Myrtle & Eunice

My Creative Space: Little

myrtleandeunice@gmail.com (Tania) — Thu, 18 Mar 2010 00:45:00 +0000

This week we’re big on little.

1. Little teapot
I received a CORKER of a giveaway win in the post yesterday. Jean Greenhowe’s Little Dumpling Dolls is one of Beck’s continually stunning op shop finds. I wasted no time. Within half an hour of postal receipt, the Myrtle & Eunice Household Kid Craft Drought broke with the presentation of a teeny knitty teapot. A magic teeny teapot. In the short term, it pours whole cups of pretend tea (including the cup bit). And fairy cakes. With pink icing and ‘spots on top’. Yet the big on imagination small kid is talking knitted accoutrements today...

2. Little owl
Claire knows how to write a step by step how-to. I will happily vouch that making a baby sock owl using one of her kits is ‘easy as’. With all the knitty business happening chez M&E, it was lovely to take a break from pattern repeats and indulge in meditative bird sewing.

3. Little quilt
Actually biggish single quilt given the recipient is still of an age counted in months (another moment of startling intelligence on my part, crafting a generous deadline).

I’m sure I have been (nicely) bullied into this. I ’fessed up to my beginner quilting ineptitudes and whaddayaknow, there’s a Perle 8’s basting party happening next week. DO THE GIRLS KNOW HOW TO PART-AY! All partying persons welcome, by the way.

First begun back in 1926 (basically), I have remarkably located the quilt top bit – minus one piece of edge. If anyone is exasperated with my ongoing ineptitude, then imagine how I feel. No, I haven’t the foggiest if I ever even had a quilty bottom bit.

4. Little horror
In the last week the small of the house declared ‘I growed up’ and promptly turned teenage. She’s flouncing about wearing inappropriate off-the-shoulder clothing (mine*), slamming doors, ending every second sentence with SHUDDUP!, and telling everyone she is sixteen with a conviction eerily believable. If the real sixteen is anything like the pretend sixteen, I’ll cut to the chase and draft the letter of resignation now. The ‘earthmother’ in me is taking a little holiday this week.

Buckets more ‘creative’ at and via Kirsty’s...

* Not generally because my clothes are an off-the-shoulder style, mind.

Perfect Autumny Scarf (So What if it’s Thirty Degrees)

myrtleandeunice@gmail.com (Tania) — Tue, 16 Mar 2010 21:16:00 +0000

Ah, the phenomenon that is ‘blocking’. Not that I have anything more than a passing knowledge of the process involving a somewhat scrunchy Lace Ribbon Scarf having a nice little lay back and relax in a tepid bath, followed by a slow stretched-into-shape dry, while extensively pinned to big towels. Anything I know about blocking involves hearsay and cobbled togetherness. Should I have used blocking wires or some such?

So lost was I in the joy of the knit (except for the times that involved the mumbled cursing tirades due to inexplicably disappeared stitches) that I overlooked that pre-blocked shot. Just think bunched-together-so-you-can-barely-see-the-pattern, not this sort of wafty-floaty, exactly-as-I-imagined, drapey loveliness. Er, if I don’t say so myself.

Knit using two balls of Eki Riva Supreme 4ply Alpaca, I’m declaring it the perfect autumny scarf (in our indian summer I was sweltering but not fainting nor heat exhausted and still theoretically capable of making dinner).

Something entirely unrelated. That bare bit of trellis behind me? There is an uninspired seven metres of that because some critter has a penchant for passionfruit leaves. I’ve drowned ear wigs in olive oil baths, talked nicely to the possums in the shed, pep-talked the passionfruit during spicy paprika application. All to no avail. Six denuded vines have karked over the last two years. I am a broken, non-green-thumbed soul peering out a window at desolation.

Wearing a wafty floaty scarf.

PS. Free wafty floaty scarf pattern here.

Inner Guerilla

myrtleandeunice@gmail.com (Tania) — Mon, 15 Mar 2010 22:59:00 +0000

With Scarf Number Two currently being tortured into blocked submission and the clearest understanding that Scarf Number One isn’t leaping off any needles in any foreseeable, I have been eyeing the sewing machine.

Hmn...

...ah...ooh...hmn...

Nup.

Nup, because Andi gifted me her copy of Yarn Bombing. Blown away, I was. All I could do was stammer inept feeblings of gratitude. Once home, I forced the Mr to OOH! and AAH! over every page – the same for the kids over breakfast, then the Mums at school pick up. What with the fun involved in the collaborative guerilla knit dabble with the eldest kid and now this tome of inspiration, I’m obsessed with possibility and plotting.

I will draw the line at tank (I don’t know anyone with a tank).

Though crocheted bus looks a whole lot of fantastic.

Meanwhile, yesterday, an envelope arrived from the excellent Leonie containing a mystifying, Uri Geller-influenced stick thing...

It’s a snazzy cable knittery whatsit. The kind of jigger real knitter types know about.

This initially inspired paroxysms of fear akin to last year’s Fear of the Zip. Notably, Fear of the Zip proved a whole waste of angst in the end, because as it turns out, providing you remember which way is up, installing zips is darned easy.

As it also turns out, Leonie the Real Knitter Type has posted a step-by-step-get-to-know-your-cables tutorial. Deep breath, wing and prayer packed, I’m off to tackle that particular demon, locate a chilly tree...

...and explore my inner guerilla.

Another Convoluted Giveaway Draw (x2)

myrtleandeunice@gmail.com (Tania) — Fri, 12 Mar 2010 03:40:00 +0000

As the clock TICK TOCKED TWELVE o’clock, entries for the ‘T is for TOWEL’ Tea Towel Giveaway closed.

