Preparations

Harumph and Boo. I've been busy making crimson velvet vegan cupcakes, a 'practise run' for the wedding if you like. The only problem being that they're velvet, but not particularly crimson. I used what I thought was a pretty generous amount of red food colouring too.

What is it with me and baking? I can cook just about anything but ask me to add sugar and flour and it all ends up in a great state of 'almostness'. I mean, they're edible, just not cupcakes too 'coo' over (and if you don't coo,-what's the point really?).

Decorated in desperation with hazelnut leaves, wild strawberries, pineapple sage and yarrow flowers.

Now I feel like this

Genuinely unimpressed in general.
Humph.

Australia Day

Well, that was jolly exhausting good fun. I don't know if it counts as patriotic but everyone at my house was australian...

Mind you, I am completely and utterly rooted as a result of my social weekend. My brain leaked out my ears whilst laughing at the Tiger-Muffin showing me 'Wee' this morning. One would be hard-pressed to find a more joyous way to awake than to have a curly little moppet telling you all about her walk with daddy and then showing you how she wee'd. I haven't laughed that hard in years.

A very fine weekend with my very favourite people in the universe and lots of yummy vegan nibblies. Yes, I imbibed a little too freely and am now paying for it, but hey,-it's the long weekend. I'm certain I'm not the only one with a pounding head today. It would have felt downright un-australian not to drink.

It is not often that one is treated to their very own live wiggle-esque performance of an evening. Cock-a-doodle-do indeed:-) These two have children's performance down to a fine art indeed. Speaking of wee,-I suspect Lydgate nearly wet himself at this point in the evening.

My two favourite girls. The Tiger-Muffin is examining a ferrero rocher with the diligence such an undertaking deserves. This child is utterly delectable and that's all there is to it.

I also bought the material for my wedding-dress on friday. I was unaware that material could cost $180 a metre. I still feel slightly ill at how much cash was parted with for a dress that I will wear once. Ugh. This wedding-business is a wrought from beginning to end. Having said that, the material is very pretty indeed, and it will be the nicest thing I have ever worn. Ever.

We have pure satin, shot silk and a wonderful embroidered netting. I have also discovered the joy that is to be had at Cabramatta (who woulda thunkit?). As soon as I start earning again I will be back there in a flash to stock up on chinese brocade fabrics for quilting. $7/m -fan-bloody-tastic.

Amazing stolen quilt

The things you find out. This one is by Kristin Miller and is listed as a 'Stolen Quilt' (apparently quite a frequent occurence). Amazing work, and has set my mind brewing on possible designs for a gift for Mr.

The Quilting Disease

Oh yeah. I have definately caught the quilting bug. I really must learn how to do this by machine though, as each square on dads quilt is taking me about 4 hours to sew by hand. The 10 squares I have done have totalled over 60 hours....60!

I have started trawling other quilters blogs and have been astonished by people who say 'This is what I finished this weekend"..and lo! a complete quilt.

I have also decided that I don't like the colours I used very much and that I really must spend more time planning these things....

by far the most inspirational blog I have come across so far is http://www.exuberantcolor.blogspot.com/, this woman is amazing. Years of experience speaking.

The picture is one of hers. Yep, I have much to do. For starters I have to come up with some way of making dads quilt half-way decent. I am comforting myself with the fact that this is my first attempt and that like all adults embarking on a new learning curve, I must try to reconcile the fact that I may not autimatically be brilliant at this for a few years yet. Grrr.

La La Land

Even worse banana banana than before apricot.
The word 'snozzelberry' amuses immensely and I keep falling over thin air.
Burnt vege burgers for dinner followed by a bout of seriously bad scrabble.
I don't like the curtains in front of me. They are 'blchywd' coloured and netty with fuzzy dots. I wonder who saw this material and said 'Hmmm...lovely'. Some troglodyte.
Bed time methinks. Off to the land of Snoozelberry. A berry good even to y'all.

