Favourite things: crafty people

Honestly, the talent and creativity of some people never cease to amaze me. I look at what they do and think, "How did you even come up with that?" Let alone make it so wonderfully. 1. Clever cardboard creations How brilliant is this typewriter, made out of used packing boxes by Stacie Stone? Take a look at her fabulously-named Etsy shop, Little Teeth Marks.

2. PJs for penguins Following an oil spill off the coast of New Zealand, people from all over the world knitted sweaters for penguins affected by the spill, to stop them from ingesting the oil when they preened themselves. Operated by yarn store Skeinz, you can follow this adorable campaign on their blog, The Yarn Kitchen.

3. Styled literary heroes Ever read a book and formed a perfect image of the character in your head? John Januzzi styles contemporary editorials of literature's heroes and heroines on his blog Textbook. What would Alice in Wonderland wear if she were alive today? How about Jay Gatsby? Eliza Dolittle? Pictured above is how Miss Havisham of Great Expectations might dress today.

4. Recycled paper Artist Jennifer Collier creates amazing sculptures of household objects from recycled paper. The content on the paper itself often provides the inspiration for what Jennifer decides to create, and she says her work is about "giving new life to things that would otherwise go unloved or be thrown away."

5. Book surgery I know I've gone heavy on the "art made out of paper and cardboard" this week but, seriously, it's not my fault people are so talented! I couldn't resist just this one more. Artist Brian Dettmer has been nicknamed "the book surgeon" because of the incredible sculptures he creates out of old books.

Lilac tinted summer

We got home from Melbourne last weekend to discover the jacaranda trees were in bloom up and down our street. Aren't they just summertime special?

Understanding Thanksgiving

We don't do Thanksgiving in Australia and, before I moved to New York, I simply couldn't understand the appeal. This is because the sum total of my Thanksgiving knowledge came from television sit-coms. To whit: 1. Family members were forced to come together and pretend to be happy, during which old arguments were invariably resurrected 2. Food preparation was exhausting, either resulting in the cook becoming mentally unstable, or frozen turkey being served up for dinner, or both

Then there was the cultural shame that stemmed from the realisation that I would be "giving thanks" for a land that had actually been stolen (a shame with which as an Aussie, I am already all too familiar).

It has been two years and one month since I left New York, although it feels like another lifetime ago. I have plenty to be thankful for and I wouldn't change a thing, but it is true that I miss that place and deeply miss my friends in New York, every day.

And despite all of my misgivings, New York taught me the meaning of Thanksgiving. Or at least a meaning, one that resonated with me.

On Thanksgiving morning, my friend Misha (who I call my sister - she's the one in the black & white apron) and I traipsed up to Wholefoods on Bowery for supplies. Mish could happily spend a day in Wholefoods, if I let her, and on other occasions I had been known to actually sit down in the aisles to take a load off while Mish perused baby beet salads to her heart's content. But after a relatively brief (for Mish) two hours of shopping, balancing paper bags bulging with groceries, we trundled back home to cook up a friendly storm.

Outside the wind really picked up and the first snow was just around the corner, but inside was all warmth and happiness and friendship.

Mish and I lived in the same building, on Thompson Street in SoHo, and we had other friends also in our building, so we shared kitchens. All of us were travel-orphans: blow-ins from the mid-west, the south, the UK, the antipodes... and on that day we became each other's family.

Our apartment doors stayed open and the building filled with our laughter and conversation, the music we played, and the many mingled smells of roasting turkey, mashed potato, sweet corn, green beans, pumpkin soup, cranberries, hot home-made apple cider, cinnamon and pie. My dog Oliver and Misha's cat Mr Lee wove in and out of our legs all day, in food-scrap heaven.

When we finally uncorked our bottles of wine and sat down to eat, it was anywhere you could stake a spot. On the edge of the couch, on the floor, on the window sill, and we ate until bellies bulged and food comas threatened.

There was no bickering, the work and the food were all happily shared, and the thanks we gave were for one another and for our loved ones far away but close in our hearts. I was filled to the brim, as much with thanks as with food.

