Cato's first Doll Quilt

I just got back from an appointment with my pain specialist. It seems that if my current drug regime and daily activity management system (ie. spend my days watching TV) don't improve matters the next step is Ketamine injections and a 9 day hospital stay.

Surely I must have miss heard? He is a low talker after all.

But NINE days? C sections don't even keep you in for that long.

I must have got it wrong.






















So perhaps the bright side of this encounter is that maybe I am actually only going deaf. Add it to forgetful, vague and the fact that putting my socks and shoes on is a task I need to ready myself for (thongs are the #1 thing I am going to miss about summer).

Old before my time, unless I just caught a bad case of the geriatrics from the hydro pool. Because let's face it, I am the youngest client there by about 30 years.

Not that there is anything wrong with being old. Really, I love old people (except of course if, god forbid, I am stuck behind you at a shopping centre).

I do intend to be one one day- and heartily embrace my codgerism with a gnarled shake of my fist at the young kids walking on my lawn. But I did hope to at least experience middle age before I got there.

I want my crisis and sports car too!






















(edit: someone didn't forget to take the bitch pills this morning I'm afraid)

In the meantime, the highlight of my weekend was a four year old's birthday party - which left me completely spent for the rest of the weekend. I almost fell asleep during the dystopian bloodfest that was the Watchmen movie. Then again it was a matinee session. Traditional nap time at chez Trickle.

Slumber aside, I did enjoy the movie - even if it did stray from the original comic book (Hazzah! Nit picking - the unmistakable vestige of the comic book geek).

A bit of ultra violence was a interesting counterpoint to an overload of PINK. And ballerinas.

















I had to turn my fabric collection inside out and trawl the scrap pile to find enough appropriately coloured patterns.

Fortunately the finished product only had to be 25 x 35 cms - so I really didn't have to find that much. But even then I only just made it.

(There is a reason why I don't fill these posts with pictures of my fabric collection. Shades of navy blue and black anyone?)

Putting myself in the mind's eye of a 4 year old girl who is Angelina Ballerina obsessed, I thought that mice with miniature tutus would make me lose my shit.

















Of course, I didn't quite factor in just how long a little bit of embroidery would take with my sewing arm ailments. But it was worth it.

Even if after the careful pacing of the project each day, it still left me up late the night before and dipping into my painkiller cache.

Please don't tell Jms (I promised him it wouldn't come to that).

Um, hang on - he reads these posts too.

Even after a severe chastising from a very disappointed husband: Still worth it.

Because it is soooo cute. Because it made the birthday girl's eyes sparkle. Because it got immediately taken to the bedroom and I was told it was 'very special'. Too special even for the pram for which it was intended. No - its going to be hung on the wall with her other favourite things.

And here was I truly expecting it to end up trampled on the floor, covered in cake crumbs like most toys at a small child's birthday party do.

















Dodgy machine quilting aside (alas no walking foot) this was a lot of fun and very satisfying to make. I now completely understand the myriad doll/mini/art quilt collectors and flicker groups out there.

This could be a new obsession - perfectly suited to one who has a very short window of opportunity for work and the attention span to match. And as for pink - I think could be hooked.

Make a little (felt) birdhouse in your soul

They Might Be Giants lyrics aside, I'd firstly like to celebrate the small matter of Jimmy Trickle being the last blogger user on earth to dispense with the template header.

Hence, I humbly present to you my Powerful Owl totem, who will hopefully keep a stern eye on all things at chez Trickle and keep me in check. At least at night anyways. I wouldn't want to interrupt his beauty sleep. He should help with the rodent population too.






















Secondly, I would like to celebrate a return to all things crafty - with a week - yes, a WHOLE week - of daily completed craft projects.

She's serious folks - this is a publicly stated attempt to extractus digitus and finish some of those little craft projects that have been lying about the place 95% complete. And the theme is all things avian (being as I am obsessed with particular motifs).

Mind you, before you go and get yourself in a fervent lather - I should highlight the fine print:

a) I am only counting weekdays (cheats); and

b) it is important to note that I have not specified that they will be MY completed craft projects (spoken like a true ex-lawyer).

Yes - should I find I have bitten off more than I can chew (highly likely) or that daytime naps prove too attractive (extremely likely) I will dispense with my contractual obligations by presenting you with the doubtlessly superior, bird themed works of others.

Oh she's crafty (to quote the Beastie Boys).






















But without feather ado (aaaiiieeee!) as it is Monday, and the start of the working week for those not fortunate to have a public holiday, I present you with my little felt birdhouses.

