Rising To The Bait...

As I sit in my sewing room, 
sipping on luke-warm coffee, listening to the birds and glancing out the window now and then to watch the two squirrels in the oaks...
Who've managed, over the last couple of weeks to strip all the peaches off the two peach trees out front, I'm pondering my new doll...

I have a friend in New Zealand, her name is Chris and from the moment we met, as 'first-timers' outside the home of a woman holding a quilt club meeting, something just 'clicked' between us. We quickly became inseparable after discovering a mutual 'fetish' for fabric and it's manipulation and could be found, more often than not, with heads down and bums up, working on a quilt or two or three... We pursued the hunt for more fabrics to add to our growing stashes with fervent enthusiasm and would relax after the chase, whether fruitful or not, usually by enjoying a nosh up at one of our favorite cafes or restaurants. We both love good food too, especially the exotic flavours of Thai and Indian, although a barbecue and our families along to share the ambiance, always went down a treat. Thankfully our men folk liked each other and discovered they both enjoyed fishing, even better -they were good at it and invariably came home with fresh snapper. So there were many a pleasant afternoon or evening, spent relaxing and sharing a few drinks, good food, time and mellow conversation with Andy and Chris.

I miss that too. It's practically a lost art form these days as people find they have less time and inclination to spend with 'strangers'. To compromise and converse and waste their valuable time and energies, developing friendships past the acquaintance stage. Sad really. A reminder of the speed with which technology is constantly changing the world around us and our place in it. It really is possible to glimpse a future where relationships, friendships and encounters, even sexual ones over the world wide net may become an everyday reality.

Hang on a minute... -that's already a reality...

Chris was born and raised in England, she's a few years older than I, -yet younger in her attitude to life and definitely in music! It's one of the few areas where we have differing opinions. I like old music (although there are exceptions, -I love Lady Gaga and Zero7), she likes new, I also have a penchant for antiques, she's prefers something functional and modern.

She's lived an interesting and diverse life and has four children and lots of grandchildren. She's married to a wonderful man, who adores her and together they've made a life for themselves in New Zealand and we miss them both terribly.

Chris and I shared secrets, our hopes and dreams and our past traumas and achievements. She was one of the first real BFF's I ever had, as my previous experiences and attempted friendships with other women over the years, haven't always been as successful as I would have liked. Blame it on being raised by a man I guess...
But I can count on one hand, the ones I treasure, and my friendship with her is simply unique.
I know it will be a lasting one, whatever the years and distance between.

I'm a lousy friend when it comes to writing or staying in touch. I'm not one for subtleties in relationships and much prefer a shove to a gentle nudge to get my ass moving on some such or other. She is subtle. Able to say with a few words that I 'hear' in her Pomme lilt and tra-la-lahs on Facebook or an email, that it's high time we conversed and shared a little of our daily lives and dreams. She's an 'ethereal sort'. She reminds me of a woodland fairy Fae, with an old soul that has seen a thousand life times, yet still has high hopes that the rest of us will eventually get our shit together and figure it out. She's not perfect. Far from it! Her life and the paths she chose and the choices she made, haven't always panned out as she hoped they would, so as well as the laughter that shines out from within, there's also the sorrows. She's a tiny little thing, an enviable ball of energy when focused, yet as calm and calming as a lazy summer afternoon when the need arises. She could've easily made me feel awkward, clumsy and huge beside her, but such things wouldn't even have registered within her 'hemisphere', as her perceptions of people and their place in her world, are based on so much more than mere physical attributes, or lack of them. She's instinctive, nurturing, pensive, spiritual, wise yet wonderfully 'daft' too and able to laugh at herself. She's easily the most incredibly generous woman I've ever met, -she gives of herself so completely. And she's also bit of an onion. It's been interesting peeling away her 'layers' a little at a time over the years and I doubt I'll get to see them all! But I do so enjoy her stories of times gone by and of engaging moments and interesting people she met along the way.

We've given each other 'challenges' now and then. My last challenge to her was sending her a large box of goodies to make an artistic fabric doll with. Did I mention courage? In no time at all, she turned out a doll, using as a foundation, a Patti Culea pattern and created a Medusa, in all her feminine and wily glory, complete with a head of hissing green snakes! Just incredible!! I was so blown away and proud of her, that when she sent me the photos of the doll, I promptly sent a couple off to Patti!