A TEAPOT was filled with TURQUOISE labelled TEA bags...

The name-beginning-with-‘T’, TUTU-clad TODDLER, wielded her TONGS.

(more wielding)

And the winner of the ‘T is for TOWEL’ Draw One is not TEA bag TWENTY TWO but number...

Congratulations CARMEN RIGBY!

Entries for the ‘T is for TOWEL’ Draw TWO* (I’d had enough of TEA bags by this point) were scrawled and randomly (upside down) arranged.

Cue resident TYRANNOSAURUS sporting Blu-TACK.

Drum roll...(alternatively, suspenseful TAMBOURINE shake)...

TA da!

Hmn.

TA da!

Beautiful guesswork MELANIE of Sugarlemon.

* With fifty four emailed entries, everyones’ name was thrown into the mix, the first name to be drawn with VERY correct answers was deemed the winner by the independant Mr Adjudicator (by this time the TUTU-ing TODDLER had swanned off to TRICYCLE over the dog’s TAIL. Poor dog should know to TUCK it in by now).

Finally, here are the very, very, very correct answers...

Trumpet, Toast, Toaster, Tap, Trophy, Teapot, Tart, Trunk, Trout, Tortoise, Tuning fork, Telephone, Telescope, Toucan, Tasmanian Devil, Teepee, Top, Typewriter, Turf, Trojan horse, Triplets, Treble clef, Toad, Tambourine, Tree, Termite, Twins, Teacup, Tea bag, Thumb/Thumbs up, Tutu, Tyrannosaurus Rex, (Mr) Tickle, Tomato, Toothbrush, Tick Tock/Time/Timepiece, Tricycle, Tracks, Tulip, Tail, Tongs, Tapir, Tyre, Train, Tiger, Trowel, Trick, Top hat.

Thanks for entering lovely peeps. While I now need a long lie down with a soothing brow cloth and a cup of that industrial strength tea, much enjoyment was had from seriously excellent (imaginative) responses!

HAPPY WEEKEND, ALL.

My Creative Space: Tree Cosy

myrtleandeunice@gmail.com (Tania) — Wed, 10 Mar 2010 23:34:00 +0000

Actually it’s just a whole great load of silly. The eldest kid and I had been talking collaborative knitting project. Then I was happening by blogland and saw this, which reminded me of this and also this. With a wild and woolly, declaration-of-Autumn, long weekend stretching before us, we embarked on a guerilla jumper for one of the maple trees on our street.

The purl rows were my remit and most of the knit rows were the responsibility of the kid, aka Speedy Gonzales. So knitty is she, her hands are but a blur:

Using chunkiest, pink-est stash wool, we had finished two sleeve-lets by the start of school Tuesday. The after-school installation involved the ladder-holding Mr (who refrained from eyelid batting throughout the entire process) and prompted neighbourly emails inquiring as to the rationale behind the ‘knitted jiggers in the tree’. Love it. Love silly. Love just-passing-by, walking-the-dog bemusement. The kid and I are plotting. This lady is one bad influence.

Make that second cuppa, mosey on over to Kirsty’s and see what all those creative, crafty types are playing at...

‘T is for Towel’ Tea Towel Giveaway
You still have a day up your sleeve to enter. Either leave a comment (go HERE) or get cracking with that list of 48 silhouettes for the second draw (details HERE).

Hold On To Your (But It’s Not a) Hat...

myrtleandeunice@gmail.com (Tania) — Tue, 09 Mar 2010 03:17:00 +0000

...I finished something. Quite some achievement given the recent knitty track record, which is all multiple castings-on and then only attention deficiency.

Now who’d have thunk a simple rib stitch Noro scarf could prove a rollercoaster? After Kate gifted two balls of gorgeousness, in my impatience to get started, I purchased extras in the most muted of the not very muted range currently available from Sunspun. As a consequence, there have been colour challenges.

Actually, there was a different challenge involving a kid swimming lesson, a wayward yarn ball, a toddler saving the day and a mother emitting an undignified, reverberating-in-bad-acoustics shriek, as she caught toddler (and yarn ball) at one fell (and tangled) swoop. But then that was all over, the swimmers resumed swimming, the toddler toddlering, the knitter knittering – until she struck the disarming and utterly random combination (that comes with using two balls of wool in a stripe effect) of grass green and lurid purple. There have been other such similarly challenging colour examples...

Similarly Challenging Colour Example One:

Similarly Challenging Colour Example Two:

But just when things were getting way too much, something lovely would happen.

Something Lovely Would Happen Example One:

Something Lovely Would Happen Example Two:

In the end I opted for faith in the big picture. I’m glad I did:

1. This scarf can co-ordinate with any colour.

2. Every kid who has seen it so far has said ‘Whoar!’ which I choose to assume is generally complimentary and not just because it’s an impressive mile long.

3. I can barrack for any (and simultaneously every) footy team deigning to play in a sporting fashion (the colours are in there somewhere) – or more likely, no footy team at all.

4. I shall be appropriately clad for future Doctor Who viewing as I channel Tom Baker (while mourning David Tennant’s spiffy sneakers and wondering what the new Doctor’s trademark shall be, if not a foppish hairdo).

PSSSSST!
Calling local embroiderers, sewers, crochet persons (‘crocheters’ sounds wrong, wrong, wrong(?)) and knitters...have you heard? The Stitches & Craft Show are in need of know-how for the Craft Bars. Should you wish to volunteer your help at the Sydney (14–18 April), Canberra (22-25 April) or Melbourne (05-09 May) shows, wing an email over to: enquiries@stitchesandcraft.com.au

All kindred crafty helper-outer-ers receive two free tickets, a lunch voucher and a Stitches Tote Bag...

