Sunday Stealing: Crafty

Another writer's block, another blog post to get out of the way, particularly as I'm heading up to Darwin tomorrow night - having this done means I don't have to worry about it with everything else going on in the morning. 

I will say that I'm having the time of my life down here on the Great Ocean Road. This was the view I woke up to. I took this at ten to seven. 

Questions, as always, brought to you by Bev at Sunday Stealing. 

1. What (if anything) are you doing to celebrate St Patrick's Day?

I will be doing nothing out of the ordinary. St Patrick's Day isn't a thing for me. I might have a bit of a giggle at Blarney the day after - being Irish, she often has a big day on 17 March. It happens most years when we ply her with water and paracetamol. 

2. What is your least favorite color (to wear, to craft with or to decorate with)?

Pink. I really don't like pink. I'll do apricot at a push, but not pink. It's almost a cellular dislike of the colour. Never have liked. I mean, it's only a colour...

3. At a yellow light - do you speed up or slow down??

A bit of both. Depends on how close the intersection I find myself. I'm a bit more inclined to slow down and stop after receiving a red camera fine a few weeks ago - which I am contesting. How can it be a school zone if the school is bloody closed?

4. How many pairs of scissors are in your craft room?

I don't have a craft room, but I know I own about four pairs of scissors. One for the kitchen, one for paper cutting, one general pair and one other for my craft bag for snipping wool and thread. All of the scissors are left-handed or multi use. I can't use scissors with my right hand. 

5. What are the first three items you have 'saved for later' on Amazon?

As Amazon is an evil conglomeration looking to overtake the world, I use them as little as possible. I've got a few books lined up on my Audible account for future purchase. That is about it. Amazon, I find, is good for small technology purchases and very hard to find books. Still, they are my last resort when it comes to buying things. 

6. Did you plant any springs bulbs in your garden and if so, have any of them come up yet?

I don't have a garden. I don't like gardening. So no, I haven't planted any bulbs. We're also going into Autumn (Fall) here , which is when you're not supposed to plant bulbs. 

7. What book, if any, are you reading right now?

Ah, I'm about to embark on reading Rebecca F. Kuang's Yellowface again. It's our book group book. I didn't love it the first time around, but it is our book group book. 

I was really enjoying Madeleine Gray's Green Dot - far more my cup of tea before having to start Yellowface for book group. 

On audiobook, I'm listening to Anna O by Matthew Blake - a thriller. I'm really enjoying it. Dan Stevens has a great voice. 

8. Do you prefer ball point pens, gel pens, or thin tip markers to write with?

 I love writing with very fine point black ballpoint pens. I get them at Officeworks and use them until no more ink remains. It has to be the finest of ballpoints, even though they make my handwriting look spidery. 

9. What is your favorite crafting item - the craft item thing you use the most or can't live without? (Exclude basic items like scissors and glue).

I can't live without my knitting needles, crochet hooks and a large darning needle. I both knit and crochet and love doing both. 

10. What are the first 3 items on your grocery list and what is your favorite grocery store?

My grocery list always starts out with Almond Milk, chicken and salad. Sometimes, if I'm running really low, it will read cat food, fish and bread. But most weeks it is the former list. 

11. What unfinished craft projects are you working on (or not:) at the moment?

Not so much a craft project, but I'm ploughing through a novel I wrote about five years ago at the moment. Gotta say, it's a bit better than I remembered. I don't want to vomit. That's something. 

12. What was the last item you pinned on Pinterest? Or hearted on Instagram

I am rarely on Pinterest - it's not my vibe. As for Instagram, I hearted some of the photos from the current retreat by one of my fellow retreat dwellers. That and cat pictures, because cat pictures rule. 

13. What is the biggest tourist attraction where you live?

 Melbourne has a lot to offer itself when it comes to attractions. Some of the things we like to promote are:

• The excellent coffee
• The art-filled laneways
• The excellent shopping
• The National Gallery of Victoria, which seriously punches above its weight.
• The sporting venues and subsequent sporting activities - think Australian Rules Football
• The niche inner city suburbs, which are all different
• The proximity to the wine regions of the Mornington Peninsula, Bellarine Peninsula and the Yarra Valley
• To name a few things

Melbourne is a cosmopolitan city. Sydney is faster paced and has the beauty of the harbour. Adelaide is a smaller, more compact version of Melbourne (with an even better food and wine culture), And Tasmania is definitely worth a look if you are ever over here. 

14. What color is your favorite sweater?

I have this gorgeous bright green jumper, and it is excellent. 

