Sunday, perfect Sunday…
House – my fave place in the world, and the sky is blue.
Porch’s warm and the perfect place for a dry white before dins.
The garden survived the torrential ‘Tornado’ rains of Friday…
Snowball Tree.
House – my fave place in the world, and the sky is blue.
Porch’s warm and the perfect place for a dry white before dins.
The garden survived the torrential ‘Tornado’ rains of Friday…
Snowball Tree.
The silver medal from the Readers’ Favorite’s Book Awards 2012 arrived in the mail yesterday! The REAL THING!!
It’s heavy, it’s on a grosgrain ribbon which spookily are my own nation’s national colours. I hung it round my neck and it sat more perfectly than a diamond necklace. I feel very honoured and have to say that this is the apogee of my writing life.
I’ve known Jane Nicholas for a number of years since I met her when I enrolled in a ‘how to’ class for stumpwork at our local embroidery shop, A Stitch In Time. In the course of conversation, she found out that I was a book and paper-artist and our friendship developed on a number of levels because we have similar backgrounds and we both deal in forms of communication and creative expression. I felt the ringing of those kindred spirit bells, – a sure sign there is a good friendship in the offing.
With apologies to FAUX FUSCHIA but maybe also thanks for the inspiration as I am so lacking in same today thanks to over-relaxation, that I just followed her style.
Decided on this festive day that I would wear a Ralph Lauren skinny polo. Decided on lavender because I luff lavender 11/10.
Felt the need to cook brownies but had no berries so threw in a whole packet of caramel bits by Neslé.
Played in my veggie garden and went shopping at the nursery where I bought basil, zucchini, white lobelia and white nemesia, common mint (must find pot to plant it in as it is feral).
While my book-sales take a Springtime nosedive, and I spend more time in the garden or working around the farm to worry about my failing writerly profile, or even how ill-disciplined I am toward my writing (to give myself a pat on the back: I did write from 11-12.15PM and reduced myself to tears as I wrote), I came inside this evening to find a link sent to me by my daughter for the most delicious and witty blog called Faux Fuschia.
I had crept into the laundry and divested myself of sheep-poo encrusted clothes, scrubbed my mud-filled nails, brushed out my seed filled hair and hauled myself to my wardrobe to climb into trackie bottoms and a polar fleece top. Flung tiny new potatoes on the stove to boil, made (gorgeous) mayonnaise and pulled Creole smoked salmon out of the fridge to eat tonight with white wine alongside. It’s all my aching hands, body and mind could manage.
And then I opened the computer and clicked on the link and stared at this divine woman’s slick home which was overflowing with colour, at her perfectly manicured nails, her beautifully applied lipstick and miraculously tied Pucci scarves – and thought how far removed from her I was at that moment.
That said; I vicariously enjoyed her perfection knowing I’m too tired to find my own. I also love that the Universe Talks to Her. To be frank it talks to me too, but it obviously says the same things in a different way.
BUT … I loved reading this blog tonight. It absolutely hit the spot because I needed the escape and sometimes things like picturesque blogs and Pinterest are the best medicine.
And tomorrow, if the Universe Talks To Me in the right way, maybe I shall pull out the gorgeous Gucci scarf my children gave me last birthday and try and tie it at least a little bit perfectly and maybe I shall even paint my toenails…
Posie Graeme-Evans is a rather special person to me – one of Australia’s top TV drama producers, her largest claim to fame is a much-loved TV drama based around a family of farmers who just happened to be women. Everyone in Australia knew McLeods’ Daughters and waited with baited breath for each episode.
As a reader, I love descriptive narrative. I welcome the chance to create an image in my mind with the author’s words.
Rosamunde Pilcher springs to mind:
‘As usual, Elfrida was the first downstairs. At the turn of the stair she threw back the curtains (a marvellously grand threadbare pair she had bought in the market in Buckly) and gazed out at the day. Actually it was night because it was still dark, but it had stopped snowing and by the light of the street lamp she could see the garden, all shape and form obliterated. Bushes and trees dropped under the weight of the snow and shrubs, pillowed, had lost all identity. It was still and quiet.’ Winter Solstice. The description is so plain, so perfectly understated, so very comforting. It is why Pilcher will always be a number one favourite.
Whenever I check my stats on Mesmered, there is one image that gets more views than any other in the three years I have been blogging. Every week it will have views, without fail. It’s not a star like Richard Armitage or Rufus Sewell, not views of my beautiful beaches, nor images of my life on the farm.