Seven Things, One Other Thing and a Giveaway Hint

myrtleandeunice@gmail.com (Tania) — Sun, 07 Mar 2010 01:26:00 +0000

Despite the fact that yesterday afternoon most of the rest of Melbourne and Victoria ducked under cover from a deluge of rain, torrential road rivers and fist sized hailstones, despite the fact that railway stations and art galleries remain closed, a couple of kilometres away we celebrated family birthdays, noted some spots of rain and that was about it. More crazy weather to come this afternoon.

In the meanwhile, the lovely Kylie of 3 Sheets and yonks ago, the very excellent pair from Smitonius and Sonata and the sweet Buttons by Lou Lou tagged me for a Creative Blogger award. Seven things to reveal. Here goes:

One
I am as superstitious as get out. I touch wood, make deals with pavement cracks, ‘slurp’ back words, say ‘take it back’. It is an affliction inherited from my mother. Put me and my three siblings in the same room, say something we don’t want to happen and we’ll come over like a pack of nutters.

Two
I have a typography affliction, limited storage space and somewhat unlimited patience for a large white wall upon which to do alphabet.

Three
I use words like malarkey, jiffy, thingummyjig, whatsit, strewth, yonks and fair dinkum way too much. I say ‘What do you think it is, Bush Week?’. My kids know the words to Daisy Bell. They can belt ’em out on call. All together now:

Daisy, Daisy,
Give me your answer do!
I'm half crazy,
All for the love of you!
It won’t be a stylish marriage,
I can’t afford a carriage,
But you'll look sweet upon the seat
Of a bicycle built for two!

Four
Once I did an uplanned, just happened to be passing by, bungee jump from a crane in London. I was terrified only after my feet left the platform, my body arched in the air and there was nothing but me and gravity (and an elastic band). Then I was elated. Afterwards I could have conquered the world.

Five
When I was nineteen I went to Holland to live with my Dutch boyfriend. It lasted two years, but I never did perfect the rolling ‘r’. I also once spilt a glass of red wine on a lady in a cream suit when working in a posh restaurant and told her in Dutch that I was very sorry but I needed to apologise in English.

Six
My third baby was a water birth in our living room. This is the single most amazing thing I have ever done.

Seven
I am grumpy in the mornings, stubborn, fiery, good at admitting wrong, terrified of mice, brave with spiders, a stickler for ‘fair’, bad at texting without punctuation, appalling at Twitter, writer of lists, prone to hibernation, winging the parenting, an uninspired cook, a night owl and until recently a sufferer of a brooch hang up. Thanks to Cam, Sophie, ReRead and this beauty by Sandrine, plus coaching and art direction from these two, I can now do confident brooch. Just don’t let on if I have it all wrong.

I’m supposed to tag seven bloggers - so here goes, in a casual, only if you want to sort of fashion: Heather, Z, Madeline, Sophie, Drewzel, The Mrs, Pam.

One Other Thing
10.30pm last Wednesday I was walking from the city approaching the College of the Arts on the way to my car. Along the daytime jam-packed but now quiet St Kilda Road came a girl cycling. Sitting, with back straight, legs a’peddling, she moved her arms in a fluid, silent choreography. A breathtaking, fleeting, bicycle ballet. I turned to watch until she was lost in street lights and waiting taxis. A tiny, fortuitous gift.

‘T is For Towel’ Giveaway Hint
There are lots of brilliant ‘second draw’ email entries coming in and I am BLOWN AWAY by how differently people think. Currently there is only one silhouette which seems to be (unsurprisingly) causing consistent across-the-board difficulty. If you’re unsure about an animal-like critter, could it be a looney marsupial?

‘T is for Towel’ Tea Towel (GIVEAWAY!)

myrtleandeunice@gmail.com (Tania) — Thu, 04 Mar 2010 22:19:00 +0000

Enough of this farnarkling around with the cloak and dagger bizzo. Tea towels were sent to my five fellow swappees earlier this week and postal disaster aside, I’m calculating the all clear.

Voila!

Forty seven silhouettes of stuff starting with ‘T’. Tempting though it was, I didn’t include the Alfred Hitchcock-esque take on ‘T is for Tania’ and try as I might, a tardis doesn’t work as a silhouette and when the friend with best intentions suggested a tetracycline molecule...well, that’s just silly.

So, anyway, most are straightforward.

But some require a smudge of lateral thinkery.

I happen to have a couple, printed on 100% linen, up for grabs.

To be in the draw for the first, simply leave a comment.

To also be included in the draw for the second, you’ll have to work (but I reckon odds will be glaringly in your favour). Email me direct at myrtleandeunice@gmail.com with your list of the forty seven ‘T’s. While they all look easy peasy lemon squeezy to me (ahem), I’m happy to publish clues on the off chance I’ve gone a tangent too far (a not unheard of phenomenon). Yell with any bafflement.

Open to one and all, entries close midday Melbourne time, Friday 12 March.

‘T’ is for GOTTA BE IN IT TO WIN IT!

PS. My hearty thanks to Sooz for the tea towel swappery organisation – can we do it again? Can we? Huh? Huh?

EDIT: YIKES! UM, THERE ARE ACTUALLY 48 SILHOUETTES (strange how I always saw toast and toaster as one).

Lucky Duck

myrtleandeunice@gmail.com (Tania) — Tue, 02 Mar 2010 23:55:00 +0000

The Giveaway Gods were with me last week. This lucky duck was the winner of Fran’s fabulously excellent On-The-Go Art Satchel. Except upon postal arrival, the two and a half year old declared herself the luckier duck – and launched into an impressively convincing presentation entitled: It’s a Schoolbag and It’s Mine, Stop Me and I’ll Shriek. There was great, brotherly, line-up-for-class mortification.

