That's Just Strange

Thank you to Toni from Little Suitcase via Meet Me at Mikes for this week's inspiration. Usually I find myself wanting everything to look nice and delightful. Here's my chance to display some of the more unaesthetic corners of my old rented home; ones I can't change or even disguise all that well. A little while ago I talked about the ancient swirly carpet that I have formed a love/hate relationship with. Today it is a collection of antiquated electrical-themed oddities. Firstly we have a switch of some kind, right above the stove. It may or may not do anything. The only thing I could do with it was to paint it white and ignore it. 

Then there is the dinosaur of a fuse board next to the front door. It still has the old ceramic fuse holders. It often makes an alarming humming sound, especially at night. Because it sticks out so far from the wall it's impossible to cover, so ignoring it is also the best way to go.

 

On a slightly more attractive note, this is a closeup of the original fuse wire. I like the design which looks as if it came from the 1930s, maybe. So there you go. Now I feel like going on a hunt for more strange and partially useless corners of my home - they shouldn't be too hard to find. The thing is, I have always lived in elderly eccentric houses, and have over the years tried to learn the art of disguise and concealment. I'm constantly googling things like 'How to hide an ugly ceiling fixture' and attempting DIY fix-ups that invariably go wrong. I wouldn't know what to do with myself in a shiny brand new house, I suspect.

A Little City Adventure

L and I have been living a downtown life for two days, banished to a shiny new apartment building in the city. Our little house has been overtaken by a film crew, and we have fled the scene. It was strange leaving, because I had to take all the pictures off the walls, and erase any personal traces in the form of books, ornaments and drawings on the fridge. It felt as if we were moving out forever. I quite liked the feeling, as if an adventure was about to begin. It was an adventure, although I found myself imagining hordes of strangers with clipboards and cameras tramping around my house. I worried about Neil, and his stranger anxiety. I wondered if they would be able to put everything back in its place. It just goes to show how safe and comfy I have become but how invigorating a bit of change can be.

We did things that we never do normally, because I hardly ever go into the city. We went to look at the huge cranes trundling around the wharves. We ate in one of my very favourite Japanese yakitori places, Tanuki's Cave. L ate his way through man-sized helpings of delicious grilled things on skewers and I helped him. We looked at the cavorting Christmas mice in Smith & Caughey's windows and the revamped Santa on the Whitcoulls corner. He used to have a bit of a gammy eye and a disturbing beckoning finger, but he is now much more attractive. I felt like a tourist and L was beside himself with excitement. In two weeks time we get to do it all over again!

Baby Showering

The first time I ever went to a baby shower was when I was invited to my own one! I'm not a very traditionally brought up girl and had no idea what to expect. It was very sedate, actually, and I sat there surrounded by pretty plates of cakes, feeling honoured. This weekend I helped to organise my friend Clare's baby shower, and I designed the invite. As usual it took me much longer than expected, because I always get obsessed with finding and creating the perfect font/colour/detail. (Fab retro fonts, some free ones, to be found at Font Diner).

It was a very comforting afternoon. We sat in the sun and ate ginger kisses and apple cake. Some of us even wore specially selected aprons. We drank tea and lemonade. The conversation, however, often descended into the depths of depravity. Poor Clare was inundated with a stream of hideous birth stories. Maybe that's why it's called a baby shower - not really the presents but the things you don't want to know!

More Little Corners

Since I wrote about my house from the front door in, I've been wandering around with my camera taking photos of little corners and details of things. Suddenly I'm seeing my environment in new ways. I think that often you stop seeing things, after a while. It's a bit like picking someone up from the airport (maybe someone who is new to your city). I often see the place I live quite differently then, as if I have a pair of new eyes. These snapshots of what's inside my house remind me of spring - the one that's supposed to be happening now!

VINTAGE LINEN FABRIC STRETCHED OVER CANVAS

VINTAGE LINEN TABLECLOTHS HANGING IN LAUNDRY  

                                                                                                            

MORE TABLECLOTHS HANGING AROUND

LITTLE BRONZE BAG DISCOVERED IN THE RED CROSS SHOP 

Through My Front Door

I'm new to this blogging thing but I am liking it, and finding it lends a focus to all the things that take up room in my head and stop me from sleeping. I REALLY like the idea of someone else giving me something to write about. This assignment came from Meet Me At Mikes, which I have admired for some time.