Thank you, America, for teaching me the absolute beauty of setting aside one day - just one special day - to do nothing but cook and eat and love.

And happy Thanksgiving, from me to you. xo

Each of us was new

It was one of those gentle, magical days. A gift. We were in Nice, France. We wandered through the Old Town until I found the perfect striped straw bag I had been searching for, then took it with us to the open-air markets. There we bought olives, strawberries and enormous green grapes, warm from the sun, and ate them as we walked. Down at the beach, sinking through pebbles, the girls dipped their toes in the Mediterranean Sea.

The day grew hot. I left the family swimming, and escaped for one of those perfect, lonely explorations that are best to be had in an old, foreign town. If a narrow laneway appeared, I took it. If steps curved around the corner, I climbed them. I passed shrines to the Mother Mary, washing strung from building to building, and stepped in and out of shops - refreshingly cool like caves - of olives and lollies and crisp, white linen.

Way up high in the distance I could see a waterfall, and the cool sparkle of its water was like a beacon. I asked a man, "How do I get to the waterfall?" and he answered, "You mean the castle," and pointed the way. The climb was long, and my throat dried with the heat. At the top, the pathway branched back into trees. Between them I could just see glimpses: now the ocean glinting far below me, now circles of terra cotta rooftops, casting patterns in the view.

The waterfall cascaded over barely-visible stonework, almost all that was left of the ancient castle. I sat on the edge of the pool where the water plunged, grateful for the soft mist that blew into and over my face.

Back down at the beach, I found my family splashing in the shallows in front of a row of blue and white striped chairs and umbrellas. Lazily, we drained one iced tea after the other, then wandered home as the sun set.

But it was more than the tea that refreshed me. Sometimes, even in the company of those you love the most, a breath of solitude can revive a weary spirit. I came out of those few hours of exploring Nice alone like the girls came out of the sea. Each of us was new. How about you? Do you ever need to take 'time out' during a holiday?

The road. Again

On Friday Mr B and I took to the road (again) and drove 1500 kilometres in two days. That's not even close to a record for us, but it was still bloody exhausting. We do love a road trip, but this one somehow left us feeling old. On the other hand, what a wonderful weekend it turned out to be. So wonderful that I completely forgot to take photographs, except this one from the car.

We stopped for dinner along the way at a pub in Nhill (pronounced Nil, I think), that looked positively derelict from the outside but inside had a delicious menu with things like duck crepes in hoi sin sauce, fish served up with cous cous and minted yoghurt, and an Asian style vegetable stack. You won't understand how welcome this was unless you've travelled in outback Australia where, more often than not, burgers, steak sandwiches and chicken kiev are the full extent of the menu for mile upon lonely mile.

Other highlights... getting out of Adelaide just in time to avoid the 38C day (will someone tell Adelaide that it's not even summer yet?); spending nearly two hours by myself exploring the fascinating Tutankhamun exhibition before it closes forever next week; wandering alone through Carlton Gardens, just one minute from my very own home (that one day I will live in, I'm sure); exploring the Melbourne Arts Centre with my fabulous friend Tonia while catching up on months of friendly gossip; cheap n cheerful Chinese dinner with friends; a morning visit to the Kangaroo Flat bakery for old fashioned cakes like finger buns, vanilla slice (aka "snot blocks" by Mr Glamorous B), lamingtons, chocolate eclairs and all kinds of other country-baked goodies; a family gathering in Bendigo; kids on sugar highs doing laps of the kitchen on scooters; chasing goats out of Gran's falling-down old house; a call from Olivia (aged 4) who missed out on the fun because she was sick: "Can you drive past our house and wave at me before you go back to Adelaide?" And we did.

Hot dog

Met on the path to the castle in Nice, France. Happy Thursday!

Yours truly, Naomi

Fancy a year in New York?

I was lucky enough to spend more than a year in New York, and I loved every second. This video brings back so many warm and wonderful memories. [vimeo http://www.vimeo.com/31159101 w=525&h=295]

A Year in New York from Andrew Clancy on Vimeo.

