I’m sitting in the kitchen watching the minutes roll over on the digital oven clock. It’s only been three minutes since I last asked "Is it time yet?". I don’t want to bug Non but I’m just about bursting with anticipation.
I can’t sit still. The swivel chair I’m sitting on is moving constantly. Swivel left, swivel right, swivel left, swivel right. Non is busy preparing something at the kitchen bench and peers over her glasses at me. I know the constant motion is annoying her but I can’t help it.
I’m not sure how I successfully negotiated an afternoon alone at Non’s, but I’m feeling extremely pleased with myself. We can’t ever get the precious dolls out when the littler kids are around because of a recent breakage by Cal.
Finally, Non gives me a little nod. I’m up and out of my chair before she can change her mind.
I open the sliding door to the dining room. The air in the dining room is cold and moist and smells like a mixture of Mr Sheen and liqueur. I wrestle with the aluminium step ladder, being careful not to bump into the sideboard or the dining chairs.
I climb up the ladder and cup my hand under the olive green key tassel. I love the way it feels, heavy and soft at the same time. I turn the key in the lock of the glass doll cabinet.
The dolls have been collected from all around the world. They are just souvenir dolls but to me they are so precious. I’m sure it’s got something to do with the fact that they are stored up so high, under lock and key. Their glass and mahogany home is so decadent. Surely they must be worth an absolute fortune.
I carefully remove each one and lay them one at a time on the velvet runner on the sideboard. Once I’ve made my selection (always leaving the broken marketeer and his wagon behind), I lock the cabinet and carefully carry the little figures back to the kitchen.
The next hour is filled arranging and rearranging the dolls on the kitchen table and listening to the stories of where they were purchased. It’s clear from the way Non speaks that they really are valuable. They are memory anchors for her and memory makers for me. They well deserve to be treated with such care and respect.
The date & I talk a lot about the making of a memory.
I have so many wonderful childhood memories & we really want that for the smalls.
We've come to the conclusion that the very best memories of childhood holidays were not the "once in a lifetime" trips. It's more about the ritual type of holiday. The annual event...
the packing the pilgrimage the daily routine
These annual holidays & therefore the memories seem to merge into one event. I can't remember on exactly which Murray River holiday I learnt to slalom, or which year I burnt my feet on the parched earth, or when it was that we purchased garbage pail lollies from the milk bar. I've no idea which year we invented thong skiing, I'm pretty sketchy on the details of when the Block Ice Manufacturer closed, & how many years it rained.
In my memory... every day was 40 degrees, the sprinklers were always going, the meals at the golf club were in a class of their own, cartwheels on the putting green were always perfect, I never got burnt, the shrimps stayed away & a soft heavenly glow settled over our holiday rental belonging to Bee Jones.
Part of what has helped cement these memories is the footage shot on our Super 8 camera.
My Dad had these put onto video about 15 years ago...this confirmed that our holidays were nothing short of perfect (I'm skiing to Chariots of Fire!).
I'm planning to share some holiday snaps "Super 8" style. Feel free to switch off if you like...
OR maybe you've got some great holiday memories to share.
It’s 11pm. I’ve been walking for 15 hours and I can feel the tears welling in my eyes again. I wasn’t prepared for how emotional this experience was going to be.
The soup I forced down an hour ago is making me feel sick and I wish I was home in bed. I’m painfully aware that I’ve only walked about 3 kilometres in the last hour and am trying to calculate in my jumbled mind how much longer it will be until we reach Mt Evelyn Reserve.
I’ve no idea where the rest of my team is, I’m just following the person in front and hoping that it’s Viv. The team thing is driving me insane, I just want to run ahead and make it be over. Of course, that’s not in the spirit of the event so I trudge on and hope that none of the others want to chat. I’ve got nothing to say and I’m worried that if I have to talk I’ll burst into tears.
The rain is absolutely bucketing down. The Gortex jacket has been pushed beyond it’s capability and I’m soaked to the skin. I think it’s about 2 degrees and I can’t even imagine how cold it must be at the top of Mount Donna Buang. I’m aware that I can’t feel my lips, nose, fingers or toes. The pungent smell of soaked wool and sweat is overpowering and serves to reassure me that I do still have a nose.
I wriggle my toes in my hiking shoes. They are completely numb, I imagine that they must look like little prunes. With each step my socks squelch and the skin around my heel squeaks. I’m so thankful that the support team made me change out of my Asics. At least these shoes have got a bit of grip in the wet.
Each outward breath hits the light of my head torch and the rain. Until it clears I can see nothing. I’m just concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other.
I imagine that every corner we round will be the last and am longing for the twinkling lights of the Checkpoint. I’ve only walked this section in daylight and my memory has failed me. I’m getting used to disappointment.
diverged in a yellow wood, and sorry I could not travel both and be one traveller long I stood & looked down one as far as I could to where it bent in the undergrowth then took the other, as just as fair & having perhaps the better claim because it was grassy & wanted wear...
excuse the inaccuracy of my memory but you get the drift.
Not one to make New Years resolutions - I prefer to make it up as I go along.
But I do want to make sure that in 2008 I choose the road not taken more often. I've found the rewards to be plentiful when I've trodden this path in the past.
I don't mean to sound like someone from a bad reality show but ... it really is all about the journey
I had reason to be at The Mall in West Heidelberg yesterday. A place I haven't been since about 1985.
I stepped out of my car and as I took my first steps towards Cambridge Arcade I felt my scalp tingle and every hair on my body stand on end.
I could hear Non's Italian heeled shoes clip clopping beside me and I could smell her sickly sweet perfume. Max Bygraves was singing somewhere in the distance. Non's knitting was spilling out of the hessian bag I was carrying for her. I smiled knowing that she'd not be wanting to waste her 15 minute tea break just sitting in the tea room and chatting to the storeman.
