Old lady shoes in bin.
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The Sartorialist for Burberry's Art of the Trench
59 minutes ago
Monday, 9 November 2009
Sunday, 8 November 2009
where i did not a great deal
It's been a dismal, rainy kind of day, weather-wise today, just begging to be filled with indoorly activities.
After taking Bessie for an early haircut (having spent TWO HOURS last evening combing the most ghastly tangle from the back of her head, after which she decided that the length was just too much to manage) and a quick bit of shopping while I was waiting (dvd, new work shoes and chillis), Bessie and I settled in for a lazy afternoon of Top Design Season 1 watching, knitting and pie cooking.
Our pie was super-quick and easy. We used the leftover pastry (which froze exceptionally well) from kitchenette's fabulous apple pie of death filled with lightly stewed raspberries, blueberries and strawberries.
Verdict? Perhaps not the prettiest pie, but a superbly delicious one.
I'm now a fair way through the back of Don's jumper, slightly frightened that I may run out of wool and there is no more in Lincraft or online ... fingies crossed.
I've had to resort to using stitch markers, because I kept screwing the k2p6 pattern up (because the other side is all knit and not p2k6 as you might expect), they have made everything quite a good deal more satisfying and less hair-tear-out-ing.
Still not sick of it yet, but there is a great deal left to do.
Despite the post-art-and-car-purchase-money-saving kick we are supposed to be on, I desperately needed a new pair of shoes for work (and, naturally, feeling ridiculously guilty for doing so). The standby black old-lady pumps (for when I am not wearing boots &etc) which live under my desk are incredibly dowdy and becoming quite uncomfortable (no surprise, given that they are at least 5 years old and were not new when I bought them).
Not a particularly great shot, but I like the wee buckles very much.
Black old-lady pumps go in bin tomorrow.
Definitely need to talk to Iman (the MHP) about my complete inability to spend money on myself without feeling angsty, as, I've mentioned here before, I delightedly throw ridiculous amounts of money at art, at kitchenware, at Don, at the babies, but am an utter scrooge when it comes to me. Needs to stop, as I am setting a horrendous example for the kidlets.
Don has spent the majority of the weekend making phở from scratch, using this recipe. He's even made the accompanying chilli sauce.
It's actually quite fabulous, well worth the effort expended and time involved (especially as my participation primarily consisted of enjoying the results):
He's a pretty excellent cook, that husband o' mine.
.
After taking Bessie for an early haircut (having spent TWO HOURS last evening combing the most ghastly tangle from the back of her head, after which she decided that the length was just too much to manage) and a quick bit of shopping while I was waiting (dvd, new work shoes and chillis), Bessie and I settled in for a lazy afternoon of Top Design Season 1 watching, knitting and pie cooking.
Our pie was super-quick and easy. We used the leftover pastry (which froze exceptionally well) from kitchenette's fabulous apple pie of death filled with lightly stewed raspberries, blueberries and strawberries.
Verdict? Perhaps not the prettiest pie, but a superbly delicious one.
I'm now a fair way through the back of Don's jumper, slightly frightened that I may run out of wool and there is no more in Lincraft or online ... fingies crossed.
I've had to resort to using stitch markers, because I kept screwing the k2p6 pattern up (because the other side is all knit and not p2k6 as you might expect), they have made everything quite a good deal more satisfying and less hair-tear-out-ing.
Still not sick of it yet, but there is a great deal left to do.
Despite the post-art-and-car-purchase-money-saving kick we are supposed to be on, I desperately needed a new pair of shoes for work (and, naturally, feeling ridiculously guilty for doing so). The standby black old-lady pumps (for when I am not wearing boots &etc) which live under my desk are incredibly dowdy and becoming quite uncomfortable (no surprise, given that they are at least 5 years old and were not new when I bought them).
Not a particularly great shot, but I like the wee buckles very much.
Black old-lady pumps go in bin tomorrow.
Definitely need to talk to Iman (the MHP) about my complete inability to spend money on myself without feeling angsty, as, I've mentioned here before, I delightedly throw ridiculous amounts of money at art, at kitchenware, at Don, at the babies, but am an utter scrooge when it comes to me. Needs to stop, as I am setting a horrendous example for the kidlets.
Don has spent the majority of the weekend making phở from scratch, using this recipe. He's even made the accompanying chilli sauce.
It's actually quite fabulous, well worth the effort expended and time involved (especially as my participation primarily consisted of enjoying the results):
He's a pretty excellent cook, that husband o' mine.
