muppinstuff

memories are made of this

Earlier this month I had a go at taking some pictures of Grace and I together. None came out particularly well, although I like this one. Well, I like some aspects. Our expressions and the accidental, haphazard framing. Other aspects of the photo I'm not so keen on, like the focus on my enlarged pores and how you can see the black line at the top of my crown. Not too keen on the skin tones either. Call me vain. But it's not what I want to remember.

Anyway, I was thinking black and white. I was thinking about the olderator. Then I remembered the Rollippolaroid treatment I had seen somewhere and book marked. I resized the image so that it wouldn't take ages to convert and had a play. The colour one was OK, but I  like the image better in black and white. We still have our smiles but it's softer. More like it really felt. Must remember to keep taking the odd self portrait. Just so I am not visually absent from this record of my life.

And yes, Grace is particularly gorgeous at the moment. Full of four and a halfness and drawings, getting in trouble for not using the drawing mat on the kitchen table, odd little games and creations made with lots of sticky tape, interspersed with it's not fairs and declarations as to who her best friend is. Looks like it might have been me at that particular moment. Yes, I am that lucky sometimes.

I like moss stitch

 

Last winter was all about crochet: the computer wrap, various attempts at ripple stitch, a baby blanket. This year I'm knitting. Which doesn't come as naturally. With basic crochet stitches, I can picture what I want to do and know how to get there. More or less. When I'm knitting, I loose track of what I'm doing and forget whether I've done a purl or a plain. The mistake is not obvious until much later which has led to much unravelling and re-knitting. In the case of one scarf, four times before I was happy enough to call it finished. But now I've remembered how to do moss stitch and I'm enjoying knitting. Especially after my once favoured green needles broke and I bought some bamboo ones on sale from spotlight. The bamboo feels light and warm at the same time. Almost enough to make me cross to the other side. 

This scarf is my third and the wool is a cream wool boucle from the sixties or seventies judging by the label. Found at my second favourite opshop. When it's finished, I'm wondering whether I'll branch out and try something with a pattern. To move beyond the square. Although I suppose I could make a blanket. Or design a garment based on squares and rectangles. It's tempting because this sort of knitting is relaxing and goes so well with watching telly or waiting for my photos to upload onto flickr. And I've never learnt how to follow a pattern for crochet or knitting. Sewing yes, but that's different. There's so much more I could make if I could learn to follow a pattern. Maybe.

July's self-portrait theme is skill. See what everyone else is doing here. 

nude schmude

I have to admit I've found the last couple of self-portrait challenges somewhat uninspiring. Absurd, meh. And as for Fresh well, I just couldn't come up with anything at all. Numbers over at SPC were dwindling fast, but now it seems as though people might be coming back with the nude challenge*. Personally, my first thought was, oh no, no way, I have no real idea who reads this blog apart from some friends, family and the lovely people who comment (a small section of readers it would appear from the stats - normal apparently). It's not these people who worry me, I know them and they're OK. It's all the other freaks out there, especiallly people who might know me some other context. And what if someone at work said, hey Janet. I saw your website last night and you were naked. The stuff of weird and scary dreams. So, I asked myself, what might actually be OK and why is posting "nude" photos of yourself on the internet both appealing and appalling?

I think to do SPC in the first place, you have to want to show yourself physically on some level. For me, it's often about finding a way to make an image of myself that says something and that I'm happy to share. There's something odd and self obsessed about that, but I've also noticed similar themes among other particpantsone way or another, this journey of the body. Sometimes it's like playing dressups, other times it's been a bit like hey, here I am, hello. Other times it's been a way of finding an angle that's not so fat, where the double chin or some other part of my anatomy doesn't roll as much as in real life, or catch a really bad light. A significant challenge in this theme. I wish I didn't care, that I could just rock my rolls, as it were, but it doesn't always work like that. This time, a portrait that shows a roll of back fat seemsed much more perverse and risky than the back of my neck. Even though both are areas of my body that I would bare without hesitation the swimming pool. I guess it's all about context, obscuration and maybe even just that word. Nude. Nude. Nude. Nude schmude.

See more here.

* Sometimes I think it would be nice to see more antipodeans joining this. It's kind of fun in a squirmy sort of way.

why does a fish need a bicycle anyway?

One way or another I can't seem to get beyond putting things on my head for this theme. This brilliant (hah) idea came to me as I lay on the bed having a short nanna nap this afternoon. Mostly I was thinking about whether or not I've been jilted by my psychiatrist, who seems to have vanished into the ether. Maybe she's having a break for some reason, but various temporary receptionists have let slip little snippets of conflicting information. So maybe, I'll have to go through the process of finding a new doctor, of telling my story all over again, of settling into another treatment regime. Tedious. Or maybe she's moved offices, I've fallen through the cracks because of two cancelled appointments (her not me) and I'll catch up with her soon enough. If this is the case, how do I act? Like I'm not pissed off that no-one has told me what's going on? Pleased that she's OK and that I don't have to start with someone new?

