life imitating art

 

Have you been reading this book?  If not, you really should.  My work pal Emma recommended it to me after her little boy came home from school with it.  I didn't actually realise it was ANOTHER Julia Donaldson until our copy arrived.  You might think, from how often I blog about her books, that I'm some kind of crazy Julia Donaldson fan.  I'm really not.  I like her books, I enjoy reading them aloud, I love that Dulcie loves them and I will admit The Gruffalo has the feel of an absolute classic, but I'm quite take-her-or-leave-her in other regards.  (What other regards are there?!)  This book, however... Gasp!  Oh, I love it so much.  It's just the sweetest and simplest story, told so beautifully and the illustrations are magical.  They really manage to capture something of that haphazardness of childhood and all the little rough-around-the-edges and random treasures of it.  As does the text, actually.  This is one of those Julia Donaldson books that is not written in rhyme, but has a recurring song that crops up every few pages.  I like it that way.

Every time I read a book with a little song to Dulcie, I make up a tune for the song on the spot on the first reading, which I then feel I have to stick to for consistency's sake.  Mostly, that doesn't work out too well and my tunes for Tabby McTat and The Smartest Giant In Town are less than catchy, but I feel like the tune that popped into my head for this book's song is THE tune, so perfect (except that I strain for the high notes!) and I can't believe anyone else would sing it any other way.  It would be really interesting if everyone who had this book recorded their version of the song so we could all hear the variety.  Or maybe we really do all sing it to the same tune... Spooky.

Anyway, if you have read the book, you'll see what I mean about life imitating art in the rest of this post.  If you haven't read the book, then I guess this post could be considered a spoiler and you might want to stop reading now!  Ha!

Inspired by our reading, Dulcie and I decided to make some paper dolls of our own (while wearing our pyjamas).  Dulcie was pretty impressed when I unfolded the paper and turned one doll into five, but then she was also impressed that I could use scissors, so, you know...

I made two sets of dolls.  One for me to decorate...

...and one for Dulcie.  I drew the stripy tights, the shoes and the bow on these to give Dulcie the idea, but the rest is all her own work, including the spotty dress on the far left which took her ages and a huge amount of concentration.

The paper dolls held hands and they danced and they jumped and they sang.

They kicked crumbs on an island.

And then somebody who is too small to use scissors for snipping (naming no names, but there's no harm in looking, as my primary five teacher used to say) said she was going to tear them all up into tiny pieces...

...and she did.

And the paper dolls flew into our memories...via the kitchen bin.

We've tried to make paper dolls again a few times since, but now they don't even get to experience the singing and jumping and dancing and kicking of crumbs.  Most times, they don't even get to experience being drawn on before they meet their tearing maker.  (See what I did there?  Meet their MAKER?  Yes, very clever, wasn't it?)  Every time she does this, Dulcie says, "Paper dolls got brokened, Mummy fix them," and is genuinely sad when I tell her I can't.  Hours after the dolls have gone in the bin, she asks me where they are repeatedly and begs me to go and get them back.

I'm not sure where she gets these destructive tendencies from (I do really - I blame her father!) but hopefully one day in the not-too-distant future, she'll stop making things "brokened" and we can spend a bit more time decorating our dolls and making them super-duper fancy.  Oh, yes, I'm talking glitter, ribbons and other accoutrements, people!  One day...

wishing and hoping/the hopeful heart

Today I'll be spending the day at the hospital, having my boobies manhandled and covered in lubricant.  This is not as much fun as it sounds, honest!  As well as all the manhandling, lubricating and scanning, I'll be pedalling on an exercise bike, hooked up to all sorts of monitors and wearing a mask, until I collapse.  Literally until I collapse.  That part is maybe more fun than it sounds.  Maybe not, it's pretty horrible really, but it's kind of fun to REALLY exercise since it's not something I'm able to do normally.  Today I'll have highly trained medical professionals on hand to resuscitate me if I collapse more seriously than they want me to.

Last time I did these tests, about five months ago, it marked the beginning of THE HORROR.  The results were not good and the proverbial really hit the fan.  If the results are even the tiniest bit worse today, the bullet I've been dodging will be coming to get me right between the eyeballs and I've been finding everything pretty hard lately, puffing and panting and swooning, so I'm preparing myself for the worst while hoping for the best.

The thing is, hoping isn't really what I'm doing at all.  I think what I'm doing is wishing.  Does "hope" imply some belief that things really might turn out that way?  I think it does and I'm lacking that belief.  So really I'm wishing that things would be different from how I fear they are.  And I don't have much faith in the power of wishing any more.  Ugh.

Yes, I'm fed up.  The last two-and-a-bit years have been a constant fight and I've been fighting and fighting and fighting for so many things, day-to-day and life-changing things, and sometimes I'm not sure I have enough fight left in me.  I've been keeping going and going and going, but I feel like now I need something to go well and just give me a break for a while, something to start feeling hopeful about.

In the meantime, I suppose I'll do my best to enjoy all the lubrication, sweat and masks and, to be honest, I'm up for the fight of the bike test - a short, sharp burst of determination makes a nice change from the constant slog my brand of fighting usually consists of.  See? Positivity.  Oh, yeah...

time travelling carpets and blasts from the past(s)

 Last week Dulcie and I spent an impromptu afternoon in our local library, by which I mean Dulcie dragged me in there while we were en route to another never-reached destination, so I honestly did not pre-plan this 1970s orange extravaganza!

