Stuff. Boy, I have a LOT of it.

So I did a little rearranging of my linens and fabric-based treasures this afternoon. It was all starting to get on top of me organization-wise and I had bits stashed all over the house in nooks and crannies and places where there shouldn't be pillowcases and such. Now, it has all been subdued into very handy IKEA storage bags (The Dimpa bags - highly recommend them - like $5 apiece). All my regular fabrics are stored in them as well and neatly-ish arranged. Blankets and knitting stash and winter gear too. Allow me to show you:




If you fold fabrics to the width of the bag, they stack and can be arranged standing beautifully.

Until I get a place, this (aside form the clothes and books in my room) is the sum total of my possessions at the moment.

Well.

As I was consolidating everything into less space, I realised that there were certain things that I had a LOT of. So I started to pile like things together and then did a tally of said like things.

It turns out that...



...I have seventy-five serviettes (for my American reader(s), those are napkins). S E V E N T Y - F I V E. But wait! That number doesn't include the ones I just got and have soaking at the moment, OR the ones that are grouped in sets (like have matching tablecloths or whatever). That would put it just over a hundred or so. Yow. The photo is but the tiniest of representations.



...I have 35 guest towels. The linen ones, mostly with fancy embroidery on them, not the terrycloth ones. Mostly vintage also. Okay - perhaps that's at the upper limit of a decent number to have. You have to put out at least six when guests are over, and it's nice to have backups. Hmm...



...I have 15 aprons. APRONS. I mean...yes, they're nice and vintage-y and all, but...I mean...aprons. *What* was I thinking? Those would have been purchased during 15 separate fleeting attacks of housewifelyness. These attacks must have caused me to black out, because I don't even remember buying them... They ARE lovely fabrics and designs and all, and I know that I would not have paid more than a dollar each for them because that's just me, but...aprons? *looks sheepish* Is there a market for these things anywhere? Must look into that...

...I have approximately 30 tablecloths (no photo - too much sensory input for one day already), and (as previously mentioned on this blog) I do not actually own an actual table actually. Well, my computer desk, but the last thing it needs is a tablecloth. Mostly bright vintage prints, a few linen ones, some damask ones and a boatload of embroidered ones.

I don't know where this craze for old cotton and linen linens comes from - maybe it's a deep desire to ensure that any guests I have will be nicely taken care of with proper tablecloths and such. I have such fantasies about my ideal house and all that is in it, and these linen-y things do play a big part. But a big part of me just wants to make sure that I am doing my little bit for the planet by re-using perfectly good and in some cases beautiful things.

But first, I need a house. Actually, first, I need to graduate and then get a job and then save some money by working in the Outback an in Dubai for a few years...THEN I will see about the house.

Or I could just marry very well. HAR! Snort. Chortle. Guffaw.



If Petey had a job, I would totally marry him. Sure, people would talk...but just look at that face. And that obvious appreciation for (slightly-felted) vintage mohair blankets. He has taste, that cat. Just like me. Which is why I am talking about my excesses in the linen department.

Gah.

Just wait until I get going about beads. Hoo boy.

In America, op-shop comes to YOU.

http://www.shopgoodwill.com/

Wow. But isn't half the fun of op-shopping the nosing through drawers and rifling through boxes and baskets of stuff? Yes. It is. But still..

Yet more thrifting moments of joy.

Yep. Yet more purchases from my recent binge. It's sad that the finding of such treasures makes me so happy, but. it. does.



















There must be like fourteen metres of fabric in this lot. I plan to make pajama pants for myself. And possibly the neighbours on the rest of the street. And their pets. Lots of fabric here. Pretty bright, but comfy flannelette.



















Pink fabric. The one on the left is that vintage shiny-looking fabric, and the other is more flannelette. Again, why do I have a nephew and not a niece? Sigh...Just kidding - the Poop is a good kid, all things considered.





The background thing is a pillowcase (I got two, but only one is pictured). The left is another handtowel, and the right is a pillowcase with faded embroidered flowers. It is so so so soft.









Embroidered linen tablecloth with daffodils. The yellow changes occasionally - it looks as though the person was using up all the yellow embrodiery thread scraps they had. Very pretty.















Vintagey tablecloth. Just a bit of fun.









Old barkcloth cafe curtains - more fun! These could be made into a bag a great alternative for a Coles shopping bag, right? Yes, I think so, too. OR...maybe somebody could use them for curtains for a caravan...hmm...








