The Maroon Diaries

At first, I wasn't planning on including book reviews in my blog. So, when I first found myself composing blog posts in my head about the books I was reading, I discarded them and thought about something else. Last night, I finally finished reading  The Emperor of Scent - A Story of Perfume, Obsession, and the Last Mystery of the Senses  by  Chandler Burr . It was a heavy one to get through, so it was with some sense of satisfaction and achievement that I closed it on the last page. My mind was just thronging with thoughts and interpretations which wouldn't be discarded. They just kept typing themselves out on my mental screen, until I was starting to wonder whether book reviews might actually be the right thing for my blog. Then today I had a visit from a friend who has a dodgy internet connection at home, and hadn't seen my blog yet. I loaded it up on the screen and we scrolled through the pages together. She said ooh, ah, wow, and all such appropriate interjections, an

Remember this sweet tie-dyed summer dress I found  on Friday ? I'll put the picture in here again for a more effective before-and-after presentation. It went for a swim in the dyepot yesterday. This excellent pot used to be my Nana's, but she doesn't make individual steamed fruit puddings for Christmas anymore. Good on you Nan. I never thought much of that peculiar Australian custom of making a hot lunch with all the trappings in the middle of summer. Then, this morning, it was a quick spin through the washing machine (where, I must say, my  homemade laundry powder  is performing admirably), and straight into service as my new summer dress. I actually didn't even wait for it to dry. It's 34 degrees C here - nasty! Damp clothes are a bonus on a day like today. It's interesting how the maroon dye all but completely covered up the tie-dye pattern. Usually, if I dye something printed or patterned, the pattern will still be visible, but the colours a

girl's skirt, $1 vintage rose notepaper set, still in the original packaging, $1 2-piece men's suit, pure Australian wool, fancy-pants Studio Italia label, minor repair needed (one trouser leg hem), $2 pure linen, pure classic kitsch Tasmania tablecloth, $1. This is the gem that made it worth getting dressed and out the door this morning. I think it deserves full-scale wall-hanging glory. tie-dye summer dress, $1. This one actually fits me - it's going straight into the maroon dyepot. bird print black t-shirt, $1 Capture sundress, $1 random piece of gorgeous chiffon, $1 japanese-style small bowl, embroidered doily, woven cane platter, $2 each stunning yellow floral woven single-bed bedspread, $3 *Linked in with  Flea Market Finds  at  Her Library Adventures .

In the interests of living naturally, sustainably, saving the earth, etc., I know it's a good thing to make your own cleaning products rather than buying pre-packaged substances of questionable origin and consequence. I have made and used homemade cleaning products before, and I knew all the amazing things you could do with vinegar and bicarb soda, but I'd somehow fallen back into the habit of using supermarket preparations for convenience. It happens when you're travelling, and it's not really very practical to buy all the ingredients and make up a whole batch of a product, when you can just buy a little packet of something all ready to go. Enter blog inspiration. I saw a post about a lady making her own spray cleaning product out of basic ingredients. The one I wasn't familiar with was borax. I had a little google around and read many different homemade recipes for spray cleaners, laundry soaps, dishwashing products, etc. They all varied around a basic them

It's like sinking in quicksand. It only makes it worse, and exhausting, to kick and struggle against it. Better to yield, and sink, and just keep breathing. Eventually, I'll go to sleep, and I'll wake up, and it will be another day. It doesn't feel like this can be true, but I know it from experience, and I cling to that. The air is heavy as molten lead, movement is like through treacle. Movement hurts. Stillness hurts. Light hurts. Thought hurts. The world is unbearable, both its beauty and its tragedy are utterly heartbreaking. I want to die, I want it so much, more than I have ever wanted anything in life. Or that's what it feels like. I have realised, after many years of such thoughts, that there is actually one thing I want even more, and that is not to disappoint or hurt the people I care about. So I'm still here. Curled up in the foetal position, whimpering. Tears running down my face. Hungry, but powerless to do anything about it. I just can't de

One of the things I love about my overgrown jungle of a backyard is that so often there is something new to discover. Maybe the results of my own efforts in the garden, maybe a wild surprise, maybe the work of the assorted wildlife with whom we share our little patch called home. This morning I wrote in my journal, along with notes to self to buy vinegar and other such mundane musings, the following sentence - There are self-seeded poppy seedlings popping up. Wow. Isn't that just such a cute little sentence. I had to stop and marvel a little at the spontaneous alliteration. Try saying it five times, fast. So let's have a look at the events which led to its creation. I planted some California Poppy seeds, just a cheap packet from the $2 shops, in August last year. They performed most impressively, though I was a little disappointed that all the flowers it produced were yellow. The seed packet had promised me 'a variety of colours.' See now, if I'd only plante

