loose ends

even though i keep a calendar things do get lost
so today

[after a quick pootle to the seaside to meet and exchange dye stories with Latvian master weaver Maris Manins who is visiting the annual summer school at Dzintari , a place i've long thought would make a fine retreat location]

i came home and made a list for this year
and added it to my website

that way, if i fall out of the sky at some point
at least someone in my family has access to the people that will need to be contacted
so it's an insurance policy
as much as a running sheet

it's a surprisingly long list.
but idle hands are the devil's playground.

it's hot and there is smoke on the horizon

and a bit closer, a funny shape

no, not a Pushmi-pulyu
just two friends having a scratch

 while Kelpie gives an excellent impression of a Stubbs painting

there is packing to do for a hop across the ditch and this year i do hope to travel a bit lighter than in recent months

 it mightn't be quite as light as this, but i'm working on it.
my back isn't what it used to be since the stair-tumble in Portland.

i'm also working on this dress
loving the way the shapes are forming
pondering which trees i'll be asking for donations
and wandering over the surface with needle and thread
drawing lines and making marks

and am thrilled to bits that people have begun to send me images of their stuffed, steeped and stored jars
to add to the virtual pantry

this jar holds the remnants of the bunch of roses Ma gave me for my birthday in December
together with a handful of copper nails i found on Granville Island
when i was visiting Maiwa last September

the good and the sad

it's fun to pootle round New Orleans

shooting from the hip with

the modern equivalent of the box brownie

every so often

something sad finds its way into the frame

these poor mules work 18 hour days

forced to trot on the hard bitumen surface

wearing steel shoes

my feet [clad in wool socks and farm boots]

are killing me after 8 days of pavement walking

[they much prefer paddocks]

so i can imagine how tired those poor mules must feel

how their legs must ache

after working that hard surface all day

how about at least getting them some rubber shoes?

surely there'd be a market for rubber horseboots

perhaps made from recycled tyres

to take some of the banging out of those poor bones

there are horses the whirled over

working long days

pulling fat tourists about

on hard roads

at least these guys seem reasonably well fed

unlike their poor skeletal cousins in India

fuel for thought

here's some interesting reading for those who have been pondering the plight of the world...peak oil is upon us, they say (click on the link, it's worth it).
thank goodness we've still got a few horses in the paddocks.




unfortunately a return to horse-powered transport is likely to bring back Dickensian conditions for these beautiful animals, as unskilled and thoughtless owners used to going where and when they want (at speed) thrash extra mileage out of them. it's bad enough seeing the tourist carriages in Melbourne being trotted thoughtlessly on hard roads; let alone the ghastly conditions one finds horses in; when wandering in Asian countries. rib-thin horses pulling sulkies at a Palace in Hyderabad come to mind, not to mention those poor Welsh ponies used for racing in Vietnam. depressing thought.

little bear's porridge

today was a little bear's porridge day..not too hot, not too cold, but just right. even a little scotch mist to help green the few leaves remaining in the garden.

needing a little grounding after the headiness of opening night & associated pre-performance butterflies, lukewarm pseudochampagne and requisite schmoozing (don't get me wrong, it's fun at the time) i wander out to the paddock and call up my four-legged sister, Kelpie. there's nothing like conversation with a horse, they are mind-readers and like a full focus. our horses need no catching...they enjoy company and if not already waiting at the gate will canter up as soon as they spot us.
i saddle up. i used to ride bareback all the time but the bounce (both for getting up and for sudden dismounts) isn't what it once was. at least the bridle is bitless, soft and seemingly comfy. she puts her nose into it quite happily.

one of my 'three' rides with me, bareback on the palouse pony Sparky, her red hair aflame in the afternoon sun. the elderly welsh pony trots along beside us, joyfully kicking up her heels from time to time and stopping for a snack when she feels like it. her retirement plan seems to be working nicely for her! sheep glance up at us as we ride on by, knowing by the dog's relaxed bumbling they won't be mustered today.

it's good to be out on a paddock, even if the dry of summer does make it look a bit like the badlands. a slight shift in the light and the scene is straight out of the pages of Tolkien, a grassy steppe with lichen-covered boulders that does nicely for Rohan. unfortunately the time spent in the studio in recent months, constructing costumes and works for next week's exhibition has meant that certain spontaneous plants, including the dreaded scotch thistle, have also been enjoying the scenery. Onopordum acanthium (scotch thistle) was introduced to this continent by the early settlers...specifically those with a fondness for heather and haggis.

Georgiana Molloy, an extraordinary woman who (with her husband) was one of the early settlers of the state in the far west, wrote home to her sister "please send me some more thistle seed, quite new" as her first crop apparently failed. unlike poor Georgiana, who shuffled off this mortal coil after having too many babies in too few years (including giving birth to her first child in a tent in a storm on an ocean beach) the thistles thrived. in practical terms, this means my next studio-free day will be spent grubbing thistles, with my horse-sister curiously watching me, rather than carrying me, literally and metaphorically, away from toil...

there's no place like home

i'm home again, and it's good, very good indeed. warm welcome on the paddock as well as the usual convulsive border collie greetings. and all those cat backs firmly turned, signifying they're not taking any notice of the prodigal's return.