Wintry buds

Bleak, last week.
(Much sunnier today)

The stuff superstitions are made of

I got up this morning just before 5am kickoff for Australia vs Croatia, but forgot to grab my hat as I stumbled from the bedroom. Thinking, well it doesn't really matter, I'm watching it alone anyway, I just grabbed a different beanie from the hall cupboard. K got up for a quick update not long after Croatia's second goal, and boy were things were looking grim. It wasn't long before I gave in to the primitive side of my brain and went to retrieve the proper coloured headwear from the bedroom. From there it only took a few minutes for the goal to come, resulting in a draw that feels like a win (for those who aren't following along at home, that's because it gets us through to the next round).

You better chow down or it's gonna get cold

So here we were eating pizza again. But this was quite a different proposition. I knew K was planning something out of the ordinary when we did the grocery shopping on Sunday evening. He kept disappearing to hunt down odd items or simply to seek inspiration. And he indicated that what he was planning was for Monday night because there wouldn't be the proper amount of time that night for whatever extravaganza he was planning.


I am not usually one to make 'best-of' statements. But I think this really was the best pizza I ever ate. The base was thick but light, kind of like a light sourdough. Secret ingredient: a small quantity of potato. The toppings included all my favourite things: including - but not limited to - olives, artichoke hearts, pine nuts, tomato, a little more potato. And, FOUR kinds of cheese, including wasabi cheese which we've only just discovered.

For a while I've been taking photos of lovely meals people cook for me. I don't really like spending much time cooking so I really appreciate a good meal cooked by someone else. I even appreciate a merely edible meal cooked by someone else. I quickly discovered that it's really hard to take good food photos. It's usually at night so the lack of natural light makes it tricky. But it's not just that, it also seems to me that a non-professional food photo can look really good if you have the memory to go with it of how the food tasted and smelled, but otherwise might lack a certain something. I think it's not just the photogaphy skills (though I could do with more of those) but also the food styling - perfect plate, no crumbs or spills around the edge, and probably some other arcane stuff I don't know about. I'm usually in too much of a hurry to get on with eating to spend a long time getting the photo right.

The delicious dinner option that dare not speak its name

K and I had pizza for dinner. This is often a delicate negotiation process. The problem is that once the word 'pizza' has been said aloud, even just as part of a question, there is no going back. So it goes along the lines of: I don't want to cook tonight. Do you think you might feel like cooking? If not, I could give you a call just before I head home, to see what you want to do.

This at least leaves the appearance of the option of one of us being virtuous by cooking something.

And no, I don't think it would work if we spelled it out, like some people do with dogs and the exciting word that starts with 'w'. We never bother to spell it with Mia and Elvis because that would be a waste of good entertainment. They don't even need the actual word, just something that sounds similar-ish, as long as it is in the right kind of sentence. They can always be relied upon to go nuts in response to: Mia, do you want to have a little talk? And my favourite: Elvis.... are you ready to ROCK?!

You've got the power to know you're indestructible

The hat is done (since last Wednesday, actually). The stage is set. Don't suck, Socceroos! I mean that in the nicest possible way.

Life is very short, and there's no time for fussing and fighting, my friends

Despite several much lovelier projects calling, after watching the Socceroos not losing on Sunday night, I suddenly had to go into Lincraft for an assortment of tacky acrylic in patriotic colours, to make a Don't-Suck-Socceroos hat. I had to hurry because I'm a realist and their World Cup campaign might not last that long. (Isn't it good to be there, though!) How often will I wear a green and gold beanie that surely doesn't suit me? Oh well, maybe it will be called into service again for the definitely don't-suck-Opals or Matildas.

The higher you fly the deeper you go

Yesterday afternoon I suddenly realised it was the last day to see 65 Roses, an exhibition at the School of Art Foyer Gallery, seeking to raise awareness of Cystic Fibrosis and raise money for the Australian Cystic Fibrosis Research Trust. The name comes from a bittersweet story about a little boy who was told his sister had cystic fibrosis but heard it as, you guessed it, '65 Roses'. So the rose was the theme of the show. The main reason I made the effort was to see Demelza's sweet Dolly before she went off to her new owner.