Lured by the prospect of not-pausing-to-draw-breath nursery rhyme singing, (Blah, Blah Black Sheep – haven’t the heart to correct her), we made it home for a session of Drawing 101. Following this morning’s decoration of our red rug with great blobs and swirls of black marker pen, it’s all about lovely, thick, soft, Lyra pencils, thank you very much.

Fran’s satchel works a treat. Small (grotty) fingers can negotiate the pencil taking out and putting in, and an A5 notebook fits in the opposite pocket. Drawing on the go. As I type the kid is sitting in a supermarket trolley artdirecting her Dad: on trolley navigation, shopping supplies and the anatomical correctness of his praying mantis drawing. Because he wouldn’t have realised that up really close, a praying mantis looks precisely like this:

Obviously.

The best bit, is Fran is very generously sharing her On-The-Go Art Satchel invention expertise. Which is lucky again, because there are two other on-the-go drawers in this house and both have submitted impassioned formal requests.

Two Revelations

myrtleandeunice@gmail.com (Tania) — Sun, 28 Feb 2010 01:46:00 +0000

I had a big Moment of Clarity this week. One of those who-the-hell-do-you-think-you-are-kidding, (certainly not yourself), get-a-grip-on-reality revelations.

PFFFFT! Just like that, I am breathing easier. Just like that, I am present in the conversation with the middle kid, over what it really means to be poikilothermic (look it up, I had to). I’ve also rescued overdue school permission forms from bottoms of bags, called siblings about Dad’s birthday, hung out with my Granny, washed the fairy costume. I even, almost, had a bright idea while in the think tank (shower), for the first time in forever, although that was interrupted by a potty training someone for reasons best not described.

There is no beating about the bush: I am a WIMP, I am a WUSS. I have backed out on a commitment. As I sidle away, the relief is palpable – and so is the word PANSY stamped across my forehead. I, mover of heaven and earth to achieve the deadline, have gone SOFT.

So there’s that, and there’s also the moment a few weeks ago, when the smallest kidlet had a first ‘practise’ at the childcare centre. As I walked away, I was hit with another revelation: Holy heck! I am ab.so.lute.ly accountable – to myself!

Even though the Mr and I juggle an irritatingly unpredictable work/parenting schedule, handing my youngest, my last baby, over to others for care, I finally, really and truly, ‘got’ my separateness from my kids. Does that come within spitting distance of any sort of sense? With space to see from the sidelines, momentarily unembroiled in the day to day juggle, I understood that as well as being everything for my family, I also have my own shoes to stand in. Really stand in. Not just token, lip-service, going through the motions standing in. I want to be walking into that room of mirrors, proud and as tall as 153cm allows, while I stand in my shoes: mum, wife, individual.

Slow on the uptake, I still view my professional capacities, the same as I did before kids. I still secretly think that I can pull it all out of the bag. I still privately reckon that determination and tenacity and making your luck and four in the morning brainwaves will push me over the line.

They probably will, but the price is a hell of a lot higher these days. All nighters in your mid twenties are a whole ’nother kettle of fish when you’re nearly in your forties. That’s the least of it. There are the other curve balls that pass by a distracted me. Clocking that a kid needs help with reading and another more sleep and a bigger hug at bedtime and if the fairy dress doesn’t get washed and ready for morning then a small world will fall apart, especially since it was promised for TODAY. That it’s much nicer to crawl into bed at the same time as the Mr, muse over the days events, rather than detect the faint whiff of too-late-to-bed-again disapproval in his turned away. That my Granny needs her family. That I need my pals. That I’m not the same as fifteen years ago and currently off on some kid-rearing sabbatical. That I’m a work in progress.

After all that previous exhilaration at the notion of a big challenge, I am no longer part of the Melbourne Stitches and Craft Show. Except for that part where I am there with bells on, cheering wildly for everyone else.

Meanwhile, this weekend, my eye drifts often to this screen. Secret swap stuff. Waiting for a Monday opportunity. I’m beside-myself-DESPERATE to get printing.

My Creative Space

myrtleandeunice@gmail.com (Tania) — Wed, 24 Feb 2010 23:45:00 +0000

Right off the bat, the creative space is a whole big lot of Kate’s fault, because she gorgeously sent me two servings of Noro Silk Garden. With nary a backward glance at the three quarters finished scarf or the two thirds finished scarf (even when this is such a delicious knit), I'm flirting about on Ravelry, purchasing further Noro reinforcement and casting on number three...

What I’m doing, is scarfing around the issue. I love neck knitwear but I don’t do torso well. Long ago, my brothers would exclaim at the smallness of my feet. Apparently, this was explained by the lack of sunlight my toes received due to the shadow cast by my well endowed-ness. Gotta love ’em. The brothers I mean. Therein lies the curse of this curvy, vertically-challenged knitter. So many other non-yarn things just look so much more flattering.

So my Noro scarf, cobbled together after cruising around Ravelry is an interchanging two ball of yarn, two row, 29 stitch, single rib with a purlwise slipped stitch at the beginning and end of each second row. Four balls in total. Perfect to haul along to a grade one school info night, (nothing like a Steiner school for getting away with the crafty), not drop a stitch and still take in which day fruit chopping duties fall.

Not that this isn’t an entirely unhair-raising experience. I didn’t know what I was getting into with Noro. I thought I had purchased relatively sedate colourways, as close as possible to those from Kate. Pah! The randomness of the colour combinations elicit frequent screeches of horror. Followed by bemusement from this usually uber-anal colour chooser-er.