Winkin, Blinkin and Nod

Something odd happened in my sleep.
A giant stepped on my lower back , the evil virus fairy scattered small black nasties into my respiratory tract, an energy-vampire sucked out my life-force and the god of cotton wool removed my brains and stuffed my skull.
In addition, I came up with a bad hand from the dream-team. Nightmare weddings, cats dying, fights with family and of course, spiders with intent.
This afternoon I have an appointment with the wonderful woman making my wedding dress. This is exceptionally bad timing . Right now I am utterly disinterested in weddings and dresses and untterly incapable of enthusing over anything at all.
What I would like to do is trawl through other peoples blogs all day and read about interesting things from humans that feel better than I do.
Lydgate is currently being collected by Mr. This means I have to go put on a bra and attempt to do my hair. I also have a standing obligation to feed his-royal-skinniness and a dread fear of the sharp things in my kitchen. I wonder if they'll mind porridge?
Bras are bad.
It has stopped raining and misting on top of everything else. This makes me unaccountably morose. Most of my soundtracks only work in the rain. I need to play some kind of music though. 'Black Betty' is playing ad nauseum in my cotton-wool brain, and I have spent hours pondering racism.
OK. Deep breath. Find bra. Apply fabulous lipstick. 'twil be OK.

Love

He has the kindest face. No wait, he really does.

I have spent years looking into maelstroms, avalanches, Zingers, bammers and zoomers. They're very exciting. They rip your heart out and leave it hanging out to fry.

I always thought I'd love a blue-eyed man. Blue seemed to be comforting, blue seemed to be safe.

I love a brown-eyed man. Not golden, not flecked, not hazel or opal,-brown.

His gaze always says 'I love you'. Always.

I am an unreasonable and moody git and still those eyes say 'I love you'.

I storm and rant and create maelstroms in my wake, those eyes and the lips underneath kiss my forehead and tell me I'm beautiful.

Brown is patient, brown is kind, brown is slow to anger and quicker to forgive. Brown is the earth and the mountains. Rocks and stones sing my love.

My man of earth comforts me. My man of earth makes my body quake. My man of earth has fingers and words of mist.

My man of earth spends his days trying to make me happy. Sometimes it is not possible. He always tries.

My man of earth.

Epiphany

Gosh I like being at home and doing things that please myself. Possibly selfish, definitely unrealistic. However, I shall shamelessly exploit 'Holiday' and do exactly as I please.
BTW, how cute is Mr? especially when he's been out in the rain digging in the glorious garden.
Quick count says I have to complete 35 more squares before dads quilt is done. Each square takes about 6 hours (hand sewn). I'm aiming for one a day. I loves me dad.
I hope I shall also see Lydgate this weekend and spend many minutes wondering at his hospital stories. Lydgate and Mr are a thing to behold when together. The house lights up with a gentle form of testosterone and I giggle for long hours at a time.
Loves me boys, -yes I do:-)

Raindrops on roses

What does one do on a very wet day? One pulls out one's neglected patchwork quilt and gits a'sewin.

Instructions for wet day a-la-Cath;

(1) Feed the nimerow or she'll screech until your brain explodes

(2) Shower long and hard

(3) Serve delicious lentil bhuja and pilaf leftovers and consume whilst listening to the 'Pride and Prejudice' soundtrack, gazing at mist-wreathed garden

(4) Dig out patchwork quilt that you're making for your father and arrange squares

(5) dither unproductively until Mr gets out of bed

(6) Make a pot of Rose Grey tea (Earl Grey with Rose Petals and vanilla)

(7) Sew sew sew! listen to 'Miss Potter' soundtrack and think gentle thoughts.

(8) Be puzzled as Mr goes out into pouring rain and does not return

(9) Be enlightened as he comes back in soaked and filthy (gardening). Ask what he was doing. Be amused when he says 'Digging for Clover-nuts'.....whatever that is.

(10) Sew more, drink more tea, listen to 'Braveheart' soundtrack and ponder the gross injustices visited upon one's ancestors.

