Nothing if not a fabulous reason

Forgive my tardiness but I can explain.

Work went back to normal but unfortunately I didn't. These ugly little orange fellows have all had a bite of me over the last week. One in the morning , one in the afternoon. 

I've got to get through another box. My belly looks like a monochrome Monet painting. 


When I've gone back to being the my standard blank canvas self, I'll tell you about more about more of my staples, explain why this spring is a denim skirt season and invite your critiques of & suggestions for my packing for my next trip. 


On the up side, it's spring and the local florist is selling the elusive and adored flannel flowers. 

It is only the mind that is a trifle shaken

Forgive the sparse posting. At this point in history I am occupied with many dreary office things and cannot carve out enough time for quality blogging. I hope this tyranny will have passed within the next week; meanwhile, please snack on of one of my most highly regarded staples. 

So many staples, so little time

There's not much to be said for Mondays. Very few of us like them. 


This morning, as I stumbled from room to room wondering where I had left my coffee, I got to thinking about the little habits and rituals we all adapt to make our days bearable. The thinking didn't stop. All through the day I made mental notes of all the small procedures and staples that I use, week in and week out, to keep my life ticking over. 


There's so many. Here's a few. 

I reach for this every weekday morning. It's an old sweeties tin ....

...and it holds whatever makeup items I'm currently favouring, I'm especially fond of creamy things that I can dab on with my fingers. 

Magazines. I'm always thinking about buying magazines, stockpiling magazines for a magazine fest or working out when I can sit down and re-read a pile of magazines. A lot of magazines come out on Mondays and thank God for that, I say. 

Clean handkerchiefs. I never leave home without them. The last thing I do before I leave the house is tuck a hankie into my pocket and another into my bag. I have dozens, most of which came from op-shops. You generally find them on the counter at op-shops in a little basket. I always rifle through the hankie basket and when I get them home I'll wash them in wool wash and press them into nice triangles with an unforgiving iron. Bonus: sometimes you find embroidered ones. Other bonus: they cost pennies and are far more elegant than tissues. Specific bonus: how cute is that bird? 


That's the tip of my staples ice berg. Coming soon: the desk breakfast, Platform 1 and quinoa soup.  

Hands as bleak as begging bowls

It was a wonderful weekend.  Granted, we failed to get a house but we did fall in love with one - a bigger, clumsier one that had once been a bakery. 


Sydney shook the last scraps of winter out for us too. I rugged up and carried a big bag filled with emergency supplies. 

This is the late-winter-when-it-should-be-Spring ensemble. It includes a silk jigsaw dress, a woollen Jigsaw coat and a scarf I bought eight years ago and love more every winter and it obscures a smaller vintage silk scarf. You cant see the 4000 denier tights but you can see the tall black menacing boots I bought on eBay. And you can't miss the Balenciaga bag, which is one  of my favourite sacks. It could, were I a violent type, be useful for walloping persons who step out of line.  I hope it never comes to that. 


It's an excellent bag for hauling stuff, viz.

Exhibit A - a Coach change purse which holds a bill folder for credit cards and dozens of used train tickets, five different lip unguents, an excellent comb, my scrappy work phone, my Mensa-level personal phone, pellets of Ibufuren in case of a migraine, water, a bandanna should I be required to herd cattle and some bands to tie up my hair. Oh, and water. 


I love those articles in magazines where women spill the contents of their bags and explain the purpose of each item, especially when they have odd things, like spanners or a fish food, amongst the ubiquitous lipsticks and tissues. 

Alas, my possessions aren't so interesting:  Sunglasses. The ipod, for mystery and eliminating the chatter on trains on every morning.  Nonetheless my bag and its content did attract a small audience of interested onlookers. 

The line of life creeps upwards

Before I start crowing I think I should disclose that my cat Kate watches television. 

That is the face of someone who has never seen Sex and the City before. I believe it was Charlotte who caught her attention. 

Kate has an on-going interest in clothes, particularly mine they are freshly washed and in a basket that she can access easily. However, she finds the whole blogging thing a little tedious and just wishes I would make up my mind about the style of my photographs. 

 With the self timer in my kitchen, in an Anne Fontaine Dress, negotiating Kate who is out of shot 

 With my phone in my room as Kate makes final submissions for some extra breakfast. Note: the dry cleaner found the belt to my original tench! 

In my office (courtesy of my learned friend) in a Seed dress and possibly in need of a good trim. 

I still have no idea what works best. I do know that it is getting warmer and the fabric of my clothes is being adjusted accordingly. I've moved down the textile scale from wool to cotton and silk.    

And it's warm enough for short sleeves, which in turn deserves a bracelet.

On your back beyond the sea

It never fails - stop to count your woes and pretty soon you'll catch sight of all your uncounted blessings. That happened for me today. I was in court (as an observer, not a witness, accused, prosecutor or advocate) and I met some very brave people who were succeeding despite really onerous circumstances. I also met some great people who worked together to help change people's lives. It was gratifying.
I knew it was going to be a great day as I stepped off the train and spotted this written hastily on the steps:

Not enough fingers to count my blessings

I've no idea whether this will work. I'm using Posterous to enhance the quality of my photos. This test shot was provided by learned friend who I believe can now be crowned the Tulip King. He took this in his kitchen. Seriously.

