high up in the trees

Seasonal bewilderment.

{The Polar Bear chiefly feeds on seals, but can also effectively hunt larger mammals.}

Days are getting longer. Day light savings has me still thrown for a loop. With nightfall now not descending until 9pm, my daily routines have become a little out of sorts. As the weather warms up I realise that for all its many charms, long hot nights and the promise of ocean swims, I’m today wishing the seasons were going the other way, sliding into cooler, shorter days. Days which require more layers, scarves, jumpers and tailored jackets. Days which require moisturiser on the limbs, post shower, rather than lashings of thick white, hard-to-rub-in sunscreen.

I’ll find my summer stride soon enough. I’ll fling open the front door to the chorus of summer sounds as they tap at my front door and nudge past my right elbow to get in. Small kids riding up and down the street, back and forth, from one corner to the next, on the hot asphalt narrowly avoiding a collision with several flaked cats wilted on the footpath. A clowder of neighbourhood cats serving as little furry orange witches cones for the pint sized BMX bandits. Soon I’ll be relishing in following the shaded path of an overhead tree and savouring the delights of a beer garden with friends. Several doors down our neighbours have already begun to embrace the approaching summer with open arms. The outdoor bbq has been wheeled out once more. Over the fence I can hear the sizzle of the process and smell the results.

Summer is almost here according to the calendar though I think it actually arrived arm in arm with spring this year. It calls for less layers, less everything.

{Summer Bird.}

Soon I’ll come to remember all those things I love about it. Enjoying generous wedge shaped slices of watermelon every evening. Spitting out the black pips onto the plate or choosing to swallow them with each tantalising bite… feeling the watermelon dissolve in my mouth. Oh, and mangoes too. Shelling green peas and popping the little, green, edible fancies in my mouth one at a time. Such a rewarding eat, shelling each pea and removing five or more individual peas, one by one or all together. That first dip in the ocean, bare feet, sitting in dark cinemas. And then there are those first blissful post Christmas weeks. Long hot January days when one can read an entire novel in a day. From start to finish, page one through to 246, getting up only to refill the water bottle, rinse out a coffee cup or break for a mango. The extravagance, the decadence of devoting an entire day to one activity alone, to one book enjoyed all at once.

As I currently make my way through WWII with the Mitford sisters (on audio cassette) and make friends with another only child in Murakami’s South of the Border, West of the Sun, I’m eager to spend a languid day thumbing my way through another Murakami novel, to explore Rio de Janeiro with Inspector Espinisa, and to learn of shadows and absence with my guide Otto de Kat. I may not have the summer wardrobe called to order as yet… I don’t even have a hat to protect my scalp from the above glare, but I’m more than ready to spend the summer lolling in the back garden reading. My bookshelf is groaning under the weight of recent acquisitions and I must oblige it by lightening its load and reading as many as is humanly possible. I must make a tower of books to be read by my perfect summer reading spot.

{Thank-you, Risa… your fantastical calendar mail has arrived. This little guy, included in the parcel, now hangs in good company… ♥.}

{Sweet confection. Three macaroons, worthy of the original Macaroon Sisters on a plate.}

{A lucky felt rediscovery spurs on yet more sewing.}

And speaking of musts…
You must head across to the glass doorknob to savour Shari’s week of interviews with crafty blog folk, Handmade for the Holidays... with Abigail, Lisa S and Ash to start the ball rolling, followed by Louise and myself in fine company on the following day, with many more to follow. And don’t forget about the Compound Word Project too, both of which kick off today. (little update: read our interview and others here.)

{One of the first hammer & daisy owl pinnies enjoys a rich life as a pin cushion.}

{Christmas presents in the making for loved ones - navy bluebirds of happiness.}

{Recent hammer & daisy goodies.}

Linger.

Today I'm off to Africa. Not literally (travel of that kind isn't on the cards for, I predict, I fear, a long, long time) but visually. Sent to me from the wonderful C, a plastic package of postage stamps from the African continent.

