i agree

'I believe [there is] a need (deep in every individual) to find an outlet for their creativity - a way to express their individuality and uniqueness that may otherwise be lacking in their daily lives.'

Jenny Springett 'Make Money Selling Craft'

I'm building a plan for next year around this belief... for now though, my latest efforts in creativity.

dreamin'

School's out, so it's one job down, two to go.

I love that 'cross things off the list' feeling as the year draws to a close. One by one, commitments fall away and I feel lighter and lighter. This year it is particularly poignant (for some strange reason, I love that word) as I am resigning from the hospital. I call it my maternity leave without the maternity. Or an early retirement. One way or another, I will find space in 2010.

Well, I might find space in 2010! I have a mental list a mile long of all the things I can fill my time with, starting with listening all day, every day to ABC Radio National. (But don't tell Frank. He's already a bit worried I'll sit around doing nothing with my time. I promised to only have the radio on in the background while I work hard on other things, like cleaning the mould off the weather boards, and weeding the garden)

One of my other dreams is to join a local musical society and start singing again. Since leaving church I've barely sung a note, except when I put Kelly Clarkson on, and then I belt out a few notes at full volume. Of course we're not just talking about a bit part here - I'm going for fame, auditioning for a part. No lowly choir for me.

Why is that? Why do I feel the need for a leading role? Why can't I just settle for a place in the choir?

I suppose because we live in a celebrity culture. It's not enough to enjoy myself singing in a group - I want recognition and fame and celebrity and adulation. When I realised this today, I decided I should probably find a little choir in which I can blend and contribute to the whole, rather than stand out in front receiving the glory. Better for my character. More real.

Radio, choirs... I wonder how the year will really turn out. However it goes, I'm really looking forward to it.

a little bit too much excitement for my liking

'Anything for a story,' I usually say. I love a bit of a drama and never fail to warm to the thrall of people hanging off my every word. Cecily is my name, attention seeking my game, and if I have to ham it up a little for effect, so be it.

This story will not be like that. It is sufficiently exciting on its own that it does not require any embellishment. In fact, for several moments tonight I felt fear, the whole thing was so real and potentially terrible.

It all started with slivered almonds. Or was it the busy evening that did it? I came home from work early enough, but had two events to attend one after the other, starting at 6:30pm. We haven't been eating until 7:30 or later due to the lovely, light evenings, so I was gearing up for an early, quick meal before running out the door. I opted for an easy asian-style chicken salad and was pretty pleased to discover I had slivered almonds after all and could garnish to my heart's content. I sprinkled them onto a tray, added a few sesame seeds to the mix and threw them under the gas grill.

'Don't forget the grill,' I muttered to myself. (I'm always burning nuts and seeds under that thing, but it's so much easier than stirring them all in a dry pan) Of course, I immediately forgot them and sailed out into the next room. I was engrossed in another activity when I heard a bit of a popping and creaking sound...

THE GRILL!

Running into the kitchen, I was confronted by the tray and its contents, which were well alight. We're talking serious flames fuelled by gas. Eek. 'It's on fire,' I yelled and ran over to turn off the gas.

Nothing happened, so I closed the grill door to cut off oxygen, only to discover a whopping great gap in the seal. That made not a zot of difference.

By that stage Frank had run in and collected the fire extinguisher from under the sink. For some strange reason he ran into the next room to pull the pin out, by which time black smoke was pouring out of the stove and rolling up the walls. At about that moment I realised there was still a gas burner on, merrily cooking two chicken fillets. As I turned them off and began to wonder if this could turn into something very, very bad (do gas stoves and cylinders explode when fire is happening right by them?), Frank ran in, pointed the extinguisher at the base of the flame (ha... that is the correct technique of course, but who would know where he really pointed it) and sprayed.

Incredibly, the fire stopped instantly. Maybe I expected it would die back slowly and whimper a bit before going out, but it was over, just like that. Phew!

Being the blogging queen I am (OK, that was an embellishment), I immediately ran for my camera (strange, sad truth is contained in those words) and collected an image of the smoking mess for posterity:

I may also have invented a new technique in art:

Even with a relatively small fire the clean up was significant. We've vacuumed the dust, wiped smoke off walls and aired the house, but the smell still lingers and I keep finding tiny bits of ash on surfaces all over the place. I suspect the cleaning will continue for some time.

There was one other small issue - what to do with the chicken. I had my heart pretty well set on asian-style chicken, and that's hard to do without chicken. The slivered almonds and sesame seeds were lost. Could I get by without the chicken... and is it OK to eat food that has experienced a little, ah, dry powder extinguisher contamination?

We tried to phone the firies, but without resorting to 000 (which was now completely unnecessary, unless they offer a cleaning service, which I'm pretty sure they don't), no one would answer the phone outside of business hours. Next we called a friend of a friend who works as a fireman. No reply. Google 'what chemicals are in dry powder fire extinguishers': not very useful information. 'centrimax 70' was next and, bingo, most of the powders used in fire extinguishers are fairly innocuous. The powder used in ours was mostly likely mono ammonium phosphate, a fairly harmless chemical approved as a food additive. So we ate the chicken. As simple as that.