Vintage yellow fabric, pillowcase that fortuitously matches the bedding I already have (!), and a smattering of doilies. More daffodils. There is a real spring theme going on here...unintentional, I assure you.


Ahhh...vintage pre-loved linens and fabrics...how I love thee so.

Toodles for now!

Words to live by. Yea verily.

I was watching "Collectors" on ABC last Friday. They featured a man who had been collecting hammers (!) and had over 4000 of them. Who knew there were so many kinds? Not me.

Anyway, he said something very interesting. He said that he *had* to buy at least a hammer a week, as, if you buy at least one thing for your collection a week, you are a collector. As soon as you stop buying things, you become a hoarder.

Thus, I am a *collector* and not, as some in this household think, a *hoarder*.

Amen.

Might have to have t-shirts made up with that phrase for my fellow opshoppians.

Smooches!

The joy of Thrifting.

My goodness but I have had a good couple of weeks thrifting. The linen gods smiled benevolently down upon me and showered upon me many gifts of embroidered bits of stuff. Of course, it helped a little that I had a car all to myself, was on holidays from uni, was celebrating my better-than expected results (two distinctions and a credit, thank you, thank you very much, no, no, you're too kind, well, okay, but this will be the last bow) and was handily armed with a smattering of birthday money. Also, I was housesitting, so I could do all my post-purchase soaking and washing at that house, which further allowed me to sneak my new (now-freshly-laundered) treasures into my actual place of residence without the other eagle-eyed residents of the house (i.e. mum) who do not appreciate the collectors of the house (i.e. me) having a tub of Napisan always on the go and always filled with bits of fabric being any the wiser. Why is it that I feel like I am sometimes the only person in the WHOLE universe who appreciates quality (and sometimes tattered) embroidered pillowcases and tablecloths? Okay, so I don't actually own a table of my own upon which to put these tablecloths...yet...but when I finally get my own place, I am SET. I can't wait to be able to have girly afternoons again - teacakes and three-tier cupcake stands with petits-fours on them, all on beautifully-embroidered vintage tablecloths and linen napkins with delicate pulled-thread work on them and do girly crafts like making cards or bracelets...sigh. Only 1.5 more years of uni to go, though I hope to be out before then, for both my and mum's sakes. :D

Anyhoo, enough rambling. I am blaming the chattiness today on the many many many panadeine forte I am taking for my back. Never had a back problem. Hit *cough*forty*cough*, and it all falls apart. S i g h. I am typing this while lying on my stomach. Ask me how comfortable THAT is. Let me tell you. It's not. At all.

Right - drifted away from gloating again.

Behold my wealth of thrifty goodness (pre-washing and ironing, obvy):

Two pillowcases. Pwetty. I love these embroidered ones - they all seem to be made in China, but dang they're pretty. I think I have about 15 of them now, in assorted flower colours. And the mod-ish flowery one just makes me happy. Sometimes I wish my nephew was a niece so I could make pillowcases dresses for him/her to wear. Sigh.

















A pretty little tray, now in my bathroom, and a couple of little doily things. I LOVE the lilies (one doily has two lilies, the other smaller one only has one lily). even if they are a little tatty. I'll probably spend a little bit of time snipping off threads and reweaving what needs to be rewoven, and then maybe frame this. Again, it just makes me happy to look at.
(Ed.: NOW WITH CORRECT PICTURE! Yay!)




















Two lengths of Indonesian-type batik fabric, a barkcloth curtain and some ikat (I think) fabric. Skirt, skirt, bags and skirt (or top. Or both).

















This tablecloth is perfect for Easter or something else spring-y. When I first picked it off the rack at Vinnie's, I thought it was gorgeous. Then I noticed the smell. I looked around to see who or what it was, and then realised it was...the tablecloth. Euw. Not mould, not musty, just...euw. The guy at the front counter had a sniff as well, and promptly took 75% off. Nice man. Got it home, washed it, no more smell. Thank goodness Vinnie's has a return policy, even though I didn't need it.





















Two towels - same design, different colourways. Brand new.



















Linen guest towels. I have soooo many of these now, but one day, when I have my own home again, I will be happy to put these out for guests to use.























Detail on two of the towels.


















Mohair blanket! Full-size! $4! Perfect condition! Not shrunk or felted.



















