Mild Obsession

My name is Therese and I collect mid-century crockery. I've said it. I admit I'm a recovering addict of sorts, obsessive, if you will.
My obsession began when I made my first breathless purchase, a gift to myself for getting my fashion degree, in the late 1980s. There was a cool little shop selling retro fashion and knick-knacks on my route between the town centre and the college campus, and I ogled the window as I passed by every day. During the frantic weeks of preparation before the final collections were due, I promised myself the gorgeous set of 1950's ceramic storage containers in the window if I achieved my goal. I willed myself on and prayed the set would not be sold before the final results were received. I can still taste the thrill of possessing that first set. I see it every day and I still love it.

My first (crockery) love. We've been together almost as long as me and Mr. B.

I can remember where each piece came from, and how I felt when my eyes settled on it. Each piece feels like treasure to me, though most of it is worth absolutely nothing in money terms. I have found pieces at antiques fairs, charity shops, retro-vintage stores and garage sales. I have pieces designed in England, Scandinavia, Japan and  Australia. I have sets collected bit by bit, from all over the place, stand-alone statement pieces, and several odd saucers - I love them all.

Homemaker - I've collected this set for years; Parisienne - discovered last year in Portobello Road Market; Stardust - bought from an antiques fair at Alexandra Palace (Ally Pally) in the early 90's. Don't you just love the names!

We found this stunning piece by Rathjen in a little store off Chapel St.; One of my most treasured - found in an Op-shop for $5. I use it as a fruit bowl.

Most of the collection is from the UK and was eagerly sent for from storage in my sister-in-law's attic after we settled in Australia in 1997. It felt much more like home once they were here, like having my family around me. I feel oddly emotional about my crockery collection.
I had 2 tiny matching saucers that didn't make it out to Australia with the rest. Bought in a second-hand shop, they had been at the back of the cupboard under the sink in my parent's kitchen since 1991, when Mr.B and I left for Hong Kong. They were hand painted with a charming leaf design called Palma Nova, and made by Broadhurst of Staffordshire in the late 1950s. Over the years I would covet them whenever I was visiting. Mum often said I should take them home with me to Australia. Last year when the whole family were together at my parents house I decided I would this time. They made their final appearance during afternoon tea in the garden, when Dad, bless him, got his foot stuck under the table whilst handing out biscuits. One of those precious saucers flew high into the air, in slow motion, and smashed into smithereens in front of my horrified family. I tried to make light of it for my Dad's sake, but I brought every tiny particle back with me, wrapped in bubble wrap - a bit late for that. I tried to stick it back together, without success. I don't know why I should be so upset, I hadn't had it with me for over 20 years and it probably cost about 10p.

Gorgeously quirky platters; Odd saucers - I use these friendly little things for tea and biscuits. From front: the rather lonely survivor - Palma Nova, Kingston, Jamboree

Although I'm not a purist and I don't follow particular designers or manufacturers there does seem to be a common aesthetic to my collection. I'm not sure what it is - maybe colour, pattern, shape?
They come out sometimes if we're having dinner guests, or more often when there are tasty comestibles being served with drinks. They are not contemporary, minimalist or chic and I sometimes wonder if people think we can't afford nice things, or have terrible taste. Not everyone appreciates their quirky beauty.
These days the collecting has slowed down to almost nothing, mostly due to lack of space and hunter-gathering time. Maybe it's because I haven't spied the perfect piece lately. Whatever the reason, it's a tantalising thought that I could find something amazing in any place at any time. Maybe I have my addiction under control . . . and maybe not quite.

Full to capacity, and there's loads more in the kitchen.

The Olive Harvest

A few weeks ago I finally harvested the olives from our back yard trees. It was tricky this year, with loads still green and unripe when the first ones were ready, and we had perfect, sunny days. Then there was a long run of rainy weather where ladder climbing would have been reckless. So frustrating! Birds made off with the biggest, juiciest olives whilst I looked on, crossly.
Finally we had the perfect olives coinciding with the perfect weather, but not before much of the booty had been pilfered.

Finally! The perfect day for harvesting.



Beautiful luscious fruit, ripe for the picking.

 Last year, a lovely lady from our dog walking group suggested I give it a go, and even brought me a recipe for preserving olives. I'd never even considered it. Preserving your own olives seemed to me something only experienced Greek or Italian Nonas should attempt. I felt like a fraud.
I faced my misgivings and had a go anyway. We had 4 spindly, young trees that had been planted no more than 3 years previously, in our tiny courtyard along the fence line to screen out next door's house. They were laden with fruit. I picked an incredible 9.5 kilos of fabulous, enormous kalamata olives, followed the recipe to the letter, and was rewarded by the most delicious olives we'd ever tasted. I was unbelievably excited and proud. You should have seen me strutting about - veggies, eggs and now our own olives. It made me disproportionately happy! Mr.B was putting them out on platters whenever anyone dropped by - garnished with sprigs of thyme from the garden. I think he felt like the gentleman farmer for a moment. There was even a nano-second where he thought getting our own bee-hive was a good idea!
This year the harvest wasn't nearly as bountiful, but they were pretty big and juicy. I harvested only 3.5 kilos this time - those birds must have been pretty happy with the bad weather!

