HIGH UP IN THE TREES

Roly-poly lucky.

{Enough to make a cloak and a hood, and a pair of warm mittens.}

{They were unsure of their new neighbours.}

New collages from the middle of a long weekend.

A new lucky spell has found me the recipient of many a free movie ticket. From an advance screening last week of Anthony Minghella’s Breaking and Entering (in a crowded theatre filled to capacity with fellow prize winning folk, all noisily gobbling choctops, chewing popcorn, snacking on crisps, swilling coke, and some even drizzling soy sauce on their california rolls…) to a screening of Miss Potter just the other day, followed by a Q&A with the director, Chris Noonan. Lucky, free tickets which happily landed in my lap (via email) at the eleventh hour, had me watching a beautifully animated Jemima Puddle Duck waggle her back tail feathers in my direction.

I’ve since pulled out my collection of Beatrix Potter books, some a tad more loved than others, with spines more familiar with the open position than shut, and I’ve been reliving childhood memories, of days spent in the company of Mrs Tittlemouse, Mrs Tiggy-winkle, a certain tailor of Gloucester, Pigling Bland, and the greedy and slightly terrifying Samuel Whiskers…

“Anna Maria,” said the old man rat (whose name was Samuel Whiskers), “Anna Maria, make me a kitten dumpling roly-poly pudding for my dinner." “It requires dough and a pat of butter, and a rolling-pin,” said Anna Maria, considering Tom Kitten with her head on one side.

(From The Tale of Samuel Whiskers or The Roly-poly Pudding, by Beatrix Potter, 1908.)

And so, from a spot of luck to new things that have stumbled across my path of late…

{Mystery mail arrives... but this time it comes complete with a clue. Now all I have to do is follow.}

{Not the winning horse... at the Kyneton Races, yesterday.}

{Felt cat pins by Thelma... a soon to be new addition to the shop.}

{A fawn bud vase found going for a song.}

{A green rabbit eggcup, also found going for a song. Hooray!}

A few Sunday morning links before I shuffle off:
a rabbit peddler
at the movies in madagascar
roly poly, 1915
houdini vanishing an elephant
the musk-rat holds court
a lucky escape (just incase you missed it)

Plus two more recent collage postcards for your eyes, enjoy:

{I still don’t trust them.}

{The Pigeon River Hotel seemed so very far away.}

Happy weekend... may a little luck fall upon you.

First in line.

{Not my...}

{usual...}

{stomping ground.}

I’ve been away and I’ve been in the country. I’ve been away from home, away from the city, 536kms from my house to my destination and back again. I’ve been to St Arnaud, where my Mum was born, and where some of the family still live today. St Arnaud via Ballarat, Clunes, Maryborough, and the Pyrenees on the left, via every small road until the Sunraysia highway was the only option.

{A small nest, recently vacated, belonging to a pair of willy wagtails.}

{Outside, someone else lives here.}

We drove in steady rain for an entire day. Rain in the middle of January, in the middle of summer, in the middle of a drought. The long mechanical arms of the new windscreen wipers barely remained stationary from our street, riddled with potholes, to dirt road. What had seemed like an add-on to a routine car service and tune by the mechanic earlier in the week, proved fortuitous.

Relishing in the journey, we four stopped off at Ballarat to collect a requested exhibition catalogue for friends at the gallery, and later at Burly Babs, a favourite haunt, where a green glass rabbit egg cup greeted me upon entry and would not let me go until I had shelled out the figure taped to its translucent flank. Captivated by its green luminosity I happily obliged and now, as it sits on the desk before me, I am glad I snaffled it up for a tiny fee. A stop in Maryborough some forty minutes later found me at the whim of a small china fawn perched upon a pink, curved bud vase. Found in a cabinet of vaseline glass decorative objects and ornamental vases glowing florescent at the Maryborough Station Antique Emporium, I could not resist. Inside the asymmetrical railway station, my second lucky find! Found and purchased.

{What I'd happily drive, were it in driving condition...}

{several cars at my Aunt & Uncle's place, St Arnaud.}

So, I have finally stretched my legs a little further than my immediate surrounds, Paula (Yay!). And I have thrown over my home-loving ways, momentarily, taking in new sights, new surrounds, and new smells. I have reacquainted myself, briefly, with a place I had not been since Primary School days, and finally had a much needed spell.

