muppinstuff

short and sweet

The Moreland council meeting on Wednesday night was overrun with people wearing crazy hats, zinc cream and vintage bathers. There were plastic pools, towels, toys umbrellas and kids running everywhere. I'm still feeling buzzed! Read about it here.

Have figured out a new approach to taking indoor and outdoor night shots. Very wide aperture and high ISO. Which does kind of makes sense, der. Aperture is my current learning curve. Probably need to adjust my white balance, but now I do have an approach.

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And the other day, Saha posted a beautiful, elegant version of bluemilk's feminist motherhod meme. Go and read what she has to say. Please. 

time off for good behaviour

Not that I think of my life as a prison sentence, indeed far from it. However as I walked out of my morning GP appointment (liver now doing fine, yay!) into a brand new day with nothing much in it that I had to do, that phrase "time off for good behaviour" popped into my head. Normally on a Tuesday, I sleep too late (yeah I know, so much to complain about), rush round like a chook with my head cut off for the rest of the morning doing sundry domestic tasks while also trying to sneak in some blog reading and general loafing around before a rushed lunch and heading off to playgroup with Grace. Which I do really enjoy. Especially the playdough. And the walk, yeah I love the walk. Holding hands and talking. But it's also nice to have a break from routine. So G took Grace to playgroup today and I went shopping. 

The other day I realised that all, bar one, of my winter t-shirts pre-date Grace by at least two years. And one of those has hair dye on it. So that's my fashion goal for this year, to try and replace some of those really old and tatty clothes. Unless of course, I still really like them. Shopping was more or less succesful, some t-shirts and a kind of modern looking vesty thing, which I hope will make me look less daggy at work and stop me getting cold. Would have liked to have bought some pants as well, but in the only style that looked remotely like something I might wear, there was only a really big or really small size left. I tried on the really big pants in true dysmorphic fashion and they were really, really big. I have to remind myself that plus size sizing is a wild beast without reason and that in this brand I am generally at the smaller end of the middle range. So it's back to trying to make some pants. I'm now on my second pair. The first have been abandoned as a lost cause and the second are kind of OK but have a funny bag in the middle of the leg below the knee (which I might be able to fix by making the waist sit better or taking in the sides). Although I'm pretty proud of the fly front (normally I just do elastic waists which I'm tired off), I'm yet to decide whether I like them enough to wear.

Also tried to find some new bras and some tights. My favourite bra is rarely in stock in my size, today was no exception, and why oh why isn't there an opaque tight on the market that's a real plus size and long enough for a tall woman? With all the crap that you can buy out there, you would think that these things wouldn't be so hard. And why are this year's winter ranges full of short sleeved tops? Not just vesty things, but like t-shirts? One shop assistant told me it was to do with layering, but I couldn't see it. Not without the actual layering piece. Which seemed to be something one would have to already own. Or perhaps magic out of thin air.

So what else did I do? I had spicy eggplant and crunchy chicken with rice for lunch at my favourite food court. Coffee before I went home, although I still haven't found a good coffee spot in the city where you can sit and watch the people go past. Myer food hall used to be my quick stop of choice but now it's gone and replaced with a useless tights department. Pity, because there's demolition going on, which would have provided endless watching, eventhough it's a bit sad. And I went to the camera shop to get a remote control thingy and then looked at expensive lenses, asked lots of questions and displayed my ignorance more than once. But it was quiet and the sales people didn't mind. It was quite fun really. And I saw  a woman cross the road and then seeing an old lady in a red coat hesitating at the crowds coming towards her, offer to escort her across. The old lady accepted the offer of help and it was one of those heartwarming moments you just see every now and then. And now I should really go to bed, because it's work tommorrow.

slow days of autumn

Have obviously packed away my summer clothes too soon. It's been glorious, balmy weather, with just the faintest chill at night. Definitely too hot to wear my boots and skirt look to work. It's also apparent that I'm a bit lacking in the transeasonal type apparel that works really well at this time of the year. Some new pants are being made, but oh what a slow process it is, because I've decided that I really can't do any sort of complicated sewing at night. Too much unpicking. Too much black unpicking. Not enough light, leading to a vicious cycle of swearing and frustration. So I'm trying to go slowly and make fewer items, but well.