Beautiful stamps, some only marginally bigger than my thumb nail, from the Republique Autonome du Togo and surrounds. And from the Republique de Dahomey, a little educational lesson about the do's and don't when it comes to the wildlife... it's best not to get in the path of a lion.

My little dally through Africa (with one of these tucked under my arm) was just the ticket. (Thanks again, C.)

And, now for some mid week collages... no African stamps in there yet, but shortly, my friends, shortly. In due course, they'll appear, I promise.

***
And for all those waiting for my oft promised, potentially fantastical invention, the seemingly simple Wire Time Trap - progress has sadly halted due in part to a spanner in the works and a shortage of time. Rest assured, I'm still working on it. In the meantime might I suggest you make like a flâneur and employ a turtle on a leash in order to set your pace a little slower. It may not be ideal however it's sure to generate conversation. So make like the "idle man-about-town" and see what eventuates.

As a flâneur in my own home, minus the tortoise (my menagerie is far too large and too far out of control to withstand a new addition), I was fortunate enough to see a single white feather floating down from the rooftop above. An earlier, unseen skirmish on the roof had taken place between a cat and, so it would now seem, a pigeon. One lightly floating feather landing at my feet to the sounds of many dogs barking in the distance.

Mid week links to keep travel on the mind:
The Travellers of Europe, with Improvements and Additions, published in 1852. "Five players take the parts of The Travellers, who are from different nations, Austria, Sweden, Russia, Prussia and England. They must make their way to their respective capital cities each starting from a different city in Africa, or on the shore of the Mediterranean Sea. They play with a teetotum or spinner with four sides marked N, S, E, W representing the directions they must move in. The game was first published in 1852 and the rules booklet that goes with this game is dated 1849, making it earlier than the game itself."

Things Magazine for links to Invisible Cities, fictional cities and even the Map of Mongo.

Become a flâneur:
Saunter, stroll, dawdle.
Loiter, linger.

Happy strolling and (please) be sure to send me a postcard along the way...

A rosy pocket.

{Neatly arranged cupboard components.}

{Adhered to the wall.}

{A feathered friend tells me all.}

A largely visual post for a predominately visual day.

- N's individually and neatly labelled pieces of a carefully dismantled cupboard.

- Black charcoal from a students drawing rubs onto the side of my hand as I unroll it.

- A flat cockatoo on the wall behind me as I write.

- A bird on my shoulder for company.

- The clear visors and black shin guards on the many, many police horses... police on horseback are out in full force, patrolling the city streets in light of the looming G20.

- A group of protesters in homemade pink net tutus at the tram stop near StVincents hospital.

{Four delightful polaroid prints from Maditi.}

{Olive & I.}

{Mystery mail, birds take a rest in Maditi's forest.}

- A slice of Tuscany on my computer screen, working on a website for someone else, for holiday tours to a destination I've yet to reach.

- A newly trimmed fringe when I look in the mirror.

- Louise's 1920's style bob.

- Dappled spots and marbled markings on the leaves of a potted geranium which sits on the shady bedroom windowsill.

- The flattened patch of violets tells me my neighbours cats have been snoozing there.

- A sandwich made from two slices of yeast free soya linseed rye bread waiting to be eaten.

- More wonderful snail mail. Several beautiful colour polaroids from the generous Maditi were escorted in the post by a pair of birds sent by a mystery person, two cigarette cards found in Capstan Navy Cut for pipe smokers from their Birds of Australasia series. (A huge thank-you to you both! These paper treats couldn't have come at a better time.)

(The delicious) Contents catalogued:
forest (from the green set)
stripes in the wind (")
orange vase (from the yellow/orange set)
sunflower (")
Four polaroid prints (2006) from Maditi.
Plus a Polaroid Colors poster

#78
A Grebe - "A curious looking bird, it prefers rivers and lakes, and is wonderfully active in the water."
#98
A Channel-billed cuckoo - The largest of the Cuckoo family, "it's notes are a series of vigourous yelts, anything but pleasing."
Two cigarette cards, found in a seconds store and sent to us with an unsigned handmade card, "... may you be inspired." (Yes, most certainly! ... and who are you, mystery sender? We're itching to know.)