The other thread of thought running through my head, as I looked out into the cold afternoon, and felt all jilted and teary was that maybe I could just wean myself of the drugs and abandon the whole concept of therapy. That I was normal before, and I can be normal again. Dangerous thoughts, because I'm feeling just well enough to start getting complacent. And if that's not absurd, tell me what is.

More of the absurd here.

I am a cockroach

The other day I was cleaning out my basket of scarves and hats in preparation for the cold weather and a giant cockroach scuttled forth. It was the biggest cockroach I have ever seen, bigger than in the tropics even. Perhaps it was even another type of insect. I wasn't sure, so I let it crawl onto a piece of paper and relocated it into the garden which is where I'd like the insects to live. Another evening we had friends around to a barbeque with damp wood (the blokes organised that one), the food was slow to cook and there was much debate and beer drinking. One of the older children started walking around with Grace's dolls stroller on her head, waving her arms around like a big alien insect, it was an absolute crack up.

And yesterday I spent some time in the back yard, on a glorious sunny autumn day, one of the best Melbourne could offer, perfection so perfect that you wish you could it bottle for winter, also with a dolls stroller on my head. Pretending to be a cockroach. Despite the aforesaid perfection, I did think about Kafka and about the man who when he awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself transformed in his bed into a monstrous vermin. To be honest, I can't remember whether I've read the book, or somehow absorbed it through some cultural osmotic process. But even the dreary thought of waking up as a cockroach could do nothing to diminsh the glory of yesterday. It was definitely the sort of day you could get away with wearing a dolls stroller on your head, with sunglasses of course.

The night before I had no idea, no idea whatsoever to post for the April SPC theme of the absurd. I was googling, searching for absurd art, anything really, but nothing. Unlike with the political theme, which I missed due to holidays and computers and the general ordinariness and busyness of my life. Then I asked G what I should do for the absurd theme and he reminded me of Stella's antics. And told me that I was over thinking. Well, der. I am a cockroach, after all.

See more absurdity here.

holiday mood

Favourite blue t-shirt (almost threadbare from wash after wash), blue sky, feeling like the good bit of summer is here at last. I've got four whole weeks off work. Leave was booked half a year ago and seemed like a long way off for such a long time. Two of these weeks will be spent at the beach where I'll let my eyes devour the utter beauty of the landscape, breathe clean salty air, walk barefoot in the sand, sleep to the sound of the sea behind the dunes, play in the shallows with Grace and swim in the surf. There will also be quiet non-essential sewing, holiday food, reading and afternoon naps. All in the good company of my family in various permutations. And I know my recent low moods aren't anything to worry about because I'm looking forward to it immensely. Only four sleeps to go.

So, the other weekend we put the car in the backyard and Gerard gave it a good clean (mostly with the washing machine water) before sending it off to the mechanics for a service. It was a harder job than he'd planned because water restrictions ban the use of hoses. Personally I would have spent the cash and taken it to a carwash, used the re-cycled water there along with the powerful vacuum cleaners and swish hoses, but anyway it's done and there weren't any dirty car grumbles from our mechanic. I wrote a list of all the little things about the car that were shitting me and they're all fixed. Except the tape player, which expired some months ago. A new CD/USB player is being fitted as I write. And for the first time in ages, I'm looking forward to driving. An unexpected benefit of the change in medication is that I no longer sweat with anxiety while driving. It was so bad for a while, that I banned myself from the car. Now I find myself looking forward to the open road, music playing, Grace looking out the window and talking about what she sees as the blue skies unfold in front of us.

Many more shades of blue here.

 

am I swimming?

Not really. Not sinking either, treading water perhaps? Grasping at the loose threads of my life as they swirl around me. Knowing that I want resolution, especially to do with houses, but that I'm really not ready yet. Especially to do the things that come after the fall of the hammer. I'm trying to be patient.

Part of me is starting to go inside again. People who don't know me really well mightn't notice, but the extroversion of the mania is dissappearing. Along with all the grand plans and belief that I could do anything. I don't really want to write about any of this, but I promised myself that I would, to keep a track.

Just as my mood has started to sink, I've succumbed to a nasty chest thing that saw me coughing blood (just from burst blood vessels) and sitting for an hour in an unfamiliar doctor's waiting room (my usual doctor being overbooked) so I could get antibiotics. The new doctor was nice and wrote me a certificate without even being asked. She seemed impressed that I'd wrtten a list of the medication I'm taking and I nearly cried. Then in the chemist, waiting for my prescription to be filled, I cried again. Later in the afternoon, I asked my psychiatrist if what I was feeling was normal and she said, oh yes, classic. It's one of the reasons people decide to stay on mood stabilisers, these crashing lows after the highs. We talked about how I had been feeling flat and uninspired and about some of the other not so great thoughts I've been having on and off. She gave me her 24hr contact line and suggested that after my holidays, once I've recovered from the chest thing, come off the sleepers and had my thyroid tested again, that we fiddle with the other medication. My sense is that I'm really tired too. If I wait just it out, it will pass. I am so looking forward to the beach.