In other rivoting news, the rowing is going well. I hate it slightly less. Nine kilometres of staring at the same spot on the gym wall, slowly turning the shade of the ripest tomato last night. Nine kilometres of what I only now, at time of typing, realise is the sporty equivalent of the old schoolgirl adage: I must, I must, I must increase my bust.

Pop over to see the embroidering, post ‘dusk shoot’ Kirsty for more Creative ‘Spacers’...

Skip in Your Step, Smile on Your Dial

myrtleandeunice@gmail.com (Tania) — Tue, 23 Feb 2010 12:46:00 +0000

It is no secret that I live under a rock. It is, therefore, extremely unlikely that you will ever, not ever, come across any finger on any pulse anything, should you happen by here.

This post is for one person. The one person who lives under a rock, inside a cave, perched atop a pyramid-shaped island close to Bermuda, awaiting a half moon for a sporadic-at-best dial-up connection. To the one person who has never, ever, not ever, seen anything to do with The Fun Theory, this is for you. Put a skip in your step. Make your heart sing.

And for you seasoned lot with the skippy feet and soprano heart rates, put another smile on your dial.

More The Fun Theory right here.

A Weekend Wrap

myrtleandeunice@gmail.com (Tania) — Sun, 21 Feb 2010 09:49:00 +0000

Is there a protocol regarding the late summer consumption of figs? If there is and it involves anything to do with moderation, I’m in a spot of bother.

It’s been a hot, late summer, water play in the Gardens, friend catch-up, surely-the-decent-thing-would-be-to-eat-ice-cream-with-those-figs, sort of weekend. Somewhere in there, we squeezed a visit to the Sustainable Living Festival. Lots to be inspired by. ’Course it was all the old, discarded cigarette lighters collected from the banks of the Yarra River that caught my attention most.

Just goes to show you can find the beauty in anything if you colour code enough.

There was all-you-can-carry chip packet craft:

Finger on the Brangelina-pulse recycled magazine bowls:

The general doing-the-kid-thing (usually in three different directions):

Inadvertent face paint napping (literally) by the Too Many Fish To Fry Kid (rest is for the weak):

All up, it was a pretty great weekend.

Up to half an hour ago. Too much out in the sun, too many happenings, too little sleep: everything ending in the tired and fractious. Three grumpy kids in bed. Two grumpy parents – although one has completely forgotten everything that ever happened this weekend (hopefully including the figs he didn’t eat) because he’s busy watching the demise of the Doctor. I wouldn’t say no to a tardis going spare. A half hour time travel here and there could sometimes come in mighty handy...

My Creative Space: Show and Not Telling

myrtleandeunice@gmail.com (Tania) — Wed, 17 Feb 2010 21:22:00 +0000

“A grapefruit is a lemon that had a chance and took advantage of it.”
Oscar Wilde

There are five swap partners who, in the first week of March, will NOT be receiving a tea towel emblazoned with the above quote. Partly, because none of them live with citrus-flavoured kitchen walls or co-ordinates. Mostly, because every time I read it, I do a snort-out-chortle-chuckle thing and this rings alarm bells: my instinct seems to be off AWOL, having it’s own little Hawaiian shirt, pina colada-style holiday.

So, I’ve been working on something altogether different: something possibly, sort of, maybe, kid-interesting, but with a dash of mild intrigue to entertain the older-than-kids – at least insofar as it is possible to be mildly intrigued when dish drying is involved. Oh, and along the way, I’ve stumbled upon one or two visual gags which made me grin, (because I do like a bit o’ wit), which made up for missing out on further snort-out-chortle-chuckling when Mr Wilde was sadly shelved.

This is what I’m tinkering with...

...only less blurrily.

There are not five, but fifty linen tea towel blanks in waiting, because once in every second blue moon, I am startlingly intelligent:

1. The Screenprinting Gods may not deign to shine.
2. Regardless of divine intervention there will be the disaster involving ink.
3. Toasty brown burning of linen will happen to varying degrees during heat setting.
4. I live in hope that a couple make it to the spare pressie box.
5. Fifty attempts is the number it takes me to become so sick of the sight of ’em (just like these). After that, I can clean my screen and make way for other matters of urgency – just as soon as ‘His Nibs’ (the instinct) returns from Hawaii, with a bag full of dirty laundry and a cocktail umbrella stuck jauntily behind the ear.

Pop over to Kirsty’s for lots more ‘creative space’ telling AND showing...

When The Small Doormat Becomes a Handbag

myrtleandeunice@gmail.com (Tania) — Mon, 15 Feb 2010 20:57:00 +0000

I KNEW I was taking things too far, but it made me grin and I didn’t want to stop, so that officially makes this Irony Craft, which means I get to hold on to the vestige of dignity.

Hang on! Who am I kidding? Any dignity vestige or remaining street cred scrap, fled over the horizon the moment I smuggled the crochet hook in to the chic bar. In my defence, the pals were typically late. And I’m just not talented at the ‘waiting gaze’ (indifferent but sultry but offhand but intelligent stare into middle distance).

’Course the experimental, big string, knitting-without-looking, can easily revert to doormat – or better yet, to doing what string does best (tying stuff). I have pondered popping along to some dance club for a boogie* and throwing my knitted number into the middle of one of those girls-dancing-in-a-circle-phenomenon things – just to see if it holds it’s own in Bagworld. There are some tiny holes drilled into the handles/knitting needles to avoid dropped stitchery and the points are sanded right back to avoid eye gougery. So, you know, it’s somewhat feasible.

Alternatively, there is the low-key irony option: the Knitted Knitting Bag.

