My little nephew Scott just turned 5 (and it seems like yesterday I was on the phone with his father at 1:30AM Melbourne time getting updates on his birth, dancing around the kitchen in excitement/sleep-deprived delirium – does it go even quicker when they’re your own?). We’re working on a little project for him and we need the weather to seriously start cooperating because we can’t do it in rain, cold and wind.
Speaking of birthdays, it’s also my mother’s today. But I’m not working on a project for her involving paper and scissors… I know, I’m playing favourites… Sorry Maman…
I’ve observed myself before when I’ve had to deal with loss and the subsequent ‘life goes on’, so I know a thing or two about what’s good for me in that situation, and what’s bad.
Good: go through Mira’s toys, medication, pillows and blankets immediately and make a washing pile, a donation pile, and a keep pile.
Bad: clutch Mira’s pillow and sob into it (I only did five minutes of that one, so I’m giving myself a gold star).
Good: clean up – no particular room, just go around and throw away things that never get used and tidy, tidy, tidy.
Bad: go around and focus on the absence of Mira under our desks, on the couch, in front of the fridge staring me down for food or between my legs when I’m cooking waiting for bits of vegetable to fall to her level.
Good: keep up habits. That means on Saturdays, try to make it to that little Brunswick op shop that’s only open for three hours. Look for a buddy to come along.
Last Saturday buddy turned out to be Suzie. Now Suzie is really delightful: she has the tiniest face and ears and a pixie haircut. She can hoola-hoop, like me she loves to photograph decrepit houses, and she has a very contagious laugh and enthusiasm for life. So going to little Brunswick op shop with Suzie: good. Very good.
Even better: spotting a lemon tree with plenty of lemons hanging over the fence (score!) and the ensuing conversation on how to make them ours. It may or may not have involved a debate about climbing on Suzie’s shoulders – and my weight. It ended in Suzie’s resolve to hit the gym to withstand my 55kg, or bring back a stepladder next weekend. We want those damn lemons (seriously, don’t they look good?).
Then: wedding shoes (I only wore them on the day).
Now: today’s shoes (will definitely be worn again).
Then: new scent for wedding (Le Feu d’Issey).
Now: my current favourite (Cassis Rose from the Body Shop).
Then: wedding hair (fresh white flowers).
Now: I actually bought these 10 years ago intending to wear them for our wedding, but decided against it last minute and ran to the florist for fresh flowers instead.
Then: just married! Walking to our wedding lunch.
Now: married ten years, about to have anniversary dinner.
- I have a tiny grater called Alexander – and he is my favourite kitchen implement. I didn’t name him, but I will admit his name was part of the buying decision…
- My favourite lolly is liquorice.
- I dream in both English and French. But never in the same dream as far as I can remember – I seem to be very compartmentalised that way.
- I don’t know how to cartwheel – I never managed to learn and now I’m too afraid to break my head. I’ve always regretted it.
- I’m shaped like a column: I have no waist to speak off.
- I haven’t ridden a bicycle since the age of 6, and back then I wasn’t very good at it or steady. So it’s safe to say I can’t really ride a bicycle.
- I keep a jar of L’Occitane L’Eau des Vanilliers solid perfume on my bed side table and I put on the teeniest amount when I go to bed. There’s nothing like drifting off to sleep smelling like vanilla.
You reading this, would you like a little award? It will feel like getting a gold star – consider it yours and start writing your list.
*If you don’t read Honest Fare you’re missing out on amazing looking food and witty text. I warned you.
… or both (ha!), head over to my new little Tumblr called Hipstamatically. And I’ve just realised looking at the second image, I’ve got a thing for photographing my red (or here, Bordeaux) shoes on a background of bright green grass…
This fountain is one of my childhood landmarks – and if I had to explain the concept of time this is the most poetic way I can think of.
The garden and the fountain are at the back of a humongous ‘hôtel particulier‘, in a street I skipped down every Wednesday to go to my weekly music lesson. Behind a dark green gate – so my only ticket to seeing the fountain was if the gate was open. Because aged 6, I was predictably too short to peer above the gate. I can’t tell you how many times I was crushed when I caught my breath in front of that damn closed gate… Arghhhh, so close!
Until I grew to a surprising 1.75m in height (maman and sister Sophie are both a little shorter) – and then, ha ha, could see the fountain whether the gate was closed or not, any time, any day. And I never got tired of looking at it. I always found it as magical and beautiful, and spared a thought back to my shorter, younger version who fumed in disappointment so many times being denied a peek…
This is a poor quality image taken with a disposable camera on an overcast day, but I am biding my time until I can take proper pictures with my good camera… Next trip…
Some quick orientation: the Music Conservatory that was for sale for 12 million euros? At the end of the street, same side as the garden and fountain. The Horseman on the Roof – shot a few metres down on the ‘Place des Quatre Dauphins‘ and adjoining streets in 1995. I used to walk down during my school lunch break to look at the set (my school, few streets up). There you have it.
My hair doesn’t have that long to go to reach my shoulders: maybe a few months. But in the meantime, when I pin it up I have to contend with some rebel strands of neck hair that always escape the clutches of my various clips and grips.
In a fit of ‘Enough!’, I decided shaving them might be the way to go. Until everything reaches the right length – then I’ll let them grow back and pin my hair artfully so they’ll regrow in stealth.
I’ve actually done it before and it doesn’t look half bad. Plus, it will make me feel a little bit punk. And since I have a baby face and I spent my Friday night at home watching a documentary on 10 ways to kill Osama Bin Laden (which was very interesting actually), I will take all the punk I can get.
So, should I shave my little neck hairs?