Boxing on

Oh look, I've become one of those people who never write on their blog. Well, here is the sky last night when I was leaving work. It was pretty cool, there was a layer of dark grey clouds, a gap with sun-pinked clouds, and then a layer of white clouds. On the ground there were some trees. Obviously. I didn't have time to take a very good photo because I was in a hurry but it came out better than I thought.

In other news, because I love moving house so much, I'm doing it again after only three months. While it's been nice being back in the Valley, and this is probably the nicest room I'll ever live in, I was made an offer I couldn't refuse.

This is my current fireplace. I will miss it.

My new room does not have a fireplace or a mantelpiece, but it does have a pretty awesome view of the harbour.

I rescued this picture from the garage of our house in Martinborough. It had a board backing but no frame and I have no idea where it came from, but I found it in a pile of stuff when I was about 10 and decided that its fate was not to sit in our garage and eventually get thrown away. For my birthday when I was about 13 I got my Mum to get it framed, she couldn't understand why I wanted to keep the picture, let alone get it framed, but she did anyway. I don't know why but I really like it. I've always found it kind of creepy, I think because of the greenish colouring and because the girls have no clothes on, but it's actually such a nice image. Two little girls warming themselves by a fire after a bath. Maybe it reminded me of my sister and I during the times when we weren't fighting. It would be nice to know more about the picture, but I think its mystery is part of its appeal.

Norma and Bill

As I was driving over to the Wairarapa on Saturday morning I was a little bit excited about the afternoon ahead, for a really dorky reason: I was going to interview my Nana (Norma, my Mum's Mum) about her life.

I decided this needed to happen the other month as I was writing the end of my grandfather's eulogy for my Dad (just to clarify, the grandfather that died was a Jacobson, his wife is still going strong but she is not the Nana I'm talking about here). I was sitting at Nana's kitchen table with the laptop and referring to a spiral bound Jacobson family history book written by my grandfather's two sisters and other members of their extended family. Nana saw me looking at it and said, 'Oh yes I read that when Megan brought it home, it's very well done, but I won't be writing anything like that about my family so you'll have to make it up when it comes to me.'

I wasn't having that. I declared I would write something on her behalf and she didn't seem too averse to it. That was how I came to be sitting on the couch with my Nana on Saturday afternoon, with the laptop on a small coffee table in front of us, recording her telling me all about her parents, her childhood, my grandfather I never met, and my Mum and aunty and uncle when they were younger. We sat there for three hours (luckily I had bought her lunch on my way to her house and made her a cup of tea before we started) and I am so pleased I did it. She was really amazing about it as well, I thought she might be a bit awkward or find it a bit strange but, just like the time I asked her to pose for some photos for a Gender and Women's Studies project I was doing about images of older women, she had a sense of humour about it and in her own unassuming way she just got on with it.

(This is a photo of a photo of Norma and Bill, I'll have to ask her where they were off to - probably the Carterton A&P Show for which she said she made a new dress every year)

One of the best parts about the interview was learning a bit about my grandfather, (William) Bill Hartley Mouldey. He died when my Mum was 14 and no one ever really talks about him. Because of this, for some reason, I had always imagined he was grumpy and mean. But I think it's just because it was a long time ago and one of those hard, sad things some people find it easier not to talk about. I knew he had worked as an engineer at the freezing works, but on Saturday I learned he was a very involved unionist during those years which made me really respect him (probably because I'm reading the autobiography of Sonja Davies and there's a lot about unions in it and how hard people leading and organising them worked). He was five years younger than my Nana, they met when he was 17 and she was 22, and they waited until he was 21 before they got married. His father was killed only a few weeks after he and Nana first danced together, but she didn't know his surname so when it came across the radio that a man had been killed crossing the road coming home from the pub, it was Nana's older brother who told her that that man was the father of the boy she'd been dancing with the other weekend.

He made these gates for the house he and my Nana built (which she still lives in) and when my sister and I were little, they were shifted to our house in Martinborough where they have stayed. So when Megan and I were in Martinborough on Sunday for Toast, I made her walk past our old house with me, to see the gates again and take a photo.

Unusual Suspect

Last night I drove to Masterton, spent approximately three hours there, and then drove back. This is because I am both crazy and a highly dutiful family member.