These were actually a Christmas decoration I started back in October. Given that my Christmas tree is only one foot tall, it was a slightly ill conceived idea. But they are, nevertheless deserving of existence, in spite of this fact.

The genius of the creation (if I may say so myself) is that the perch is made of a cinnamon stick. So they make up for being 'twee' to grumpy husbands by spicing the air with an amiable scent.

I've also put a a handful of cloves in there to give it some olfactory kick (potpourri would justifiably, warrant the serving of divorce papers).

See you tomorrow with, to quote the comedic mastermind Daniel Hall:

"shouldn't unless mean more?"

Wordless Wednesday

Wordless Wednesday... last for 2008!

Taken in Norway by Jms

Admiral Ackbar single again

Yes, Bernard Black passed away this week.

Bernard the Black Moor, not the bookstore owner - though he did drink like a fish!

Apologies to any Dylan Moran fans out there for the potentially upsetting news. Apologies to everyone else out there for the terrible joke.

Ahem. Shall I start again?

Bernard: the fish. Although a consummate professional at 'playing' dead he actually proved quite the fighter - surviving some nasty fishy disease outbreaks and outliving several tank mates over the years.

Alas, the latest bug got the better of him, despite my tank-side ministrations. It is a bit of a relief with the impending trip OS and the MIL house-sitting (she was considerably perturbed by Bernard's fake death shenanigans last time she stayed).

Some months back I swore that I wouldn't get fish again once Bernard was gone. But now I am not so sure. Admittedly the house is a little crowded with 2 people, 4 cats and a dog (tho' he is only small). Tank upkeep is unsurprisingly not my favourite task (especially with a dodgy arm - which is partly to blame for the latest disease outbreak).

But the tank light bathed the room in such a nice glow and the bubble of the filter was like a meditative white noise in one's peripheral hearing. Not quite whale song or crashing waves, but comforting nevertheless. And ever so more so noticeable now, for its absence. Watching the tank was definitely better than daytime television. Now its sits dormant, bereft of light and life.

Unfortunately I am becoming increasingly aware of the unethical practices in the pet industry. Just Google "puppy factories" or "puppy mills" for some seriously disturbing information about practices at the core of the industry. Aquarium practices are perhaps less outrageous, but just because a Goldfish costs $5 and there is 50 in the tank, shouldn't mean that their life is any more disposable.

Fish are promoted as low maintenance, instant pets. I can't tell you how many times I've seen families bundled out of the pet shop door with a tank, chemicals and a bag of fish. This is particularly offensive when the proper set up of a tank, even the most basic, takes days if not a lot longer, before live fish ought to be introduced. A bunch of (expensive) chemical additives might help fish survive, but is no guarantee. Which leads me to believe that pet stores don't give a flying fuck whether the fish live after you've handed over your cash, because you'll either be back for more to replace the ones that died, or will abandon the tank after the novelty has worn of and come back and buy a puppy.

Not to mention that the presence of rows and rows of Siamese fighting fish in water glass sized tanks makes me so angry. That is cruelty personified. The "fact" promoted by the industry that they can survive in small puddles of water is appalling. Yes, they CAN survive. Just like we CAN survive on a diet of rice cakes and water if necessity dictated it.

But surely we want more than mere survival for our pets. The reason they sit motionless at the top of the tank is because they are starved of oxygen. Put a Siamese fighting fish in a large tank, properly oxygenated, with no inappropriate tank mates - and you will see an energetic and happy fish of the most luxurious and dazzling colouring.

And who knows whether tropical fish are harvested with any respect to maintaining wild fish stocks in their native environments. Or whether breeding fancy goldfish with "aesthetic" deformities impinges on the fish's quality of life.

I guess every decision we make has ethical consequences if we dig deep enough. Responsible pet ownership is one of them, and I often wonder whether it is wise to consider our own needs of companionship, or if it is just selfishness. I am not advocating never getting another pet once our household ultimately becomes pet free. Nor can I stand on any perceived moral high ground. Our collection of animals have variously been acquired from both pet stores, breeders and rescues. I adore each and every one and don't regret taking any of them in to our home. Had pure desire won over practicality, I'd be the happy owner of chooks and (to Jms' dismay) a donkey. I'd keep bees in a heartbeat if I weren't allergic.

(Of course the local council might also have some sway in the matter too...)

So Bernard is gone, and the tank remains empty. But I am yet to dismantle it and really put some action behind my ethical convictions. A friend once commented that we ought to have kids - if only to stop us from getting way too many pets!