Last night in the soft night I walked to the council meeting. Brunswick council chamber is 1920s or 30s with wood panelling and a few modern touches from the 60s or 70s. Proceedings started with a buzz of excitment, much shuffling of paper and settling. There were a lot of questions about public toilets, especially the self cleaning ones, which don't seem to be self cleaning well enough. How hard would it be to provide more public toilets and a better regime of cleaning? Anyway, there were lots of pool people there, and many questions were asked. All in preparation for budget time. There was also a big clock right behind me that startled me with the clicking, clunking sound of the hand moving. After questions, there's a little break before the council moves on to all their big agenda items (must stay for that sometime) and we repaired to the beer garden of a nearby pub for conversation and I realised that two beers is one too many. Pfff, cheap drunk. Still it was a rather good night out.  I walked home and it was still warm. I watched Oceans Twelve on telly long after G had gone to bed saying it was rubbish, thinking this is not an action movie, it's a chick flick. Then I stopped feeling pissed and went to bed.

Today was still slow and silky. But I had this moment at work today, after I had worked through a particular situation with a complicated interplay of policy, procedures and how the computer system works, and fixed something when I thought, I think my brain might be returning. Goodness. It's a happy feeling.

ps The photo is of my favourite blue wall on the way to the supermarket (taken last weekend). I wish I knew how to prevent the green shadow with this camera. I'm thinking it might be fun to sit there for half an hour one day and take pictures as people go past. With the big, reliable camera of course. Although nobody takes you seriously with a small orange point and shoot. Which kind of has advantages too.

underground

These underground toilets in Elizabeth Street have just been heritage listed. They're not on my usual map of the city but I popped in to have a look last Friday afternoon in town. Quite convenient, as it happened. Apparently they were a major engineering feat back in the day. Clean and less cramped than the Myer ladies. The decor is a mishmash of various eras but the terrazo floor is quite spesh, as is the "No Spitting" sign. I also rather liked that there was a row of stools to sit on rather than the usual battle for mirror space above the sink. And somewhere to put your stuff. Not a bad place to drag a brush through your hair or reorganise your bag.

There was hardly anyone there and I felt OK about playing with the camera for a little while. This one was taken from the top of the hand dryer across the room, using the timer. And the LCD screen that is now upside down when you swivel it around to frame a shot. Which is OK from a distance, so I've discovered. The light was difficult and although I've recently learnt* how to set the white balance on my camera for diffrerent types of indoor light, it wasn't so comfortable down there that I felt like faffing for ever. Back home of course, I wished that I'd spent just a little more time taking the pictures but I am more confident of taking photos in public that i used to be. Last night I tried a few different effects in photoshop elements to try and improve on the original , but ended up liking the infrared black and white the best. I think it captures the underground and slightly seedy feeling of the space. But like I said before, it was quite clean. Something that has been noted about Melbourne public toilets before. Apparently.

Visit more bathrooms here.

*CAE photoshop elements course, highly recommended if you're a beginner and interested in that sort of thing. I learnt so much, now I can halfway understand what the books and manuals are talking about. Opening the door to a whole new world of faffing.

because something is happening here, but you don't know what it is

The city at night. Gentle rain. Cheap Japenese food for dinner, where the dillish young server forgot to take Gs order of tofu. Secretly really enjoying the miso chicken with the dodgy sauce. With diet coke. Onwards to the tram, part of the throng heading to the the footy, the melbourne storm (is that rugby?) and the Dylan concert. Being bossed about by a very officious yarra trams official, you wouldn't have been surpised if he had a poking stick for pushing everyone into the tram. It was fun, sparkly and good natured. People were talking to strangers about where they were going. 

The first security dude at rod laver area said I'd have to cloak my camera. The second security dude looked at it and said that I could keep it, as long as I didn't use it. By request of the artist. Apparently they were meant to prevent even mobile phones being taken in. Again by request of the artist. We laughed. There was the flare of camera flash all night. Which is really silly because a flash won't work beyond a few metres. Our seats were a long, long way up. The combination of the miso chicken and my sports stadium verigo fear/anxiety didn't sit that well at first. Especially since the first band were pretty ordinary, I thought. Loud and boring. Last time, I think Paul Kelly opened. Double treat.

