Change is Good

Change. There's been a awful lot this year, so it feels right that wishthimble gets its own fresh start. I hope you'll keep reading. Part two begins HERE now:

Baking is a cruel mistress

There was no way I was going to cry over a cake, but I'd be lying if I didn't admit that it came pretty close. More on that in a moment. After two days of solid baking for my niece's pre-wedding Afternoon Tea for 20, I have a new admiration for people who cook/bake and generally spend a lot of time in their kitchens cooking for the people they love. I also discovered the awful truth, that despite my many indignant protests over the years, I am indeed a Very Messy Cook. Whatevs. Last Thursday I got up a made the dough for the heart shaped thank you cookies that sat snuggly in their individual homemade boxes thanks to the Martha Stewart Scoreboard. Have you used that thing? Amazing. Next was a batch of pop-cakes. Not wild about them, but they looked great. Pastry casings for the savoury tarts (parmesan, basil, tomato). Friday was cupcakes, pork sausage rolls straight from What Katie Ate. Love that book. Have been pouring over it for days. A great blend of compelling photography, good writing and solid recipes. Later that afternoon I spontaneously decided to make a Rainbow Cake. You've probably seen them around - the five layers of different coloured sponges covered in a cream cheese frosting (with tiny bunting on top) and when you cut the cake, you get a pretty (some might say startling) piece of cake. It's not a demure cake. It's a LOOK AT ME, DAMIT IT cake. An attention seeking cake. The first four layers were fine, but I pulled out two layers just a fraction too early so while I was mentally congratulating myself on a job well done, the two cakes were quietly sinking, resulting in a pronounced slump. I tried to gently remove them from the tin (they were cold) and then one broke in half. Why I didn't just abandon the entire exercise right then is a mystery I'll never fully understand. Instead I went against the universally accepted baking Laws of Nature and PLOUGHED ON. Disaster. I was clearly deluded, probably due the large amounts of icing sugar I'd accidentally mainlining for the previous 24hours. As I forged on, stacking the cakes on top of each other, the slump turned into a one of those sink holes you sometimes see in a National Geographic magazine. Again with the delusion. Maybe I had to see the entire catastrophe before I accepted failure? I turned up Casey Chambers new CD and covered the entire mess with cream cheese frosting until I realised that NO AMOUNT OF ICING was ever going to the disaster within. Just to make sure, and probably out of some morbid curiosity, I cut the cake in half to check out the 'effect'. No rainbow people. It looked like a hippie threw up. I'm going to fast forward now, to me driving down the shops (swearing) with icing in my hair and crazy look in my eye - but I came back started all over again - with a great result. I don't know what any of this proves and I'm not going to over think it. All I know is that I made the freaking Rainbow Cake and people ate it, so I win.

A Winning Fold

I'm making twenty of these paper rosettes for my niece's Wedding Tea Party. The first five were awful, but after a few hours of playing with different lengths of paper, I think I've finally sorted it out. I even managed to make one before I left for work this morning. Two down...

Video Daze

MY local video store closed down about three months ago. It went from a well-stocked shop that had everything from the staples — Love Actually, Citizen Kane, Private Benjamin to box sets and a reasonably good foreign film section where you could always find a copy of Wings of Desire or The Double Life of Véronique. But over the last six months, like so many video stores around the world, it endured a slow and painful death. Video killed the radio star, so now maybe it was time for revenge. Shelves started to thin out, ‘Latest Releases’ dwindled, and soon stock was for sale (followed by the actual shelving) until all that was left was a few copies of Demi Moore’s Striptease, ancient X-Box games and torn posters of The Royal Tanenbaums. The demise of the local video store, along with the milk bar, the manual typewriter and Polaroid cameras is inevitable and yes, downloading a movie is cheaper and more efficient, but watching a video at home always seemed to have more to do with chilling out than it did saving time. Then there was the ‘event renting’; moments in life when only renting a dvd would do: the hangover (Bridesmaids), Boxing Day (Raiders Of The Lost Ark), insomnia (any of the Bourne franchise), a scorching hot day (Jaws), nursing a broken heart (Breathless) and a rainy Sunday (Rebecca). Like trawling between shelves at a bookshop, there was something about cruising down to the video store, the inevitable bickering about which movie to get (‘‘We’ll never watch five movies in three days.’’), sniggering over the hilariously bad triple X titles, secretly hoping that all five copies of Batman Begins weren’t already out. An added bonus was catching up with the ‘Video Guy’, a particular breed who shares their DNA code with every other man or woman around the globe who has ever had the lucky job of working behind the counter. They were usually incredibly passionate about film and free with their assessments about whatever you happened to be watching, and if you were lucky enough to develop a rapport, they were just as astute as Margaret and David. The good ones never judged, they just cracked open the case with one hand, their face an unreadable mask, while they searched for the Twilight disc. There are still a few reliably good video stores around, staffed by those same guys (usually bearded) who have an encyclopaedic knowledge that could rival Leonard Maltin’s, but are definitely on the endangered list. A few weeks ago someone smashed in the front window of the closed shop near me, so now it looks like it belongs in one of those photo essays about abandoned buildings in Detroit. But then, one afternoon while I was walking past, a teenage girl in a twirly skirt, who looked like she should be on a cover of Frankie, stood posing in front of the window, the eighties style sign writing emblazed on the glass. Her boyfriend took a photo from across the road with his iPhone, probably suspecting this was their last chance.