15. How does your family react when you get a big pile of mail?

I live alone. Nobody is going to comment on what mail I get. Besides, most of my mail comes to me electronically.

Today's song:

I want to be a Pirate

 Today's post comes from a writing prompt at the retreat. All of this from a small wooden block. 

Some of us are meant to be near the sea. We need the constant reminder that we are small, infinitesimal even. That we are the grain of sand and not the wave. That we are the detritus, the flotsam and the jetsam, not the power behind the destruction. 

I was thinking this driving down the Great Ocean Road, motoring past the old growth forests, besides the undulating seas. The acknowledgement that I am just a little thing – a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it phenomena on a winding road, heading towards a known place. 

It felt good. 

I am not the pirate, onboard the ship, terrorising all around. I am not that misunderstood. I am not that steampunk version of humanity, forced to negotiate a life away from society. I am not hunted. I am not a visible manifestation of societies scars. As I have two eyes in working order, I have depth perception – no eye patch. I bathe – something that a pirate probably does not do. I read. It’s hard to find an abundance of fresh water on a leaky boat. 

I have a permanence, that any self-respecting pirate would loathe. Dress him in pink and call him Shirley. You’ll have better odds at survival. I do not seek out danger. 

Still, I want to be a pirate. 

Turning 55 brought some serious lifestyle questions to the fore. I didn’t think I would still be alive, if I’m perfectly honest. My father died at 55. My father also had a slew of complex medical problems for most of his life and his passing was a blessing. Things would be different if he had been well. But he knew no different. 

On reaching this age, other than finding myself suffering from crippling anxiety, which has now been addressed, it is as if I’ve been given permission to live. `  

Which is what a pirate would do. 

Pirates answer to nobody. For why should they? Their ship is their home. Their universe. 

They wear what they bloody well want. I will be a pirate who wears an apricot house robe, and dance around my space without a care. 

They speak with authority, for a pirate doesn’t have the constraints of being pigeonholed. It’s not as if they’re a Generation X woman, with all of the crap they’ve been conditioned with over their years. They may have had to raise themselves, look after themselves, and get themselves out of many a sticky situation, like today’s average middle-aged woman, but they are unapologetic about it. 

A pirate would never say sorry – unless they had stepped on their cat’s tail. Now that is a different matter. 

A good pirate does not rape or pillage. They do not steal for personal gain. Think of the Dread Pirate Roberts in The Princess Bride. He is not bad. He’s just a fellow living his life on the high seas, more sinned against than sinning, looking for somebody to replace them when their bones become creaky and the seas to rough. 

And no pirate in their right mind would want to be trapped. Anything to avoid a jail cell, the stocks, or heaven help it, a noose around their neck. That noose could be anything from a football scarf to a diamond necklace to a business tie. The only thing that could reign in a pirate is love. Well, that’s what I like to think. 

To be a pirate is to be responsible for your own welfare and happiness – and to an extent those in their direct circle of influence – and that is it. A pirate knows his boundaries, both internal and external. 

So, I sit here, looking out at the sea, pondering my place in the world, knowing that I’d rather be on the sea, being an active participant in the way that I run my life, rather than life running me. 

I don’t give a fuck about the rest of the stuff. For people will judge the clothes, the outlook the viewpoint, the lifestyle. I would not care. 

Pirates are the masters of their own domain. They are the absolute authority on being authentic. They answer to nobody.

So here am I, lounging around writing in my apricot dressing gown, drinking decaffeinated coffee, eating Turkish Delight and knowing that this is exactly what is needed at this very moment, not giving a thought to what other people think. It is not the way of the buccaneer to kowtow to others. 

This freedom must take some discipline.

Then maybe, I just want to be a pirate because pirates are cool. 

Arrrrrrrr.

Today's song: 

With my Tribe

For I am with my tribe.

Which to some could be very scary,

For who knows the power of a group,

A gaggle, a conglomeration,

Or whatever the collective noun is

For women of a certain age,

Complete with comfy jumpers,

Dyed hair in all sorts of colours

Statement spectacles

And sensible shoes,

Bemoaning the fact that impending menopause

Makes you itchy and bitchy,

But still makes you horny as hell.

(Did I put my vibrator away before the house sitter came – I can’t remember)

For I am with my tribe.

And we understand each other

On a cellular level.

Something most of us sadly lack

In our everyday lives.

 

These are people who you can happily talk to

About choice and desire

Happiness and grief

Love and sex

Home and work

Wants and needs

And the will to be yourself

(Which I cannot do with other friends

As much as I love them

And this is okay.)