While in Masterton at my great aunt's birthday dinner (which was really just an excuse to get everyone together as some family from Australia were over), I got some lilac and entered a Melbourne Cup sweepstake. I got number seven, 'Unusual Suspect'. I have no idea what my odds are but I'm guessing not good.

Interestingly, two people had stories about lilac and funerals. When I asked if I could pick some to take some home, my Nana Gail said that her mother-in-law (the great aunt's mother) had died during lilac season and they had placed lilac all around the opening of her grave.

Then, when I called into my other Nana's for a cup of tea on my way through Carterton, I gave her some of the lilac and she said (unaware of the earlier anecdote at another house), 'My mother died in October so we had a lot of lilac at the funeral. It's got a lovely scent.'

So there we go, lilacs and funerals. I don't think I'll be able to see or think of lilacs without remembering that coincidence from now on.

Unfortunately, I ended up forgetting to take the rest of the lilac home from Nana's, which is a shame because it does smell amazing.

John Bob

Today we farewelled my grandfather, in his 80th year. There were a couple of photos, two of which I hadn't seen before, that I really loved.

This last one is he and I. Quite a long time ago, obviously. He lived with us for a very short time when I was quite little and this was when I started calling him John Bob after my young ears misheard 'Good night John Boy' (which is apparently from The Waltons) as 'Good night John Bob'. It caught on and all his grandchildren have known him as John Bob, until the littlest ones adapted it to Bob Bob.

As was said during the service today, he could be a pretty gruff man, he had a short temper, and he didn't suffer fools gladly, but he also had a great, dry sense of humour, worked incredibly hard his whole life, loved whiskey and the sea (hopefully not at the same time if he was captaining...), and while he might not have been very vocal about it, his family.

Classic movie gush

Sometimes I read what I last wrote and I regret it. For example, in my last post, I sound smug when really all I wanted to say was, 'The Engine Room was really amazing and I hope lots of people go to see it.'

Anyway. Last week while buying a birthday card, I glanced to my right and saw something that immediately filled me with joy. It was the 40th Anniversary Edition DVD of The Railway Children movie that I had watched countless times when I was younger. I didn't care that it was ridiculously over-priced, I had to buy it immediately. One of the reasons being, I had never seen the first 15 minutes or so of the movie because my Mum had videoed it off TV and had missed the start, so when we watched the video it always started from when they arrived at Three Chimneys.

I loved this movie so much when I was younger, along with Little Women, and so wished I lived in a time when there were candles and lamps and long dresses, that one day when my Mum happened to make apple pie, I made her and my sister dress in shawls with me, close the curtains, light a candle, and pretend we were like the family in the movie when they arrive at the house and have the apple pie left for them by the housekeeper. One of the best things about my Mum is that she actually went along with many of my amazing ideas ('Can we dig a hole in the ground by the tree hut and make a little fire in it and cook things over it?' What kind of mother says yes to that? An AWESOME one).

I had told Alex this story when I was suggesting we watch The Railway Children for classic movie Sunday and explaining how excited I was to be able to watch the movie again and see the start for the first time. And because Alex is potentially the best person ever to live, look what she made to accompany the movie:

It was outstandingly delicious.

Someone at work had warned me watching the movie again would ruin it for me because it wouldn't be as good as I remembered (because obviously, having bought the DVD at lunchtime, I went back to work and talked a lot about how much I loved the movie, and how I wanted to go home right then and watch it, and told the apple pie and shawls story, and generally added to the ever growing number of reasons people at my work think I am unhinged).

I was adamant seeing The Railway Children again could only reinforce my love for it and I was right. The movie was just as amazing as I remembered, but better because it was even funnier than I remembered. Some of the comedy is intentional, some of it is the result of being 40 years old. I still love the station porter, Mr Perks, the best. And the Mum is such a babe.

Because of such modern conveniences as Wikipedia, I learned that the actress who played the middle child, Phyllis, was actually 20 when they made the movie and she was playing an 11 year old. Crazy. She's a pain in the movie anyway. Which was great for classic movie Sunday because we tend to shout at the TV screen and talk to the characters when they're annoying. Naturally.

Sewing the day away

On Sunday I welcomed daylight savings by staying in bed until 10am reading the winter issue of Extracurricular. Then, after enjoying homemade pancakes with bacon, banana, and maple syrup thanks to my awesome Mum, I stayed in my pyjamas sewing until 3pm. I listened (and attempted to sing along) to Celine Dion circa 1996 and Dusty Springfield. It was an extremely good time.