Grass grows on the weirs

Last week was an unsatisfactory week. 

All sorts of traumas and botherings have visited my professional life and personal life. One bothersome episode is manageable; unfortunately I have had a herd of them. For example: migraines. I collected five in the last eight days. Here's another example: goji berries. 


There is no need to fear goji berries, or so I thought. I was mixing them in with my cereal in the morning, scoffing them in the afternoon as a cheerful tasty scarlet snack. Well, the pack said they were full of antioxidants and quite likely to make you bionic. I'm a sucker for that kind of marketing. 


Meanwhile, as I chewed the goji berries, my nose bled continuously. Bruises appeared on my arms and legs, first little blue patches but turning regularly into great big stains. And I wasn't' growing bionic. I was getting more exhausted and more pale. 


Turns out goji berries, or the little red devil berries as they are now known in this house, contra-indicate with warfarin, a drug I take in large doses daily. I was lucky I didn't dissolve. 


Here's more bothersome: On Friday I was invited to very posh drinks. Which was all well and good but I was dressed in my casual Friday clothes. I went anyway because I heard a rumour they were serving party pies. Alas, I was under-dressed and there no pies. I made up for it later by having Friday night noodles with my lovely spouse. 

That is an underdressed woman wondering how many kilos of noodles she could eat before the kitchen closes. (Answer: not as many as she thought she could.) 


And here's what she looks like when her spouse's phone does something very smart: 

My spouse's phone is about as smart as my phone. We have to keep them separated for if they were to ever meet we're pretty certain they would take over the world. 


After a fairly vile week, I had to then put in a somewhat vile and stressful weekend. I dressed for comfort and agility should I need to make a quick getaway.

You're seeing an Old Navy jacket from SanFrancisco, a striped top from Zara, a vest from Gap, J.Brand jeans and a Prada bag that always makes me feel capable. 


But it's not all bad, even though mostly it is. There are a couple of respites. Like this gorgeous silk crepe de chine scarf I found for nine dollars in a vintage clothing shop in Newtown on Saturday afternoon: 

And it's nearly spring. The sweet peas are here already, and they smell glorious. 

Those colours just about put everything right. 

The shoe fits

Another day, another endless to-do list, another black dress - but today Spring stuck it's pink nose around the corner so the tights and boots stayed in the wardrobe. Out with the sheer tights, and out with the black glace leather Ferragamos. 


These are the Vara pumps, a staid, low heeled shoe that Ferragamo has been making since 1978. They're a little stodgy, a little refined and very respectable. 

The defining feature is the gold plate in the centre of the grosgrain bow. It really lights up in the Spring sun. 


I'm not sure how Ferragamo sizes work - their shoes are notoriously narrow. I am wearing a 9 on my size 8 foot. They fit comfortably, but there's no room to spare. I imagine all the models and fitters at the Ferragamo factory to be long lean women with feet like flamingos. 


I have another migraine today so flat, dependable and slightly school-marm shoes were a great comfort.

If the migraines continue tomorrow I'm thinking about stomping into work in trainers.  

Pick the flowers in other people's gardens

This ugly and very busy day is winding itself up with a migraine, so unfortunately I have no evidence of my new coat for you. I wore it with a very plain black dress, and very stern pinstriped jacket, and some austere black pumps. I felt quite formidable, aching head and all. 


I have got pictures of gold things though. I concentrate on bright primary colours when I get migraines to try and make my myself a little warmer. I read somewhere that this helps migraines. 


It's never worked for me but it's fun to think of yellow things.  Like these chips. 

 And this profoundly uninterested cat I met last week when we were house hunting. He had no enthusiasm at all for the prospect of living near me. 

 This chair could be called golden if you view it in a low light and you're not wearing your glasses. I love it but sadly it is not what I'd call affordable. I'd would, however, describe it  as extremely expensive. And golden. 

 Cheddar coloured gerberas. Cheese and flowers. A perfect storm.   

 I actually use this to help with the nausea from migraines. Few things calm my stomach like Vegemite on toast. 

Oddly enough I feel a little better. If you know anything about migraines, or actually suffer from them, I'd be mighty interested to hear about it. 

Knows to bring honey

Either this winter has been mild or my internal thermostat has adjusted itself again and rendered me almost insensible to Sydney's brand of cold. 


To wit: I have slept under cotton quilts with cotton flannel sheets all season, and worn a wool coat only once. 


I've spent the rest of the winter  in a the Banana Republic trench coat I bought in New York eighteen months ago. I'd never owned a trench coat and was a little sceptical of their recurring khaki inclusion on every ten-garments-you-must-own list. 


There was no recognisable gap in my life for a trench coat, or so I thought. I bought it on a New York whim, seduced by the way it had been styled on the store mannequin - with some slouchy blue trousers and a carelessly light pink cotton jumper - and end up wearing just about every day last winter and every day this winter. 