And so, to end the week, two new collages for you all...

{So that I might see.}

{Colour fall.}

And some late in the day links:
Vintage wallpaper.
Decoration and ornament.
A batty duo.
Winged honey.
Russian tea.
Winter costume.

Happy weekend to all.

Yellow in all its shades.

{Sewing many canaries beneath a yellow umbrella in the garden.}

{A hanging glass owl friend.}

Newness abounds...

Fresh from a visit to Vilnius, Lithuania via a stopover in Auvergne, France (where I heard birds singing their early morning song) and Tashkent, Uzbekistan en route to Trondheim, Norway thanks to the wonderful Sound Transit (last weeks link from Shari's week of sound gems...) I am feeling recharged.

It must have been the soothing, rhythmic, recorded sounds of a train passing the station at Oswiecim, Poland ("It was a very calm night where you can hear the dogs barking." - Marcello Mercado) or the sounds of a wedding held in the old city of Cairo recorded in the middle of the night... or perhaps those footsteps sampled in Romania or the strains of many bleating sheep or possibly the sounds of a family of Scottish ducks that did it, for my time traps did not work. My little wire trap, sadly, yielded no extra time... (perhaps I need to swap my bait from a cheddar cube to a more appetizing sweet eat or a salty slice of salami? I'll let you know once I've investigated further...). If anything, things actually sped up. Again, here I blame my choice of bait (perhaps the cheddar cube was an insult to Father Time?). So, to enjoy the days a little more I have been indulging in booking sound transits. I have toured the streets of Casablanca and heard the crickets at night in Speyside, Tobago. I have also been savoring and basking in the generosity of blog friends from around the globe. A little travel of a different kind.

(For extra insanity, I recommend playing both the ducks AND falling rain sound files simultaneously. It sums up my week thus far.)

{From Alyssa.}

{From Wendy.}

Across the seas from the U S of A came wonderful paper gifts from Wendy for Louise (gather a little more here) with not one but two Queenthings necklaces made by Jenny, one for each of us. And from Alyssa of Moving Garden a tea bag shroud... newness abounds! (Thank-you both!)

Whilst speaking of all things new, find three limited edition yellow canaries over at our hammer & daisy store. A limited edition of only twenty, three somehow managed to separate from the main group and have flown the great distance from studio work bench to nearby shelf. Edition numbers 6, 11 and 18 - all eagerly awaiting a new home. Their only requirements being the odd conversation in any tongue and where possible, a room with a view.

{An armful of singing canaries ready to take to the skies.}

{Gathering in numbers.}

{Little yellow loves.}

The remaining seventeen have flown to Craft Victoria to take part in a chorus line of a very yellow Christmas. Chaperoned by several pouches and pencil cases all proudly wearing yellow. Lemon yellow, canary yellow (naturally), acidic yellow, buttery yellow, corn and saffron too. It's all things yellow in the studio.

Ahh, YELLOW, with a wavelength of 565–590 nanometers, here are a few yellow links:
An empty yellow motel
A ring of small flowers
Iceberg & seals, tinted glass lantern slide
Bird, possibly an albatross, glass lantern slide with hand colouring
Miller Rope, Brunswick
Tyne Pedestrian Tunnel
Crested canary, Haw finch and friends

Slipping through my fingers.

Who invited the barn owl?

Veronese. Boy with a greyhound, possibly 1570s.
Oil on canvas. H.O. Havemeyer Collection.

Ah, Friday. Friday already. Friday almost done and dusted. A week has sped by without my knowing and I'm once again chasing time. That nimble old man Father Time has proven elusive all week, he's in short supply in my pocket of the woods. That oft used saying "like looking for a needle in a haystack" seems to sum up my success with finding a little more time.