I took my sweet time making this very basic pillow, mainly because I could. It's for my 4 year old cousin, Maggie, hence the material. Two Christmasses ago I made her older brother a Thomas the Tank Engine pillow and while he has since shifted his attention from Thomas to toy soldier figurines and the All Blacks, the pillow still sits on his bed with his soft toys. Apparently Maggie sometimes borrows the pillow for her soft toys, so her Mum asked if I could make her a pillow of her own.

Like the Thomas the Tank Engine pillow, this one has a separate cover which can be taken off and washed as my aunty is a washing fanatic. If I make another pillow like this (which I most probably will considering the latest addition to the family, baby Isla, will surely need her own pillow in a couple of years' time to complete the set) I'll make the top (patterned) layer's edge longer as it's just zig zagged and ironed over 1/2 an inch which isn't quite flash-looking enough.

While I really like my sewing machine (which due to lack of space has been sitting in its box since I moved house in February), I still love my Mum's sewing machine the most. I think because it's what I learned to sew on and because it's metal, so I somehow feel like I can't break it - even though I'm not in the habit of throwing sewing machines around the room or any other activity that could actually break one.

Mum's sewing kit is starting to get a bit worse for wear but whenever I see it it's like being taken back in time to our house in Martinborough. I tidied it up a bit before I put it back in the cupboard this time around (because I'm such a dutiful daughter/it's messiness irritated me) and there were old blouse patterns from when Mum used to sew a lot, some wide gauzy star ribbon from the troll doll house I made and decorated when I was about ten, 'M. Jacobson' name tags from when my sister lived at the Wairarapa College hostel and all her clothes had to be named, the old sellotape tin Mum has always used as a pin box...an unitentional time capsule.

Days in lace

When I first saw THE wedding dress, I immediately thought of my Nana's wedding dress. So when I saw her on Sunday I got her to get out her old photo album so that I could look at her wedding photos again.

Turns out that apart from the lace sleeves, her dress wasn't that similar to the Duchess of Cambridge's, but I love the photos anyway.

Apparently she later cut her wedding dress up to make petticoats for my Mum and my aunty when they were younger. Unbelievable.

I never got to meet my grandfather. He died when my Mum was 14 so I don't know much about him. He looks like he was a bit of a cheeky babe in his younger days though.

ANZAC

This morning I went to the ANZAC day dawn service in Masterton. I hadn't thought about it or planned to during the week, but yesterday someone mentioned it so when I went to bed last night I set my alarm for 5.15am and decided if the weather wasn't awful I would go along. When my alarm went off it was quiet and still outside so I threw some clothes on and drove to the centoaph at Queen Elizabeth Park. It started lightly raining as the first hymn was sung but luckily the real rain held off until later in the morning when it really set in and poured down for the rest of the day.

I have only been to two ANZAC day dawn services before, the first one was in Martinborough when I was about 12. I remember that one really affecting me - the sun coming up as the last post was played, a small group of people gathered. It inspired me to write a short story about a woman whose husband died at war - I don't know that I'd like to read it now, it's probably very sentimental.  But I remember being very pleased with it and my teacher liking it at the time.

The second one was in my last year of Wairarapa College. All of the prefects are required to go and as Head Girl I had to lay a wreath on behalf of the school with the Head Boy, then then we all went back to the Principal's house for breakfast. All I remember of that service is hearing one of the private school girls singing very loudly and thinking she was just showing off...

I have to say, I was pretty uninspired by this morning's service. I think my view of the proceedings was coloured early on by a mention of the Rugby World Cup. Surely there are better illustrations of why it's important to remember our history than the Rugby World Cup (I really wish the Edinburgh Fringe was on at the same time as the RWC so I could be out of the country, I think it's just going to make me grumpy for two months or however ridiculously long it's going to be).