I am not a big fan of mohair as, to me, it is a little itchy. I appreciate it's warm, but it's still itchy. However, my cat, Petey, LOVES mohair blankies, so when I saw this one on sale (did I mention the $4 price tag?), I snapped it up and brought it home. I made the mistake of asking mum if mohair could be washed with Woolite. She stuck her head out of her bedroom, saw the blanket I got at the op-shop, inspected it, and declared that she would like to have it. I explained that I had *actually* bought it at the op-shop for Petey (my cat) as he liked her mohair blankets so much and I wanted to keep him away from them. So she traded me - I got the old, small, slightly felted blanket for Petey, and Mum got the better blanket. Sigh.


The lumpier parts of the following (formerly mum's) mohair blanket are Petey. Poor shorthaired kitty - he lived his whole life in Santa Monica in California where it never got colder than, say, 16C, and that was considered near-freezing by the locals. Now that he is in Australia and experiencing much more intense winters, he is often cold. He discovered mum's mohair blankets, and I discovered him discovering mum's mohair blankets, when I looked in the linen closet one day for a towel, and saw his back paws hanging out from one of mum's blankets. On the third shelf of the closet. No idea how he got there, but I knew Mum would flip out if she caught him so out he was tossed. I guess he got his blanket in the end.











Well. That will do for gloating for now. Happy treasure-hunting!

Put a hold on them pillowcases, people...

DANG. I went to the post office to ship my little pillowcases yesterday. Put them into an envelope, put that into the express international mail envelope, filled out the waybill and customs forms and customs form and more customs forms. Taped it all together. Brought it to the front. It was weighed. And then I was told it would be...(wait for it)...F O R T Y - N I N E D O L L A R S.

Do you KNOW how many cappuccinos that would buy at university? A LOT, that's how many. $49. Wow. If I wasn't a starving student who was expecting to shell out another $800 in textbooks next month, I could *possibly* swing that. But as it stands now, no.

I explained that I didn't want the package to have its own seat on the plane, I just wanted it stowed with the other undeserving packages in the hold below. NO sense of humour, that postmistress.

So my dreams of fame by association with pillowcases is no more.

Sadness.

Ah well.

Maybe someone will call for submissions of tablecloths (plenty of THOSE around here, baby!) and allow more than three days to get entries in so I could send it in regular cheap mail.

I beaded this. Now what?

So here is a little something that I made just to see how an image that I got from the freebies over at Dover Publications that are regularly emailed to me translate to beads and fabric. Sorry about the murky lighting - winter has hit and sucked all the light out of the atmosphere. The color of the fabric is a brighter blue, the white is whiter, and the pinks should be pinkier.



So...I've made it...now what do I do with it?

I have so many of these little swatches of fabric with bead embellishments that I did just for grins. They just kind of hang around, mocking me. What can I do with these kinds of things? Ideas? Anyone? Anyone?

*cricket chirps echoing*

I will photograph and post those other ones later, when the light comes back to Adelaide.

Mkay.

More later.

The Pillowcase Challenge.

I read about The Pillowcase Challenge this afternoon on http://whipup.net/, submitted photos in the evening, and it is now...erm...1:26 am, and I have had emails back and forth with the assistant editor and she said they all liked my pillowcases and that they want me to send them...to the US! Squee! That doesn't necessarily mean they'll be included in the book...but wow! All those years of thrifting to train my eye to spot kwality pillowcases has paid off.

What's that? You want to...see...these pillowcases?

Well...okay.



My floral atomic pillowcase. Floral. Atomic. Yes. I know. The COOLEST.



My Bambi pillow. First time I saw this, it looked like the Bambi was farting a noxious green cloud. I didn't think that I had seen *that* particular pattern on Sublime Stitching so I took another look. Heh. Shrubs. Oops.



Applique flowers with embroidery. A classic.



Baaaaaaby kitten! The flower...and the earnest expression...and the flower...this one is really poignant somehow.

So anyway - just thought I'd share. I am ALL excited about it, but will try to keep it in check until I hear more from t hem when they get the pillowcases. WHEE!

Procrastination.

I has it.

I have two papers due this week (1000-word and 2500-agh-words), and yet I am watching reruns of Grey's Anatomy on my Mac. I am surrounded by textbooks on pediatric nursing and do have lots of windows open on the mac with articles on prevalence of amphetamine use in them - not that I am actually using them or anything...perhaps that gets me some points in the overall scheme of things anyways. Hmm...

Or not.

I do this every time. EVERY. TIME. Stress and freak out and stress and worry and stress (and that's all - no actual writing or anything) for weeks (WEEKS!) and then put together a paper (that should be five days of solid work) in the two days before it is due.