Blue water at the Brunswick pool, a while ago. Taken the same day I took this one, which has become my most visited picture on Flickr. Wouldn't be the blue would it?

Enter blue world here.

nap time

Since I'm meant to be in a recovery phase, when I'm at home, I'm trying to have the odd afternoon nap. It's something I find really hard to do. There's always more things on my to do list than time to do them. But even forty minutes is good. Usually in the quiet of our bedroom with the cotton crochet blanket. Some days I look out the window, just allowing my mind to quiet, my body to be still. Other days I fall into that not quite state between sleep and waking. 

Occcasionally, I recline on the couch. This one is obviously a set up, with help from my buzzy stage assistant who'd just woken from her sleep, talking breathlessly about her exciting playgroup session at a kindegarten down the road earlier in the day.  The self portrait challenge theme for February is blue, which made me think of afternoon sleeps. Don't know why, but it did.

See more blue here.

recovery

The theme for January self-portrait challenge is celebration and and I think I'm stretching it a little to say that I'm celebrating recovery. Nonetheless, what with being unwell and everything, I feel a bit as though the usual celebration passed me by a little this Christmas. I was there, but there was also too much anxiety, tension and well, mania for it to be fun on the inside. Indeed, I feel quite proud of getting through it all without crumpling in a total heap until afterwards. And proud of being there for the first Christmas that Grace will remember (just hope she remembers the good bits, like the dancing, the presents and lunch at Dad's). So celebrating recovery it is.

I've started back at work this week. Just two short days to begin with. And I'm starting to feel like I'm actually in the recovery phase now. Not totally out of the woods, but ready to begin doing the things I need to do to become well again.  There's a fine line here. Too much too soon and I'll go backwards, but I have to push myself to get better. Today I continued with last weeks goal of starting an excercise programme. To get the endorphins going and to counter some of the effects of the medication I'll be taking for the next six months or so. I walked for an hour or so with Grace in the stroller, finishing at the pool. Grace happily went to hang with the childare ladies (actually I think the cool toys are the big draw card here) while I went and did laps. It feels good to be in the water, and swimming is exactly the right excercise for me at the moment because really, it's all about breathing. And the blue of the water. If nothing else, I find that extraordinarily calming. My fitness is returning faster than I thought it would and I think I'll be able to do 20 fastish laps of a 50 metre pool by the end of the month (if I keep it up).

Also celebrating, with much joy, my new little camera which is bright orange and which I can use in water. It still freaks me out to do this.  Although I love being in the water, it was seemingly impossible to smile and blow bubbles at the same time. Taking pictures under water is harder than I thought... but it's fun learning. Grace and I had a swim together afterwards and I think she's going to love the water too.

See more celebration here.

blue and green

The other day I made a new skirt from an old one I bought from Savers last year. I rather liked the eighties material and had planned on just easing out the waist a bit. Trouble is, circular skirts with gathered waists make larger ladies look even more like sacks of potatoes. My first remake, which involved fitting a new waist band and redoing the pleats, didn't work. Then I remembered a pattern my sister Betty uses alot. It's basically a bias cut at the back which comes to the side front then has a straight panel centre front. Sits a bit like an a-line skirt. So I took a deep breath, channelled Molly Ringwald (the scene in Pretty in Pink where she remakes the prom dress -  although I think she wrecks it) and got out the scissors. The pop buttons down the front went, as did the pleats and the original hem. I had to join a piece for the front panel and then just went crazy with squares wrong way and right way up. Enjoying the way the light fell on them.  I attached a loop of ribbon (saved from t-shirts that always have this useless bit of ribbon in the shoulder seam) to the waist from which to hang my ID tag in case I wear it to work. Which I think I will, perhaps with something blue. Because I love blue and green together. Especially in summer.

It's a bit hard to see, but Grace is wearing sandals. We've finally found some shoes she'll wear and it makes such a difference. I'm wearing my stinky birks, which I'm going to wash before I go back to work and some comfy trousers my sister Betty made for me year before last. With a chainstore t-shirt which I think is a bit low cut in the neck. The scarf to hold back my hair is in favour again, especially when sewing or cooking. I'm on a bit of a wardrobe improvement binge at the moment, sewing, shopping, fixing and sorting out. The last bit of hot weather saw me scraping for acceptable work outfits, but given my current state of mind, I'm aware that I could be being a bit neurotic about it all. Especially given the slack dress standard at work. Ah well. Nonetheless, I am pretty pleased with how this skirt turned out.

Peek through other wardrobes here.

p.s. I did change the photo this morning. Just matched the words better I think. Old one here.