Once the stadium filled and the thin man appeared, I began to relax into the night. It was up and down. The opener, a version of rainy day woman was a bit of a throw away. Some of the songs in the first bit seemed a bit overly full of  instrumention to me. Too much boogie woogie. Then there was the standout. John Brown, a new to me song about a mother going to meet her son returning form the war at the station. Spine chilling. I wasn't the only one leaning right forward in my seat. There was also a gut wrenching version of Highway 61, rougher and tougher than I've ever heard it. Catapaulting me back to the moment when I first keyed into that song, when I first heard the poetry rather than the noise. I was twenty and my boyfriend of the time was in royal park hospital and I was listening to his records in my room. And around the same time there was an acid trip during which me and my girlfriends played highway 61 over and over again to hear the zing zing sounds. It was a long time ago and somehow hearing the live version telescoped those separate but connected memories into one impression. Even without the zing, zing.

He also did kickarse versions of Like a Rolling Stone and Ballad of a Thin Man, one of my all time favourites. And Tangled up in Blue. One the way home, a woman on the tram was telling her friend that she was in two minds about the concert. That he didn't do the old stuff. Another woman sitting near us was beaming. I started listing the old songs and G piped in with the obscure ones. Then we had a chat with the other woman about the new song we heard about the woman meeting her son at the station. She had the new album on high rotation, she said, and it was excellent. Of course he's going to change what he does. It would be boring for him and therefore boring for us if he didn't. We talked about the other Dylan concerts we'd been to and the ones we missed. She was in her fifties and had been going since the seventies. I was impressed. It was a very multi-generational night. Young kids, old people, old people behaving like young kids, middle aged people looking thrilled (or not), families, scensters. Truly awesome. I whinge and grizzle about my life sometimes, but really I'm pretty lucky, to live here and now, and have the wherewithal (and baby sitting) to participate in such treats.  I feel full of music and poetry. Yep, awesome.

reflected

This is a photo I took as I was setting up for something I had in mind last Friday afternoon in town. As you can see, I'm checking the flipout LCD screen of my chunky Canon Powershot. I've grown to love this camera in the last year. It's my dad's old camera and he passed it on to me when I started blogging, along with a scanner. He's been a big supporter of my writing endeavours over the years and I appreciate it more than I can say. Thanks Dad.

This picture was taken on the corner of Bourke and Swanston streets, a busy mid city Melbourne intersection. I wanted to take a picture here the week before last; I passed by and noticed that my reflection in this black glass window was somewhat slimmer than in real life, like in a sideshow mirror. But it was raining and there were lots of people jostling about and I was being hassled by over enthusiastic uni students collecting for charity. Like really hassled, which puts my back up straight away, no matter how worthy the cause might be. However, last Friday was warm and sunny, despite being almost winter. I had just returned some slippers that Grace refused to even try on and was rushing to catch a tram to visit my sister and newborn niece in hospital. This time I just went about my business quickly and calmly, not caring how funny other people might think a middle aged woman in homemade clothes taking her picture in a grotty shop window might be. The pictures I had in mind didn't work out, as is often the case. Not to worry, one thing I've learned from doing SPC is to take a few shots if possible and to see what happens. I ended up quite enjoying this challenge and have loved seeing pictures of everyone in their different streets. There's something good about seeing the physical worlds that people inhabit.  Check it out here.

 

Under the clocks

On Saturday morning we went into town with Grace to have a shot at taking some city type street scenes. I've been meaning to try a short excursion with Grace on the tram without the pram for a while now and this was a good excuse. She loved it, especially on the ride home when she made friends with a three year old girl and they had a shrieking match. G and I thought it was quite funny, but once it reached a certain level and the other mother started telling Ebonee to "use your inside voice, or it's time out" we had to put our sensible parent faces back on. I must have been a bit hyped up myself from taking photos and hanging around Flinder Street Station steps.  For those not familiar with Melbourne, the steps of Flinders Street Station, or "under the clocks", is a common and well known meeting place. Except that it is so big and bustly, that you often miss the person you are trying to meet.