Hmmm. They ARE cute. Jms?? Don't kill me.

Fursday

In anticipation of the change of seasons and THE GREAT SHEDDING, Gir and Trout are at maximum fluffitude. It may yet be a white Christmas in OZ.

















Must. Resist. Snorgling.

There's claws in dem dare hills (and infinite sneezes)

Mine!

It arrived almost a week ago - thanks Liz - It's perfect!

Just took me a while to get a decent photo... (I photoshopped out the cat hair)

'twas the cornerstone of my "Sex and the City" outfit last weekend, coupled with my new metallic boots (which incidentally co-ordinated nicely with the curtains at The Sun Theater).

Thanks also (again) to Ms Bollywood for organising an awesome night out and dragging us all over to Yarraville.

And from the post film discussion, I think my husband has proved he is more girly than me... I've never been so proud (except for the time he called me from Vegas and gushed about the Jimmy Choo shoes).

Wordless Wednesday

I did play Shula's game (v. cool) - but managed to delete the links so only have the mosaic. Interesting indeed. But poor Christian's head got cut orf.

Warm Fuzzy

A little project that I've had on the back burner for a while (no pun intended). Finished and appreciated...

















I'm not sure why I've decided to make the ugliest part of our lounge room a feature - but perhaps it's a vain attempt at deflection?

I made my own corded binding (properly this time). I now understand why there are special sewing machine feet to do this. Trying to hide the stitch line on the bind is really tricky. I even used a single sided zipper foot to get as close as possible but the seam is still not close enough when turned right side out.

Oh well, it is going to get covered in cat hair and pup-crust soon enough so I should just bite my tongue (but before I do, if the dog does destroy it, I think the gingham would look better cut on the bias)

















Though I hardly expect you to form an opinion as to the cushion's aesthetic value - as these are quite possibly the worst photos I've ever taken. That's the catch with seeking constant improvement - it demands constant diligence. I hereby hang up my perfectionist mantle and give you "barely adequate". I can live without the ulcers for now.


Inspired by this wee guy. Apologies but I have no idea where this photo is from. I assume by the kawaii perfection of the shot it's from a Japanese craft tome.

Sweet & Sour

The best thing about enduring the inevitable streak of 40 degree days in January - is the delicious tropical booty to be found at your local market. Peaches, plums, nectarines, and mangoes - by the arm load and all those wacky ones that from the outside suggest there could not possibly be anything delicious contained within.

I could seriously become a fruitarian. But only in summer. Obviously.




My only sour note is the recent passing of a wee friend. Manuel "Fatty" Sanchez was a little golden ball of joy who greeted me every morning with a pert little shuffle and a voracious appetite. Such a happy little soul who had nothing but joy to give. Tireless tank companion to Bernard the grumpy.

Rest in peace little friend.

(Forgive the poxy photo but - he wasn't much of a poser)

Slowly taking shape

Tocktober already?

Not only have I been trying to break into the cheezburger racket, I've also made some submishe to the cuteness mecca that is CuteOverload.

I waited with baited breathe for the calender to click over to the 1st day of the tenth month to see if the genius that is "Tock-tober" had made the headlines.

I was willing to concede that my swan tocks photo wasn't perhaps high calibre cute per se - but "Tock-tober" Come on Jerry - that's GOLD!

Alas gentle reader, as you might have already inferred from my intonation, there was nary a mention of buttocks nor October conjunctions. Dissappointed, Bitterly I am.

Doth this world no longer value the bad pun anymore? Is the use of bad in the previous sentence redundant? Hast this protagonist regressed into ye-olde English to appear more enlightened than said plebeians that shamelessly besmirched mine witty proposal and thus succor mine own cause? Or am I just a verbose git?

I think we *all* know the answer to that one.

But now we all know why swans have such long necks .. for snuffling in the rocks for tasty morsels!

This picture was taken in Zürich a couple of years ago - the water is so clear but surprisingly deep. So that neck is really stretched out (Maybe almost 6ft including the body??) Can't actually imagine what down there would be that tasty - but you are what you eat and we all know the story about how to make swan soup (ie. boil a swan and a stone in a pot for hours - throw out the swan and eat the stone). So I guess nothing that would excite us humans, but enough to make a swan go all out on evolving a gargantuan neck.

I lol cats

Some of you may recognise these varmints... A.K.A. Gir, Jinjo (RIP) and Trout.

With this many cats - it was only a matter of time before I sought fame and fortune through their exploitation.

No good pesky little things. Serve no purpose what-so-ever.

Couldn't live without them.