 I only wish Dulcie had been reading a more era-appropriate book when I took these pictures, something like Rosie's Walk, perhaps, with its autumnal hues.  Would it be a step too far to Photoshop that into her hands?

And here's a standing shot, just to prove she does more than just lying around.

Can carpets achieve listed status?  If so, I think the library carpet would be a definite candidate.  I hope they never update it.

Talking of carpets...  Did I ever mention the carpet in my hometown's nightclub?  Really, I didn't?  Not bad enough that a nightclub has a carpet at all, this carpet's pattern was made up of, er, ejaculating appendages spilling onto eagerly awaiting tongues.  No, I kid you not.  I wonder if it's still there.  I'd campaign for that carpet to be listed too.  I've certainly never seen another one like it!  Mind you, I can't imagine it was bespoke, which means there is actually a company out there somewhere producing pornographic floor coverings...

tenting

Dulcie's favourite thing to do is stay at home, preferably stay in her pyjamas.  She spends lots of her time in the flat with her blankets and cushions, making cosy nests for her and her soft toys wherever she goes.  Lately she's been setting up home inside her tent, sweeping it out with her mini brush and spending ages arranging these two cushions and the ripple blanket.  The vintage cushion was a gift to Dulcie from my sister, the Jane Foster cushion I won in a giveaway and the blanket was crocheted by yours truly, of course.

Dulcie loves hanging out in her tent and claims it's "nice and quiet".  I feel a bit guilty to see her setting up a cosy and stylish home for herself like that.  Well, it's as stylish as it can be with her limited means!  I really want to be able to make our home a nice place to be, for her as much as (more than?) for us, but I sometimes feel it's beyond me/us.  I say "us" but I feel like Graham could do it if he was doing it alone.  "Millstone" is not a fun (or probably accurate) sense of oneself!  One of those books I treated myself to on Amazon is turning out to be a great source of inspiration, though.  You can find it here and it's full of lots of fun ideas that seem (mostly) quite achievable and not too designery or expensive.  I'd definitely recommend it!

buttons are us

One day, while on "jury duty", I decided to clean a bag full of buttons that had got all dusty so I could add them to my button jar.  Dulcie was out with my mum, but got home before I'd managed to clear all the buttons away.  She spent ages just holding and sorting and moving the buttons around...before scattering them all over the kitchen floor and secreting a few rabbit-shaped buttons in her pockets, the tyke.

Dulcie quite often eyes up my giant jar of buttons, but hasn't worked out how to get into it yet.  I think I might have to get her started on her own collection in order to protect mine!  I've got too many buttons to fit in the jar now anyway and am tempted to spend a precious Dulcie-free afternoon sorting them all out - putting matching sets together, setting aside buttons to use on clothes and for other crafty purposes, maybe getting rid of some of the less exciting specimens.  It seems such an extravagant use of time, but, hey, why not? :)

human cat-ipede

This is a fairly typical winter position for our cats.  It reminded me of that gruesome film The Human Centipede, hence this post's title.  I suppose "the feline centipede" would have been more accurate...but less entertaining.

I never blog about the cats any more really.  In real life, they are probably almost as neglected as they are on the blog.

This is Poppy, a strange little creature, the runt of her litter, scared yet intimidating, loves being stroked but will attack when approached from certain angles.  She keeps herself to herself a lot of the time and certainly doesn't cause as many problems as her infuriating sister, Lola, apart from the CONSTANT PUKING.  Although she has always been quick to lash out, she has never been anything less than patient with Dulcie.  When she's up for attention, she has a hearty purr.  She likes to nestle between Graham and I on the sofa when she's not lying on the radiator.  Graham and Lola get to experience her comedy hisses and tuna breath quite regularly.

Lola, meanwhile, is a big daft furball, very demanding, constantly miaowing, exceptionally greedy.  She's all claws and white hair (hair, hair, hair!) which make our carpets, furniture and clothes look constantly shabby.  She's annoying to the max at times, but actually the sweetest natured cat you could ever meet.  Dulcie loves to cuddle her and I'm confident Lola would put up with pretty much any treatment.  She's never drawn her claws in anger once, not even when under serious attack from her sister.  And all that hair means she is beyond soft and simultaneously the best and worst cat for snuggling with.

Our cats are indoor cats who haven't left the house in the almost eight years they've been alive.  I've tried to persuade them to go out, but they're not up for it.  Lola got as far as the windowsill, Poppy never even got close.  Maybe this summer I'll manage to persuade them... if the neighbour's aggressive tom cat can tolerate it and keep his distance.  I'm sure the cats' annoying habits would be somewhat diluted if they weren't constantly under our feet and they might enjoy the great outdoors too.  Couple of scaredy cats.

I often think how much easier our lives would be without the cats (Graham too - he threatens to get rid of them every other day!) and sometimes it feels like they don't bring much to the table.  Then, a few months ago, there was talk that I might have to get rid of them, which left me feeling heart-broken, kind of ironic when you consider it was my actually broken heart that was behind their potential eviction!  They've evaded the chop for now, but I know that might still be on the cards some day.  I hope not.  I do love the little blighters and I'd hate Dulcie to grow up with no pets as well as no siblings.  Effing heart :(

mittens

I found these stripy mittens in Tesco's sale for 50p and had to buy them since they were a perfect match for Dulcie's hand-knitted hat.  Uncanny, no?

Dulcie's not always keen to wear gloves, but now we can hardly get them off her.  Here she is wrapped up to watch some TV.  Well, she knows style when she sees it...hence her love for these cats-in-space leggings too!