Little House Down the Lane

I have only the vaguest memory of where this lovely house was. We were driving around England last year - somewhere near Penzance when this pretty house just appeared. I happened to be holding my camera at the time and managed to take a picture from the car window. Click.

Somewhere along the way I stopped doing something I enjoyed because I cared too much about whether it was 'good' and what others might think. Not sure when or why I stopped caring so much, but over the last few weeks I've been drawing - a lot. I found Danny Gregory's blog, a great source of inspiration and ideas. His advice? Just draw. And so I am.

Easter was a short, sharp break but a welcome one. Finally got to see Grace Kelly:Style Icon. It's not a massive collection but to see some of key outfits from the 50s through to the 80s was great. There's even the Edith Head dress that Grace wore in the final scene of Rear Window along with bags, shoes and gorgeous sunglasses. The gallery was packed as we shuffled past a parade stunning evening gowns and floaty, sheer dresses.

The rest of the holiday was all family, dog walks on the beach, a bit of crochet and of course, chocolate...

In bloom

This pillow almost never got made. I started it in a heady enthusiastic rush about six months ago but ran out of puff a few weeks later. So it sat in my wool basket looking sad and floppy and for whatever reason, I almost decided to abaondon it compeletly. Then I didn't. I found more bright coloured wool, picked it up and kind of fell in love the project all over again.
So here she be. A little wonky (that's standard) but done. It's one of Attic24's fantastic patterns: Blooming Flower Cushion and she did an amazing job on the tutorial - loads of photos and step by step instructions. Such an inspiration.

It flew by. New orange sandles. Walks on the beach. Yarraville Farmer's Market (fresh beetroot). Got lost in the wonderful Hugo. Read Various Positions by Martha Schabas in the shade. Drank mocktails with friends. Had a water-fight. Rode our bikes to breakfast. Watched (part) of the most amazing games of Tennis I've ever seen and fell asleep to the whirr of the over-head fan. Hope you had a good one too.

Year of the Dragon

Crazy bustle. Sweet pork buns. Mini buses zooming. Skyscrappers looming. Endless noise of the best kind. I got some sleep. Hong Kong didn't.
Happy New Year.

It had been so long since I ventured into the craft room to make something that I had to literally dust off of the sewing machine and brush cobwebs away from the windows. Lack of time and frankly, inclination meant any thoughts of actually making something fizzled. Then I came across hop skip jump's new book. The second I saw this monkey, I started picking fabric - in my head. I think I botched up the arms a little but that's just fine. Somewhere between stuffing his head and turning his legs, I realised how much I missed making stuff. The rest of the patterns are great too so I'm looking forward to making more.

Seal Sunday: the movie

Big Wide World

Five weeks, a handful of countries and a thousand memories. Apart from the obvious attraction (not working) there's lots of reasons why I love visiting different places. It shakes you up. Reminds you that you're part of something bigger than catching the next train or forgetting to buy tissues.

Lots of great things happened on this trip, stuff that was unplanned like getting to see a book that belonged to Vita Sackville West at Sissinghurst, eating Bakewell Pudding in Bakewell, furtively watching a 'star' eat breakfast in London (Ron Howard), catching a local farmers market in misty Sennen in Cornwall, being followed by an incredibly friendly cat while we searched for Sylvia Plath's grave in Heptonstall, eating fish n chips and watching a sunset at the end of Brighton Pier, finding the Phantom's box at The Paris Opera, reading Hemingway at Shakespeare and Co, falling asleep on the soft grass near the canals at Versailles, watching squirrels chase each other in Regent's Park.