In keeping with the previous post, I have compiled a little list of things seen and experienced… first (which may especially please last list fanciers Lisa S and Veronica, and which may gladden Lottie as she arms herself "with some hot chocolate and a blanket...").

{Collection.}

{Spring.}

A list of things that came first.

First cd played in the car:
Manu Chao (still) followed by Texacali Rose. (If you ever come on a road trip with me I’ll let you pick the musical accompaniment and truck stop café snacks too.)

The first time I have seen rain in countless days… wet roads, wet ground and the bluish purple mountains of the Pyrenees, named for their supposed similarity to their European cousin, shrouded in a blanket of rain. Wet livestock. Wet sheep, countless sheep, all standing in yellow paddocks, rinsing their coats or huddled underneath a tree.

First handmade sign read by the side of the road:
“BUNNY POO & POULTRY MANURE” written in white paint followed by a sign for “BAA POO” for sale, and going cheap, a little further on.

The first time I went swimming for the year:
At 9.30 in the evening, to the right of the house, I swam up and down the length of the pool in a variety of strokes, all a variation of the dog paddle.

{KTMs, Harleys & Holdens. Louise gets a ride on the back of my cousin's Harley, and she hasn't stopped grinning since.}

{Mulberries to eat and enjoy straight from the tree.}

{Stained fingers and thumbs, a telltale sign.}

The first longhaired manx cat I’ve ever met:
Charlie, with a fluffy almost rabbit like cottontail and huge fluffy paws to match.

The first sounds I heard in the morning before I rose:
“What’s Charlie caught? It looks like part of a hare… he’s dragged in the hind quarters of a hare”. Heard shortly after listening to the pleasant hum of morning conversation, my Aunt and my Mum discussing craisons (dried cranberries) at the kitchen table.

The first time Louise has been on a Harley:
With a bright orange helmet squeezed onto her head, LJ hopped onto the back of my cousin's Harley and sped off for a tour of the local environs, glimpsed through eyes part shut, in the rain. (Find a little more over at Elsewhere, to hear it straight from the horse's mouth as it were… and see a little more over at flickr soon enough too.)

The first horse I have met in a long, long while:
Trooper, a Clydesdale Thoroughbred cross, all 17 hands of him. With a head longer than the length of my arm, I kept my thumbs well tucked in as I warily let him eat a piece of carrot, and later sugar, from my palm.

I have searched the front paddock for two thrown horseshoes of Trooper’s and come up with two different shoes in their place (one belonging to a previous horse). I have taken countless photos, seen family I haven’t caught up with in the longest time, and I have eaten mulberries picked one by one from an old mulberry tree, staining my fingers on my left hand and my tongue a deep purple… and all the while I did not think about work nor the chores that awaited me upon return.

{Meet Trooper.}

{Neatly assembled piles, organised in order of size and colour.}

{Wire coils, wood stacks, little and large teepees.}

Happy week to all...

always last

{A new thelma's stuffie comes my way.}

{Waiting to pop or expire.}

A little list of last things (before they are forgotten).

The last line of text I read in my book before my eyelids became heavy with sleep and my mind became clouded.
“He opened a book of verse that had been gnawed around the edges by mice; he leafed through its damp and fragrant pages, admiring the bright greens and turquoises of the mildew flowering in the corners; and when he reached the last page he found a note directing those seeking more information to a particular pamphlet published in the town of Horasan near the city of Erzurum.” (p. 302, The Black Book, Orhan Pamuk.)

The last film (dvd) I watched.
A Common Thread. A weekly rental which jumped at the 43rd minute causing me to eject the disc and, against Video Ezy’s instructions, wipe the surface with a dvd cleaning cloth, before resuming my place on the floor in crocodile pose, to watch the end of the film.

The last exhibition I saw.
Sigmar Polke - Music from an unknown source, 40 works all dating from one year, 1996. Seen after I returned several borrowed books to the library nearby.