This time, the challenge is to make a doll of each other. Should be a hoot! But apart from choosing some fabrics in her favorite colors, I've yet to make a firm decision on the rest...

Me and my BIG mouth! -How the hell does one capture the meaning of friendship and convey in my medium of choice; fabric and wire, stuffing and paints, just how much she and her friendship means to me? Could it possibly show the love I feel for this woman? She's more than a sister; it's almost as if we knew each from another time and place, and just 'reconnected' again in this life. It's a funny thing trying to define the love one can feel for a friend. One day on Facebook, we'd been chatting and ended with our usual 'love you forever' and 'miss you' endearments, when someone she and Andy knew, piped in saying that our 'love-in' was turning him on and could he join in. I cracked up laughing when I read it, thought, "what a wally" and dismissed it as a joke. Later though, after receiving multiple messages from Facebook saying that so & so had commented, I realized that he'd continued with the quips until Andy commented, telling him to 'pull his head in'. Andy is 'quietly macho'. He doesn't need to 'throw his weight around' to get a point across and is very clever with words. It's very Hot! Anyway, so & so made it sound dirty somehow and it saddened me that his small-mindedness, whether a joke or not, belittled something pure and wonderful. She is beautiful to me, inside and out and though I love her dearly, the thought of sex with her, just doesn't 'do it' for me. I'd say she has the 'wrong equipment', but as I adore Andy too, I might get accused of wanting to shag him instead!

LMAO!! And now I'm getting off this subject, as I'm liable to have DDGH (my, drop-dead-gorgeous-husband)spill me over his lap for a spanking!

As I said, -love and it's many forms... not easy to define.

Our husbands though, have never felt the least bit threatened by it, -which in my mind, says more about them.

So back to the doll... Do I 'keep it light' and go for flattery and pick a time in her life when her youthful beauty was fresh faced and innocent? But I never knew her then and who's to say we'd have actually liked one another? LOL! So perhaps, better to endeavor to capture the true beauty of the woman in my minds eye; definitely exaggerated, just a little of course!

Contented and curled up in a chair with one of her moggies on her lap, or sewing away at her machine, or with her eyes alight with love and laughter and her arms about her Andy or Spring... hmmmmm.... choices...

Best get at it and see what develops...

M-i-c-k-e-y-m-o-u-s-e......

WEDNESDAY, MAY 25, 2011

M I C…K E Y…M O U S E…

On one of my first visits to mainland USA and sunny California, about twelve years ago now, my new husband took his cousin, Aunt and I to Disneyland. I couldn't believe it, at the ripe old age of thirty-six, I was finally fulfilling a life-long dream of going to D*I*S*N*E*Y*L*A*N*D.

Even strolling along Hollywood Boulevard, visiting Grumman’s Chinese Theater and seeing all the handprints cast in concrete on the pavement from all the many famous stars of yesteryear and today, couldn't compete with Disneyland.

Nowhere he took me on that trip could.

Growing up as a kid in New Zealand, I'd ride the bus home from school, run down the hill to our house and inside, make a 'door-stop' sandwich (two over-thick slices of bread I’d cut from the loaf, smothered with vegemite or golden syrup), then settle in, in front of our black and white telly to watch the Mickey Mouse Club Show.

Like the true mouseketeer I imagined myself to be, I’d sing along and prance around the living room with my fluffy rabbit ears on—that I'd folded over to look like mousie ears—and pretend I was one of the gang. One day I’d go there, and it would be everything I had ever dreamed it would be.

To the child I was then, growing up with just my Dad and siblings, and very little in the way of material things that weren’t necessities, Disneyland was simply magic. It was the place where a real Sleeping Beauty’s castle stood, there were fireworks every night, rides that defied imagination, and especially, a place where all my favorite characters roamed the streets and were happy to see you.

Disneyland inflamed my imagination and the Disney classic movies like Cinderella, The Little Mermaid, Peter Pan, Lady and The Tramp, Fox and Hound, Fantasia and Snow White and the Seven Dwarves and more, were my tentative ideals of romantic love.  