Some of the rose-themed work was a bit cute or obvious for my liking but there was also a lot of good stuff. It was nice to see such a range of artists' work all at once.

I bought this one. Untitled, by Paloma Ramos. Couldn't resist that green monkey and all the green roses. I love the way it looks like a little shrine, sort of like the Catholic ones that fasinated me in Poland. I would like to find out the story behind it.

And you feel real guilty about the coat on your back

Hello, and welcome to sacred Wednesday. The hot water is out, so I can't shower or wash my hair. Well, some of us are braver than that with the cold water but not me. What I can do it knit a hat.

Forget baby knitting, this hat for Kam is the quickest and most satisfying knit ever. That's assuming that when he comes home and tries it on, it fits. (But I did some measuring and the maths so I'm optimistic). Isn't it funny how these crafts like sewing and knitting used to be basic essential skills for getting through life. Now machine-made and/or imported hand-made stuff is so cheap that hand-making clothes or household goods is a leisure activity. It's partly because the labour of people in third-world countries is 'worth' so much less than mine, that it is a luxury for me to take the time to knit things. Even this hat which was only a few hours' work, could be bought for a lot less than what I get paid in three hours. Although, it might not be exactly what I wanted, and that's one good reason for making things yourself.

Of course, my knitting labour time probably can't be considered to be worth as much per hour as my real-world work time. Still, I always think of my "day off" - though I don't like to call it that - as a luxury. It is a luxury that I can earn enough in four days to give myself more time to do the things I want to do. Of course plenty of people in my situation wouldn't think that was enough money. But for now, I certainly do.

Write your letters in the sand

Behold, my first knitted garments. It still spins me out that you can do all this with just sticks and string. The pattern for the vest came from one of Little Sister's op shop finds, 'Make your own Handicraft Gifts' by Sheila Richardson and Eve Harlow, published 1975.

I loved the soft orange (Patons Dreamtime 4ply baby wool) but was worried that it might not work with much else in Nephew's wardrobe, so I picked out this stripey shirt to go with it. Turns out it looks fine with many of his baby boy blue clothes and it fits too.


There was no guarantee of that, not like there ever would be, but especially so since the pattern was sized only for a newborn. I threw caution to the winds and threw in some extra width and length to approximate a 6-month size. The cream one doesn't look all that much smaller, though I made it to the original size in the book, for a friend's baby due right about now.


I also wanted to (finally) learn how to knit in the round on double pointed needles, so I cast on some leftover in the cream. The first time it came out about tennis ball sized. I didn't really know what size I was going for, but I suspected that if baby's heads came out tennis-ball-sized, childbirth just wouldn't be such a big deal. So I pulled it out early and cast on again with a few more stitches. It's surprisingly hard to estimate from a straight line of stitches, or even a square once they're on the dpns, what size circle you're going to end up with. This is an example of why knitting almost always ends up involving maths.



Also yet another example of the magic of blocking and finishing techniques. When the hat came off the needles I was not at all sure I had something that could actually be given to someone. My stitches were uneven, especially sloppy at the turning points between the needles, and the decreases made a pointy, puckering effect. I spent a while poking a needle into various spots to redistribute the yarn to hide the loosey goosey stitches, then threw it in a bucket of warm soapy water to soak for a while. It looked a bit better after drying, but it was a heavy dose of steam from the iron that really smoothed it all out.



I have no idea at what age it will fit, and it's still gappy so may be more of an indoor than an outdoor hat, but I sent it off with the cream vest anyway. I can see why people like knitting little, finishable baby clothes so much. Very satisfying.

Sound of their breath fades with the light

This is St Patrick's Basilica in Fremantle. And, the moon.

I was very taken with the gates (click for bigger). We talked about how cool it would be to pose behind those figures for some photos. But the gates were locked and also, we were respectful of authority.