For I am with my tribe.

And for two days,

I have full permission

To just be me.

And I will come away from this:

Replete

Swearing

Rejuvenated

Rambunctious

Horny

And happy.

 

God help the world.

Today's song:

Theatre Review: Rent

 The Production: Rent

The Theatre: The State Theatre at the Arts Centre

Stars: 4

Until 7 March. 

I don't really like musicals unless they are unexpected, edgy or fun. Think Rocky Horror, The Book of Mormon and Chicago. Some of the smaller musicals, like the Heartbreak Choir or Fun Home were magnificent. 

I will go to a musical once to see what it's like, then walk out stating, "Okay, seen that. Don't need to go again."

This has happened for the following musicals:

• Miss Saigon
• Cats
• The Phantom of the Opera
• Hamilton
• Les Miserables (The best bit is when Javert jumps off the bridge)
• Mary Poppins

You can add Rent to this list. 

Am I glad I saw it? Yes. Will I see it again? No. 

And that's okay. 

I mean, set in the nineties in the East Village of New York, this group of street people, junkies, creatives and odd bods have been evicted from their squat, and they sing about it. 

I can say that the singing was impeccable, and the acting, on musical standards, was great. The sets were inventive and fun. I loved the costumes. But it's a musical, and yeah, they don't really float my boat. It probably doesn't help that because of traffic, we got there ten minutes late. 

As there is limited info about the production on the Arts Centre website, I can't give details of the cast or creatives. From what I could see, that's why they were pimping the merch. I can say that I loved Maureen - she was fab. Mimi's septum piercing kept glimmering and I found it off-putting. Angel was fantastic. 

Jay said it was a very emotional musical. I didn't feel it, but I don't like musicals that much. 

The purists in the crowd gave this a standing ovation.

But I'm not a Rent purist. I clapped along anyway. They deserved the applause. 

So, yeah, I saw Rent tonight. I did enjoy the production. But I've seen it - I don't need to see it again. 

Today's Song:

Theatre Review: The Dictionary of Lost Words

 The Play: The Dictionary of Lost Words

The Production: Sydney Theatre Company

The Theatre: The Playhouse at the Arts Centre

Stars: 4

Until 17 March

As with any play that’s been adapted from a book, you run the risk of either missing the point or not doing the book justice. In this case, the Sydney Theatre Company’s production of Pip Williams’ The Dictionary of Lost Words does a great job of presenting the book on stage. Admittedly, I liked the book, but did not love it, for stylistic reasons. I loved the story. I mean, set in Oxford, about the Oxford English Dictionary – a staple for any English Lit. student. Esme Nicholl is the precocious daughter of one of the dictionary’s compilers, hanging out at the ‘scrippy’ from a young child. 

The play follows Esme’s life from the age of four, to her life as a married woman. Over the years, we see her life, the words she collects from the scriptorium, her relationships, her family, and the world events surrounding her life in Oxford. 

If you've read the book, you'll get a lot out of this. It's very true to the book. If you haven't, no drama. You're just going to be told a wonderful story about a girl, her relationship to words, and a mammoth task that they undertook from the late 1800's where they began to document the English Language. 

There is a lot to love about the production. It's not a cerebral play, but it is fascinating. Where the whole premise is quite simple, the staging is inventive, making brilliant use of the split stage - a downstairs back wall made to look like the pigeonholes of the scriptorium, the upstairs area used as anything from a towpath to a bedroom, to street scenes. It made for easy transitions. Making this even better was the use of an overhead projector (remember those) which the actors manipulated from a desk central stage to great effect. Sure, it doesn't have the clout of production like The Picture of Dorian Gray, but this

My theatre buddy loved this, having not read the book. She passed a comment that it was wonderful to see something which isn't full of sex, drugs and violence. Sure, there's a little bit of swearing, in context, which brings out some delightful moments of humour. 

For me, who likes the book, this proves a great representation of the story. Jessica Arthur's direction is on point, and James Oxlade's set is incredibly inventive. 

Another thing I loved was the open captioning at each side of the stage, allowing everybody to read the script as well as see the action. This accessibility was really appreciated. It's a bit like watching television with the captions on. 

What also interested me was the crowd demographic, which was primarily women in their middle and older ages. The book group set. I have a feeling most of the people there had read and appreciated the book. It was definitely a book group type of crowd.