Anyway, I'm not saying I think ANZAC day should be some rousing glorification of war because I am in no way a fan of guns, bombs, or senseless loss of life. But I do think we should remember all those young men who got promised an adventure and never came home again as well as all those involved in other ways - nurses, typists, machinists, those bringing up children alone, knitting socks, fundraising. And what I saw this morning just didn't seem to honour that. It was all very routine and dry. The only songs sung were hymns that hardly anyone knew and the National Anthem. Some of the popular songs of the WWI and WWII eras capture the emotion of the times much more accurately and I feel like even one in amongst the hymns would have been far more effective. The brass band were all there but they weren't used except for one lone trumpet player playing The Last Post. There is some beautiful and horrific war poetry that, had any been read, would have spoken more to me than the one unfeeling speech that included Rugby World Cup references.

Clearly this is only my opinion and it won't be shared by everyone - if I had the service done my way it might mean more to me, but it would equally not be someone else's cup of tea. And surely these services were originally put together by people who served in or lived through war and the pattern has been maintained over the years. But while we hear a lot about how attendance numbers at ANZAC day services have increased in recent years, I think the numbers could just as quickly decrease unless the services are made more accessible to those who haven't had any experience of war and its realities. I think it's important to remember and honour those who died, but I also think it's important to remind people of or try to give them a feel for the damaging reality of war.

It's definitely a hard balance and there are perhaps services in other parts of the country that achieve it, but the one I went to seemed more about formalities and going through the motions than any actual emotions.

Autumn is in the air, doo do doo, doo do doo

When in Masterton, one of the things I always do pretty much as soon as possible is get a milkshake (or an iced chocolate) and a plain mince pie from the Ten O'Clock Cookie Bakery Cafe (aka 10CC). I don't eat pies very often, but these are the best. I remember the days when it was just a tiny bakery with one or two tables, but a few years ago they bought the shop next door and knocked walls down so now it's pretty huge by Masterton standards. I also remember the days when I had to walk ten miles in the snow to school. Barefoot.

Out at the farm there are four working dog puppies. Maggie solemnly explained to me that she can only keep one, they already have enough working dogs so they will have to find new homes for the other three puppies. The puppies are very well looked after, she follows them around, tries to pick them up, and says 'Get out of it boy' just like her Dad. She is too cute (and her hair cut is just like Dora the Explorer, which is lucky because she loves Dora).

I just thought these were pretty. 

Autumn is definitely here. The nights are chilly and the leaves all over the Wairarapa are turning. Thankfully daylight savings will mean it's a wee bit lighter tomorrow morning when my alarm goes off, it's hard getting up in the dark when the wind's blowing. We have been having some beautiful sunny days though, so can't really complain.

The Tides of Time

That title was really only to justify using this photo.

It is relevant though - today is my blog is one year old! 365 days, 168 posts. That's an average of a post every 2.2 days (although maths was never my strong point so I could be wrong).

I went back and read my first post and got ready to have a big cringe, but actually it's fine. In it I explained myself by saying: 'this blog has come into fruition not because of any resolution to share my life with anyone in the world who is remotely interested...but because I just completed my very first knitting project and am ridiculously proud.' And that mostly still holds true, although the blog has become about all aspects of my life as opposed to just knitting/sewing/craft times. And I love that even though I have been knitting for over a year now I still get ridiculously proud of successfully finishing something. It still surprises me that I can knit something and have it turn out pretty well. Okay, AWESOMELY (I mean, did you see the sock? The cupcakes?).

I went through a period where I wondered if anyone would ever read the blog and then when I found out some people were and people left a few comments I got really excited and felt a bit validated. At the time it felt like that kind of thing was important. But since then I have decided I couldn't care less if no one read ever this blog (although it's very nice that some people do, because it's become a really important record for me. What did I do in the first weekend of April 2010? I couldn't tell you off the top of my head, but through the magic of my blog, I can see that I was down in Christchurch, visiting Ursula Bethell's grave (I got no further with the correction of the spelling of her name on the headstone than a man who writes a book column in the Christchurch Press contacting me and me replying but him not following up, which still bugs me), Jo Seager's cafe in Oxford, and a house stuck in a 1970's time warp.

I love that! I kept a diary for a year or so when I was about 10, but since then I have tried again a couple of times and never stuck at it. But blogging seems to work because I can type so much faster than I handwrite. And I can have photos. Which is another thing I love about the blog, it has made me better at taking photos (not that I take great photos but I think about them more when I'm taking them) and it's made me take a lot more photos than before. I used to take heaps when I had a film camera but when I got a digital I really only took photos at family events. With film cameras it used to be so exciting getting the photos developed and remembering things that had often happened quite some time earlier and then putting them in a photo album (I have about 6 at my Dad's house). But with digital I would upload the photos and rarely get any developed and they would just sit there. Sometimes I would see them when my screensaver was scrolling through them. But now I have a wee album here with little stories attached, which is even better!