The bad thing is that when I do this, I tend to get good grades. Agh. It's a bad system to have, but it seems to be the one I know and use. Perhaps it's that my focus finally crystallizes in those days of cramming before the paper is actually due.

Sigh.

And here I am updating my blog while NOT writing my papers.

Sigh again.

I will be posting some arty crafty things soon. AFTER I hand in those stupid papers. I have a couple of bead-embellished bits of fabric and a couple of bits o' jewelry. Soon. Sooooooon.

Alrighty. Smooches for now.

Writing a eulogy...Part 2

My friend called me today.

She is not going on her trip.

Thank Christ.

Writing a eulogy...

...for someone who is dead but still walking around.

The sad thing is that show knows it. She could physically stop it by putting a spoon of shepherd's pie on a fork, putting it in her mouth, chewing it, swallowing it and keeping it down. Yet mentally and emotionally (are these two separate things? I don't know) she can't.

She weighs 23 kilos. Twenty. Three. Kilos. For those less-metrically inclined, that would be a couple of handfuls of potato chips more than 50 pounds. To look at her, you would think it is actually less than that, but the woolly jumpers all year round make it hard to tell.

This is the least she has weighed in many, many years. For over half her life, she has been around this weight, if not a little more. She is a wonderful person, caring, funny, super-smart, has a university degree, and can analytically tell you what is happening to her body, run through the various systems that have gone haywire or have shut down, and can tell you exactly and almost dispassionately what will happen if she should catch a stomach bug. When she is travelling. In South America. Christ.

She leaves next week, and I think she was saying goodbye when we met up for coffee last week. Not, "see you when I get back", but goodbye.

While she talked about her hopes that maybe something in this trip, some spiritual thunderbolt, some small voice of epiphany, something, will turn it all around for her, I tried to be what I thought was encouraging. A person has to have hope, no matter for what or how misguided it may seem to others. But I also had to make sure that she knew that she didn't have to go, that I had hope, too. I had hope right here, with the clean running water and thick mattress underlays and phones and medical help. She doesn't have to leave to get it. I have hope right here. I wish she could see that. Maybe one day she will. Maybe, if she survives this trip, she will see it and let me give her some of my hope, some of my calm, some of the peace in my mind. Not that there's a lot, but still... Maybe she will realise that I don't see her as my friend who I wish would be different and better, but that I see her as my friend. She is my friend for what she is, and I am not waiting for what she could be or should be. I just am. For her. Now.

The funny thing is that she and I are so similar - we are both waiting for a change that will make life better. When X happens, it will all be good. For me, it's that I am carrying around too much weight and am almost done with my studies but in the meantime have no money or place of my very own, and it gets me down. But I can see it and deal with it in what could be termed a reasonable fashion. And I am not imprisoned by it. I am looking forward to it, not dying to get there.

I was so sad when I got home from seeing her for what I believe (and what I think she believes) was the last time, that I started writing her eulogy. I'm pretty sure that I will be asked to say a few words. At her funeral. Jesus. And I will not be able to write it then. It will be too much. You would think that I have had years and years to prepare for it, so her death might not hit so hard. No. It will hit hard. My friend will be dead, and I will be sad that I didn't...couldn't stop it. I will be sad that my friendship wasn't enough for her.

I Was Told There'd Be Cake

This totally made my day.

Aprés les lizardes...okay, that *might* not actually be French...

Mr. Handsomepants takes a few moments from his backyard skink catch-outside-and-bring-to-the-house-to-release-and-be-much-admired-by-my-human program to appreciate a sturdy vintage cotton chenille bedspread slung over his favorite chair.

He's into comfort.

The cheese spot.

I made tacos last night. We hadn't had Mexican food for years (at least three or so) and so I decided to put together the fixings for tacos.

They. Were. Delicious. Homemade guacamole, aged cheddar cheese...I even put the taco shells in the oven to crisp up a bit. Yum.

As mum and I were sitting on the lounge in a post-taco glow (I had four) and burping contentedly, mum said,"That hit the spot."

I replied,"That hit a lot of spots - the spicy food spot, the guacamole spot, the cheese spot..."

As I said that last one, I realised what it sounded like when I said it out loud. I looked over at mum, and sure enough, she had a slightly shocked, vaguely bemused look on her face.

"Cheese...the C H E E Z Z Z E spot", I enunciated very clearly.

She snickered and turned back to the TV.

"Well, yeah they were good, but...", she said.