3.5 kilos of the finest Kalamata olives from The Urban Nest Estate! ; Washing; Slitting down each side of each olive.

So we have 12 jars of treasure sitting in a dark, cool cupboard. They'll be there for a while until they're ready for the next stage, and then I'll break open the extra virgin olive oil, herbs, chillies, spices and any other fancy, gourmet trappings I can think of. I can't wait. Why don't you drop by in a few months, and we'll open a bottle of wine and try them.

Olives slit both sides; Last year's harvest being bottled; I can report these olives with lemon, fennel seeds, garlic and chilli were amazing!

Bad Hair Days and Woolly Jumpers.

Winter has arrived here in Melbourne, and with the first cold snap our poor chooks started moulting. It's an annual happening that has me worrying like an old mother hen every year. The weather turns cold, the nights draw in and right when it's coldest, the chooks drop their feathers and become naked and miserable. They look as ugly as it's possible to look, feathers patchy, naked bits on show, crest fallen (literally). Peaky plumage - bad hair days.

Not looking their best - Selma and Chickpea feeling crest-fallen

The first time it happened, 4 years ago, I was taken by surprise. Selma dropped all her feathers one cold night. When I let her out in the morning she was starkers except for her head. I fought back an urge to rush her straight to the vet, and anxiously Googled instead. Thanks goodness, just the annual moult. I worried that she was cold. She certainly looked chilly and despondent. What could I do to help? I decided to knit. I Googled again and came up with a knitting pattern for hen jumpers from the UK. She didn't like the jumper at all. Ungrateful - like all children who score home knitted jumpers from well-meaning mums and aunties. So I made her another little jacket out of some super soft and rather tasteful grey and black striped velour I had left over from an Edenstar dress. She liked that one better, or disliked it less - not as itchy I think. My neighbour and her little girl came over to feed the hens one afternoon. They had their own key and let themselves in. Surprise! Selma was wearing the same as her daughter.Two stylish chicks.
Well, last week both Selma and Chickpea started moulting simultaneously, and now Saffron is showing the first signs too. Bocconcini is looking the most miserable - sympathy I guess as she seems fully feathered.
I went straight to our local wool shop. They were delighted when they heard about my project, and showed me around enthusiastically. I chose 100% wool with a crepe feel that they assured me was not itchy. Only the best for my girls. The ladies in the shop have insisted that I email photos.
I was inspired by a little jumper I knitted for miss S when she was tiny. It was a multi-coloured striped affair that I sort of made up as I went along. I have employed the same technical precision for this project too. I used the pattern from Little Red Hen rescue but there's also a Penguin Foundation pattern I'd like to customise when I get a moment.

I loved knitting these little jumpers. I do like a bit of craft. The misses S and E prefer to call it witchcraft - sounds so much cooler than knitting.
Well, I've finished 2 jumpers and I couldn't wait to try them on the girls. It was fun and games in the back yard this morning trying to catch suspicious chickens for a modelling assignment. Cue the Benny Hill music. I'm afraid I can't report that they like them any more than the previous ones, but I think they looked very stylish.

Selma models her new jumper. Nice colours for the red head don't you think?

 

"I'm ready for my close-up Mr. De Mille." Bocconcini steps in to save the day when Chick-pea won't have a bar of it.

Farewell to old friends.

I'm embarrassed to admit that I'm a hoarder. Clothes and shoes have been my obsession for most of my adult life, and working in the fashion industry hasn't exactly helped. This was excusable when I was working, and needed to be suitably attired in the latest niche whatever (I told myself this anyway).
Well, I haven't been going out to work anywhere for the past 2 years, and silk dresses aren't really suitable when cleaning out the chicken coop, nor high heeled boots much good at the dog park. My wardrobe doors are increasingly difficult to shut, and it's making me feel guilty. So, this Sunday coming up, I'm going to sell a whole heap of my hardly worn fashion at a designer re-cycle market. More room in my wardrobe and a bit of cash for me - win, win!
I heard of the Take 2 Markets a few years ago - they specialise in 'Recycled Designer and Vintage Fashion'. Sounds right up my street. I tried to book a stall several times over the last year or so, but they sell-out quickly - a good sign.

