes with lettuce
- Avocado and smoked tofu
- Fruit bread with cream cheese

Now, keep in mind that you don't need to just use bread. Oh, no, siree! You can use wraps, or pitas, or bagels, or baguettes, or tortillas or any other sort of carby goodness. Mmmmm... carbs! Best to go for wholemeal and whole grained bread, as they will have a lower GI. Lower GI foods are digested more slowly, which means the brain receives glucose at a nice steady rate, aiding in concentration - perfect for school kids, rather than giving them a bit fat high GI glucose rush, which may leave them tired, irritable and unable to concentrate. For more GI info see here.

Food for hot summer days:
- Chilled soups, such as avocado and buttermilk; Moroccon carrot; chilled Borscht
- Rice paper rolls with dipping sauces
- Watermelon and feta salad
- Pita pockets stuffed with salad and felafals
- Pasta salad with olives, feta and roasted cherry tomatoes
- Chilled dips with turkish bread and julienned vegetables
- Spicy brown rice pilafs with chilled yoghurt
- Couscous salads with dressings

Food for chilly winter days:
- Refried beans with plain corn chips
- Dhal with wholemeal garlic roti
- Grumble's favourite soups, such as minestrone, curried pea and lettuce, Indian-style tomato and lentil, potato and leek, Thai pumpkin.
- Serve the soups in a thermos, with something to dip with on the side: savoury muffins, bread rolls, parmesan and olive pinwheels, cheesy toast fingers etc
- Toasted muffins with pizza toppings
- Samosas with raita
- Vegetable pasties with sauce
- Warmed oriental noodles in the thermos
- Reheated wholemeal pizza slices
- Warmed up casseroles with cheesy or herby dumplings
- Vegetables curried with brown rice

Snacks:
- Fruit, obviously, based on what is in season
- Fruit salads
- Dried fruits
- Dips with carrots and cucumber
- Home made museli bars
- Fruity muffins
- Cherry tomatoes with cubes of cheese
- Home made biscuits that are light on the sugar and heavy on the oats
- Celery with peanut butter
- Slices of gherkins with cheese

Whew! I think I'm now officially out of ideas. If anybody has any more suggestions, leave them in the comments - I love to hear what your kids munch away on!

I'm a lucky, lucky girl

Happy sigh. I'm feeling very contented today. Why, you enquire? Simple - I'm in love. Yes, totally and utterly in love with my new camera. We were meant to be!

The most wonderful part of it all is being able to document my life in such a satisfying media combination: pictures and words. I'm full of giddy thrills that I'll always be able to look back and watch Grumbles growing up, having captured so many fleeting moments that might have been spirited away on the winds of forgotten memory.

Thank heavens for blogs and words and cameras. I'm so very grateful for them all.

A door of one's own

We're looking at not one but two houses this weekend. One of which we may or may not potentially buy. I know: EEEEEEK! Buying a house - isn't that what grown up people do?

As far as one of the houses goes I'm pretty sure we won't even bother bidding for it as it's severely overpriced. In fact, their asking price is nothing short of ridiculous. Actually, it's so nuts that it's SITTING right on top of ridiculous, and the adjective 'ridiculous' actually had to tear itself from the page, trot along to the OED offices and ask that the damn asking price get off it right now please.

Still, tyre kicking research must be done. As you can imagine, these are exciting times at chez Jorth. Just as well I'm not a nail biter, as I'm sure I would have nothing but bloody, ragged cuticles left. Part of me is thinking "Crazy girl - isn't this the worst time possible to buy a house?" and the other part is thinking "Oh well, you've got to jump in sometime, can't just sit around waiting". As my father-in-law says, "The best time to buy a house is always yesterday", and since he's a town planner and valuer I figure the man knows his onions. Not to mention his houses.

Deep down, a wee portion of my soul is rather sad at kissing the house in the country with a big cherry tree orchard dream goodbye. The Galumph and I have had many a serious discussion about this, and we feel that it's just not quite the right time in our lives for the country abode, fruit trees included. Which is just as well, really, as I bought a bag of cherries at the market last weekend, but stupidly left them in their paper bag instead of washing them and popping them into a bowl, and by the time I recalled that I had a bag of lucious, juicy cherries just begging to be eaten, they had turned into mushy, stinky, rapidly decomposing cherries, just begging to be composted.