I notice that the heavy steel grate that we'd struggled with had long been replaced but the terrazzo stairs are still there and I gasp...remembering how strangely scared I felt when I had to take those stairs alone.
I leave Non in the arcade and take the front entrance into the store. I feel tears welling in my eyes and a lump rising in my throat. Surely the store was bigger than this. It's a discount store now. Gone are the bays for holding yarn and the wall that divided the shop front from the "warehouse". There's been no refit though. The same peg board lines the wall where we used to keep the laybys and the floor and wall paint remain as they were.
As I walk toward the back of the store I spy the door to the tea room and a faint waft of International Roast coffee fills the air.
The shop which now occupies the space at the end of Cambridge Arcade is fittingly called The Family Store.
And this morning I went back to snap myself some memory anchors.
This is... hosted by Three Buttons. Theme from Hila.
For our 10th wedding anniversary the date & I went to Lord Howe Island. It is absolutely the most beautiful place in the world. We were sans kids for the first time in 9 years.
We stayed & ate at Capella Lodge - gorgeous.
Never ones to be idle we filled our three days with walking, cycling, snorkeling & we had a guide take us up Mt Gower. I wasn't as fit then as I am now & nearly killed myself trying to keep up with 2 super fit guys. I made it up & back in super quick time & in one piece. The experience makes me think of that piece of sage advice...
I made another video & timed myself but the whole thing was such a disaster - it was axed before it even made it to air.
I've been making lots of these pincushions lately. They came about from the fortune teller folding & then the fat quarter folding.
Nothing remarkable in the construction of this super quick pincushion but I think that they finish up as something quite beautiful for very little effort.
How To Make A Simple Square PincushionView more presentations from kootoyoo.
Once all this was finished I had a vague memory of my grandmother having a pincushion constructed in the same way out of a Bargello sampler.
I think that these would look excellent as samples for the seam-along.
You can see variations on the theme in felt with a pinked seam & in a heavy cotton with a frayed seam.
The PDF tutorial for How to make a square pincushion can be downloaded here.
Yesterday while I was waiting for all the muffins to cook I spent some more time in the pool room trying to sort everything out.
I love to fold. The pillowcase collection looks magnificent but the other set of shelves is looking a bit sad.
I've seen a bit of sorting & folding going on around the place & this morning I popped in here. It made me want to rush out & buy lots & lots of lovely new fabric. (contradiction?) Then I remembered...I don't do that.
So, I got to work with the vintage sheeting. This little exercise required the use of my maths brain as well as my very rusty dramatic skills...OK so I totally got stage fright & the video is pretty awful but I had fun with the logistics. I set myself up a ghetto rig for the flip & away I went.
How to fold a fat quarter...the video.
This may or may not be an original way to fold squares of fabric. I was trying to hunt down a folding technique last year as I seemed to remember this sort of thing from Patchwork House when I learnt to quilt (about a million years ago). But Mr Google turned up nothing. I combined my memory of nappy folding (which I also loved) with my idea of how I remembered the fat quarters at Patchwork House.
Formula: width of shelf (w) x 4 is the size to cut your squares.
So...if you're a collector of fabric & your shelves are six inches wide you need to be buying 24 inches of fabric to make them fit snuggly on your shelf.
I packed the kids in the car & headed up to Mansfield. I managed to drag the rain with me & it teamed all day yesterday. The ponies weren't very co-operative!
BUT...
I stopped at Pemberton's on the way up just to scope things out. You see this is where we used to keep our own ponies when we were kids.
I reckon I'm OK with the pictures but the words don't come as easily. I really enjoy the words written by this clever girl & the wordy posts here are my favourite mikes updates.
What I really like is to take a nice long leafy walk down memory lane. "School lunches" has given me the chance to do just that.
I could blather on about this kind of stuff for hours. My mum was a bit of a control freak when it came to food so when she started working I took full advantage.
This was my regular order at the school canteen (written just as it would have been in year 8). I'm not sure about the pricing but you can be sure I was a cheap date.
No nutritional value whatsoever & this lunch order paved the way for Mars Bar breakfasts on the way to school...yick.
I devoured this "lunch" in about 5 minutes flat & then spent the rest of lunch time starving & staring longingly at the salad sandwiches prepared for my lunch buddies.
I've still got no self control when it comes to Nutella.
PS. I really enjoyed this wordy post & I think that I shall be a regular Lingo Franko visitor.
Last night The Quilt Project quilt was displayed at Abbotsford Convent. Lots of lovely folk came to have a look at our beautiful quilt. It really is something special. Our online community have worked together to make something really amazing.
I feel immensely proud of all of us. To quote the smalls...
"We did a big achievement".
On a personal note...
When the project began I felt confident that the community quilt we were creating was going to be something special and I thought it would be a bit of fun. Certainly, both those things are true but The Quilt Project has meant so much more to me than just a bit of fun.
As each block arrived I traced the designs with my fingers and imagined the maker hard at work. When each row was stitched together I stepped back and nodded and thought yes, yes that looks good. It wasn't until I sewed the last row onto the quilt, draped it over the couch and let it spill onto the floor that I was fully aware of the magic that is this project. It took my breath away. Each of these squares is a moment in time, a piece of each maker's life, a memory anchor.
I will be eternally grateful to all who participated for trusting me with these very precious squares, thank you.
The Quilt Project now has it's own space. I hope that it's a space that the contributors will be proud of and one that everyone interested in making can enjoy.
Two extra special thank you's to Bec for travelling to be there & to Nikki for being a fabulous support.