I made a dreamcatcher today. It's something that I've never done before.  I've never used a dreamcatcher myself before, either, but I wanted to make one for a friend who is troubled by nightmares. I find it hard to do something that I'm not already sure I know I can do well. I put it off for quite a while, and had it in my mind to focus on starting it today. I started by writing in my journal about it, and once I identified and named the 'Not Good Enough' fear-thoughts, resistance melted and I was off with needle and thread. Technique was another matter. Someone did show me how to make dreamcatchers once - about 13 years ago. But it was enough to start playing around with it. I started off much too loose and loopy but worked it out somewhere in the middle. I believe a messy dreamcatcher will likely work as well as a neat one. It just needs some dangly bits coming down. I want to use little bunches of eucalyptus leaves. A short Walking Adventure shall be i

...and feed upon strawberries, sugar and cream." - Anonymous A recent little project. These pink velvet cushions came from the op shop in a fill-a-garbage-bag-for-$5 sale. The fabric is a tough upholstery or curtain material, and they are perfectly made, but other clues led me to conclude that these were most likely someone's homemade cushion covers. There are no tags, and a uniform machine stitch has been used throughout the project, with the seams left unfinished. They go wonderfully with my pink velvet lounge suite, but they just seemed to be crying out for their own doilies. These ones are random op-shop finds that I have dyed in maroon dye. I just pinned and stitched them straight on. And by the way, to all those people who told me that using a digital camera was just a matter of 'point and click' - I say pfft to you. I tried these cushions in all sorts of different lighting conditions and the pictures NEVER turn out the way I see the thing. I couldn&

On February 14, 2001, I went to a certain pub in North Hobart to attend a local writers' open mic event, with a theme, rather appropriately, of Valentine's Day. I'd seen some fliers around. I went alone, carrying my journal in my bag. I was so nervous. My heart was in my throat the whole time. I didn't know what to order from the bar. I don't drink beer and I hadn't yet discovered the delights of sparkling wines. I settled on a Stones and ginger. I sat way at the back of the room. I watched and listened as, one after another, people went up to a small impromptu lectern and read stories, poems, letters and essays, all somehow related to the phenomenon of love in all its varied manifestations, aloud to the audience, perhaps some two dozen people. As each person finished their piece, there would be a moderate, polite round of applause. I was unsure as to the protocol or procedure for getting up the front to read, so I waited until it seemed that most people had alr

...it's where I spend the vast majority of my time... ...and it's fine." Quote by  Tim Minchin

I had a different name when I was born. I have changed every part of my name since then - first, middle, last, and title. I have made these changes legally, by deed poll. My mail arrives addressed to Lady Demelza. Each of these changes has been made with a great deal of thought - many years worth of thoughts in fact. Each change has been a step toward crafting my identity to reflect my inner self. My mum chose the name Demelza when she was pregnant with me. Demelza was the heroine of a Cornish TV series, Poldark, which was screening on ABC at the time. Demelza was the kitchen wench who married the master and became the lady of the house. Pretty cool story. Excellent choice, Mum! This is my copy of the novelisation of the series, with Angharad Rees playing Demelza. (Apologies for the blurry picture. Keep in mind, folks, this morning is my first ever attempt at taking photos with a digital camera, and there's no-one around to show me how it works. I'm pretty much just p

It's a miracle. Many people thought this day would never come, and others persevered in the face of great resistance to ensure that it did. And here we are. Lady Demelza  is online. Yes, that's really me, completely absorbed in the task of learning how to use blogger. The picture is a little bit blurry because there's actually a frenzy of activity going on in there, despite my sedentary posture. Thanks to Mr CJ for taking the photo. You see, I am terribly technophobic. Partly just because I'm generally pretty old-fashioned, I think. And largely because I have temporal lobe epilepsy, and being around too many computers, or for too long, or even just one computer that just makes the wrong kind of whiney noise, can trigger an epileptic episode. I didn't actually know that this was the problem until I was 25 years old. Before that, all I knew was that 'I had a yucky feeling' about and around computers. I think this is why I developed such a strong aversion