(11) Take a break and blog about it all 'cos your eyes are a little tired from all the tiny stitches.

(12) Consider next move.

(13) Sew more, listen to 'Vaughan Williams' and make chick-pea curry for dinner.

(14) Wish above all else that you had a glass of wine to go with the fire that Mr has just lit.

(15) resign yourself to more tea and sewing until bedtime.

Far too much exquisiteness...

We have just trundled home from the airport to discover that my lovely mum and dad have cleaned our house from top to toe. Lovely. The minx is lushing all over us with a purr that has similarities to the plane engines I have recently been privy to.

I am overwhelmed and utterly, zonkingly exhausted,-good thing I have more holidays to recover from my holiday. I love travelling, but this little nester is quite happy to be back in my cottage and fretting over what needs to be done in the garden tomorrow.

A couple of excellent holiday snaps are hereby included. There are 375 of them though, so I'm not sure that this state of exhaustion is conducive to the best picks of the best pics.

Strange hard-sand beach at Invercargill. No car-parks for those intrepid enough to bathe in the southern oceans, just drive right up to the water, park and swim. Expression serene, feet hypothermic. I am a truly excellet actress:-)

Poor Mr. The mountaintops teased him with snow for days, then he found a track that seemed to lead right to it...seemed to. If we'd been able to spare a half-hour he could have clambered over those rocks and achieved his NZ dream. As it was, due to utterly daffy Flight-Centre chick, we had no time at all, and I had to deal with a face as long as next week clabering back into the car. Poor fella.

Jet-boating in the Shotover Canyon. The semi-extreme sport for those of us who are 'mild' on the adventurous scale. Lots of fun, quite a bit of drenching, some muffled squeals and lots of hilarity all around. Worth it just to see the BLUE BLUE water crashing around the gorgeous canyon. Highly recommended for 1st time NZ travellers.

Speaking of BLUE.....The appropriately named 'Blue Pools' (one of the many many delights of Fjordland National Park), I wanted to jump off the viewing platform and just be in all that blue. The water temperature of 2 degrees centigrade had me a little worried though, also (and more importantly) I had left my togs in the suitcase in the car parked 3 kms away. I am dedicated to swimming in very blue pools whenever possible, but not that dedicated.
Veeeeery long walk on a veeeery hot day (hence the surly expression). Lake Moke (just out of Queenstown) has a 6km circumference. 2 of those kms basically involve clambering up mountains. All good, if the temperature stays under 20 degrees. It didn't. I have rarely been distressed by heat and exertion (mainly 'cos I studiously avoid both, especially in combination), but this day I could cheerfully have strangled the dark-skinned Jewish man I am betrothed to for dragging his corpse-like fiancee around this bleeding lake.






On the positive side there were oodles of wild red currants growing all around the lakes edges. Wild fruits make me happy. Grumble and munch, grumble and munch. Again, this genius left her togs at the motel. Brilliant. If ever one could have done with a swim in an Alpine lake.....

He hates this one. I love it. Noble nose reflected in the noble rock-faces surrounding the Franz Josef glacier. Much happier when we got here. Jackets were most definately needed as the temperature dropped to a decent 15 degrees during the day. Bliss bliss bliss.

The very last day. Two wingless Aussie fledgelings without their dear little hire-car walk the streets of Christchurch looking for dinner. Chinese restaurant closed. Supermarket next door doesn't take credit cards (Mr forgot his PIN). Hungry and sad and pondering grumbly tummies as well as nothing to do but sit in a motel for the remainder of the evening. Even the local pub didn't take credit. Long faces also excused by the knowledge that we had to be up at 4am, which meant bed by 9pm (broad friggin' daylight in NZ). I finally fell asleep at about 1am and then spent 3 hrs kicking Mr to stop him snoring.

Now, I am truly truly knackered. I have uploaded all the photos, nodded briefly to the net, and should now go and lie down before I throw up. Oh, that was a nice note to end on...