* An event that has not occurred since back when people said ‘boogie’.

PS. It weighs a tonne.

PPS. It also, inexplicably, smells like cow poo. Albeit in a pleasant, ‘don’t you love the smell of the country?’ fashion.

PPPS. For this reason, I am yet to tackle irony outings involving enclosed space.

How To Knit-Without-Looking

myrtleandeunice@gmail.com (Tania) — Sun, 14 Feb 2010 00:25:00 +0000

Take one ball of giant-ply linen string, knitting needles with muscle and a promise to clean the oven. Experimental knitting of what looks to be a small doormat seems a worthy source of oven-cleaning procrastination.

Big knitting is the craft equivalent of large print books. Fingers can easily ‘read’ string without eyeball intervention – I can even manage a simultaneous, more than reasonable impression of puzzles-with-kid or TV-plotline-following. The future is clear: with any aged decline in eyesight, I shall cut a fine, bespectacled figure, gadding about in knitted-without-looking, big string fashion.

Sadly, string experimentary hasn’t made any oven issues go away. Ten days ago, someone (me), stashed leftover dinner for ongoing toasty warmth should ‘seconds’ be required. They weren’t – but removal from oven slipped someone’s (my) mind. The weather promptly came over hot, humid and distinctly not for the oven-baked: salads and barbecues only. Every now and then (and weirdly at various locations within the house), I would catch a whiff of something strangely sweet and faintly unnerving. The whole while, the contents of the oven were quietly festering, moistly covering their dark den in the finest film of pungent-est, palest green, fur-growth-stuff. Someone (me), will be needing breathing apparatus. Someone (me) thinks moving house a thoroughly viable option.

PS. After much eco-friendly but heavy-duty oven cleaning research I am utterly confused. To ammonia-fumigate-closed-oven or not to ammonia-fumigate-closed-oven: that is the question. It all seems noxious and toxic and awful to me – even though the wee-like whiff does have a better than ten day old (in moist weather) Morrocan Chicken attraction. Any top tips, wise and knowledgeable readers?

PPS. Valentine’s Day is not happening chez Myrtleandeunice – for obvious reasons. None of that usual baking of sweet, heart treats. Because I love them all, so very much.

My Creative Space: TV (Only Not) Craft

myrtleandeunice@gmail.com (Tania) — Wed, 10 Feb 2010 23:30:00 +0000

Is knitting-without-looking some sort of talent reserved for the genetically privileged? Just asking, cos while I have ‘watched’ whole seasons of Spooks and Grand Designs and even an occasional DVD, I can’t recall a single plotline. I’m too busy concentrating on the knittery thing. There is one obvious advantage: I can waft through an entire non-ratings season filled with televisual repetition and everything’s shiny new to me.

Last August, the Swiss Cheese Scarf, above, measured 119 centimetres. Six months later it measures 120. While it promises everything I could wish for in a scarf: soft, drapey, mildly interesting, (although gaping holes aren’t generally the prerequisite), the endless garter stitch has become challengingly unchallenging. I can’t distract myself with a television something, because sooner or later, stitches do large and impressive dive bombs off needles. In the meanwhile, Anna has been knitting up a lace scarf beauty and I haven’t forgotten the shawl glory produced by Sooz and Suse – though I suspect I would wear ‘shawl’ as unfortunately as I do ‘beret’.

Craft floozy that I am, Swiss Cheese Scarf has been thrust to the side and I have succumbed to lacy temptation. Time isn’t exactly going spare at the moment, but a few rows during an occasional late night news broadcast, (too busy pattern-learning, so no inkling of world events since Sunday) and things are starting to speed along...

By the end of Friday Night Crime, I reckon the Lace Ribbon Scarf could be half finished. Just don’t ask me whodunnit.

Freebie Lace Ribbon Scarf pattern available here, Swiss Cheese Scarf available here (my pattern modifications to avoid tiny holes either side of meant-to-be-there holes here).

Hop on over to Kirsty’s and check in on today’s Creative Spacers...

The ‘Zone’

myrtleandeunice@gmail.com (Tania) — Tue, 09 Feb 2010 13:17:00 +0000

I fell off the wagon. My name is Tania and today I ran for fifteen minutes.

Don’t tell the Mr.

The new-ish pair of trainers was the final straw. I’ve spent the last ten years being a Sooky La La – grumpily, doubtfully looking around for an alternative exercise high. Nothing beats running. Just ask this lady and this lady. They talk about that place you go once you find your rhythm: the zoning in to the thud of your stride, the beat of your drum; the zoning out – letting your mind run empty, the ideas come.

I’m three years overdue for the prescribed knee replacement and staying in old lady denial as long as possible. High impact, jarring exercise has been delegated to the distant days of youth (someone find me a violin).

Some years back, I found an outdoor pool, lap-swimming almost-replacement, but had serious issues pulling off the chlorine-green hair look. Cycling is always too hunched over and strangely claustrophobic; walking or cross-trainers or steppers are all low impact ‘goodness’ but, to me, high on yawningly boring. Still, when it comes to going to the gym, rowing is the absolute PITS. It takes the big, fat, cake. I hate rowing.

Rowing may be the answer to my prayers. The challenge is to love it. Two weeks ago I could flail about for five minutes before my forearms exploded. Today I lasted twenty minutes. I caught the whiff of a ‘zone’.

’Course, within a swig of a water bottle, I was on the treadmill chasing down the real thing. I’m not even remotely within spitting distance fit of what I used to be but, (weirdly), running is like riding a bike. Same easy stride, same easy rhythm: fifteen minutes of heaven.

My knee is killing me. Don’t tell the Mr.

