Friday, 2 November 2012

Collecting (Borderline Hoarding) My Style

Those who know me, know I have a lot of "stuff".
I have a VERY hard time de-stuffing.
We have a lot of hidden roof-space storage in this house - luckily.
I have no idea why I can't let go, I have never given away or let go of an ornament, a book, a piece of crockery, a print or framed item, but I have regularly culled clothes and shoes and I regret it.
Oh, the times I've regretted getting rid of things that come back in to fashion!
I keep things, not everything, but things that mean something or stir some irrational "must haveness" way down inside.
I have EVERY. SINGLE. card and letter and school note, given/sent/passed to me since I was about 7 yrs old.
Nothing better than tipping them all out on to my bed on a rainy day and seeing all the beautiful handwriting from my (now deceased) older relatives and all the hilarious, youthful school notes and letters from friends.

Here's a peek at some of my stuff.

Iconography corner

Rosey crockerywith old cotton reels

Custom made side table and stuff

Collection on the side table
Off-spring created garden ornaments from about 13 years ago.

My "special" linen collection. I have a stripey addiction.

Vintage jars

You can never have enough colour ways

Mis-matched Rosey Set

Mr I's stuff

Mr I's cameras and lensey things

Ye olde shavers? Why not?

Cutesy Japenalia

Rosey Coffee Set

Label tampering by me, MANY moons ago and I CAN NOT throw it out

Birds and (plastic) roses
Coffee, Tea and Bambis

What about you? Are you a "collector" too?

Thursday, 1 November 2012

Happiness is a Warm.....Pet

Things are on the improve.

Lately, I've been able to see and acknowledge the light almost as much as the dark.

We have a new furry kid, four all-up now. Frank and Mabel - our cats, Bob and now Maude - our scruffy dogs.

I have a thing for naming my pets as if they were residents of an old folks home. No idea why, it just feels right. Before this lot we had Harry, Merle and Joyce.

Maude's a nutcase (Jack Russel X Maltese) and still in puppy mode - a cheeky, bouncy, prancy, little, ginger and white spunk.

The rest of the menagerie has adopted her and are all *tolerating* her antics.
Crankenstein (Frank) is clearly still Top Cat and has let her know with numerous stare downs and hissy-swipes.

Bob's being his calm, patient, tolerant self. Although, when she took a flying leap and landed on him as he slept in his inside-bed, he gave her a deep, short, sharp, growly snap and she hasn't dared try it again.

Yes, it means we are tied down and can't do spontaneous stuff and feeding, cleaning, de-fleaing, worming and washing their bedding are thankless chores, but their presence, alive-ness and personalities are calming, distracting and worth it all.

Too funny, after all the years of kid-wrangling, here we are with a gang of (almost as labour intensive) surrogate, furry ones!

During the many times when I am home alone, if I chat to them and pat and watch them - I can feel  tension and stress leave my body and my mind switches off all the noisy chatter.

Stand Off

Frank and Mabel = Yin and Yang

Anxious Bobby aware of Crankenstein behind him!

Exhausted little Maude

Monday, 29 October 2012

Slackness and Procrastination

For many, MANY months, I have thought of you, guiltily, my lovely blog.

Please forgive my neglect.

I became more and more overwhelmed at the thought of coming back to you and what on earth I would say and how I would make it up to you.

A LOT of STUFF has kept me away.

Life stuff.

Death stuff.

Doubt stuff.

Ambivalence stuff.

Today is my first teeny, tentative step back into your arms.

Forgive me.

I've had this since I was 7 & thought it necessary to write the title on the cover!

Sunday, 4 March 2012

High School - Words and Pictures

I am joining in with Ms Pip and the gang over at Meet Me At Mikes today for the Words and Pictures meme.

I have never been a morning person and I doubt very much that I ever will be.

For me, waking up early makes me feel like my body is up and about but my brain is still sound asleep on the pillow...for hours!

So, luckily for me, we lived across the road from my school from Grade 5 until the end of my school days.

I could just roll out of bed, grumpily, at 8.45am, pick my uniform up off the floor, pop it on, head downstairs, grab some toast and then off I went, just in time for assembly. Showers always happened at the end of a school day.

We had an above-ground Clark pool and would often sneak home with friends at lunchtimes, in Summer, for a dip.

Here's a photo of me with one of my besties on one of those hot, Summer lunchtime dip days. (that's me on the left)

Our rules for the wearing of our school uniform were:

Summer dress - HITCH it up

Summer cardigan - shrink it or swap with a prep girl for a teeny one

Long , white socks - push or fold down to become ankle socks

Winter tights - hitch and hitch those saggy buggers up all day long

Friday, 20 January 2012

All HALE the Little One

I LOVE my little finger.

I do, I really do.
It is one helluva powerful and hard-working part of me.

Like many women, whose bodies have the battle scars and wear and tear of childbearing, I struggle to LOVE much about my saggy, baggy, stretch-marked bits and pieces.