Cropped linen jacket - Yeojin Bae; Padded cotton jacket with cut-out under-arms - Akira; Polka Dot blazer - unworn - Gap; Navy leather bomber jacket from Argentina.

Well, my luck has turned and I finally managed to secure a stall, and now it's all systems go here at Fashion Hoarder HQ. Whilst going through my wardrobes and throwing anything I haven't worn at all, or for at least a year, onto the bed in a disheveled heap, I realised that I was feeling a bit sad, disloyal even. Most of these frivolous things have a story, or at least a distant memory of the euphoric feeling you get when you find the latest must-have. There's a lot of history here, of my former self, the fashion career girl travelling the world on inspiration trips. There's also quite a bit of history of the fashion mug buying unsuitable things at designer sales, in the heat of the moment. That's probably more accurate.

Oh you pretty things!

Cotton embroidered dress - Husk; Silk and lace dress - Thurley; Silk embroidered dress - Catherine Malandrino; Silk print dresses - Anna Thomas (above), Ted Baker; 

The high of a fashion purchase is heady stuff indeed. I've fallen in love with the most outrageous and unsuitable items - too big, too small, too ridiculous - and bought them anyway. What was I thinking? The perfect Italian made, snakeskin leather cowboy boots - size 36 when I'm a 38. I hobbled around in them once, for about 2 hours and my feet nearly fell off. The amazing, low slung, slightly cropped and bell bottomed pale blue, viscose/silk pants - I bought them in Amsterdam, seduced by the European vibe no doubt. Probably too dressy for the supermarket. Goodbye my pretties! 

Regrets!

So, as I photograph and price things for the sale, I'm saying goodbye to all these old friends. I'm a bit nostalgic right now, but glad there's way to liberate these things to new owners who will hopefully get more out of them than I did. It feels good to be less wasteful and maybe even make a bit of cash. Who knows, I may even find new friends there to take home with me.
If you are in Melbourne this weekend and would love a good rummage through heaps of international and local designer fashion, and Edenstar samples and seconds, pop in and say hello - and try to stop me buying anything else!

Busy!

It's been a long time between posts. I'm busy, really busy - busier than a person with no job has a right to be. I have a new job, of sorts. I've become a host with AirBnB.
For those who don't know, we bought the house next door a little over 4 years ago when our neighbours moved to Sweden.  Since these houses are pretty tiny, it was our dream to eventually join the two houses together to make it possible to swing a cat without having to move to the outer suburbs. Mr. B likes to call it the 'West Wing'. For the first 2 years we rented the 'West Wing' to close friends. It was lovely having them right next door, and wonderful watching their daughter grow up. Then Edenstar's warehouse lease ran out, so we said goodbye to our friends and moved Edenstar in so I could work from there, with the bonus of realising my veggie garden dream. This has proved to be a wonderful dream that we couldn't quite afford, and we started thinking that we'd have to rent it out again - something we'd rather not do. I love my garden too much, and Edenstar still needs a home. We had a visit at Christmas time from our ex-neighbours from Sweden who were keen to see what we'd done with their place (remember the grapevine prank?) They suggested AirBnB as a solution to our dilemma, and they were absolutely right. Thanks M and C!
I grabbed this life-raft with both hands and set about making it happen. It seemed pretty straightforward setting up an account and listing our place - somewhat more difficult photographing interiors competently. Looking at other similar listings the photographs looked good - the bar was  set pretty high. After following several online tutorials and Pinterest tips and learning a bit more about how to actually use our camera, I ended up with shots I was quite pleased with. I found out after uploading them, that AirBnB offer a free professional photography service - note to self, read the fine print! Anyway, I learned a new skill.
So, I finally got everything uploaded and had prices and details sorted. After faffing about with the smallest details the moment of truth arrived to go live at the beginning of March. I was anxious for everything to be perfect. Mr. B was gently scathing, " It's not as if we will be inundated with bookings in the first 24 hours," he scoffed. It'll probably come to nothing." Poo-pooing is his specialty.
12 hours later we had our first confirmed booking, a lovely young couple from Amsterdam for 4th - 6th March. We were as nervous as kittens in the days before, and also had to turn away 2 more enquiries who wanted to come even before that. They arrived and were absolutely lovely, left the place neat as a pin, and we got paid straight into our bank by AirBnB, no dramas. Easy peasy lemon squeezy.