It was a lovely sunny day and I quite enjoyed hanging around and watching the kids holding court. A woman in footy gear at the bottom of the steps told me that one of kids had a rat on his shoulder, unfortunately I missed that one. G took the photos that I'm in with Grace, but I took all the rest. I still don't feel like I have one image that says to me, yes this is it. Noetheless, quite a few have bits in them that I like. I've put some of my favourites from the day on flickr. As far as taking pictures in public, this was the least awkward I've felt so far. Perhaps because as well as being Melbourne's favourite meeting place, Flinder's Street is a tourist landmark and there were lots of other people taking pictures.  And I had G there for moral support and kidwrangling.

More streets here.

Visiting my sister in hospital and the challenges of street photography

For most of this week my sister Betty has been in hospital. She's due to have a baby sometime in the next fortnight and there have been some complications. I'm not going to go into detail here but she's OK and so is the baby, who is very active. It's mostly been a mattter of lots of rest and of being close to medical attention should they need it. Of course, I've been a little anxious, this is my little sister and my niece(?) in waiting. We've been visiting on a sort of roster system and taking her treats, as the hospital food is well, hospital food. And going for short walks whenever the doctors have allowed. (This is not my SPC shot because we look like tourists and standing next to a pregnant lady is reminding me that I really should loose 20kilos).Anyway, Betty's situation has improved and she was discharged the other day.

I've been taking my camera everywhere this week, and trying to take the odd street photo when time and circumstance permit. My fear at looking like a nong in public is fading as I try desperately to get at least one picture, with me in it, that comes close to what I would consider to be a good street picture.  If I'd got the light right and managed focus, I would have been quite pleased with this one as it captures a scene outside the hospital that I'm sure many inner city Melbourne residents would be familiar with. Except that there's no pregnant women smoking. Which is a good thing. I know how hard it is to give up and that many mothers of my mum's age were allowed to light up post delivery, but really. I'll stop with that now, I think. Anyway, check out the guy on the right near the pillar. I think he's looking at this middle aged and somewhat plump woman taking pictures with an old digital camera perched on a rubbish bin.

Here's the colour one. I think I prefer it in black and white but I do like the ubiquitous green bags the girls in the street are carrying. I think I said it last week, I'm loving this challenge, especially viewing everyone else efforts, but technically it's hard, hard, hard. Time to re-read my camera manual methinks.

Visit SPC on the street here.

Craft is good

Life seems to be zooming past at the moment. Already the fabulous weekend away crafting with Sooz, Suse, Di and Sandra seems to be fading into blur. I rushed to get away and I rushed to catch up when I returned, but the in between seems like an oasis of calm. Jumbles of craft supplies, many fantastic projects, the whirr of sewing machines, conversations that went from intense to hilarious and back again, red wine, civilised meal times, not feeling rude bringing my crochet to the table afterwards, walking on the beach, a fantastic view and a gorgeous baby boy.

Despite my compulsive listmaking, I forgot to pack two really crucial items. My pillow with the peaceful cream pillow case and even more importantly, my sewing machine cord and pedal. Doh! Which means that the material I cut out last Thursday is still in a box awaiting transformation into new clothing. And may well remain so for some time. Oh well. Lucky I packed a bag of wool and some crochet hooks at the last minute. I picked and unpicked my project several times but I think I may have rebonded with the crochet hook.

photo courtesy of Di, thanks, I love the blur.

It's a ripple blanket, but of my own devising. Not having access to the internet, patterns or even my mum, meant I had to find my own way. When I returned and checked, I thought, I'm doing it all wrong, but then thought again, this is a style of work I like. It's quick and fun to do in front of telly. And suitable for Australian conditions. The project I started while I was away has been set aside. The finished item I have in mind needs to be much smaller. I won't pull the first one out unless I run out of wool and may well use it to turn my stash of odd bits of wool into a knee rug. Yet, I'm not at all worried about loosing my weekends work.  The new project is sailing along, all the better for concentrated time with a wool and hook.