I've come back full of ideas. Nothing grand just creative thoughts that only seem to bubble to the surface when I'm busy looking at the world as if I've never seen it before.

It's good to be home but is it good to be back?

If you're going somewhere - Bon Voyage.

If you've just come home - Welcome back.

Her Father's Daughter by Alice Pung (Black Inc)

I started Alice Pung's new book Her Father's Daughter on Sunday and have been taking every chance I get (between work & other distractions) to open up the covers and get back into the story. It's a quasi autobiography about Alice that basically picks up where her first book Unpolished Gem left off.
Alice is now in her early 20s and gently trying move away, emotionally and out of her parents house so she can experience life for herself. Her father is especially overprotective - a former refugee from Cambodia - he's witnessed and experienced some horrendous violence at the hand of the Black Bandits, part of Pol Pot's killing fields. He only wants what's best for his family but it's hard for him to watch his children grow up and make their own way in the world.
I'm up to a chapter that started off set in contemporary Melbourne but now looks as if it might be headed in a much darker direction. At this point I'm totally enthralled by Pung's restrained and elegant prose. She takes me along with her with every page. It's such a good feeling when you get swept up in a book. Lead on...

Stay and defend

Father-

His daughter is coming home. Well, not exactly home, but back to Australia. It panics him whenever any of his children are far away. She has been gone nearly three months - the first time she has lived outside the country.

rain, hail or shine

This honey-coloured photo of a corner of my loungeroom kind of sums up my feelings right now. I think I'm in a mid-winter slump and although I'm enjoying doing all those cool weather things: reading swaddled under blankets, the warmth of a dog on my lap, hot chocolates, making lots of wintry stuff like soup (roasted pumpkin, cauliflour) and Sophie Dahl's wonderful lentil shepherds pie and Stephanie Alexander's apple crumble, I'm yearning for some sunlight. The outdoor setting in the back yard looks depressing in the rain and the garden is looking scrapy.
This weekend I'm going to resist the urge to hunker down and hibernate and go for a 'jog', (my version - slow and ungainly), drink tea instead of coffee, make something and just get on with the 'doing'.

Pride and Prejudice

The truth is. I 'feel' like I've read this book but I'm not entirely sure I have, so when I saw Pip over at Meet Me At Mikes was doing Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice for a book club, I knew the time had come.
I think I've seen every movie/tv adaptation, which is why I might be hazy about whether I've actually read it or not. I watched the BBC version a few weeks ago and it made me wonder if Austen is as funny and sarcastic on the page as she is in a well edited/written script. And will any of it annoy me? On film, I'm always interested in a few small moments, especially when Charlotte Lucas tells Elizabeth that she wants to marry Mr Collins.
Who knows. Maybe I'll actually realise I have read it, or possibly not. Have you read it?

Here goes.

"It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortuen must be in want of a wife."

Snap/Shot

Collins Street.
Not at 5pm.

Them thar hills.

So we survived. Friday and Saturday were fantastic. Blue skies, hiking, toasted marshmellows, spuds in the fire for dinner, red wine, lots of laughs. It was all perfect until about 9pm on the Saturday. The cool change came in early and the rain started and stayed ... all night. Tent leaked, dogs looked miserable. We ended up 'sleeping' in the car or in my case, praying for dawn to arrive. We packed up early Sunday and had a scary drive down the moutain. That dusty road on the way up turned into a slick, red, muddy killer on the way down. Twice our car silently glided towards the edge of a pretty scary drop. We came to a stop about a metre from the edge. It was the final, bad bend in a series, so we were very pleased when we got down that mountain. But what's a camping trip without a few tales to tell? Such beautiful scenery and falling asleep listening to the river...it was all worth it.

The Wilds

Em & I are going camping with friends for the First Time. The weather looks friendly. If we're lucky, the days will be sunny and the nights cold (but not too cold). Who cares, right? So long as we don't have rain. Rain would be a big drag. Looking forward to sitting around a campfire and maybe telling ghost stories? Maybe not. Ahh. I can't wait to jump in the car and head for the hills. No banjos please.

Tea for Three

Last night Emma and I caught with a friend. We had dinner at Purple Peanuts, a great Japanese cafe in Collins Street. Such fantastic, cheap, fresh food. It was great to spend the night chatting, not worrying about the time, just shooting the breeze, kicking back and drinking tea. Lovely.