sand
A few more photos from my time in NZ.
While visiting my dear dear friend, and her beautiful family.
So many shells along the beaches. Brought up many memories of childhood walks along beaches collecting shells. Alas, it seems the sand shores I visit here, in Aust, don't seem to have as many shells as they used to. {sand dredging in the area has led to many many coastal changes over the past years}.
two in green
Both kids wearing green t-shirts.
Carrying their own little bags (both made by mama, of course) for collecting all sorts of lovely little treasures.
slip
you know when sometimes,
something happens
and
things stop
for a moment and
then they just slip
easily
simply
perfectly
into place.
sometimes just for one moment.
your heart stops
and
things just
feel
sort of
alright.
actually, pretty darn
good!
the simple quiet of working with fabric
under your fingers
and not
just any fabric.
but the real warmth and rawness of a natural fabric
unbleached
woven simply and finely and amazingly.
and not just any everyday plain fabric
but a fabric that
you
yourself
have made a design for
and printed
with ink
with your hands
and your heart
and your friends.
sometimes things just slip
into place and feel
just sorta right.
sometimes the quiet of the house
combined with the
background sounds
of the street and the music on the
music machine.
and the quiet in your head
helps things slip and fall
and
connect.
suburban afternoon
This afternoon, while I was sitting at my sewing table. In the quiet of a kid-free house. Sewing some little pencil cases for some long overdue parcels that needed to be posted off.Listening to the sounds of the street around me. The soft dull murmur of a city street, a suburban city street.
Our next door neighbours' visitor. A regular visitor who has the most everyday stories, told at loudest volume, with emphatic punchlines. Stories I think I should tape, so that if I ever wrote one of those everyday life novels, I would have some 'real life' fodder. After he leaves, the next door house is quiet. It seems still, as if our neighbours have to regain their energy from such an over-the-top exuberant guest.
At building site down the street, I hear a man call out "want to bring another wheel barrow". Such a mundane aspect of the work they are doing near the train tracks.
Only a moment after that a mother "right now", in the total irritated tone of talking to a disobedient child, yet in the hushed tones of being out in the street. And having the feeling that everyone is watching you reprimand your child. (Come on, you all know that feeling!).
I continue on, unpicking and then resewing. Changing thread colour, and zipper foot back to regular machine foot. Purse after purse after purse. With the still silence - a dull hum of distant traffic and life - of the street and the city.
And then everyone home again, and the noise back in my house. Shattering through the thickness of the silence I've been settled into. Back to regular life.
Plus more images of my inspiration board above my sewing table. This desk is in the front (entrance) room of our house, and I'm really enjoying having these snippets for myself, yet still having to be conscience that it's what people see when they walk in (hmmm... possibly a bit nicer than the regular mess we have from front to back of the whole house!).
Our next door neighbours' visitor. A regular visitor who has the most everyday stories, told at loudest volume, with emphatic punchlines. Stories I think I should tape, so that if I ever wrote one of those everyday life novels, I would have some 'real life' fodder. After he leaves, the next door house is quiet. It seems still, as if our neighbours have to regain their energy from such an over-the-top exuberant guest.
At building site down the street, I hear a man call out "want to bring another wheel barrow". Such a mundane aspect of the work they are doing near the train tracks.
Only a moment after that a mother "right now", in the total irritated tone of talking to a disobedient child, yet in the hushed tones of being out in the street. And having the feeling that everyone is watching you reprimand your child. (Come on, you all know that feeling!).
I continue on, unpicking and then resewing. Changing thread colour, and zipper foot back to regular machine foot. Purse after purse after purse. With the still silence - a dull hum of distant traffic and life - of the street and the city.
And then everyone home again, and the noise back in my house. Shattering through the thickness of the silence I've been settled into. Back to regular life.
Plus more images of my inspiration board above my sewing table. This desk is in the front (entrance) room of our house, and I'm really enjoying having these snippets for myself, yet still having to be conscience that it's what people see when they walk in (hmmm... possibly a bit nicer than the regular mess we have from front to back of the whole house!).