.
Sunday, 1 November 2009
yet another addition to the family
As I mentioned yesterday, Don ventured out to collect the newest addition to our art collection. Given that it wouldn't fit in GerryScotti (despite Don's best efforts), we briefly considered hiring a maxi-taxi to collect it, but then decided on a ute from Balmain Rentals, which ended up being much cheaper than a maxi-taxi or a courier.
I should probably back up a bit and talk about the latest unplanned art acquisition (although, to be honest, they've all been unplanned). After last year's success (or eXtreme eXtravagance) at Art Sydney, we again bought tix to the opening night, with the intention of Not Buying a Single Thing - what with the cultural fund (we set aside $100 per pay for such things) being completely and utterly bare after the last purchase
We watched a rather good programme on ABC2 a couple of weeks ago about the crash of the art market and the crash was totally in evidence on opening night (slightly delayed GFC, obv.). Certain galleries (including those we bought from last year) were definitely conspicuous by their absence. Some of the paintings we recognised from their appearance last year. The minimum price was around $100 ($800 last year), average was about $5K (was circa $15K last year) and the highest price was much, much less. Let us not even go into the commercial turn the event has taken <shudder>. Last year, you truly could not move for people, this year was sparse by comparison - alcohol ran out by 7.30pm last year, this year still loads left by the time we left (I guess, maybe 8.30pm). Loads of art-sluts last year, while there were a couple of art-sluts in 2009, most people were accompanied by babies (definitely the accessory of the season). Anyway, all this goes to say that last year and this were definitely a study in contrasts.
So, we were definitely sticking hard to the No Art Buying plan, until my lovely husband fell in love with Jeni Saeyang. The more we went back to check her work out, the more I liked her too. And a comparative bargain compared to what we've paid for our other art. How could we resist?
Don, for scale.
Yes, I know it is derivative (abstract expressionism anyone?) but I really do like it quite a lot. And Jeni is totally gorgeous. I love meeting the artists I buy from.
Now we have no walls left. We either need to buy sculpture (so much heinousness out there and not a lot of the good, unless we want to go Over seas (so wonderful) or move to a new haus if we want to continue the acquisitions (or, more sensibly, channel the art fund into a mortgage fund).
.
I should probably back up a bit and talk about the latest unplanned art acquisition (although, to be honest, they've all been unplanned). After last year's success (or eXtreme eXtravagance) at Art Sydney, we again bought tix to the opening night, with the intention of Not Buying a Single Thing - what with the cultural fund (we set aside $100 per pay for such things) being completely and utterly bare after the last purchase
We watched a rather good programme on ABC2 a couple of weeks ago about the crash of the art market and the crash was totally in evidence on opening night (slightly delayed GFC, obv.). Certain galleries (including those we bought from last year) were definitely conspicuous by their absence. Some of the paintings we recognised from their appearance last year. The minimum price was around $100 ($800 last year), average was about $5K (was circa $15K last year) and the highest price was much, much less. Let us not even go into the commercial turn the event has taken <shudder>. Last year, you truly could not move for people, this year was sparse by comparison - alcohol ran out by 7.30pm last year, this year still loads left by the time we left (I guess, maybe 8.30pm). Loads of art-sluts last year, while there were a couple of art-sluts in 2009, most people were accompanied by babies (definitely the accessory of the season). Anyway, all this goes to say that last year and this were definitely a study in contrasts.
So, we were definitely sticking hard to the No Art Buying plan, until my lovely husband fell in love with Jeni Saeyang. The more we went back to check her work out, the more I liked her too. And a comparative bargain compared to what we've paid for our other art. How could we resist?
Don, for scale.
Yes, I know it is derivative (abstract expressionism anyone?) but I really do like it quite a lot. And Jeni is totally gorgeous. I love meeting the artists I buy from.
Now we have no walls left. We either need to buy sculpture (so much heinousness out there and not a lot of the good, unless we want to go Over seas (so wonderful) or move to a new haus if we want to continue the acquisitions (or, more sensibly, channel the art fund into a mortgage fund).
.
Saturday, 31 October 2009
best laid plans
I had grand plans to do all manner of things today, but unfortunately I was laid low with some sort of ghastly tummy thing - which initially, I attributed to yet another dodgy pub lunch, but then realised it was probably the result of the antibiotics I've been on for the implant, and sure enough, a quick check of the side effects confirmed that they were probably the cause of my indisposition.