The last item I placed on the supermarket conveyor belt on my way home.
A bag of green peas in their green pods, waiting to be snacked upon.

{A flower pin to wear...}

{made, also, by my Mum.}

The last thing I did before retreating indoors to the cool, dark, somewhat airless, indoors.
Installed a large bamboo blind on the veranda, behind the cast iron lacework. There now hangs a large blind to help keep things a little cooler as the temperature hits 39°C (102.2°F).

The last piece of snail mail to arrive for the day.
A paperback to fall into. From Fran, as part of her Free Book Friday.

The last thing I ate.
Green grapes, cold from the fridge.

The last thing I was excited about seeing on the telly.
The third series of Inspector Montalbano appears on SBS to lighten up my Sunday evenings with Sicilian crime and blue skies.

The last project I was excited to watch unfold.
A collaborative project between Lisa & Shari, two responses to one word. This week, the first week, the word is 'record' (take a look here).

The last collage I created.

{It made a pleasant change from the crow normally perched there.(Psst, do you recognise anything, Shari?)}

(Thank-you to all who swung by and nattered with my seat warmers, guests & I on Friday as part of Risa's tea party... I am quite overwhelmed at the response, and hope to swing by all of your blogs in the coming few days to say hello and to enjoy whatever leftovers there may be. Thanks again!)

Everyone is invited.

Mad Hatters hold them, even solemn looking girls in Petersburg throw them, teddy bears are known to favour them over picnics, and on Friday the 12th of January, 2007, at Risa’s invitation, a Tea Party is being held for the entire length of a single day, for a cast of hundreds. From the southern hemisphere to the north, until presumably the clock strikes 12 and all are too giddy from sugary confections and gallons of tea to possibly continue.

So, what have I decided to bring to this gathering, the first of its kind… why, I’ve brought along the seating. And given that here, in Melbourne, Friday is already knocking at the door, I have brought along seats complete with a small army of willing, hairy (though sometimes feathered and scaled) seat warmers, until you all arrive.

Pull up a pew, bribe your seat warmer, be he monkey or be she a hare, and sit down as you await the sticky sweets on this merry day.

For those who favour the Renaissance Revival aesthetic... please, take a seat.

For those more keen on the Directoire period... please, make yourself at home.

And, for those who prefer a little Rococo Revival, there's plenty of room for everyone... don't be shy.

Here’s to a wonderful Tea Party, one and all! Be it four for tea, two for tea or more.

Star sapphires & diamonds for animal connoisseurs.

January is beginning to feel like the shortest month. Already she is one week down and I still have things from the previous year left unattended and undone. I have not made resolutions and I have not begun with a clean slate and organised cupboards.

I have, however, indulged (or rather, continued to indulge) in seeing the odd movie in the mid morning, from the pastel splendor, and very little else, of Marie Antoinette to Babel, seen this morning. My journey to Versailles could not come close to my recent experiences in Morocco, Mexico and Tokyo. My head is still spinning with thoughts, and visual memories hang in my mind, set to a film score of Mexican music. I have crossed the border between the U.S. and Mexico with Gael Garcia Bernal and Aunt Amelia. I can still feel the crowds in Tokyo and recall the hum of all that energy, all those lights... all those people. I have yet to take it all in, at the moment they are all sitting close to the surface of my skin waiting to sink further in. With a lump in my throat and a glass ring from my Mum on my finger, I cannot think of a better way to start the day than in a darkened cinema with two or three other like souls.

The ring on my finger is a large, clear glass rock, cut as if it were a precious and valuable diamond. My Mum wore it on her finger as she headed into Mexico by crowded bus, with my Dad, in the early 70's. A small boy mistook it for a diamond, and my Dad bought a pale pink suit, the pants of which he later dyed upon returning to the greyer skies of Melbourne.

I've yet to go to Mexico, and as January lies largely unattended and somewhat overgrown with weeds, I realise that I'm probably going to travel no further than 50 kms from my front door in the next three weeks. So, to appease my travel longings, I head to Istanbul via an increasingly dog-eared paperback and enter the dark woods with a Russian speaking hedgehog as my guide. (If anyone knows what the bear is saying, towards the end, I'd love to know.)