Our front door has that old fashioned thick wavy glass in it. It makes things on the other side look strange and slightly scary. Here is a picture of L when he was a baby, looking truly odd.

The house is a throwback to many eras, just because it's an old fashioned New Zealand state house, probably built in the 1930s. Along the way it has obviously seen a number of redecorating efforts, and when we moved in, it was like a relic from a bad corner of 1969 - floral wallpaper, mustard-coloured paintwork (to match the dark brown ceilings), and most importantly, the marvellous swirly carpet running through the hallway right through to the living room.

Because it's a rental property, and the owners are quite proud of the carpet, there's not a lot I can do about it. After many attempts at disguise (runners, mats and hair-brained fantasies about ripping it up and re-laying it when we leave) I am now pretending it is part of my amazing retro design aesthetic.

This house is like the Tardis. It looks like a shoe box from the outside, and once you are in, it stretches endlessly into the distance. People are often surprised when they see there is actually room to move.

Here on the right of the front door is the beginnings of a family photo gallery. Only black and white photos are allowed. I usually stop and have a look at it at least once a day. My family are all here keeping us company.

A view through mirrors and doors, nearly in the living room, and if you could just see a bit further you would see windows and the big green outdoors through them. Note the cream rug partially covering the amazing carpet. It just had to be done...there is only so much swirly floralness that can be lived with.

A corner of the bathroom. I found this curly white chair in a second hand shop for only $5. The bathroom was probably the most hideous room in the house, but now I love it. I pulled up the mouldy beige carpet (! yes, bathroom carpet, not a good idea), sanded/stained the floors, and painted everything a pale dusky grey.

This is Neil. He is often to be found lying in patches of sunlight, his rather large body squashed into tiny spaces. He has moved houses with us three times.

A corner of the bedroom -  a pile of old quilts and one of those candlewick bedspreads I remember from my childhood, usually on a bed in Grandma's spare room.

Through the hallway, out the living room windows and into the garden with towels on the line and a glimpse of my strawberry plants in the background, next to a shed that is drowning in ivy. The garden is an old-fashioned quarter acre section, excellent for summer croquet/soccer/trampolining.

If you have taken the time to read this, thank you, especially because you may possibly be my first visitor!

Lemons

The lemon tree in the garden is drooping with the hugest lemons, more than I know what to do with. I'm on a mission to collect great lemon recipes. This is one of my favourite muffin recipes. Moist, more like a little cake. I usually use the oil and yoghurt mixture instead of butter. Not sure where I got the recipe from but I suspect it was from NZ Gardener Magazine, which sends me newsletters by email. I'm a step-above-novice gardener and keep forgetting to pay attention to the things that need it, but I'm quite good at growing silverbeet, and the lemons just keep on coming without any help from me.

LEMON MUFFINS 

2 cups self raising flour

1 cup sugar
1 tspn salt
1 tspn baking soda

3 lemons
2 eggs
1 cup milk
1/2 cup butter,

(or 1/4 cup oil/1/4 cup yoghurt)
1/2 tspn cinnamon

Combine flour, sugar, baking soda and salt in bowl. Cut lemons into small pieces and pulse in food processor until finely chopped. Beat the eggs, and add milk, oil/yoghurt mix and the lemon. Pour into centre of the dry ingredients and mix gently. Pour into muffin tins and then sprinkle a mixture of cinnamon and sugar over the top. Bake for 20 minutes at 400 C (or if you have my ancient oven, for an eternity at 180 F if you don't want chargrilled lemon rocks). A little lemon syrup poured over when warm goes down a treat, too.

Scattered Showers

Today was a grey day. I'm not very good with grey, especially when it is a recurring theme. L went off with his dad to do cosmopolitan things such as drink fluffies in cafes, while I sat in my pyjamas, hunched like a gnome over the computer. The weather forecast is for scattered showers and cold southerlies, well into next week. By afternoon I had worked myself into a glum state and was grumpy with myself for doing nothing particularly productive or creative or even fun. I wrestled myself into a pair of trackpants and went to the gym, and that's when the sun came out. Amazing what a bit of exercise can do, especially on a damp and slightly spitty day like this.