Anyway, so while I don't detail all the trials and tribulations of my life here (which I might do if I kept a diary I knew no one was going to read), I love that this blog has become a record of the good things that happen in my life. One of my favourite blogs is SouleMama and I really like this post she wrote about why she blogs. Obviously I'm not a parent so it's not entirely relevant to me, but the gist of what she's saying kind of sums up why I blog and why I blog about what I've ended up blogging about over the past year. Because it reminds me of the good things and makes me appreciate them more.

I love when she says that reading her blog could make someone think her life is "nothing but joy, and peace, love and knitting needles" when of course it's not. And of course mine isn't either. I have had one of the hardest times ever this year in some respects, but that doesn't make for good photos. And I'm not likely to forget about it anytime soon either. But all those little daily things (like Anita's unique booties) or the many many events that get packed into a year (like my great aunt's 80th birthday), I probably would forget about them in time if I didn't have such a handy dandy record!

Okay, so enough. I love my blog. I love it enough to admit to having it (for a while it was a secret that only one person knew about - aside from the people I didn't know who were reading it), although I still don't run about telling people that it exists. And that's fine with me.

Happy birthday Oui Cherry!

Rambling through the avenues of time

I went home for the weekend as it was birthday central. On Friday night we went out for dinner for my step-sister's 15th birthday.



On Saturday my little brother had a ten pin bowling outing with friends for his 10th birthday. I can't believe he is 10 tomorrow. I remember bursting into tears when my Dad and step-Mum told me the baby was going to be a boy - I couldn't imagine how a boy would fit into a family full of girls. I also remember sitting in my 3rd form maths class and a messenger coming with a note telling me to take my bag and go to the office; I turned to my friend and said, 'That means he's been born!' Then I stood up and packed my things up and some loser behind me said, 'Sit down, I can't see' and my friend turned around and said, 'Shut up, her step-Mum's just had a baby.'


This was his first day of school five whole years ago. He is actually the cutest child ever. He hates it when I call him cute now and I love it because I know it annoys him. I might have cried when I found out he was going to be a he, but now I couldn't imagine it any other way.



I got the fun task of dropping his friends home after the party on Saturday. When Dad said, 'Do you mind dropping these boys home?' he failed to mention that one lives in Greytown and another in Martinborough. An hour in the car with five 10 year old boys is not one I want to repeat in a hurry. Although I got to see one of my favourite views - Martinborough as you descend down towards it from the West.


There were so many flowers and blossoms around - I miss not living somewhere that has a garden. I like how the tulips have a secret blue inside them that you can only see if you go close up.


Like The Witch in the Cherry Tree, only it's a moon!


Clearly this was trip down memory lane weekend. When I was little and lived in Martinborough, we had a tree house constructed out of 4 boards up in one of these type of trees. Every spring it would produce these pink flowers and they would slowly fall off and create a pink carpet in the tree house (it didn't have a roof) and I would flounce about and pretend I was decorating my house and tell my sister, 'The carpet man's come today.'



Some long-time family friends built a new house next to their very old house on their farm a few years ago. They haven't yet demolished the old house and it's become overgrown with whatever this is that smells amazing.


The food is always good in the Wairarapa.

(Which is where Jemaine from Flight of the Conchords is from - the title of this post is from their best song ever. Best because it has my name in it of course.)

Innocence, fish, and birds

Publicity image for Innocence - image source here

So I just went to see a play with a whole lot of nakedness in it. Pretty much everyone got naked at some point.

It's not like I haven't been to a play with a naked person in it before. And it's not like I haven't been to a play with a naked person I know in it before. And I don't consider myself particularly prudish. I think it was just the fact that so many people got naked and I know many of them that I'm still recovering.