Yezhik v tumane... new terrain to explore, a beautiful short film unearthed by Alyssa and sent my way. Enjoy! (Thanks again, Alyssa. Oh, and you can download the soundtrack here.)

And finally, some new collages for a new week...

The Coney - The Conies are a feedable folk, yet make their houses in the rocks.
(From The Weekly Times supplement, March 31, 1934.)

King Penguins - The Emperor stands about 3 feet in height.
(From The Weekly Times supplement, July 28, 1934.)

A Spotted-tailed Tiger-cat - Always the Tiger-cat faces its foe.
(From The Weekly Times supplement, December 10, 1932.)

More wild nature with gem stones to come... in the meantime, meet this little one.

See you at the Tea Party!

Can you keep them?

{Olive's secret dislike for my Mum's new softie creation is revealed, one, two, three, four times. Luckily, I love my new stuffed companion (wearing a queenthings charm).}

An appealing challenge has been laid at my bare feet. A friendly request made by Lottie, to reveal not one but five small secrets about myself. So, here goes, a merry quintet of secrets kept from the knowledge of any but the initiated or select... until now, that is.

Five secrets on the tiny side, from me to you:
In a house full of cats, I secretly long for a bristle haired old dog with a beard. Much like this old greyhound and his chum, who look out at me lovingly from the Crafters For Critters page of general questions.

As the New Year continues to roll on (a little too quickly for my liking), it seems only fitting to admit to having a dislike of fireworks… their loud noise scares me. Together, my ex-racing greyhound and I could cower underneath the kitchen table. We have an entire year at our disposal to perfect our plan!

I sometimes secretly wish I were living my life as a nomad, without binding tree roots… though I suspect this is how many people feel as the holiday memories fade and the work piles up before them. All the same, my new greyhound companion and I wouldn’t mind seeing new parts and experiencing new sounds, sniffs and bites, so long as there were no fireworks overhead. Together we would travel continually, in search of water to quench our thirst and pasture to feed our herds, guided only by the rain.

Sometimes when doing The Age newspaper quiz on my own on a Friday, I cheat and read the answers upside down, fooling not even myself.

I secretly dream of seeing a fox wedding when the sun is shining through the rain... according to Japanese legend. Sun showers (also beautifully called 'mushroom rain' or 'gribnoi dozhd' in Russian) apparently lead not only to the appearance of a rainbow but to the marriage of animals long associated with trickery and this is something I'd very much like to see. If you are in Bulgaria you will witness a bear marriage during a sun shower... and this, I would also like to see. (Delve a little deeper here.)

Ah, secrets, I’ve always been rather bad at keeping them. Were I an animal my predators would know the location of my den. Do you have any you'd like to reveal? I'd love to know one... or maybe even two.

{A new handmade bag for a new year. It has no secrets to tell just yet. (Thanks, Mum.)}

{Ready to reveal a secret? A new red bird flies into my collection, from M&D.}

{Two birds in the hand from Lisa S, one for LJ & one for me.}

Secret links…
secret finds…
secrets revealed.

Antonio Stradivari
Untitled #5
No longer secret
I secretly wish I’d come up with this
Secretive wild boars in the South
A wall of silver foxes
A more fortunate fox… a literary one, quill pen in hand

♥ Thanks again, Lottie. I loved playing along. Anyone else care to?

{Inside of me.}

{I saw a dream like this.(original colour photo from Cute Overload.)}

New days.

{The country we invented turned out to be just right.}

Christmas found me enjoying my Mum’s tagliatelle with asparagus & herbs, a warm lentil & rice salad and even the occasional thin slice of Silvia’s seasoned turkey. Everything from serving dishes piled high with rosemary oven roasted potatoes to all too tempting snow pea salads lay on our Christmas table adorned with its fare share of festive candles and glittering bird ornaments. The kitchen was buried beneath pots and saucepans in use or mid use, empty containers for the recycling piled high in one corner and cooking utensils to be washed in the other. Tea towels cast aside on the marble counter and every conceivable variety of fresh herb, rosemary, basil, tarragon, dill, all rammed into its own little glass jar of water by the window. Herbs so ripe for the picking, crushing and sprinkling that they made even me feel as though I might be able to cook. A kitchen barely big enough for one produced food fit for hungry hoards. The potato, much to my Dad’s liking, rose to prominence in several dishes, from tiny potato & pumpkin pancakes (tasty morsels too delicious to describe) to a warm & spicy potato salad… all this and we’ve yet to reach dessert. So it will require no stretch of the imagination when I say that Christmas found me in good spirits and I could not have wanted for anything more. Good company, good cheer, good food, good all round.