Next, I think I'd like to live a year in Paris.

If you could experience a year anywhere in the world, where would it be?

The time travellers and me

On the weekend, I dreamed I met two time travellers. One could slide into the future, the other could slide into the past. I watched them disappear, their bodies pixelating in rainbow colours, and then they were gone, shimmying through time to see things and learn things and fix things and change things. A minute later, they were back, having lived lifetimes. Or moments. Or both. I said, "Must you go alone?" And they said no, they could take me through time, too. So one of them held out his hands and I took them, facing him and holding on tight. He said "Don't let go."

My first thought was, "this journey is taking a lot longer than I expected." I guess travelling through time can take time. When we pixelated, now it was in black and white. We dissolved into the static of an old television screen, and the world around us swirled into a snowstorm at night (and then a coal-storm on snow). Sometimes, as we passed through the storms, the black pixels would form into almost-shapes, almost-people, but then they would disappear again.

Back in the present, the time travellers took me to the Mystery Room, their home. A derelict space under a building secured by a metal grill door, the Mystery Room had a bare cement floor cluttered with the rubbish and flotsam of the city street: old McDonalds wrappers; yellowed sheets of newspapers; and takeout coffee mugs, faintly stinking of warm, bacterial, off, milk.

But once inside, we disappeared. Nobody passing by could see anything but the rubbish, and we were completely invisible, more: un-sensable. In my dream, this was very important not only for the safety of the time travellers but also for their mission, which I cannot tell you. People stuck their faces through the locked grill and we boldly stood just centimetres from their noses, grinning because all the people could see and smell was rubbish.

Then the unthinkable happened. A government official came to the locked grill. He opened the gate, and he spoke to me. He said, "Your rent has not been paid, you are being evicted." The time travellers stood behind me in horror. "Pay the rent! Pay the rent!" they yelled, passing me a wad of cash. So I did, and I signed the new lease myself, forever binding my fate with the Mystery Room.

Instantly, the government official could no longer see us. In fact, it was as though he had never known we were there, the mystery of the room was intact. He looked blankly past us through the gate, screwing up his nose at all the rubbish and the bad smells. But as he left, he slid an envelope under the grill: a fine, due for late payment of rent.

We were trapped. The official didn't know we were there, so we had no way of paying him the money. Bureaucracy could yet destroy the Mystery Room.

I woke up.

What do you think it all means?

288,000 jellybeans

If only I had seen "In your arms" by Kina Grannis before today, I would have included it in my food glorious food post on Friday. Such a sweet melody, and this adorable video was made using more than 288,000 jellybeans. Yum! [youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IOu0DuxFAT0]

Favourite things: food glorious food

Have a wonderful weekend! Eat, drink and be merry, my friends. 1. Edible spray paint After discovering this, I wish I was hosting a dinner party for Christmas. Because I would simultaneously impress and FREAK EVERYBODY OUT by painting all the food with this edible spray paint. Oh yes, I would.

2. Food of the rainbow Can you imagine how berserk little kids would go for these rainbow coloured meals? Take a look at the rest of the Food of the Rainbow series by Henry Hargreaves. Personally, I'm all for the looking but don't know if I could stomach the eating. Well, maybe the spaghetti...

3. Sophie Koh's supermarket boogie [youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EjHgQKycu0g] You know when you're half way through the grocery shopping, and a really good song comes on, and you have to fight the desire to bust a move? Me too. I love this quirky music video, as more and more shoppers cave to the temptation.

4. Paddle pop (culture) There are all kinds of jokes I could make about this Marilyn Monroe paddle pop, but this is a PG blog so I'll simply say: how incredible is this ice-cream design? Take a look at some other creepy but cool pop culture paddle pops here. Or pop (sic) on over to Moscow for a taste test. So clever!

5. Cherry season starts now Cherry picking season officially starts in the Adelaide Hills tomorrow. I'm thinking picnic. I'm thinking home-made lemonade. I'm thinking baskets overflowing with fresh, ripe cherries. I'm thinking I'll bake a cherry pie. Photo from here.