Quiet

myrtleandeunice@gmail.com (Tania) — Sun, 07 Feb 2010 08:05:00 +0000

A throat that is tight, a voice with an edge of shrill not usually there. The same as a year ago, watching the sky, feeling its hot, sticky weight, wary of something to come. Days glued to a radio, volume low so kids hear no detail. Nights glued to a radio, half sleep and warnings in my ear. Unable to watch television, sickened by the sensational, the insensitive, the cut to the sports report. Hear tales of luck, hope, devastation, despair – the horror of the roar of the fireball. Listen to the quiet now, wonder how it must be to survive that Saturday, to mark this day.

All Kinds of Evil

myrtleandeunice@gmail.com (Tania) — Sat, 06 Feb 2010 03:10:00 +0000

A confession.

Mwah ha ha h... Sorry. Straight face.

I have been evil. It was so good. Whichever clever lady we were listening to, the day ABC Radio were chatting long haul car journeying with kids, I’m high fiving in her general direction.

Instead of the large package of suggested chocolate frogs, we started our journey with the presentation of a bag of confectionary snakes. It was explained to the anklebiters that these were ALL – every single wriggly – FOR THEM (cue: widening eyes). To scoff in haste or at leisure, upon arrival home (cue: faintly worried check confirming Mum and Dad had entirely misplaced faculties). The catch? Every time anyone whinged, bickered or even shot the Evil Eye, a snake flew out the window. Mwah ha haa...ahem.

It worked a treat. Mostly because the therapeutic value to be had in snake-out-window tossing is empowering beyond measure. It means Mum can calmly crochet without so much as uttering a nagging word, while kids, aghast over snake cruelty, pull into rank and talk nicely to each other. A couple of times there were yells of protest. Another snake grew wings.

Upon arrival home, Mum and Dad still looked like they had been on holidays and each kid claimed their winnings. A measly one and a third snakes each. They ate them slowly. Discussed how next time, they would be SO good they would have the entire packet. Grin.

PS. I realise there are all kinds of evil at work here. For instance, are confectionary snakes biodegradable? Questionable. Is it unsafe to lob things from a moving car? Unquestionable (we were very careful). The solution I am working on here is sleight of hand. The Mr ate every snake the kids thought he threw out the window.

PPS. There is another option – another clever lady who rang up ABC Radio with her suggestion. As I remember things, she paid each of her three children ‘holiday’ money every half hour they behaved in the car. One child always went to sleep and to him she paid double. When the other kids complained that he wasn’t even trying because he was asleep she told them that if they nodded off they would get double too. Now she goes on holiday with one sleeping child in the back of the car and two pretending. Sometimes it takes a whole lot of evil to achieve a whole car load of good.

My Creative Space: Patchy Warm(er)

myrtleandeunice@gmail.com (Tania) — Wed, 03 Feb 2010 22:41:00 +0000

Just in case anyone thought I had abandoned the granny square, I haven’t. It remains the staple PASSENGER SEAT car craft (nothing dashed off at red traffic lights) and from everyone’s perspective, a win-win. Much to the relief of all, the irritating back seat driving tendencies take, well, a back seat when I’m lost in trebles.

When last I bloggily checked in with my circle-in-a-square blanket, this was the state of play:

Three-ish months on, this is where things are at now:

Still a somewhat draughty blanket and with barely a loose end woven in (ugh), I’m 142 squares down with 56 squares yet to happen. I confess I’m experiencing the beginnings of ‘antsy’. I can crochet these squarelets blindfolded with both hands tied behind my back. I may have an impatient eye on that final push to the finish line (oh, how breezily I waft over all that end-weaving bizzo).

Not that I have a clue quite how to manage that finish line bit once I’m there. I don’t think I want a ridge where the squares join (do I want a ridge where the squares join?) and if I don’t, is my half lorry load of cream yarn enough (knew I should have stockpiled the entire lorry), to achieve some alternative fancy pants solution? All fancy pants solutions heartily welcomed...

Pop on over to Kirsty’s and see what the rest of the crafty blogosphere is up to. Then, if you’re after some highly commutable car craft, check out Tam’s Circle-in-a-Square pattern here.

Ten

myrtleandeunice@gmail.com (Tania) — Sat, 30 Jan 2010 13:23:00 +0000

Oh my giddy Aunt. How did that happen? One minute I’m boarding a plane headed Heathrow-ward clutching a passport with a whopping great ‘FIANCÉE’ stamped within its pages, (not a passport stamp or title I ever quite envisaged), then the next minute, fellow fiancé and I are dropping three anklebiters off to grandparents and driving off into the sunset to celebrate ten years of married ‘us’.

I never considered myself the marrying type. As it happens, I fell truly, madly, deeply, for a guy with geographical, as well as commitment issues...

Me: All we have to do is this: I return to London, we get married and see if we like each other enough to be together. If it doesn’t work, we get divorced, I come back to Melbourne. Simple!

Him: Three seconds of hyperventilation prior to the sound of a disconnecting phone.

Excellently, there was a leap of faith and he eventually came ’round. And I couldn’t think of anyone lovelier to have opposite a table at a long-time favourite restaurant, or next to me eating cinema choc tops while watching Up in the Air (so worth a look), or sharing newspapers over breakfast at an old haunt, or doing silly dancing twirl-arounds in the back garden.

Happy anniversary Us.

PS. Just to keep things real, the Mr has informed me the invoice for his Felty Tomato services is in the post.