The set was cool though, lots of height and billowing fabric. And a fish tank that I didn't notice until it was lit and then it looked really cool. Anita didn't like the fish tank, but maybe she just doesn't like fish. I used to want a goldfish when I was younger but my Dad wouldn't let me, he said he doesn't like animals in cages, no matter what kind of animal it is. I did have a bird for a while once when I was in my third year at university, I needed a live bird in a cage for a short play I directed. I think it was a budgie. I named him Frances. He was supposed to be a girl but when he started singing my friend (whose parents were going to have him in their aviary when the play was over and had asked that it be a female so that it wouldn't breed with the budgie they already had) said, 'I'm pretty sure only male budgies sing.' Luckily her parents still took Frances and he is living happily in Palmerston North, making eggs with his partner but not managing to get them to hatch.

Anyway, the play I went to tonight was called Innocence by Dea Loher. I wish I had a name that rolled off the tongue like that (assuming the 'h' is kind of silent). Maybe one day I will.

Skirting the issues

It's not often I feel like a babe; only really when I'm dressing up to go somewhere. But I had to post about my new skirt because I had so many nice comments about it today when I wore it for its first outing to work.

I got it on Monday in Christchurch at Jaqui E. The outer is a wool/acrylic blend and the lining is a cotton/elastane. My Mum actually bought it for me because I had already bought some winter essentials that day and while I loved the skirt, I'm a bit tight when it comes to buying clothes. I want bargains or nothing at all. She said I had to have it because it's knit so it suits my current obsession perfectly. But basically, I'm not one to refuse nice things...especially when Mum's buying.

The pattern

I actually already have a woollen skirt. It's bright red and I can't remember where I got it from. I think it was from a second hand shop in Masterton when some friends and I went shopping for something to wear to a 'retro' party back in my Wairarapa College days. I do remember I wore it with a red and white polka dot top as I have a much loved photo (pre-digital cameras) from the night of the party. It's of two of my friends and I all dressed and ready to go.

I don't usually wear the skirt because it is very red, but it got an outing last Christmas when Anita and I wore all red and green to a Christmas party.

I conveniently cut our heads off because I'm pretty sure Anita doesn't want her face, beautiful as it is, plastered over the internet. I, however, am happy to show off my Nicole Kidman skin to the world...

It's a plain red skirt with some ribbing along the bottom but, like the grey Jacqui E one, it's so comfortable (due to its elastic waistband - pretty much my favourite part although someone at work told me today when I admitted I loved that it had an elastic waistband that Trinny and Susannah consider elastic waistbands a huge no-no) and warm!

What's the point of all this? Well clearly, I want to knit a skirt! I've loved my red woollen skirt since I got it (even though it's just too red for everyday wear, it's managed to find itself at more than one dress-up party because I do love wearing it) and my grey one has sealed the deal. Also I saw this skirt in the Twist Collective's latest issue and it's soooo pretty! And there are skirt patterns on Ravelry. I think a knitted skirt might just be the first thing I knit for myself when I the Baby Shrug is finished and I've knit Guy the hat I promised him and I've given the Mary Jane booties Anita has knit a go and I've tried the free Pixie Cap pattern on Shescrafty and...actually, I might have to adjust my 'to knit' list or the skirt won't be happening until next winter!

When in the library...

Do as the Greeks do. Apparently.

Yesterday I went to the library at lunchtime to find a book about an artist whose paintings I saw and loved here. Turns out that at the library at the moment there is an exhibition on which includes models of the Parthenon. I love models!

The biggest version of the Parthenon

A close up - awesome detailed door and frieze

Smaller model of the Parthenon with arty lighting (not my bad photography this time)

One side of the smaller model

I think I generally just like smaller versions of things; sometimes they're just so mini and perfect and cute. I especially love dolls' houses, which is ironic because I'm scared of dolls. I made two dolls' houses when I was younger with a friend using left over plywood at her Dad's factory workshop, a jigsaw (the power tool), nails, and A LOT of glue. We made furniture (like little couches) and covered it with a whole lot of scraps that a local upholstery shop kindly gave us when we asked. The rooms were all painted different colours and had carpet and lino - I can't remember where we got those from.

Sadly only one doll's house survives because when my Mum moved down South she said she wasn't taking them with her so one found refuge at Dad's and the other I had to throw out. The one that survives is the one I made for my troll dolls, so it's actually quite big because the mother troll is about 12cm high + hair. I must take a photo next time I'm home in Masterton because that troll house is pretty amazing if I do say so myself. It's three storeys high plus an attic. It reaches up to about hip height. Go ten year old me!