So we didn't get quite as much done as I would have liked, but we did manage to do a fair bit, including collecting our new art (thanks Don!) and stage 1 of cleaning the garage so that GerryScotti might fit more comfortably.
Mess: pre-stage 1 cleaning. Note the lovely and expensive couch (to the right) that was used for less than 6 weeks and which will not fit into our flat (in any configuration - goodness knows we've tried).
We also managed to go for a wee walk to the bottle shop and spring is definitely ... springing:
.
So we didn't get quite as much done as I would have liked, but we did manage to do a fair bit, including collecting our new art (thanks Don!) and stage 1 of cleaning the garage so that GerryScotti might fit more comfortably.
Mess: pre-stage 1 cleaning. Note the lovely and expensive couch (to the right) that was used for less than 6 weeks and which will not fit into our flat (in any configuration - goodness knows we've tried).
We also managed to go for a wee walk to the bottle shop and spring is definitely ... springing:
.
love songs, via don's itunes
pavement: range life
decemberists: apology song
arcade fire: wake up
dave brubeck: take 5
band of horses: the funeral
lcd soundsystem: new york, i love you
ween: the party
sebastian tellier: divine (compleat with dance by moi)
fujuiya miyagi: ankle injuries
police: roxanne
foreigner: urgent
midnight juggernauts: into the galaxy
the national: all the wine
kanye west: i wonders
flight of the conchords: business time
boston: more than a feeling
And that, dear reader, is why I married him.
.
decemberists: apology song
arcade fire: wake up
dave brubeck: take 5
band of horses: the funeral
lcd soundsystem: new york, i love you
ween: the party
sebastian tellier: divine (compleat with dance by moi)
fujuiya miyagi: ankle injuries
police: roxanne
foreigner: urgent
midnight juggernauts: into the galaxy
the national: all the wine
kanye west: i wonders
flight of the conchords: business time
boston: more than a feeling
And that, dear reader, is why I married him.
.
Friday, 30 October 2009
blogging my crazy
What with the jaw piercing and the in-laws and such, I've not had a chance before now to write about the visit to the Mental Health Professional last Friday.
Obviously, having had no experience with this sort of thing, I was somewhat ill at ease (read: not a little scared!) and had no idea what to expect. From the telephone conversations I'd had with the therapist (we'll call her Iman), I'd found her rather scatty and disorganised and I wasn't feeling overly positive about how I would respond to her (being a hyper-anal A-type personality, I thought I would respond better to someone just like me).
After I arrived (precisely on time despite my anxiety about being on the 433 rather than the 431 - more people getting on the 433, and associated slowedness, because it goes further), we started out by filling in a couple of forms, the first with my general contact details &etc (the usual type form you fill out when you see a health professional: doctor, dentist etc, which I'd had some experience with because I've changed both recently), next I signed an agreement that stated that everything would be confidential except in the event that I: 1. was at risk of self-harm, 2. was at risk of harming another, 3. at risk of being harmed. Then I completed a PASS1xx form which gave a whole bunch of statements and asked me to rate how I felt on a 0-3 scale (where 0=nothing and 3=lots) how I felt over the past week (given that I was particularly pre-menstrual there were a lot of 3's).
Then it was time for the face to face.
I stated my complete at-sea-edness with the whole process. Iman told me a bit of her background and qualifications and explained how she worked, viz: she'd ask me questions, we'd talk and see if we could work together. Despite my reservations, I was really comfortable talking to her (even though she totally needs an assistant to get her administrative shit together). Iman said she usually had an initial consult and then decided how many sessions were appropriate: 1, 2, 6 (after which you'd need another GP referral) or 12 (after which you'd review).
Fortunately, being married to the gorgeous Don, who is a total advocate of therapy (being American and having been there, done that), I had done my homework and had really thought about and clarified what my issues were and what I wanted to get out of this whole thing:
1. I want to feel better about myself (you might be surprised to know that, despite my fabulousness, I do feel quite crap about me)
2. I want to stop my opinion of myself relying on what I can do for other people, ie. going way over and above so that people think I'm fab (thanks, baby)
So I talked about the incident, how my whole self was wrapped up in work and what I had been doing to try to make things better. She reacted postively to the changes I'd been trying to make (not be so focussed on work). We talked about how I was feeling a little lost now that I was trying to be not so work obsessed and that Dfkan was now an idependent young woman and how the babies were growing up and that I had spent my whole adult life being a parent and how it was confronting to not have to be so parently and that I was a little lost (yes, I did say all of that without drawing breath).