As I crochet, I've been letting Grace play with a sample and some small balls of wool. On Wednesday I was sneaking in a few rows and saw this.  Isn't it just the best? It thrills me in a way I can't express that she's playing at crochet. How long before I can teach her the real thing? Oh the excitment.

From all reports, Grace was a total delight while I was away. Well, except for the regular throw herself on the ground and kick and scream until she goes red in the face tantrums. Which happen several times a day, no matter who's there. I missed her even more than I thought I would, but it was OK. We talked on the phone each morning and at night and she seemed to understand that I was away and that I would return. I got home later than I anticipated; it was so hard to leave the crafting circle, I'm a slowish driver and we had to cross town. When I crept into her room to gaze upon her sleeping form, she said hello, hello. I picked her up for a cuddle and she said hello again and then, sleep. Little tired girl.

But oh yes, it was good to be away. Just for a while.

Don't go in the rock and roll river with your boots on

We've had a houseful of interstate visitors. About a third of the Hobart band Hey Mook plus wives and hangers on arrived on Thursday after work and the last of them left around lunch time today. It was so much fun and I'm feeling a little fragile. Panadol and coffee have not  made up for lost sleep and three days of saying yeah, I'll go to bed early tonight and then people come over or come home and there's drinking and smoking and talking till well past the hour.  And this morning five hours later, there was an energetic Grace standing her cot yelling, hello, hello, hellooo. As if to say get up you lazy mummy. Or daddy, because when she saw it was me, she must have thought it was a work day and she wanted daddy which would then mean it wasn't a work day. And so we had our first earsplitting tanty for the day. As you do.

Anyway, back to the fun times. On Thursday night, Grace went to stay with Nana and we went to see Wilco play at the Palais. Owing to a mix up with taxis we got over the other side of the river just in time to grab a maccas. Now I remember why we don't eat it. But the fast food experience was a surreal fit with the night and we made it to our seats just as the band began to play. The opening was a corker, big loud wall of noise stuff. Not the sort of music I associate with Wilco at all. And indeed the whole performance I felt I was listening to a soundtrack from my life, only rocking right out. I did take some pictures, which I felt really self conscious about, because there seemed to a flash going off or an led screen somewhere the whole time and it just seems kind of rude. Our visitors thought that the Melbourne audience was a bit stilted, or to put it in Tasmanian, had their heads up their arses. Still, a fine time was had by all. Especially me. It was just way too exciting being out at night with a big pile of people.

Afterwards we hailed one of those minivan taxis and went to a Brunswick street bar where I further explored the combination of medication and beer, inhaled a lot of passive smoke and had a little sleep on G's shoulder before waking up again. It was still hours to bed time. When Grace returned home from Nana's on Friday morning, she was a little taken aback by all the strange people crowding round the sunroom table and making their beds in unusual places (at least no-one slept in the shed, although Mr Herbert wanted to pitch a tent in the backyard, but luckily he found somewhere else to stay). Grace quickly found her feet and zoomed about saying hello and watching what was going on and getting away with all manner of scampiness. The rest of Friday was filled with girlie lunch, shopping, challenging shrink appointment, lots of talking, take away curry that was far too brightly colured to be good for you, more talking and drinking and smoking. And from then on it's all a bit of a blur of sensible parent moments and mookish chaos.

There's been coming and going, eating and drinking. Mornings and afternoons. Lots of music sessions in the lounge room.  On Saturday night before her bed time, Grace sat next to me on the couch and listened to an awesome practice, her eyes big and darting between the three guitars. My favourite was Don't go in the rock and roll river with your boots on, which in song has tricky phrasing and a very catchy lilt. It could be about the way I'm feeling now or it could have whole other meanings to be revealed in due time. I would have let Grace listen to the 3CR radio show but she was fast asleep.  As I should be. You can see the whole thing in pictures here if you really want, but that's probably really only interesting for mooks. Instead, do youself a favour and go listen to the songs at mooksinspace, Drive me Home being another of my all time favourites. Now I really must go to bed because the weekend is over. Sigh. But man, it was good to swim in that river again. Even if it was just a little paddle.