Since then we have been flat chat with guests. We were hoping for 10 nights per month occupancy and so far have had 11 in March and 16 in April. We're up to 6 booked so far for May, but plenty of time for more. We've had enquiries as far ahead as October and January next year. There's been quite a few scare stories about AirBnB being used for unsavoury purposes, but so far everyone has been nice, quiet, tidy, normal.
It's hard work, but honest. It's not as glamorous as the fashion industry, that's for sure. I spend my days cleaning bathrooms, vacuuming, mopping floors and ironing bed linen (I've never ironed my own sheets, but they look like someone's already slept on them if they're wrinkled). I've become a nit-picking perfectionist, but we've earned a 5 star rating and I'm proud of myself. If anyone fancies a stay in a nice little place in Melbourne, check out our listing here.
Edenstar still occupies 2 rooms which are locked when we have guests, we keep the garden, and we can decline enquiries whenever we want the place to ourselves - perfect!
We get paid on time and without fuss, and there's nothing glamorous about waiting up to a year to get paid for stock that's already been sold, having to bring in debt collectors and always being made to feel like the bad guy. Bah! I'm over the fashion industry.
So it's a new direction for me, and if things keep going well I won't have to re-join the workforce. Hopefully that means plenty more pottering about in the garden, walks in the park with Annie, being around for my family and Urban Nesting.

Credible, Likeable, Superstar Role model.

I'm so happy that the Misses S and E have strong nerd tendencies
Last night I went to the theatre with friends. This doesn't sound unusual, but since I hardly ever go out in the evening, and I dislike live theatre, this was quite an adventure for me.
I was keen as it was a rare chance to get together with girlfriends I hadn't seen for ages, without Mr. B and the girls. Quite grown-up really. I hadn't the faintest idea what the performance was about, couldn't remember the name, and didn't really care.
After a slightly awkward, live-performance-art kind of start, I was mesmerised. The show was Credible, Likeable, Superstar Role model, performed by award winning UK artist Bryony Kimmings and her (now) 11 year old niece, Taylor.

Bryony Kimmings and Taylor in Credible, Likeable, Superstar Role model

The stage show was born after Bryony spent time with 9 year-old Taylor in 2012, and experienced the sorts of role models being marketed to this vulnerable tween age group. She tried to view today's world through a 9 year-old's eyes and was understandably horrified, terrified and angry. I'm sure we all remember our 9 year old selves looking up rude words in the dictionary. Don't even try to imagine what happens when you do this on an ipad. Not so funny. She quotes ongoing research into child development where for forty years children chose kindness as the most important personality trait to have as adults, and now they choose fame. Miss S told me that the sole ambition of one of the 'popular' (read disruptive and rebellious) girls at school is to be famous "like the Kardashians". That is sad.
The show is about her reaction against this and the journey to find out what 9 year-olds really want in a role model. She helped Taylor create her ultimate alterative role model for tween girls, Catherine Bennett, a pop-star paleontologist who loves eating tuna pasta and wears knee-length skirts. She's a bit weird, but she's the creation of a 9 year-old girl, and is that really any weirder than Miley Cyrus or Katy Perry? When you look at the difference between them the realisation is horrifying - what tween girls really want, and what's being marketed to them. Dear god, these are 9 - 12 year-old girls we're talking about. I was interested in horses and guinea-pigs at that age, not sex and pop-music (still am).

Catherine Bennett - alternative role model and pop-star paleontologist.

I found the show inspiring and thought-provoking. The opening scenes were laugh-out-loud funny (not me - I'm the miserable theatre poo-ba), then the middle made me so angry and upset - I looked around and saw people in tears in the dark. This performance is not for children. Taylor herself wears headphones in the adults only parts. The end was uplifting - a bit of audience-participation song-and-dance stuff - I was totally into it by then, doing all the silly hand movements. I came away from this experience feeling less powerless against the exploitative nature of the world our daughters are growing up in. Apathy is unacceptable and we all have to be on our guard, but it's not impossible. I felt empowered somehow.
Bryony and Taylor are trying to make Catherine Bennett a real, famous, role model in her own right and quite separate from the stage show. Bryony thinks they're doing well, having appeared in Yoko Ono's Meltdown festival, Woman's Hour on Radio 4, and at The Southbank Centre. Taylor sees fame more from her tween perspective and is seeking 1 million hits on YouTube and an appearance on the Ellen DeGeneres show as a measure of true fame and success.
The Sydney Morning Herald called Credible, Likeable, Superstar Role model . . . "brilliant, provocative, humorous, angry and deeply moving theatre, born of intense love and profound worry about the world children will grow up in."
Luckily for me, my girls love Dr. Who, Taekwondo (both double black belts now) and the entire recent book genre of teenage girl assassins (think The Hunger Games and Divergent - violent, but at least the girls are in charge - refer back to double black belts). They are not the slightest bit interested in Miley Cyrus or the Kardashians. Thank god.
If you have a daughter anywhere near this age group go and see this show if you can find it, and see if we can't get Taylor her 1 million hits on YouTube.

The Garden - The Off Season.