It was an enchanted place of fairies and fairy Godmothers, flying lost boys and crocodiles that ticked, beautiful witches and ghastly stepmothers. Dastardly pirates and a wizard mouse, capable of creating a cacophony of Fantasia. Where talking dogs ran free and unchecked, and mermaids could walk on land. Or where you could ride on a magic carpet up and away, and discover a cave of treasures and it was the place where beautiful Disney Princesses, all got their handsome Princes in the end, and lived happily ever after.

I was convinced it was all real, because Disneyland, was a real place, where dreams really did come true.

Seems so silly now, but I was young and impressionable with an imagination that knew no bounds.

When it finally came to pass that I'd walk along Main Street Disney, that ragamuffin 'little girl' I once was, beamed bright from within me like a spotlight and made sure I left my age at the gate on arrival. Cousin Carole had worked at Disney in her teen years, which was a Godsend, as she knew the best places to eat, and sit, the what/when/where of all the rides and where to get the best souvenirs and everything else Disney. I was in heaven and determined to keep them all there at the parks, from the time it opened, until the final fireworks burst above in all their splendor against the night sky.

Even though I was no longer the little girl with big dreams I’d once been, Disneyland through my thirty-six-year-old eyes was sublime, breathtaking and exceeded every expectation I’d ever held. I rode as many rides as I could that day and evening, sat cross-legged on the pavement with everyone else to watch the parades, and drank in every little thing, sight and sound and catalogued each memory away to relive another day.

I had a sore jaw for a week afterward from grinning ear to ear, the 'funniest' thing happened on the way back to Main St to see one of the parades...

The cast actors in their Disney costumes had passed by us all day long. I'd smile and point like everyone else and watch with pleasure as the kids raced to flock around them in earnest for the chance of a hug, a photo and autographs. I remember marveling how some of them, in full animal costumes, didn't keel over and pass out in the heat! I'd bought two autograph books with me to America ("I'm bound to meet someone famous! Right?" I'd told my sons) and I hoped to fill them on my travels, and thus, kept them with me at all times 'just in case'. I hadn't had the opportunity to get one signature in either book at that stage, when I spotted the small dressed character of Mickey Mouse, trailing a gaggle of children, like the proverbial Pied Piper behind him. I'd been talking animatedly with my family, but stopped mid-sentence when I saw Mickey, 'stepped out of myself' and watched fascinated, as the girl I'd once been darted over to join the children, with my autograph books firmly in hand. It was only when she was nearly there and glanced back with eyes bright and a huge smile that she 'saw' me and the dumbstruck looks on my new cousins' and Aunts faces, that my smile disappeared. I stood forlornly looking at the ground and immediately felt myself slam back into my body as a wave of shame and nausea flowed over me. It felt like everyone was staring at the 'old' lady acting like a kid. My eyes burned and I wanted to flee but stood there rooted to the spot instead, not knowing what to do. Horrified and feeling helpless, I looked up and saw again the faces of my cousin and Aunt, then finally braved a look at my new husband. I could just imagine his face, he'd probably be scowling, maybe I'd even embarrassed him in front of his family and he'd want to leave the park.

The thoughts chased each other through my mind in an instant, convincing me of what I'd see, so it took a moment or two to realize he wore that soft, sweet smile instead. The one that lights up his eyes with laughter or passion and never fails to 'rock my world'. God, I LOVE his eyes! He calmly came over and took my hand and brushed his lips over my fingers, tilted my chin up and kissed me right where I stood, in front of everyone including his Aunt and cousin. I blushed to my toes, just like a silly schoolgirl. Then he calmly slipped my hand in his and patiently waited in line with me.

I got Mickey's autograph in both books and later in bed, just before going to sleep, I thought to tell him what had happened. To try to explain in words, what must have seemed such odd behavior. When I got to the bit about 'stepping outside myself,' he simply said, "I know sweetheart, I saw her. Such a beautiful bright flame of a girl with wild hair in tangles down her back and laughing big brown eyes! Do you think we could make one just like her?"

Funny how the words he spoke came back as clearly as if he'd said them yesterday...
We didn't get the daughter I would have liked to have given him but were blessed with a most precious and bonny son, who brings us so much joy.