So it was a disaster of middle class proportions when the dry cleaner lost the belt. It doesn't work without the belt. I tried every thing - leather belts, velvet belts, no belts, unbuttoned -  but nothing looked right. 


So I've been wearing other coats but I don't look right. I feel odd in my clothes, odd on the train, odd walking through the park to work. 


I could bear it no longer and at lunch time today I cracked and bought another trench. 

It looks entirely unremarkable, almost identical to my American trench. 

 Except it has a belt. 


The quilts are more interesting, at least at first glance. 

Romance has no part in it

The house hunt continues. I'm starting to think I just like looking in all the different houses rather than actually choosing one. My least favourite are the styled places, all coiffed and cleaned to the realtor's instructions. They are predictable and false. The details set my skin crawling - salad forks in preposterous over-sized bowls empty on a sparkling clean counter, guest towels folded in little fan shapes on the chrome-like finish of the bathroom sink. 


I like the houses where the residents are obviously still living. They may have smoothed the sheets but their shoes are visible in the wardrobe. There's a smooth lozenge of used soap in the shower recess. There's a couple of well cuddled coloured teddies in the smaller bedroom.


I have no idea where we'll end up but I can tell you this is one of the things you will see in my  new home: 

Isn't it's beautiful? It's fabric! 

These are from a store called Edit in Sydney's Darlinghurst, a former working class, now wholly gentrified suburb on the city rim. I'm not usually one for posting websites but will make an exception for any place that treats fabrics with the reverence I saw here.  If you choose to be further delighted, click here:  www.edit-group.com.au. 


I've not yet found a house for my leaf curtains. This crumbling corner is my current favourite. It is too small, too cramped and possibly haunted, but jasmine is running riot on the rotting wooden fence outside and there's a wood cooker in the kitchen. 

Also, it matches a lot of my clothes. May I just offer a slightly better indication of my seemingly bottomless bag: 

And here's the jasmine, which has just started scenting Sydney this last week or so. 

If this dank little house were mine, I'd plant hydrangeas in the front and install the matching Edit chair in the stunted triangular little sitting room. 

Passing the garden to reach the road

It's likely no one enjoys going to work but every morning, when the train pulls in to the station before my stop, I feel pretty damned fortunate. Even today, when Winter gave Sydney a resoundingly wet goodbye kiss. 

I took that photo on my new phone. The phone is smarter than any person or machine I have ever met. Everyday its achievements and capabilities make me feel a little embarrassed. 


Tomorrow, rain or not, we're going to look for a new house. We've looked at a lot recently but nothing has seemed right, except this one: 

Trouble is, it's not for sale and quite obviously occupied. 

Look at that smug face. He's not going anywhere. 

Seaworthy

It's only been a couple of months but it seems much longer.  I would like to thank you very, very much for checking the blog and keeping it alive. When I took a deep breath and logged in last night I expected to find something like a dusty torn shoebox that had been abandoned under an old bed; it is hard to explain how thrilled I was to see that that everything was clean and crisp because people had been dropping in and reading. It meant a lot to me and had a very powerful, positive effect on my outlook. 


Thank you! 


I don't often have many plans for Spring - it has always got along quite well without any intervention from me - but I do plan to reinvent the blog a little as I reinvent myself a little. Hopefully, by the time the jasmine is in full bloom the blog and the pictures will look a little different.


Hopefully too there will more pelicans because frankly I love them. 

Intentions to add no bitterness

I really miss blogging. 

 

Like a secret grace

But before I rabbit on about pyjamas I just want to have a minor tirade about lipsticks that are more than six months old. 


Magazines are telling me that I have to turf all my make up that is older than six months. 

I have been using this lip crayon on and off for ten years and have yet to be struck by lightning, turned into a bat or burst into flames.  It is older than all my nephews and less inclined to have me read it stories. 


Now, where was I? 

Never eat anything bigger than your head

That would be my first fashion rule, but it is not applicable to any ants who might be reading. 

May I just add that I took that photo and indeed provided the speck of cheese biscuit that this ant is taking home to share with his roomies. 


Seriously, on my top seven list of things you must have - if not a jaw fitted with ball bearings so you can eat things bigger than your head - is a pair of comfortable shoes. Only you can decide whether that means trainers or spindly stilettos or steel capped boots. In my case it means flat black boots you find on ebay: 

Whatever your preferred shoe, they should allow you to move gracefully and in full comfort. They should also provide you protection from blizzards and landslides, and allow your feet to support your back adequately so you don't end up at the chiropractor's every week of your last three decades.  


And you should also think about owning a piece of jewellery that is so dramatic people stare at it rather than you when they are talking with you. While you provide them information about the photocopier or ants, they are wondering: where on earth did she find a piece of jewellery nearly as big as her head? Are those pink things real? Is it heavy? If I compliment it, will she shut up about the ants?  

Sigh. I love this pendant that is in fact a locket. When pressed I answer without a hint of irony that I bought it at a French flea market. 


Tomorrow: why everyone should have an archive of pyjamas.