Rainbow Bridge

I"ll try to stick to my mission statement but I will admit there's

been way too much else to stand in the way of frippery.

Lots of sadness in and around the traps.

Massive earthquake in Nepal.

Two Australians executed alongside six others in Indonesia.

Lots of rigour at the chalkface.

 And, finally the house-muse is no more.

Here he is in better days, just sleeping.
After a bedtime story.

Last week the house-muse retired to the biggest poodle parlour in heaven.

Over the Rainbow Bridge.

That lovely soft euphemism that includes all pets

returning to their healthy state, trotting around with butterflies and birds.

Thank you for your kind thoughts.

I have been sad for days.

He was my constant for sixteen years and never disagreed with

a thing I said.

I liked him.
Nature permitted him nearly 18 years in total.

I went against good advice and gave my heart to a dog to tear.

It'll mend slowly.
I'll let it take its sweet time.

 Meanwhile, I finished off an orchid inspired and feather leaf headpiece.
Keeping occupied.
Thanks to the stunning blooms at the Orchid Society's Species Show.

 

 

 

 

The Power of the Dog

There is sorrow enough in the natural way
From men and women to fill our day;
And when we are certain of sorrow in store,
Why do we always arrange for more?
Brothers and sisters, I bid you beware
Of giving your heart to a dog to tear.

Buy a pup and your money will buy
Love unflinching that cannot lie--
Perfect passion and worship fed
By a kick in the ribs or a pat on the head.
Nevertheless it is hardly fair
To risk your heart to a dog to tear.

When the fourteen years which Nature permits
Are closing in asthma, or tumour, or fits,
And the vet's unspoken prescription runs
To lethal chambers or loaded guns,
Then you will find--it's your own affair--
But ... you've given your heart to a dog to tear.
When the body that lived at your single will,
With its whimper of welcome, is stilled (how still!)
When the spirit that answered your every mood
Is gone--wherever it goes--for good,
You will discover how much you care,
And will give your heart to a dog to tear.
We've sorrow enough in the natural way,
When it comes to burying Christian clay.
Our loves are not given, but only lent,
At compound interest of cent per cent.
Though it is not always the case, I believe,
That the longer we've kept 'em, the more do we grieve:
For, when debts are payable, right or wrong,
A short-term loan is as bad as a long--
So why in--Heaven (before we are there)
Should we give our hearts to a dog to tear?

Rudyard Kipling



 

 This has always been one of my favourite portraits, Coco Chanel

with a cream coloured poodle, by Impressionist Marie Laurencin.

 



 



Clapping the Loudest

It's nearly 2013, and I might not see you 'til then, so

here's the frippery I am clapping the loudest about in 2012.

The workers at the chalkface.

And their stellar efforts.

And how they dream their own dreams.

Well done, A+++.

The Embroiderers' Guild and its associations.

Listening to Jenny Adin-Christie.

Her hands embroidered Princess Kate's wedding gown!

Along with the team from Valentino and the London School of Needlework.

Here's lovely Jenny.

 

The lovely G and her generosity.

Boxes of divine lace and tulle.

 

The fabulous Tricia Smout and her Artist-in-Residency at Brisbane's Botanical Gardens.

The Mt Coot-tha Orchid Species Society, too.

Mr Fascinata's heirloom tomato crops.

The appearance of Karl's Brisbane specific ocean coloured Chanel flap,

and a sequined jacked at one of Flora's dinner parties.

A Chanel scarf gift for the hostess, too.

And my ten year old Princess Mary Vogue got the attention it deserved.

 

 

My e-friendship with the lovely, Bea.

And new obsession with German glitter,

from Paulette at PaperNosh.

 

House models, E.L

and J.

My fringe.

And natural hair colour.

That has saved me a fortune.

To spend!

Thank you, Jean Brown.

Attendance at Boot Camp, back a while, but diligent when enrolled.

The diamante Puma got me through.

 

Regular walking and the artificial turf.

Do it, you won't be sorry.

For those Spambots, that honestly write the loveliest comments,

'Your writing is wonderful. I have learnt so much.'

'Can I share this with my Twitter group?'

This is vital information and so well-produced.'

Thank you, Spam, you make my day.

Clapping too, for all those bods who knocked themselves out

for the Arts in 2012.

 

You know who you are.

Clapping for friends who you catch up with where you once were, without effort.

For looking forward to something, always.

Being hopeful.

Have a sweet New Year's Eve.

Whatever you do, noisy or nothing.

All works.

Don't forget to clap the loudest.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



Talking Nature

Don't go looking for these beauties on Mt Coot-tha's Botanic Gardens this weekend.

They've bumped out, back in to their hot-houses.

Back to molly-coddling, after hundreds of adoring visitors.

Try Tricia Smout's artistic collaborations instead.

Here's one of them, as below.

There's lots more going on between November 6 and 14th!

You're mad if you don't get up the Mountain.

It's quite nice.

Some lily ponds.

A bit of a nod to Monet's Garden. If you are so inclined.

Whip up some Scotch eggs and gourmet sandwiches.

A cheap day out.

Tricia's lovely one-year artist-in-residency is culminating in

all sorts of installations:

Flowers of Friendship

Arachnid Artistry

Swishy Swathes

A-I-R Mail...

and more...

Find the Richard Randall Art Studio, not far from the main entrance.

Here's some creepy and creative webs..in and about..

 

 

 

Say hello in Tricia's language, there's all sorts of thing to say.