Perhaps I ought to set a little wire box to trap an extra handful of time? A little trap fashioned from wire or something akin to an animal snare? Maybe that's too gruesome a means to obtain a little extra and it may see me handed even less as a penalty. Maybe instead of a trap I need some sort of illusion maker or magic device, a little deceiving of the mind instead. Magical devices like the ones seen yesterday at the current exhibition at ACMI - Eyes, Lies and illusions, Drawn from the Werner Nekes Collection. Armed with a magic lantern, the odd stroboscopic disc, an anorthoscope designed by Joseph Plateausome, several Hand-shadow cards from France c.1900 and some anamorphic images... how can I fail? Throw in a camera lucida and a camera obscura for good measure... if those things work for refraction and reflection, surely I can also get them to work for finding a little more time too... a "collecting place" is just what I need.

{Friday escaping me... where did it go?}

{Anchovy paste & other finds on display in the lobby at 50 Lonsdale Street.}

{Friday mail arrives from Frips... wonderful paper treats inside.}

Recent things seen:
Dolls heads, bones gnawed by rodents, the hair combs of prostitutes, grape seeds, oyster shells, dog bones, coloured marbles and of course a jar of anchovy paste - some of the many treasures found when 50 Lonsdale Street was rebuilt.
Thaumatropes (otherwise known as 'turning wonder' or 'wonder disc' toys) from France, c.1826.
Peacocks and small handmade books, snail mail from Frips arrives (thanks!).

End of the week links to explore:
Beat Time
The Time Tunnel
Swing Time with Fred & Ginger

Back to back they swam.

Looking for gems hidden beneath the Mexican earth.

Happy weekend to all...

Blue water, blue sky.

The start of a long weekend... blue skies forecast.

{day trip light}

Sights, sounds and musical playlists from a Friday spent enjoying the coastal delights of Queenscliff. One and a half hours drive from home, L, L, P and I headed south to the place where Pirate Benito Benita is said to have buried plundered Spanish treasure in a cave in the cliffs of Swan Bay in 1798... (he was allegedly caught, legend has it, and hanged while his cabin boy, who was supposedly tattooed with the map, laid low in Tasmania.).

A day trip, a mini road trip, a friend's birthday celebration, a whole day set aside to soak in the blue sky up above, smell the salty air and have our hair styled by the wind as we walked out along the pier past fishermen in jackets fitting for a day of fishing.

Afternoon lunch delights at the Athelstane on Hobson street had us dining until three... steamed French beans with burnt butter and sesame seeds, roasted chats with mustard and creme fraiche. Pear crumble with rhubarb puree, crème anglaise and a rhubarb sorbet, chocolate fondant with beetroot ice-cream and house made fairy floss... sweet treats to set the teeth buzzing in their pink sockets and the cogs of the heart a racing.

A day complete with rare and not so rare book finds at the Barwon Booksellers to seal a perfect day... four books for four people... and our own Queenscliff Music Festival in the car on the way home... Mama Don't Allow - Julia Lee, Mama Talk To Your Daughter - JB Lanoir, Rum and Coca Cola - The Andrew Sisters, Sloppy Drunk - Jimmy Rogers... The Man that Wrote Home Sweet Home Was Never a Married Man - Charlie Poole and the North Carolina Ramblers.

{dogs & rallies}

From a blue stretch for the legs to a Walk Against Warming the following day... before me in the crowd, a greyhound in a t-shirt.

And from skinny tailed dogs to a pair of dunnarts, a White-footed Dunnart and Butler's Dunnart, those nocturnal predators of arthropods and small skinks.

C. Lacroix
Bust of a Nobleman
Ca. 1680-1700
Ivory, mounted on a later wood socle

"Our subject has not been ascertained, but his identity may someday be unraveled through his distinctive pockmarked face, pugnacious profile" and his pet White-footed Dunnart perched high upon his shoulder.

Watanabe Shiko
Landscape
Japan, Edo period (1615-1868), 1st half of the 18th century
Two-panel folding screen; ink on paper

"Travelers move into this scene from the left, while a single sailboat glides in from the right."