My Creative Space: Chewiest Club Sandwich

myrtleandeunice@gmail.com (Tania) — Wed, 27 Jan 2010 21:56:00 +0000

I should admit at some point that I can do Drama Queen theatrics with the best of ’em. Throw in my Guinness World Records Slowest Crafter in the Known Omniverse title, the need to stitch twenty felty sandwiches with a somewhat looming deadline and I’ll eventually get around to admitting I’m also prone to STARTLING procrastination of the scrubbing-tile-grouting-with-a-toothbrush kind.

I’m nearly there. One round of bread to go.

I wouldn’t be nearly there, were it not for the Mr. The Mr sensed the potential for high drama and volunteered to help. This jaw definitively hit the floor once he clarified his understanding that ‘helping’ necessitated learning to sew.

What a legend. The Mr can cut felt and foam and backstitch and blanket stitch with the best of ’em. Just call him Master of the Felty Tomato.

While not exactly shouting his new talent from rooftops or even inviting his mates to the pub to chin wag the intricacies of an evenly spaced stitch, I have theories there was enjoyment. I have theories there is ‘chuffed’.

But mostly on the inside.

PS. Go in search of more My Creative Space husband craft via Kirsty’s ace place (and she’s taking nature craft to a whole ’nother level!)...

PPS. You can make your own felty sandwich – find the tutorial on the sidebar over there on the right...

My Summer Holiday: A Random Muddling of Musings (Not Exactly the Inevitable First Day Back at School Homework Essay)

myrtleandeunice@gmail.com (Tania) — Sun, 24 Jan 2010 22:21:00 +0000

Musing One
It feels like I have been holidaying forever but it was basically all an excuse to eat an indecent amount of ice cream. One time I ordered a lemon gelati because the words of a (male) friend echoed in my ears: a moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips. Watching everyone else tuck into creamy swirls punctuated by chocolatey nutty goodness was too much to bear. I vow never again to waste calories destined for ice cream on gelati.

Musing Two
Despite slatherings of ‘sunscream’, beach umbrellas, hats and long-sleeved shirts, we were tricked by the delicious sea breeze and the cool salt water and spent way too long out in 43 degrees. And I thought I had sun protection sussed. Some of the sting went away when the heavens opened and the rain came and the kids danced (yet to explain rain dances generally happen before the main event).

Musing Three
We have beachcombed basically to the moon and back, only horizontally. The middle kid could muddle together an entire seal skeleton if he tried, but the award for Most Interesting Holiday Find goes to the eldest. Thinking she was assisting the middle kid with the construction of his seal, she gleefully handed him half a human upper denture. To my disgust, the Mr has brought it home, in order to impress Grandma. In the meanwhile, every now and then I wonder if washed-up-on-the-rocks-denture-finding is something a responsible citizen should consider reporting to, er, someone?

Musing Four
I presumed no one would be overly excited about denture or bits of seal pics, but to be true to the spirit of the holiday it is necessary to include alternative images of to-be-forever-treasured (sigh) collections:

The observant will note the inclusion of a sock. The laundry collection hardly looks different once pockets have been emptied and you scale things up to Everest-like proportion:

Collector Kid found his feathers at the local wild life park. While everyone fed cassowaries and kangaroos, he looked on wistfully, unable to let go of his two-hour grip for fear of losing wispy lorikeet bottom feathers:

Collector Kid had nothing to do with the missing heads. In fact he felt most sorry for the deadness of the headless:

Collector Kid turns midwife to hatchling ladybirds:

Thank goodness for an occasional bit of collection non-challenge. Couldn’t face the pongy dead crab bits.

Musing Five
On the crafty front, I made twenty kazillion felt sandwiches. Or twenty. Or nearly twenty. I’m still going. I could break any World’s Slowest Crafting record and end up in the Guinness Book of Records. This would at least be more dignified than winning World’s Longest and Thickest and Curliest and How Do You Do Anything(?) Fingernails.

That lovely STARLET lady at M* had recently, gorgeously gifted me Simple Jug Covers by Vicki Moodie. Melanie is already half-responsible (I’m also blaming this lady) for inspiring the neverending granny squaring and now the pulse-quickening obsession with jug covers. Who would have thunk it.

I can relate to Mel’s appreciation of the tinkling glass bead clink against the side of a jug. So I went and appreciated all over again:

Tragically, I ran out of tinkling clinking things to attach to crocheted circles. Inspired by the so very talented Susanna, I turned to guerilla crafting the rented holiday house garden. Pretty tricky stuff with three kid helpers and one of them climbing on your head. Some breezes were gustier than others and some leaves more fragile. Sometimes I cheated and worked on them indoors. Take one look at Susanna’s stunning work and you’ll see how embarrassingly clumsy and clunky these efforts are:

The ones I like best, are those that live on the trees in various states of completion (depending on whether kid was on head):

Musing Six
Oh and this happened:

Except I knew it was happening and stayed stum and didn’t care. The others were reading a bedtime story and I was having such a nice time with a glass of wine and a newspaper and things were oh so quiet and still. Plus she has the softest skin.

The End

Hold On A Tick...

myrtleandeunice@gmail.com (Tania) — Fri, 01 Jan 2010 05:58:00 +0000

I’m just going to hold that clock still for a smidge or two longer. Time to take a moment for a spot of reflection, taking stock, breathing it all quietly in before a great filling-the-lungs breath and jumping with both feet in to a whole new decade. I’ve been remembering to stop and reflect on things. From a crafty perspective, I can’t help but conclude that I could have done with moderating the obsessive tendencies and introducing a little more sleep...

This morning I received the saddest of news from a friend. It arrived via text message and I have re-read it many times, understanding the depth of loss; marvelling at the good and beauty found in the tragic. It was a heck of a reminder that the moment is precious.

It’s a whole new moment, new day, new year.

I wish you every kind of wonderful.