Today is dreary. Yesterday was also dreary. I can see these dreary days stretching miserably into the distance. It's most definitely autumn now. Not the crisp, clear, sunny autumn I love, but the dull, flat, drizzly season that makes me want to stay under the covers.
The garden desperately needs my attention, and I have found any number of excuses not to go out there. The tomatoes that suffered in the heat have still not been cleared away, and the ongoing battle with powdery mildew has been resoundingly lost. I feel defeated by this garden nemesis. I've been fighting it off since the early spring when I treated everything with anti-fungal spray almost constantly until the dry weather of summer gave some respite. So far this year I've lost entire crops of peas and broad beans, and the cucumbers, zucchinis and pumpkins have been pathetic. Honestly, I've had 1 butternut pumpkin, 3 cucumbers and a handful of zucchini - hardly worth the effort.

One lonely butternut pumpkin; Powdery mildew - my gardening nemesis.

This gardening year has been a struggle, but I'm determined to make next year better, so I'm facing my fears today and I'm going to clear all the rubbish away. That'll surely make me feel a bit better. Next week will be a new start. I'm going to give the soil some much needed TLC with cow manure, compost, worm castings and a lot of digging. I'm thinking of giving some of the beds a rest and plant with clover, a green manure crop, which will then be dug back into the soil later.
I've already planted seedlings for a gigantic silverbeet variety called Fordhook Giant, which I'm planning to grow in pots to feed the chickens over the winter months. I'm hoping they're going to be abundant to keep my girls healthy and happy. Poor chooks, they've started their annual moult and are looking about as dreadful as everything else out there.

Pathetic tomatoes; Poor Selma - not the prettiest chook right now.

I mustn't get too down though, as there are still a few things doing nicely despite it all. Those capsicums are still making me smile. Quite apart from their amazing juicy crispness, they are just so cheerful. Like baubles on a Christmas tree. I've been amazed by the chilli plants, free from the spring garden festival, an unexpected bonus with long red chillis all over the garden. No idea what to do with them, but they are pretty. And I'm looking forward to harvesting my one pumpkin. Maybe I'll make a fragrant pumpkin, lentil and coconut soup to warm us up a bit.

Thank god for the capsicums; There's loads of them - 11 fruits on this plant; Chillis everywhere.

However, the excitement is mounting in the other garden, where olives are ripening now and I'm anticipating a few weeks of preserving coming soon.
I suppose life is like this. I feel better now I have a plan.

Olives ripening in the other garden.

A Certain Age - How I customised my new dress, and why.

Last week I bought a new dress. A simple enough transaction you'd think, but my feelings are so conflicted towards this garment.
I had admired another dress on a lovely friend of mine who possesses a certain style and grace. I was in luck. She'd got it in a mega bargain sale and would take me straight there without delay. I was excited to say the least.
The shop was one I had walked straight past a million times. There had never been anything in the window that caught my eye. It was a nondescript boutique, and I imagined, frequented by ladies of a certain age, from a certain middle-class family suburb. However, it turned out that the racks were packed with garments I would definitely wear every day, and I happily exited the change room with an armful of bargain goodies.
I spotted this dress in the far corner. I loved it from the get go and as soon as I popped it on I could imagine every daily situation. It's a useful dress, to be worn in hot weather to the dog park, the garden, the chicken coop, school pick-up, even to lunch if I was one of those ladies who lunch. It looks great layered over jeans and came in loads of colours, but the yellow was so cheery. It was 75% off - a grand total of $26. A no-brainer.

Cute as a button - the dress that wasn't good enough for a fashion snob.

I started to have misgivings as soon as I'd made the purchase. I had just bought a dress from a middle-aged, middle-class, lady-of-a-certain age, family-suburb type boutique. My ego silently screamed "No! You are a fashion designer from the fashion world. You wear designer dresses from upmarket boutiques that cost a lot of money." On the way home I spotted a lady wearing exactly the same dress in a different colour. She was 'of-a-certain-age' and not very fashionable. I was horrified, and I felt like such a cow because I was horrified. Conflicted most definitely.
I wore the cheerful dress to the dog park the very next day. Cute and comfy. The sunshiny yellow attracted a lot of compliments. I felt a bit better. Then one of my dog park pals, Georgie, admitted to having the same dress, and she's at least a decade younger than me. I spilled out my story, hoping for redemption. At the part where I mentioned middle-aged women from Malvern, I was suddenly struck by a thunderbolt. That is exactly who I am. She was amused at my discomfort. We were joined by another doggy pal, a lovely, friendly lady also of-a-certain-age. "That's a lovely dress!" she exclaimed. Georgie burst out laughing. It was too much for me. I haven't worn the dress since.
My excuse is that it's in the laundry, but deep down I know why it's really there. So after a bit of internal turmoil I have pulled my elitist, snobby, uppity self together and resolved to customise the offending garment.
Today I decided to dip-dye the hem and make it my own. I used a Dylon dye suitable for cotton, and dampened the bottom half of the dress and gave it a bit of a wring to crease it a bit so the dye runs up. I mixed the dye up according to the packet instructions, but halved all the quantities and made only half the amount as I didn't want too much liquid. I used a large stainless steel salad bowl for the actual dyeing. I rigged up the laundry rack in the backyard and used a plastic drop sheet under the bowl. I hung the dress on a plastic hanger on the rack over the bowl with the hem dipped in, and waited the 1 hour specified. I didn't do all the stirring instructed on the pack as I don't mind an uneven effect and I didn't want the dye to splash up onto the rest of the dress.