This is the perfect show to take your mother to, or if, like me, you're a lover of the English language and enjoy a very good night out. The three-hour run time (with a 20-minute interval) went very quickly.

This comes highly recommended. 

And if you're interested, here are some things to read about the history of the Oxford English Dictionary. 

The Dictionary of Lost Words by Pip Williams

The Surgeon of Crowthorne by Simon Winchester

Today's song:

Black Beetle Night

 I'm just back from a play. 

Leaving work at 5.30, I hopped on the train and made it to the theatre with plenty of time to spare. 

But I'm not going to write about the play tonight. It was very good, but that will be a job for tomorrow, when there's a bit more time. The play deserves more than a cursory review.

After depositing my friend at the cab rank, I made my way to the tram. 

It's a black beetle night. 

One of those warm nights, a cloying night, when the black beetles come out of the ground. 

You don't see it in the city so much, well not where I am, but it's only on these warm, damp, still nights that the beetles come out. I remember as a child, how we'd wake to a verandah filled with beetles. Some alive, but most dead. I'm not sure of the moon phase, but last night, a large waning moon hung in the sky. 

It was walking back from the tram last night that remembered this strange fact. I took a small detour last night. On alighting the tram and crossing the road, I checked my surroundings - as you do. I was the only one who got off the tram. There was one guy in the street. Tall. Sloppily dressed. He didn't give off good energy. Instead of following him, I turned and took the longer way, passing in front of the strip of closing restaurants and down the street next to the pub. My keys and mobile phone were in my hands.  It felt safer. You do this coming home from the tram after dark.

As I walked down the road, I noticed the cockroaches skittering over the footpath - away from the restaurants. Maybe they're acting like the humidity and warmth seeking beetles. 

Arriving home safely, I texted my theatre friend to tell her I arrived home safely.

The tall man I'd seen at the tram stop was rifling through the possessions of my neighbours in the carports. I didn't challenge him. Rather I slipped quietly into the stairwell and made sure the doors were locked. 

Today's song: 

The Project

, In my head, I'm preparing for the weekend. 

Yes, it's only Monday, but my neurodiverse brain needs everything in order so that I can leave work on Friday at around two p.m. and drive down the Great Ocean Road. I also need to be doubly packed, as I'm taking off for Darwin on Sunday night. 

This means double packing, one bag for the retreat, the small suitcase for Darwin, then all of the accoutrements, such as my knitting, a book or two, all of the peripherals (which get packed regardless of where I'm going, as you need all of your cords, your power pack, a mouse or two, the small keyboard and various other bits of plastic you didn't need to pack ten years ago). 

I've got other things for the retreat set aside already. A couple of books for the trading table. My spare yoga mat. A bottle of gin and some tonic. I'm undecided as to whether I take the tarot cards (and then they get transferred into the Darwin bag - the guys in the call centre love that stuff.) 

I'm going to take my light dressing gown - mainly so I can mooch around in it like Poor Dear Pamela in Saltburn would do. It should be the weather for it. There's something very cool about mooching about in a floral apricot kimono and sparkly pink wellington boots. And why? 

Well, why not?

But my big thing about going on retreat is the question of what am I going to work on? 

Of course, I could go and do the set writing workshops, which are always great - but I've done a lot of the exercises a couple of times over. I think this is my eighth retreat to date. I go because I've made friends as much as I go to write. There's something very nurturing about hanging around with a mob of like-minded women. I also have my little room off the chapel, known as a 'nun hole'. The beds are comfortable, even if you get woken up by the morning disco on the Saturday. 

But I digress. 

What am I going to work on? 

Well, I think I'm going to pull the worst of a novel I wrote a few years ago out of the bottom draw. I've got nearly 90,000 words written. The bog-standard novel comes in at around 100,000 words. 

And yes, it's a crap novel, and yes, it needs a shit ton of work done on it, but I think now might be the time. 

Like 90,000 words is a bit of an achievement - and I'm curious to see what I have written. 

But do I take this on a stick down to Officeworks and print out a double-spaced manuscript, so I can start marking this up - or do I read the last two chapters and try and remember where I was? Do I start a new sparkly notebook for notes on this tome - as all writer's know, a new notebook works wonders for old projects. 

Or do I maybe work on something else. 

After five-years in the bottom draw (or in this case, hidden on an external hard drive away from harm) maybe it's time to become a proper writer - even if it is a bad novel.

Bad novels still get published sometimes. 

And like 99% of wannabee writers, I'm entitled to write my bad novel. 

Maybe this is what I need to get back on the fiction horse. 

Today's song: