Now that's a Fire

A funny thing happened a while back, and everytime I put oil on the stove, I smile to myself as I remember the incident.
richard has always been very safety conscious about hot oil. Apparently something happened in their home - the abbreviated version being: a pot of oil for chips, forgetting it on the stove and giant flames licking the ceiling.
So, every time there's a bottle of oil within a 50 mile radius - even a cold, sealed bottle - Richard gets a nervous twitch and blurts out: 'Watch the oil' almost like a censored turets outburst!
Ironically, Richard is the one who makes the most delicious chips in the family and one night he was just finishing up another batch of his amazing chips, when lo and behold a drop of oil messes on the stove plate and ignites a tiny little flame that dances around the plate for a minute. Emma walks into the kitchen, takes one look at the stove and asks happily,
'Are we braaing(barbecuing) tonight?'
I still crack up when I tell that story.
WATCH THE OIL!
Sorry, that was Richard.

More of the Same

More of the Same

More of the Same

More of the Same

Streamers and Red Juice Stains

It's amazing how differently children and parents see a birthday party! Emma had a birthday party on Saturday afternoon and I'm always amazed at how a meagre number like 12 can somehow magically increase to double that size once everyone has come through the door! Especially when they're all 11 and giggly and exciteable. I think every block of flats/apartments has at least one dragon lurking somewhere in the building... For us it's a lady we call exciteable. To say she's a little loony, would be the equivalent of saying that a hurricane Katrina is a strong wind... Way, way understated. She had this old car that caught alight and these guys ran out the building to help extinguish the fire (at great personal risk, I might add) and she came yelling down the driveway, screaming at them as though they'd actually started the fire instead of putting it out. She kept yelling "You're not my brother, you're not my brother," and then she frantically ran up and down the stairs yelling about somebody doing this on purpose and how she had no car. I think she even blamed her husband at one point! Anyway, so the party started off REALLY well, by the girls being confronted by this crazy woman yelling at them. They were all standing at the entrance waiting for everyone to arrive, eventually everyone gets here and the table is strewn with delicious goodies and balloons are everywhere and streamers are flying - it was really fantastic for Emma. I had to stay in another room... Not being a tidy person, I found the coldrink spillage, the sticky marshmallows in the carpet, the compressed biscuit and chip mush that was being smeared deep into the non existent carpet fibres, brought on an unfamiliar and overwhelming urge to run around the party with the vacuum cleaner strapped to my back and the carpet cleaner and cloth in my available hand! We took marshmallows and put them on wooden skewers, then dipped them in chocolate and put sprinkles on top. Note to self: BAD IDEA... Keep the skewers away from kids till they turn 21. Even then it's debatable as to whether or not they'll actually be responsible enough with them... One kid was walking around with them in her hair. I think she must have had 4 in her hair.
Do you know how you're told that you can only fold paper so many times? Well, I'd always assumed that the same was probably true about cutting paper. Well, you're never to old to learn. It was like they'd taken the streamer and put it lengthways through a shredder. There were bits and pieces EVERYWHERE.
So, it was an exciting day. Not one that I'd want to repeat in a hurry, which is such a pity because Rebecca's is in 54 days...

Old work to look at while I try and finish the new stuff!

Kidney Stones & Captivating Books

Richard is the only man that I know who can pass a kidney stone without having to be in hospital with some serious pain killers. In fact, I believe he would be one of those people (if men were to give birth) who walk around during contractions and do crossword puzzles - and then politely announce that the baby was coming and pop it out like magic!
I read a book last night - not one that I'd recommend, since it was laced with obscenities - that great writing crutch I love so much... But it had a really good story. A man wakes up in someone else's body. He's a really good man - sound character and morals... unlike the man he's swopped with. The man who has taken over his identity is a loathsome, unethical misogynist and sees the swop as a rescue from his miserable existence. So the main character is stuck to make the best of a very very bad situation. What I liked about the story was this: it posed the notion that who we are determines our lives, and not the other way around. The machievallian (I always get that spelling wrong) character thinks this is his opportunity to start over - but not having conquered his own destructive and selfish habits, he ends up destroying the second chance he was given. The main character Max makes lemons from lemonade and turns a prospective dire existence into what he had before - only with more friends and loved ones. There's a quote at the beginning of the book which I understand to mean this: everything that we need to solve our problems and deal with our specific lives lies within us, we just need to be brave enough to access it and recognise our ability to overcome. It was an interesting read.

More Advice on How to Deal with an Artist...

Some drawings I fiddle with between fetching and carrying kids, awaiting results from doctors who like to leave you on the edge of the knife before letting you know that it's ok, you don't have cancer, cleaning the holocaust we like to call a home, and wondering if SA really is going to get as expensive as Zim...

I like this one, but you can't see the detail.

Especially an untidy one...



When it comes to art in a confined space, there's always a debacle about the appearance of an art work space. Let's face it. It's not a pretty sight - and I'm neat - relatively speaking - when I work. When I was studying we had a couple of guys we had to share the studio space with... THEY WERE HORRENDOUS. I think it was their objective to defile a canvas as much as possible with every conceivable substance known to man including a couple of highly flammable toxins.

We would return to our spaces and find wax or any other mess smeared all over our tables and floors - I'm amazed to this day that they spared the roof and walls. Duncan in particular had some sort of unhealthy obsession with wax. I really expected him to end up creating wax furniture and accessories and selling it on ebay as installation art. He was a sculpture major and made an equally bizarre mess in the communal sculpture space with little artistically profitable outcome. Yes, that's my way of saying his work wasn't all that fantastic!

So, technically speaking, my portable artspace is actually a gleaming beam of cleanliness. Unfortunately, Richard likes neatness and order.

Can you imagine telling a radiologist to pack away her things when she's done for the day and make sure the kids can't play with the buttons?

Aside from how long it actually takes to unpack everything - by the time you've got everything out and are ready to start, the night shift is over, buddy and your eyelids are dragging you off to bed before your body even realises what's going on.

So the portable artspace still isn't completely resolved. And when you deal with an artist, maybe you should stick them in the garage - especially if their name is Duncan...

I have to chuckle when I think about a story my friend was reading. I can't remember the title or author, I just remember him telling me about this story of a frustrated artist and her husband picks up a brush and produces some work and becomes an instant success. He said the character reminded him of me. Hmm.

The Bug

This is Emma a few years ago.

On Tuesday night I made some muffins and a chicken, rocket and noodle salad that Nigella and Jamie wouldn't mind trying. I was soooo prepared for Wednesday. So, at tea time I scoffed a muffin and cup of rooibos. By one o'clock I had that sweaty pasty feeling where you've got to take large gulps of air to try and stabilise yourself... I still had to collect Rachel, the baby and an hour later Emma and Rebecca from school and then home... I've heard stories that out of necessity, you can control your body to a point, and I'd never quite believed that until I sat in the car for 45 minutes with Rachel climbing all over me and testing out the car's amusement centre (indicators, windscreen wipers, etc). By the time Emma and Rebecca got in the car I was positively beside myself! I screamed like OJ "Get in the car" and raced home as fast as I could without putting the family in jeapordy.

Now I'm too scared to go near the muffins...

And I didn't get to taste my amazing chicken rocket and noodle salad!!! Grr.

At this point I must say that in case you're looking for the perfect man/husband, the perfect sister-in-law and the perfect mother-in-law, I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news but they're all taken. Unless of course you're marrying into the family (Denae you lucky girl!). Richard not only does the washing and vacuuming and fixes all the sores, scratches and scrapes, his mom also washes the dishes while you're passed out in a coma on the bed. And Rich's sister who has 5 daughters - one vomiting and a husband who's away took all the girls to school and was willing to fetch as well!