Itchy Feet

At the moment I am having strong desires to escape the sameness of home (yes, it has come upon me once again) and be in another place completely. Once I would have just gone, but nowadays I can't because  there's this little thing called L, and his five year old life means there are lots of reasons to stay put. Sometimes I like this feeling, sometimes I go mad and have to read lots of library books about living in Paris/Rarotonga/New York/anywhere that is not here....I've always travelled but I haven't been away for ages, not overseas, anyway. I'm going to have to make the little trips count, I think.

ONCE UPON A TIME  IN PARIS

Market Madness

This sporadically fine weekend has seen me crisscrossing Auckland...from school fairs to opshops to the vast local fruit and vege market. It' s been years since I went to a school fair, and I wasn't prepared for the chaos, let alone the pushing and shoving...people hurling toys and clothes into giant rubbish sacks as if the world was about to end. From the piles of stuff I managed to pick out a little gold Glomesh purse, an old cream and red plastic Thermos (to match all the other cream and red kitchenware I have stashed around the house), and a pair of fine white cotton pyjama pants with baby blue embroidery. Today was all about food - tiny perfect avocados, piles of truss tomatoes, one attractive beetroot, and an array of coffees, croissants, grilled prawn kebabs and tiny samples of creamy yoghurts, cheeses and relishes. L was with me on this trip and he was happy to float around with me as long as I kept feeding him slivers of interesting things and promised him a park visit on the way home.

Grandma

I am working on a project compiling photographs, journals and old film footage of my grandmother, Madeleine. 'Just in case,' says Mum, but 'just in case' means inevitably and maybe not too far away, as Madeleine is now in care. It took her a long time to get there, as she has always been a feisty and stubborn woman who never wanted to leave her own home. She turned 98 last week, and looking back through those old photos I realise the ways in which she has influenced my own life. I remember two things she said to me (repeatedly). At the time I didn't pay much attention, as I am stubborn and always right, just like her. She said: "You must go back to your art. But don't worry, you will when you are older." The other thing she said was: "Don't be like me, travelling around everywhere, without a proper home. It can be a very lonely existence, you know. Make sure you settle somewhere and make it somewhere you can always come back to." She did travel a lot, with my grandfather's work, and lived in places that always sounded exotic and desirable: Denmark, New York, Paris.

She had a style that was always trim, chic and streamlined. I realise now that my love of fabric, prints, mid-century modern design and beautiful colour combinations were all inspired by her. She had things in her house that nobody else did - Siamese wallhangings (it wasn't Thailand in those days), handdrawn French illustrations, beautiful sleek Scandinavian glassware.

In this photo, she is with my grandfather Arnold, in Providence, Rhode Island, USA. It is 1963; a hot summer's afternoon. She had a lot of frocks like that; belted, with tasteful floral prints. They are not very different from some of the skirts and dresses I wear today. What I am so surprised by is the fact that up till now, I assumed the things I liked had no connection with anybody or anything else. It's set me off on a whole new train of thought, and a desire to sort through my suitcase of old family photos.

Cooks Beach

This was my third magical journey to Cook's Beach, driving down on a sun-filled day at Labour Weekend, just missing the hordes. We stopped in a strange little cafe near the Kopu Bridge and had a cup of tea and a scone. It's not often these days that you get tea in a pot covered with a knitted cosy, or a sugar bowl covered in a tiny beaded net! The loo walls were covered in a chaotic display of garish British Royalty inspired memorabilia and the toilet seat was a semi-transparent Union Jack. There was a long slow traffic jam before the bridge, but it didn't matter, because we were going away on holiday.

Sailor's Grave, Coromandel. Two fat black birds squat in the sand, watching the sea. They have long red bills and pink watery eyes. They plod down the beach like a placid husband and wife. The Sailor's Grave is surrounded by a white picket fence. In 1842, a young sailor (from the British Navy Ship HMS Tortoise) drowned in the surf, and rumour says there were six monkeys on board. As we walk down to the beach, two fantails career around us. 'Mother Earth' is written in the sand, in clean and tidy capital letters. It is a bleak and windy day, but it feels calm and peaceful, and I don't care that the sky isn't blue.