Enjoy what remains of your long weekend... more post Melbourne Cup.

My aviary.

{Upside-Down. A South American armadillo with three bands of bony plate is 10 inches in length.}

{Honeybear. At the Zoologischer Garten Köln the polar bears are oh so tiny}

My aviary of birds is slowly thinning as Maroon Orioles and Blue-throated Bee-eaters take flight and head to the British Museum (Natural History) and polar bear enclosures in search of good conversation and edible sweets. Some choose to travel back in time, a particular fave of many, whilst others opt for cooler climes. Some, such as that innocent faced barn owl choose to slide into famous paintings. I, however, have not been a traveling to such tasty locations, soaking in the painterly surrounds of Venetian society, conversing with Apar Armadillos and the like. It has, I must add, not been complete sensory doom and gloom.

So, here's a little list of sights seen and heard today... (some)

The tightly rolled drawings of students studying via correspondence. The drawings roll in on themselves despite my best attempts to pin them to the wall. Pastel studies of one and two point perspective curling shut before I can even see them.

The lines of my handwritten text slowly changing from a legible black to a pale grey, scratchy scrawl as my pen reaches the end of its lifespan and my hand tires of the chore.

Little red indentations on my ring finger from where the pen rests in my hand. Both Louise and my Mum think this is an unusual place for an indentation from writing. Theirs both form the next finger along on the middle finger. (Print out your own animal finger puppets here...)

An as yet unopened packet of my all time greatest weakness, Green Grove Organics licorice strips.

Three glasses on the table waiting to be filled with iced tea. An old neighbour from the street from long ago has promised to visit his old stomping ground and pop in for a rare afternoon visit. He no longer lives several doors down but in an old folks home for the aged. Where once he had a front porch to sit on and survey his domain he now has a room which affords a view of several used car sale yards, a McDonalds on the the corner. He still has his car though he has not driven the old maroon nissan for sometime now. At any moment we should hear his motor approaching. At 4.30 they usually all sit down in the dining hall to a bland dinner feast sans herbs, spices and relish... today at 4.30 he'll hopefully be enjoying tea, coffee and biscuits at number 82, 78 and 76 - the homes of neighbours who have lived in the area for 40 odd years. I've only lived in the street for seven (give or take), a relative newcomer. That I still do not know how to drive a car still provides a great source of amusement tinged with frustration for my neighbours... "What will you do if you ever need to drive to safety?".

The whistle of the pigeon man as he calls his beloved pigeons and doves in for a spell. They are nothing like my paper birds, a disloyal, rowdy lot always sending me postcards from their new lodgings, like these three who've taken up in Brahms' Music-room in Vienna. They harbor no thoughts of returning.

{Inside-Out. Not in my Music-room anymore}

Enjoying flowers from the garden... indoors.

Omar chasing the sun around the room in total cushioned comfort.

White parcels by the door awaiting a trip to the Post Office.

Bellbirds chiming in New Zealand... an audio file lands in the inbox, sent my way from Alyssa.

The sound of the mouse clicking as Louise works on the computer.

And finally... the sighting of an actual brown house mouse in the kitchen. Spotted in the light of day, as bold as can be. He eventually made his way at a frightfully slow pace, virtually a crawl, so slow was his leisurely amble, towards a safe nook behind the stove. We've decided to name him Hickory (Hickory dickory dock, corny, I know.).

Visual links to other places (with a distinct bird tilt):
For Dutch National Post, 1938.
Paris.
The Canaries.
The Original Feathered Stars of the Air.
How to teach your parakeet to talk.
French's Champion Canaries - Private pressing.
Singing & Talking Birds - "The only record of its kind in the world".

***
Since writing this post, our neighbour arrived bearing chocolate gifts and made himself at home on the low-seated couch salvaged from the farm.

***
Since adding the above, our neighbour, now visiting some several doors down, is still making the most of an afternoon and early evening out. His nickname at the aged care facility, 'the night crawler/prowler' (owing to a fondness for watering the tomato plants at two in the morning in the shared courtyard).