Waiting for the dye to fix. It looks beautiful already.

When the dyeing time was up I followed the rinsing / washing instructions carefully, but only for the hem part of the dress trying not to get any surplus dye on the un-dyed part. Then I wrung out the wet part really well so that it didn't stick back on itself whilst hanging and transfer unwanted dye. Whilst it was hanging on the line drying I decided to do a bit of hand stitching at the neck area. I was aiming for a Boho chic / Isabel Marant type look. Head in the designery type clouds, I know, but there's no stopping me now. I looked on the internet and found a tutorial for feather stitch. Just the look I was after.

Using a bit of baking parchment I traced a grid and pinned it on to make my stitching even. I'm quite pleased with that.

Once the paper was torn away, I couldn't believe my eyes. I absolutely LOVE my new dress now!

NOW I love it!

The End of an Era.

Today is the funeral of my beloved Grandma, know to everyone as Doody. She passed away quietly last week aged 100 years old. She was the last of her generation.
I feel melancholy rather than out and out sad. I'm not upset. I've hardly cried. It's not what I expected, and I feel conflicted. I feel that I ought to be sadder, but actually I feel relieved, for her and all those that loved her. Maybe it's because it was her time, or well beyond her time really. She lived her life well and fully, and left behind 3 generations that have felt her wonderful warmth. OK, now I' crying.
The last 4 years, since Pappa died, have been awful for her. He was the lucky one - he had a massive stroke and died the next day. Quick and clean, the way he would have wanted. They were a formidable team and a lesson to all on how to build and maintain a marriage over a very, very long time. They had celebrated their Diamond wedding anniversary and more.
When Pappa farewelled this mortal coil,  Doody found herself drifting, rudderless in a bewildering sea of loss. It was no longer possible for her to live independently, so she moved to a home for the elderly. She was a social lady, and we hoped for new friends and another episode in her twilight years, but it wasn't to be. After a nasty fall she was bedridden and dementia soon took hold. There followed four years of confusion and heartache, but it is how she lived that showed her calibre.

Young Doody; Doody and Pappa's wedding; Kate and I on holiday with Doody at Butlins - 1970

From the moment she welcomed my Mum, 5 years older than my Dad, a different nationality and a different religion, she showed her true warmth and strength. The expectation had been that my Dad marry his sweetheart, the daughter of a close family friend. Instead his adventurous spirit took him to Hong Kong to join the HK police, where he fell in love with a beautiful and exotic local girl from a good family. Doody fell completely in love with my Mum from the very start. There was not a drop of stuffy British prejudice in her, and so her loving and staunch support of my family began.
My childhood memories of Doody are pure magic. She was a young granny by today's standards, at 52, and we all benefited from her energy and vigour. I was the first grandchild. Lucky me. I had her for the longest.
My cousin, Kate, was next in line and only 18 months younger. Doody paired us up early on, and we would often stay with her together, just the two of us. I remember the long summers we spent, and all the brilliant and often hilarious stories we have to tell.
On one lunch outing, when we were very young, Doody wore a rather sophisticated turban style hat. We were nonplussed. I was anxious. “Doody, have you broken your head?” Kate piped up, “Don’t be silly, can’t you see she’s a magician!” Doody told us she never wore that hat again.
She fostered a close, life long bond between us. We are like sisters, even now with me in Australia and Kate in the USA.

Lee Bay in the front yard 1974 - I'm top left; Lee Bay in the front yard 2013 - I'm second from the right

2 summers running, some time in the 1970's, Doody and her sister, Aunty Mary, gave my parents a much needed break and took me and my siblings, 4 of us, on holiday to a fantastic old house, The White House, right on the beach at a tiny hamlet called Lee Bay in Devon. Aunty Mary's house keeper and her two sons came with us. We were a jolly party. The fortnight was spent picnicking on the beach, catching unfortunate crabs and tiny shrimps in the rock pools, and walking over the cliffs to the enchantingly gorgeous twin towns of Lynton and Lynmouth - 6 children - toddlers, strollers, the lot. Women were made of hardy stuff in those days! They were magical times, and not a theme park or iphone in sight. We visited Lee Bay last year on our UK visit. It's almost exactly the same and we re-created an iconic family photo right in the front garden of The White House. So many happy memories.
Our family moved around the country quite a bit when we were kids, so when it came to choosing a location for our wedding, Mr.B and I chose the my grandparents parish church. The roots I had there were stronger than anywhere else. Dood and Pop were delighted, and hosted a special family party in their garden the day after the event. No caterers here, Doody and other family members prepared all the scrumptious food themselves. It was an event in itself. Think clipped lawns, a white marquee, Pimms and smoked salmon -  a perfect English summer garden party to welcome Mr.B's family to ours.