{A faded snowman reappears.}

{Twinkling lights still with us a little while longer.}

{Mishii bathed in yellow.}

I have spent those idyll days of post Christmas with the new James Bond in an intimate little theatre in Yarraville for my Mum’s 61st birthday (which falls just three days after Christmas Day) and I have survived the east wind with Raimunda in Volver. I have later enjoyed revisiting on dvd The Flower of my Secret (1995) in which the romance writer Leo submits a novel with the very same plot as seen in Volver, only to have it turned down as being too bleak for her audiences needs. I have enjoyed fish & chips dockside in Williamstown, and I have eaten way too much but then that is what the New Year and all its resolutions and promises and new starts are for. I have enjoyed receiving wonderful gifts and I have enjoyed giving (hopefully wonderful) gifts. And I have received fine musical compilations - from Lisa S (amongst other brilliant treats and delights… thanks again, Lisa S ♥), Songs for tapping toes, shedding tears, and about birds, from Briana January songs… sounds of longing, solace, change and new beginnings and an unexpected cd from someone else, Seasons Beatings featuring the Ramones Merry Christmas (I Don’t Want to Fight Tonight) before ending with Elvis with Merry Christmas, Baby... tunes to accompany me through the post Christmas stretch and the long hot days of January. I have been rendered momentarily immobile by too much lolling. Lie-ins, sleep-ins, late nights and relaxing times, and all work pushed aside… I don’t know how I’ll ever wind up again. I have surrendered completely to relaxing times.

I have taken bucket loads of grey water collected from the shower and kitchen sink and distributed them around the various dry garden beds… in full embrace of the water restrictions. And I have played a variation of the Pied Piper of Hameiln to the local cats, looking after several in the street whilst their owners holiday. Up and down the street I trot, a string of cats following behind me. In place of a pipe, I lure my feline journeymen in with a bag of top shelf cat biscuits. The ending is also somewhat different, no drowning of rats or sealing of children in caves, just some contented cats chomping on biscuits on their respective verandas. I have wondered at the speed at which a colony of ants can find an almost empty cat food dish. No matter where I seem to place the dish they always seem to find it with ease. If I place it in one corner one day and diagonally opposite the next, that very same ant army seem to always enjoy the fruits of my labours.

I have watched the sky grow lighter with Hajime, “like blue ink on a piece of paper it spread slowly across the horizon. If you gathered together all the shades of blue in the world and picked the bluest, the epitome of blue, this was the colour you would choose.” (South of the Border, West of the Sun, Haruki Murakami, p.186). And I have begun to dream in blue with the Grandfather in The Black Book… “He’d be dreaming in blue, he’d say: the rain in his dream was the deepest blue, midnight blue, and it was this never-ending blue rain that made his hair and beard grow even longer.” (The Black Book, Orhan Pamuk, p.8) before searching for gilt papers suitable for wrapping candied chestnuts with Uncle Melih. I have wondered what it would be like to read these original texts in their original language. To discover Istanbul free of translation though I don’t think this is something I will ever know. I have also been out a-journeying with mice in balaclavas constructed from the tips of gloves as they take on the Prime Minister with their Save Our Noses campaign in Daren King’s book for little-uns and big-uns, Mouse Noses on Toast.

I’ve rung in the New Year very much as I mean to continue… with dear friends and a leisurely amble to the beach to take in the fireworks in the far, far distance. And I have enjoyed my blogging break but I have also missed it dearly. So roll on 2007 for I’m ready for whatever it is that you have in store. Happy New Year one and all!

{Shake, Shake, Shake.}

{Someone, please... my back is aching.}