In other words, I'd have been a crap cherry tree farmeress.

*Sigh* All this real estate hoo ha is already doing my head in, and we've only just started looking. Decisions, decisions...

A smile that lights up my world

Three charming ladies

VALERIYA, ANZHELA & EKATERINA: Hello!

V: We are three lovely Russian dolls, made by the clever hands of Jorth...

A: Oh ho ho! You may think yourselves lovely, but I, with my blonde hair, am nothing short of an angel!

V: Hooy na ny*! There is a word for blyats** like you sweetie, but it's not angel!

E [heaving the sigh of the continually weary]: Great. They're at it again. I'm going to just sit here and stare off into the distance, hoping that nobody thinks I'm with them.

A [rocking as hard in indignation as a softie can]: I AM AN ANGEL! My name means ANGEL. You are nothing but a perdoon stary***, destined to always be nothing next to my utter loveliness.

V: LOVELINESS? Don't make me choke on my borscht! [Would roll eyes sarcastically if only they weren't made of felt]

E [feeling increasingly uncomfortable]: I hear Malta is lovely at this time of year. Damn, if only I had hands (or even arms for that matter, Jorth, what were you thinking!) I could stick my fingers in my ears and gently trill La! La! La! until they all went away.

A: Ach! Go find some hooy morzhovy**** and leave me to my celestial glamour.

JORTH: Damned dirty-mouthed softies! Better not gift these to Grumbles...

_____________________________________________________________________
* No bleeping way!

** Whore

*** Old fart

**** Walrus dick

Year of the rat? Year of the pig? Nah, it's the year of the challenge!

I've been feeling for quite some time that there was something missing in my life. Nothing huge, just this nagging feeling that something wasn't quite right. Something was definitely lacking, but I couldn't put my finger on it.

Then late last year I bought my new camera, and felt a surge of excitement. I had a new toy, and I was going to use it to the very best of its (oh, and my) ability. I immediately sat down and started investigating courses, and would burble at the Galumph about all my big plans and dreams at every opportunity.

Then it dawned on me what exactly had been missing: challenges.

Before I go any further, let me tell you now that being a mum has it's fair share of challenges. At certain stages it feels like you're still reeling from coping with one before that next one comes along and counter-punches you in the guts. Still, I'm not sure if I've just gotten better at rolling with the punches or that I have a relatively chilled out child (both, I suspect), but I had found myself in a bit of a rut. A stay-at-home mum, doing the kinder rounds, washing load after load of laundry, cooking meals every night, organising playdates, looking after everyone except myself kind of rut.

A rut that was snug, and comfortable, and secure, sure, but still a rut. A rut sans challenges. And I'm the kind of girl who needs a challenge. Something to sink my teeth into, to stimulate my mind, and get me thinking about the big wide world outside my front door.

So let the trumpeters trump and the herald angels hark: 2009 will be all about the challenges for ol' Jorthy. The challenge resolutions are as follows:

1 - Master that camera. Take more photos. Take better photos.

2 - Write more. And make it different, and creative, and interesting. Don't let a lack of confidence stand in my way. It's only the internets, after all. Nobody is going to die if I put up a less-then-well thought out post, so just buck up and do it, orright?

3 - Get back into the French lessons. Hmm, maybe I could make this a bilingual blog, a blog de bilingue? Perhaps, peut-être!

4 - Stop caffienating. Because then you get over-stimulated, and then you don't sleep and then you wake up grouchy, and then nothing gets done. Two cups of tea a day and that's it, missy!

5 - Continue plastic-free, but also get more into precycling. Jam jars are my friends.

6 - Stop making resolutions. Between the French and the camera and the courses and the saving the world one less container at a time and looking after Grumbles and Galumph, I really think that's quite enough to go on with.

Oh, and before I forget: Happy New Year, everyone!