I KNOW I earned them all.

I KNOW how lucky I am to have produced, via natural child-birth, three totally awesome and amazing and gorgeous humans.

I KNOW that my partner doesn't care what my body looks like.

I KNOW that it's totally functional and at this stage still hasn't cracked up, in any major ways. we all know and understand, it just ain't that easy, for a lifetimes worth of reasons, to be 100% happy in our own skins.

It just gets totally deflating trying to tone muscles that have been overworked and over-stretched and to completely honest I've given up the fight. Although I must fess up here and admit I never really fought that hard ; )

But my little fingers?


They can and do regularly carry the most incredible weight, and never give in or up.

It's a skill that I developed through the nightmare that is grocery shopping. A hideous chore made even more horrific when you chuck kid-wrangling in to the mix.

Sure you can get it all to your car in a trolley, but when you get home, no such wonky luxury.

SO, it's all fingers on deck, to tackle the mind-numbingly revolting chore of unloading the car and taking it inside and as I like to get it over and done with QUICKLY the pressure is on each one of them to perform.

Today as I carried in about 25 kilos worth of items, I looked at my little finger and thought "Look at you with 3 and a half kilos of weight just hanging off you there like no biggie".

Congratulations, often neglected, piece of my anatomy and Thank you.

Monday, 16 January 2012

The One About the Problems of Being Myself

WARNING:: somewhat fragmented, disjointed, totally self-obsessed thought unloading and navel gazing to follow.

For my entire life, (well as far back as I can remember) it feels like people often totally and bewilderingly (to me) misunderstand me.

You know how we are all supposed to accept and "love" ourselves and learn to love who we are?
And how we are supposed to strive to BE the real us, when and if we ever work out who that is?

Well, it appears I have a very big problem because, when I am just being me, most people just don't like me so much or just don't "get" me.

I accept all of the following things about me: I can be fiery, feisty, full-on, opinionated, passionate, grouchy, pissed off at bureaucrats and their bungling and definitely more of your glass-half-empty type.

However, I try hard not to be these things all the time.

They are a huge part of my personality, but I as I get older I am more and more aware of when to bring out those characteristics and when not to. On the inside, I am a huge softy and my sometimes turtle-shell like exterior is protecting one, fragile little kid.

If the opportunity arises, I adore to laugh, really laugh. The kind of laughing that has you crying and leaves you depressed afterwards. Sadly though, it's all too rare an occurrence.

AND, I love to dance and sing and talk and discover and listen and read and garden and cook and eat and drink and plot and plan. I am forever thankful and consider myself incredibly fortunate to have a loving husband, gorgeous grown children and a teeny number of true, close friends, all of whom are beautiful, accepting and understanding.

So, why can't I just accept my good fortune and deal with the fact that everyone just ain't gonna get me?

I can spend time with new acquaintances and believe I'm being jocular and jolly and friendly and chatty and a tad raconteurish. I ask lots of questions about them and their lives, because I really like to get to know people - Where they live, what they do with their time, what they like etc etc. And I get very excited when I stumble upon a like-minded soul, because people like me are kinda hard to find.

Then, after the fact, I mostly never hear from any of these people again. If I do run in to them again, I get a distinct sense of coolness, stand-offishness and wariness from them. Sometimes, a down-right rudeness and dismissiveness.

One thing that hurts and upsets the little me inside, EVERY single time, is being "shooshed" or told to "calm down" or "keep it down". I have worked out, after all these years, that's because what I hear is "Hey you, stop being you will ya?"

It's true, I do tend to be the one that shocks people or astounds people with my forthrightedness and up-frontery, but I'm always surprised when this happens and can't help but wonder if it's because I'm saying things that they think they can't or are not brave enough to say or if they just really would never go there.

Is it really just me?

Am I truly that unusual? Am I a rare breed of person whose brain speaks to mouth and mouth takes off before I have a chance to put it in to "don't-offend-people" gear?

Really, just like almost everyone else on the planet, (except a wondrous and enviable few) I want to be liked and appreciated. Not ignored, shooshed or even worse, TOLERATED.

I NEVER, EVER plan or intend to harm or hurt with my words, but will admit that anger, stress, feeling I'm under attack and that little kid inside sometimes make me defensive and I arm myself with words, sometimes hurty ones.

I'm just a person who expresses their thoughts, feelings and emotions...good and that really so wrong?

Often, inside me, that little, well actually not-so-little, voice gets quite loud and shouty and tells me I'm crap, fat, old/past it, and not-so-good/clever/bright/smart/gifted/talented and many other things.

That voice is quite good at it's job and more-than-likely the reason why I have attempted many things in my life and then chucked them in, because the voice told me I was kidding myself.

Can you identify with anything I am saying here?

Or am I really just one hell of a mangled-up, nut-bag once again saying stuff that really should never be actually said, out loud?

Here endeth the offload and grand reveal.

Hope I haven't lost you.