Life and dollmaking...

Over the past year or so, I've become rather passionate about making cloth dolls. Everything I've learnt over the past 40+ years has prepared me for it. From the life drawing classes in New Zealand to the clothes I’ve made, the paintings and the drawings, the quilt making, the 'messing about' with jewelry making, even the short stories I wrote and the 'junk' I've collected over the years, -all of it finally has an outlet.

I don’t think I’m particularly good at it yet, but I’ll get better with time and practice, in the meantime, it’s enough to just have fun and ‘enjoy the ride’.

I've met so many talented and generous artists and have been shown nothing but kindness and encouragement. Even by those who didn't necessary 'understand’ or share the ‘vision’ of my chosen art form.

Yet one lady tickled me by asking about one of my dolls. She was disturbed by the depiction and wanted a reason why. She couldn't help but wonder what on earth possessed me to make a pregnant doll, of all things. Especially one with such a full, huge belly.

I remember looking at her and thinking back to one of the three times that I was lucky enough to get to the huge belly stage (as opposed to one of the eight miscarriages when I didn’t) and how for the first time in my life, I felt truly beautiful. I still remember standing in front of a mirror, bared to the waist and thrilled to finally have breasts, instead of just the large nipples, with barely any breast fat beneath, they'd been till then!

I loved everything about being pregnant! The passion and the love that got me pregnant. The wonder of the subtle and not so subtle changes in my body as we ‘grew’ and developed. Those first flutters of movement, felt with awe and such bliss that nothing can compare to it. Even the birthing of my children, the seemingly never-ending labour for inches, the indescribable shock and pain of delivery, falling in love with a brand new wee person. Becoming a family.

I went from an athletic girls willowy body to a woman’s rounded curves in just a few short months and became a Mother.

That’s why I made a pregnant doll. I wish I could have explained all that to her, but alas, we are from different generations and different cultures.

Now you should see Eve; my one breasted cancer survivor doll... She proudly wears a designer outfit, deliberately cut away to reveal the empty side of her chest...

Here's Looking At You Kid!

My beautiful son told me I am to be a grandmother last night. Wow, didn't see that train coming at all! 
It flattened me as it shot out of nowhere and roared like a live thing in my ears...


My face must have been a treat as I went through joy, shock, wonder, melancholy, reflection, incredulity, astonishment and even a little fear. 
Sadness too. I wondered if I would have a place in this sweet babes life. Texas is after all, a long way from little ‘ole’ New Zealand. 
He was terrified. I guess I'm really scary, but then I looked at him, really looked at him and I could see that it wasn't me he was so afraid of, it was providing for and nurturing a family of his own, when he hadn't a roof over his head. A dollar in his pocket or a job. Shit! 
Shit. Shit. Shit.


I really thought though that I'd impressed upon him and his brother the absolute and irrevocable rule about safe sex and condoms... 
So much for that! He's only known the girl a few months, but I know he's smitten. 
She's his Yang.


I'd been lying on my bed watching a favourite episode of TrueBlood, watching Eric do his thing and having delicious fantasies about a bloody tv character of all things, when Mati had walked into my room. He came up onto the bed beside me and lay down. Eric and his hot Viking body would have to take a backseat.


By the time my child had divested himself of his news and lay in a puddle in my arms, I was beyond thinking of anything else. 
Just the moment we were in. 
I looked at him. 
This beautiful young man, all 6'7" beside me and just for a moment...I remembered the night I'd given birth to him.

It was after the traumatic delivery, everyone had finally left and I was alone with my new baby. They'd trussed him up like a turkey and put him in a clear crib beside my bed and as I gazed at him, my beautiful baby boy with wonder and not a little awe, I was overwhelmed with the undeniable truth that this child was my responsibility 24/7. That he might live or die by my hand should I be careless or drop my guard. I was somebody's Mother...
For just a moment there was terror and horror of what we had so thoughtlessly created and it threatened to drown me. Then he mewed just like a kitten. A soft muted cry and I fell inlove with him. 


I would love him all the days of my life, protect him and feed him from my breast, guide and encourage him...


Ready or not, now it's his turn. 
Guess he'll just have to deal with it the same way we all do; one step at a time.