Our wedding 1994 - Doody on the right in the navy hat, Mum on the left in cream

Doody and Pappa were so excited to welcome great-grand children, and the Misses Sand E were the first of their generation. We visited when the girls were 10 months. The oldies were beside themselves when we arrived, late, after the car broke down, with hungry babies. There was no time for proper introductions. Doody and Pappa got straight to it with a baby and a bottle each. The expressions on the faces of all 4 of them were priceless.

Doody and Pappa with Misses S and E 2001; Doody and the girls 2008 - the last time we saw them.

We visited several more times, but not as much as we should have or wished for. That's the price you pay for living so far away from family. The last time we saw Doody and Pappa was 5 years ago, when they were both still pretty sprightly. Our last goodbyes were raw and emotional. They knew it was the last time and held me so tight I thought I would pass out.
Today is bittersweet. They will be together again in a woodland grave site carefully planned  by Pappa. Let's hope he's still in there and hasn't been too badly damaged by badgers that have been digging in the area. His sister, my Great Aunty Gwen, will join them when her ashes are scattered there today too. It'll be nice for her to get out from under my Aunty's stairs after all these years!
So farewell, Doody. Here's to you, and hoping that the 3 of you are up there with a glass of sherry and a good game of Scrabble.

Gluten Free Banana Bread

I don't know about you, but I seem to be throwing away over-ripe bananas all the time during the warm weather - even the chickens are sick of them. This super easy gluten free banana bread is my solution and the absolute favourite in our house at the moment. I baked a loaf a few days ago, and it was all eaten up before I could photograph it. It is so easy and really delicious. I wanted to save some for the girls' lunchboxes - not a chance. Today I had another go whilst everyone was out. Mission accomplished.
It's definitely my kind of recipe - mix all the ingredients together, put in a pan, bake, eat. Simple.
I'm pretty sure it would work just fine if you used regular flour instead of gluten free, but I haven't tried, so I don't really know.
I found the recipe online and unfortunately the link doesn't work anymore, so you'll have to make do with my version. I have made some amendments after trying it out a few times.

1 cup gluten free self raising flour
1/4 cup almond meal - if nuts are an issue just use the extra 1/4 cup of flour
1 level tsp bicarbonate of soda
3/4 cup sugar - I used soft brown sugar. I reckon muscovado sugar would taste fantastic.
2 eggs
1/2 cup canola oil
2 ripe bananas - mushed up with a fork
1 heaped tsp cinnamon
The original recipe suggests changing things up by adding 1/2 cup of fresh blueberries. That would be nice. I'm going to give chopped dates and nuts a try sometime. I think the girls would appreciate chocolate chips too.

Place the mushed bananas, eggs, oil and sugar into a mixer, blender or food processor, or do it by hand. Mix until smooth.
Add all the dry ingredients - flour, almond meal, baking soda, cinnamon, and mix until smooth.
Pour into a loaf pan lined with baking parchment and bake in the centre of the oven at 175 degrees C, for 45 minutes or until a toothpick comes out clean. The original recipe says bake for 60 minutes, but mine would have been over done and burnt to a crisp by then. Maybe it's because my oven is fan-forced.

Leave in the pan until cool enough to handle. Turn onto a wire rack to cool completely.

I sliced it while it was still slightly warm, and spread with butter. Scrumptious with a nice cup of tea or glass of milk.

It's great lightly toasted too, but take care as it's quite delicate - use the grill rather than the toaster.

Enjoy!