Perhaps I should call this post 'how not to cook tea'? One thing is for sure, I'll be getting that extinguisher refilled quick smart, buying a fire blanket just in case, and replacing the battery in the smoke detector. A little too close for comfort that one!

how to be a good brown owl

I'm not exactly sure how it all began. Perhaps a whispered idea between like-minded friends, but, word of mouth being what it is (a wonderful thing), now a dozen or more of us meet for craft and friendship every month.

Let's be honest, it's not a new idea. Women have been sewing and cooking and shelling peas together for centuries, but now we are just cooler. That's because we are 'Brown Owls' and we have a fun code of conduct:

Be Nice
Include others
Do your best
Try new stuff
Be helpful
Have nice manners
Be a bit crafty

Hurrah!

I was never a Brownie or a Girl Guide growing up, so a lot of the Brown-Owl-ness is lost on me. Prefects? Badges to earn? Codes of Conduct?! But I love craft and I like meeting people, so I joined the group, signed the pledge, agreed to the Code of Conduct (Frank would prefer it if I followed the code at all times, but I figure all the time is a big ask - just during meetings will do surely!), and I'm in. A true Brown Owl.

Tonight was our last meeting for the year, and I had a good old time chatting away to lots of crafty ladies. Unfortunately knitting lace scarves whilst talking animatedly is not conducive to quality work, so I'm hoping my mother in law won't examine her Christmas gift too closely.

seeing eyes

I was sitting near a blind man today, keeping an eye on his guide dog. It was a lovely black Labrador with glossy coat and gentle eyes, and it sat quietly waiting by the man's feet. I was so taken with the dog I kept looking back to it again and again. Slowly it dawned on me that the blind man could not do what I was doing - admire the physical beauty of the animal. He could experience its great skill in seeing for him and guiding him in life, but he could not sit and gaze at it and experience that glossy coat and those talking eyes.

I felt very sad.

a very enjoyable evening

I was getting myself all stressed this afternoon - the BIG Christmas do was on. I have four possible Christmas parties to attend this year, which is what comes of working several jobs. In the interests of spending a little less, I'm attending three of the four.

Tonight was event number two, and in my mind it had become the preeminent do; the party to beat all parties. Something to do with the effort and hoo hah I knew many were undertaking to beautify themselves for the big night. We're talking fake tans, hairdresser up dos and cute little cocktail dresses. I had the distinct feeling that in comparison to all this, I may well look something of a frump. Now there's a comforting thought. Harrumph.

Around six pm I was engaged in a game of musical clothes. This top with those trousers. (Nope, too tight) Those trousers with that top. (Uh uh, too boring) That top with three quarter jeans. (Hmmm, too casual?) These trousers, that blouse, white shirt, green flowery tee... on and on, until finally I settled for the dress, which was my original plan until the weather had suddenly turned cold.

It set me to reflecting on beauty, confidence, consumerism and contentment. I would like to be someone who could rock up in clothes that were not exactly in fashion, and just not care. (I almost pulled it off, although perhaps I could have claimed more complete success if I had settled for the original outfit of trousers and top that were boring, but quite nice and definitely warm) I wanted to believe what I tell the girls at school - no one looks at you as much as you do, they're all too busy looking at themselves. Unless they're looking at you to pull your appearance to pieces because they are unhappy with themselves, but I don't tell the girls about that. Let them find some self love first, be comfortable in their own skin, then let them down slowly. (I think I managed to convince myself on this one - I was sufficiently happy with how I looked to admire all the pretty dresses and perfect tans - those girls looked gorgeous, believe me!) And I was pleased I hadn't spent lots of money trying to look a certain way (it doesn't matter that much what we look like in the end), and more particularly that the dress I wore was an ethical number. I know who made it, where, the conditions they worked under and that they were paid fairly. (Check out Eternal Creation for more ethical, gorgeous and incredibly high quality items!)

It's a complicated thing, appearances, fashion and feeling comfortable in my own skin. Maybe one day I'll tap into the river of confidence such that I stop worry worrying how I compare to everyone else. In the meantime I looked nice enough and had a good time chatting with lots of lovely people. We're all the same on the inside!

And now I must go and put all the discarded clothes back in the drawers and cupboards from whence they came...

day 27 and only four posts to go

It is Friday night, I'm relaxing a little, watching 'Pursuit of Happyness' and feeling rather grateful for all the good things in my life.

Like my nice husband, selling lots of earrings today and taking orders for more, rain for my vegie patch, the baby plover that has grown so fast and eggs from our chicken.

Written with a thankful heart*.


*I know that technically yesterday was Thanksgiving in the USA, but could today perhaps count as Australian Thanksgiving? Or at least Cecily's Thanksgiving.