Iman commented that I did not really display the outward signs of depression, that I seemed quite bright and cheerful. Afterward, it occured to me that I should mention that I am *always* outwardly cheerful and sunshiney, which of course, in classic fashion, masks the despair and angst, which made the whole incident the more marked - normally I would keep such things to myself.
Then we talked about my childhood/adolescence, and boy howdy, there's a lot of material there to be going on with.
So, 50 minutes in, Iman said she'd really like to work with me and that she thought we'd probably need 12 sessions (ahhh, that'd be the childhood/adolescence that tipped it to the 12 - so much for this bright and cheerful nonsense).
I'm back again on the 4th at 4pm.
You may look forward to more generalised accounts of my progress.
.
Obviously, having had no experience with this sort of thing, I was somewhat ill at ease (read: not a little scared!) and had no idea what to expect. From the telephone conversations I'd had with the therapist (we'll call her Iman), I'd found her rather scatty and disorganised and I wasn't feeling overly positive about how I would respond to her (being a hyper-anal A-type personality, I thought I would respond better to someone just like me).
After I arrived (precisely on time despite my anxiety about being on the 433 rather than the 431 - more people getting on the 433, and associated slowedness, because it goes further), we started out by filling in a couple of forms, the first with my general contact details &etc (the usual type form you fill out when you see a health professional: doctor, dentist etc, which I'd had some experience with because I've changed both recently), next I signed an agreement that stated that everything would be confidential except in the event that I: 1. was at risk of self-harm, 2. was at risk of harming another, 3. at risk of being harmed. Then I completed a PASS1xx form which gave a whole bunch of statements and asked me to rate how I felt on a 0-3 scale (where 0=nothing and 3=lots) how I felt over the past week (given that I was particularly pre-menstrual there were a lot of 3's).
Then it was time for the face to face.
I stated my complete at-sea-edness with the whole process. Iman told me a bit of her background and qualifications and explained how she worked, viz: she'd ask me questions, we'd talk and see if we could work together. Despite my reservations, I was really comfortable talking to her (even though she totally needs an assistant to get her administrative shit together). Iman said she usually had an initial consult and then decided how many sessions were appropriate: 1, 2, 6 (after which you'd need another GP referral) or 12 (after which you'd review).
Fortunately, being married to the gorgeous Don, who is a total advocate of therapy (being American and having been there, done that), I had done my homework and had really thought about and clarified what my issues were and what I wanted to get out of this whole thing:
1. I want to feel better about myself (you might be surprised to know that, despite my fabulousness, I do feel quite crap about me)
2. I want to stop my opinion of myself relying on what I can do for other people, ie. going way over and above so that people think I'm fab (thanks, baby)
So I talked about the incident, how my whole self was wrapped up in work and what I had been doing to try to make things better. She reacted postively to the changes I'd been trying to make (not be so focussed on work). We talked about how I was feeling a little lost now that I was trying to be not so work obsessed and that Dfkan was now an idependent young woman and how the babies were growing up and that I had spent my whole adult life being a parent and how it was confronting to not have to be so parently and that I was a little lost (yes, I did say all of that without drawing breath).
Iman commented that I did not really display the outward signs of depression, that I seemed quite bright and cheerful. Afterward, it occured to me that I should mention that I am *always* outwardly cheerful and sunshiney, which of course, in classic fashion, masks the despair and angst, which made the whole incident the more marked - normally I would keep such things to myself.
Then we talked about my childhood/adolescence, and boy howdy, there's a lot of material there to be going on with.
So, 50 minutes in, Iman said she'd really like to work with me and that she thought we'd probably need 12 sessions (ahhh, that'd be the childhood/adolescence that tipped it to the 12 - so much for this bright and cheerful nonsense).
I'm back again on the 4th at 4pm.
You may look forward to more generalised accounts of my progress.
.
Tuesday, 27 October 2009
3 hour post
Don was up in the wee small hourse this morning to take Phil (father-in-law) and Smilla (step-mother-in-law) to the airport for the next step of their antipodean jaunt - they're off on a whirlwind visit to just about every corner of NZ for a week before heading home.
Fortunately, I managed to complete the hats in good time and they seemed delighted with them. I do really love that tam pattern, and knitting it the second time was a breeze because I'd sorted out the (to me) ambiguities and the jacques cousteau pattern is brilliant and knits up very quickly. I'd have to say that I'm discovering that knitting with good quality yarn (in this case Morris Empire) was quite superior to knitting with lesser wool.
The babies were back in residence on the weekend, after being away on hols for some weeks, and met the step-(step-)grandparents for the first time. Before they arrived, Bessie asked what they were like and really, I can understand why Don could not describe them to me - Phil and Smilla are quite beyond description.
After some thought, I told her that they were the exact opposite of Mom, "oh, but I like Mom a lot", she responded. I assured her that she would like Phil and Smilla too, and of course, she did. Really, I would defy anyone not to like them: they have big, big, big personalities, heaps of energy, can talk of (and have opinions about) everything and are definitely an experience. So, it will be back to quiet times around here for a wee while.
In craftal news, I have un-abandoned Don's jumper. I figure I'll get significantly less on eBay than I paid for the wool (which was not a lot, really), so may as well start knitting it up to see if I actually have the tenacity to actually finish a project of jumper/sweater magnitude. And then I can go spend up big at the yarn store for a proper jumper. I have been catching up on this marvellous blog while casting on and knitting the first few rows (and casting on again after I measured Don's chest to check size, when I discovered he is a medium and not a large).
The Crazy Woman downstairs is doing her usual latter-half-of-the-year thing - bailing people up, railing against the world. Now that we have been here for a while, we recognise the pattern. She's mostly quiet for the majority of the year (although there are exceptions), goes off in Sept/Oct/Nov and then disappears to locales unknown during December/January. Repeat. She previously taped her crazy notes to the bulletin board in the foyer, but has now taken to affixing them to her windows.
Jaw still quite tender, but this did not stop me from embarking on a caffeine-fueled house-cleaning/tidying frenzy today. Most coats, boots and jumpers are now packed away (waiting to go to the garage, however this will have to wait until the Big Clean Out, because with GerryScotti in there, additional storage space is at a minium), so I have ensured that the cold weather will remain with us for some time yet.
My poor oldest baby is stuck in Prague with a terrible cold and I am doing the worried Mummy thing from afar.
.
Fortunately, I managed to complete the hats in good time and they seemed delighted with them. I do really love that tam pattern, and knitting it the second time was a breeze because I'd sorted out the (to me) ambiguities and the jacques cousteau pattern is brilliant and knits up very quickly. I'd have to say that I'm discovering that knitting with good quality yarn (in this case Morris Empire) was quite superior to knitting with lesser wool.
The babies were back in residence on the weekend, after being away on hols for some weeks, and met the step-(step-)grandparents for the first time. Before they arrived, Bessie asked what they were like and really, I can understand why Don could not describe them to me - Phil and Smilla are quite beyond description.
After some thought, I told her that they were the exact opposite of Mom, "oh, but I like Mom a lot", she responded. I assured her that she would like Phil and Smilla too, and of course, she did. Really, I would defy anyone not to like them: they have big, big, big personalities, heaps of energy, can talk of (and have opinions about) everything and are definitely an experience. So, it will be back to quiet times around here for a wee while.
In craftal news, I have un-abandoned Don's jumper. I figure I'll get significantly less on eBay than I paid for the wool (which was not a lot, really), so may as well start knitting it up to see if I actually have the tenacity to actually finish a project of jumper/sweater magnitude. And then I can go spend up big at the yarn store for a proper jumper. I have been catching up on this marvellous blog while casting on and knitting the first few rows (and casting on again after I measured Don's chest to check size, when I discovered he is a medium and not a large).
The Crazy Woman downstairs is doing her usual latter-half-of-the-year thing - bailing people up, railing against the world. Now that we have been here for a while, we recognise the pattern. She's mostly quiet for the majority of the year (although there are exceptions), goes off in Sept/Oct/Nov and then disappears to locales unknown during December/January. Repeat. She previously taped her crazy notes to the bulletin board in the foyer, but has now taken to affixing them to her windows.
Jaw still quite tender, but this did not stop me from embarking on a caffeine-fueled house-cleaning/tidying frenzy today. Most coats, boots and jumpers are now packed away (waiting to go to the garage, however this will have to wait until the Big Clean Out, because with GerryScotti in there, additional storage space is at a minium), so I have ensured that the cold weather will remain with us for some time yet.
My poor oldest baby is stuck in Prague with a terrible cold and I am doing the worried Mummy thing from afar.
.
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