The mortification is still with me.

Funneez.

from ronandjoe.com

Heh. Snort.

Stuff and the tossing of it.

I am a packrat/bower bird combo that sees potential (dangerous word, that, meaning "it may not look like much NOW, but after I take those classes in welding, glass-blowing and shop, it will be a FABULOUS...combination of things") in many different objects in various states of disrepair and unlovedness. "I could do something with this" - also an ominous phrase that only enforces the packrattery. Okay, perhaps not "packrattery" - let us agree on the term...artistic vision.

And that's how I have come to have ice cream tubs full of the crystal drops and bits taken off broken and almost-tossed-out chandeliers, whole cubic metres of fabrics, ranging from upholstery fabrics that are an eye-searing combination of peacock colours a whopping 8 metres in length to mini-scraplets that will be suitable if I need a single square inch of this perfect blue for, say, a doll quilt (*note to self - add lessons on quilting to the list started above). I have vats and vats of beads (glass or semi-precious ONLY, thank you - no plastic - pfui), collections of (as-yet-unread) books that I bought at various op-shops and the Lions Bookstore but haven't yet had time to read (mostly because I am sorting and re-sorting - not tossing out anything, just re-sorting again - my various stashes - and no, the irony is not lost on me). Oh...and clothes that were a great deal at a garage sale / op-shop / almost tossed out by a friend, clothes that *almost* fit. Yes, I feel you there with me on that one. Half my closet of clothing is devoted to clothes that I will be able to wear once I lose some 10 kgs. Throw them out or give them away? Never. They MIGHTWILL fit...one day.

Why am I telling you this? So that you will fully appreciate what I did today.

I was rearranging my bookshelf, and noticed a plastic bag of cuttings from various magazines that I had saved (and not only saved, but dragged from overseas where I had been living for several years). These cuttings would probably be of a pretty dress that I thought I might like to try and make one day, or of design elements that were neat and deserved to be kept or duplicated in glass mosaic (yep- another class needed there), or of places I would like to visit. I say that's probably what they were as I chose not to look in the bag, really actually had no real idea what was in there, and so instead of opening up that can of worms for inspection, I just put the whole thing into the recycling bin.



I. KNOW.

The guts.

Damn that felt good. I highly recommend you do that occasionally.

Although, perhaps you could let me have a look at what you are getting rid of first...just in case. You know. :D

Shredding - the past and a person

My dad died about 6 months ago. Metastatic colon cancer. Gruesome. Thank goodness for RDNS and lots and lots of morphine. In some countries, he would have died in agony, possibly OF agony. Australia rules for allowing people to have what they need for pain.

Didn't mean to go on like that. Though I could definitely still go on about palliative services available to Australians. It just makes such an impression on me as I have spent much of my life in the US with US medical insurance. Many (most) Americans have no insurance, so I can't even imagine what those people would go through without pain meds or chemo for that matter.

Right. Digressed from my digression.

Anyway, mum has been starting to clear out Dad's stuff. His clothes were first. Mum had my brother come over about two weeks after dad died. He took most of dad's stuff so that was good. Then she got rid of the books. That was hard to watch. His library that he had spent years amassing, that he would spend hours with in his "reading room", that we would get in trouble for touching (god forbid actually putting a book back in the wrong place!). Those books were donated to various institutions, so I guess that was okay, but it was still difficult to do as he didn't leave specifications about what goes where after he dies. This stresses mum - what if we gave his things to the wrong people?

This week we are going through papers and bits that he collected over time. He had wanted to write books on history about war in Europe and military stuff and politics, and to that end he had collected all kinds of research. Reams and reams of paper with highlighting and arrows and references all over it. Sadly, the cancer toyed with him for a few years before finally killing him before he could really get that going for real. This was his big plan for retirement, and would keep him busy until he was 80 or so.

Today I went to the library where they have the big-ass monster shredder and destroyed all of it.

I shredded someone's dreams and hopes and plans today. That sucked.

Merged.

So I have long been toying with trying to figure out how to separate my various interests into blogs.  For example, I wanted a blog about op-shop finds, a blog about stuff that I have made, a blog about stuff that happened throughout the day...you know...life stuff.  

Finally I realised that they didn't have to be separate, and so, here we are.

I look forward to hearing from y'all and hope that what I write about will be interesting to you.  Or that you may be consumed with jealousy by treasures found using my mad op-shopping skillz.  Heh.  Snort.

*mwah* for now.