Edenstar

I've been thinking a lot about whether or how to write about Edenstar. The highs were so high, and the lows so low. It's been difficult to think about,and I have mentally put it away in a box and shut the lid tightly. Since it has been such an important and almost all consuming passion, and taken up 10 years of my life, I decided it would be good, even cathartic. I warn you, it's a long story with lots of pictures. I may be a basket case (again) by the time it's finished.
I started my kid's fashion brand, Edenstar, in 2003 when my girls were just 2 years old. After working in the commercial fashion industry as a designer since 1987, I became driven to put my ideas into my own boutique brand for my own kids after doing it for others for so long. It also gave me the flexibility to work around my family's needs, or so I thought. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

The first collection - Summer 2003 - We sell to 8 local stores

I survived on adrenalin in the early years, working from home and around the girls. Mr. B was on board and designed graphics, did the photography, the accounts and all the back end admin as well as working full time in a real job. Friends caught onto the excitement and gathered over tea and cake to help hand embroider skirts, sew buttons on shirts and pin tags onto garments. The girls were the cutest models, and the brand was fresh and new. Boutiques lapped it up. Our wholesale business grew quickly. It was hard work but so much fun.

Winter 2004 - Our first order for New Zealand; Summer 2004 - We take on a NSW sales agent

Reality set in when I started showing at trade fairs and wholesaling interstate. Together with two other local brands, Purebaby and Mill & Mia I travelled around Australia putting together mini trade shows from hotel rooms and having the best of times. We had such a laugh and supported one another through the chaos.

Winter 2005; Summer 2005

A few years on and things escalated when I became friendly with sisters running another local brand, Moppit, and we travelled to New York together to meet sales agents and show at trade fairs. This period was equal parts excitement and terror. Showing at an international trade fair was absolutely exhilarating, and Edenstar won the award for Best Newcomer. It was great to have the Moppit girls to share with. We are good friends still.

Winter 2006; Summer 2006 - The collection that won us the Best Newcomer award at New York's ENK Children's Club Trade show

The business had outgrown our tiny home. There were rolls of fabric in every room, and you couldn't see the lounge room floor for boxes when we were packing orders. I almost despatched our old cat to New Zealand once when he fell asleep in a box full of stock.

Winter 2007; Winter 2008

So we took on a small warehouse. It was too ambitious financially, and somewhat cold and unfriendly. We had no choice. Stress was at an all time high, and I felt as if on a hamster wheel, running at top speed, getting nowhere, and unable to get off. We were exporting internationally by now. We had sales agents on the East and West Coast's of the US, the UK, Hong Kong, New Zealand, and locally Sydney and Brisbane, a distributor in Spain, and were the in-house brand at the gift shop of the Palm Jumeira Resort in Dubai (the one where Kylie sang at the opening!). I was travelling to trade fairs both here and in New York. I was exhausted, terrified, and guilt-ridden, but driven on by the promise of elusive financial success.

Winter 2008 - We get an order from the fashionable Scoop chain in New York; Summer 2008 - We get an order from the prestigious Selfridges in London

The high point was when Edenstar was included in a book - Kid's Fashion Designers - published by Daab, an international distributor of design books. We were the only Australian brand included. It was good for the ego, but meant nothing in real terms. I just couldn't give it up. Like a class A drug, so addictive and harmful. It looks pretty in the pictures, but it was ugly behind the scenes. Edenstar had become a monster.

Winter 2009; Summer 2009 - The Global Financial Crisis takes hold and our Northern Hemisphere orders are cancelled

At this point the Global Financial Crisis hit. Perfect timing. Stock for our international orders was in the warehouse ready to ship. Most were cancelled as global panic ensued. We were left with A LOT of cancelled stock we had to pay for. It was a disaster.

Winter 2010; Summer 2010 - The local retail market is still afloat and we scale down production.

Mr. B put his foot down. As a director of the company he ordered a halving in expenditure, or he would close it down. He was right. I can see that clearly now. We moved to cheaper warehousing and I halved my assistant's hours. I felt crushed and my designs suffered. I was pretty much on my own, trying to keep my head above the water, and diversified into women's wear hoping that retail market might be better. The first signs were encouraging, and I really enjoyed the change, but that sunk too in the coming year.

Winter 2011; Summer 2011 - Australia finally feels the effects of the global economic downturn and we call it a day for children's wear.

We came to a cross roads when retailers stopped paying their bills and our warehouse lease ended. I felt trapped, but couldn't see a future without Edenstar. It defined me.
Then fate stepped in and my Mum became gravely ill in the UK. It was sudden, and instantly things became clear. Edenstar was put on hold and there it stays. Mr.B was very kind. There could have been finger pointing and 'I told you so's', and it would have been deserved, but Mr. B came through for me when I was at my lowest. For better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and health . . . . 

Things slowly returned to a new and better kind of normal. I'm happier than I've been for a decade. I hope never to put Mr. B and the girls through that again, or myself for that matter. I'd like to say I've been the victim of the world recession, but that's not entirely true. Ambition played it's part. I did it to myself, and it wasn't pretty.

The highest of highs and the lowest of lows. I feel like a recovering drug addict. There, it's on the page and I feel all the better for it. Now you know.

Summer 2011; Winter 2012 - Edenstar women's wear only lasted a couple of seasons, but I loved it.