Let Preparations Commence!

The art deco weekend in Napier may be the highlight of the social calendar for deco devotees, but it has to be admitted that the actual preparation can be somewhat fraught.  This weekend it could not be put off any longer and though the weather was scorching hot I set aside some time to struggle in and out of all the outfits which competed for roles in this most magnificent of events and were ruthlessly “auditioned”.  It did help somewhat to know that at the opposite end of the North Island The Dancing Queen was going through the same tribulations, though you can be sure that she was well ahead of me in the organisational skills department.  Things were not helped by the fact that Mr Shoestring also chose this time to make last minute adjustments to his wardrobe and we spent a lot of time bumping into one another at the ironing board or in the narrow corridor.  Out came the furs, out came the hats, out came the stockings with seams up the back, the jewellery and the handbags. 

But wait!  The most crucial handbag was missing, the brown alligator skin with the matching coin purse!  A very long and fruitless search ensued and I eventually muttered to myself, “Well, that’s that then, I can’t possibly go to art deco weekend this year without my best handbag.”  Finally it was located, and all was well.  But it has to be admitted that there seems to be a bad history with this handbag.  When I took it on its inaugural outing Lady Raglan was showing off a similar handbag and I told her firmly, “No, I am very sorry Lady Raglan but my handbag is more beautiful than yours by a long chalk Old Thing!  Look what perfect condition it is in, yours is a bit scruffy and nowhere near as lovely.”  As I said this I slopped my coffee over the side of the cup and directly into the pristine lining of my treasured bag and it has never been quite the same.  That’s what you get for pride.  So now more humility and modesty is called for when comparing deco costume notes. 

We hear that the weather may not be as perfect and summery as it has been in past years so the furs may get an outing.  My current favourite fur is a cape which was probably made shortly after the craze for all things Egyptian came about in 1922, when Howard Carter unearthed Tutankhamun’s tomb.  Look at the adorable  faces on the clasps, they are so evocative of that time when people were still thrilled by faraway places and exotic archaeological discoveries.   

I never did find my favourite blue parasol with white spots, but as it is made from some kind of stiffened paper it probably would not fare very well in the rain or wind anyway.  (Always look on the bright side …)

On the way to Shoestring Cottage we passed by this maize paddock and it was lovely to see the sunflowers growing amongst the maize.  Mrs Peaceable tells me that stock adore the taste of sunflowers in their feed and it conjured up visions of them snuffling through it, looking for the bits with sunflower flavours.  (A bit like people picking out the dried apricots in their muesli perhaps.  I am sure they are not that discerning but it was a nice thought. 

In the garden there seems to be a bit of a blue mood coming to the fore.  This is a new patch of garden recently started and once the blue plants went in there was no turning back.  They will look pretty with pinks, mauves and purples and perhaps the occasional touch of white also. 

At the local market this weekend I vowed and declared that I would not be rash and buy anything in the "collections" category.  (I am starting to imagine headlines:  "Woman crushed to death under avalanche of flea market finds" or possibly "Police mystified as to cause of exploding house - debris covers wide area.")  But in my defence it was Mr Shoestring who found these teaspoons.  They are the perfect match for our cutlery set, which has no teaspoons.  Also I found two lovely green glass pieces but I am too ashamed to show them to you - maybe after a suitable interval with no more purchases I will feel bolder.  

And this pretty mother of pearl brooch was only 50 cents and it won't take up very much space.  

This silk scarf was going to be cut up for the crazy quilt but it has a hand rolled hem and is in such beautiful colours.  If I wear it with the mother of pearl brooch I will look just like Miss Marple - but is that a good thing, one wonders?

And in order to use up some of the treasures so rashly obtained in recent weeks, here is a cake stand made from three old plates, a candlestick and a little sherry glass.  You can't see the candlestick very well, it was very difficult to photograph.  Good fun to make though!

Nature Red In Tooth And Claw

Always A Good Friend In The Garden

On Saturday night it occurred to me that when I went back to work and my friends asked me what I had been up to during the weekend, I would be forced to reply, "Well my dear, for the most part I have been engaged in a campaign of death and destruction, a veritable orgy of killing, and I am very pleased with myself as a result.  Bwa ha ha ha!"  This was because Mr Shoestring and I had spent a large part of the day in quiet pursuit of the demon bag moths which seemed to be destroying the conifers at the front of Shoestring Cottage.

At first when we moved to Shoestring Cottage I disliked the three tall, thin conifers which grew alongside the front wall.  After some thought though it seemed better to leave them where they were for the time being.  After all, nature abhors a vacuum and if I took them out what would replace them?  Ha, weeds, that's what!   So they were left alone and I eventually changed my mind and decided I looked their symmetrical appearance and imposing stature.  

Imagine my horror when one of them began to lose its foliage.  Each week I would leap out of the car upon our arrival to inspect the latest developments (or setbacks).  At first I thought I was imagining it, but over time it became obvious that the front tree (of course it would have to be the one in front) was very unwell indeed.  So much for conifers being virtually indestructible, here was proof that my thumb was black rather than green.


Asking my friends and acquantances, nobody had ever had any problem with defoliation on cypresses.  Upon close inspection the only possible reason was the presence of lots of tube-like, cigar shaped grey insect cases.  

I am not sure what is inside these but imagine it must be some sort of caterpillar which eventually will emerge as a moth - and probably the one organism which adores feasting on conifers.  There were a few of these on the middle cypress and none on the far one, so it seemed a possibility that they were the cause of the problem.  A laborious period of labour followed whereby a ladder was brought and all the horrible things were picked off the tree.  (They must be capable of travelling long distances because I even found one firmly affixed to the roof when I was up there painting recently.)  

Wherever I looked on Saturday there was murder and mayhem.  Look at this praying mantis, suspended upside down and feasting on a poor little green winged moth.  And then there were the slugs - not just a family of them but a veritable city of them all breeding madly all over the garden.  There was nothing for it but to send them to oblivion, sadly.  


So on Sunday Mr Shoestring and I decided it was time to finally do the walk to the top of the mountain, which we had been vowing and declaring to do ever since we moved in - and that was over a year ago.  We set off from the town domain and climbed to the transmission mast at the top of the mountain along a very steep walking track through the native bush, and what a beautiful view there was from the summit.  We saw wild goats racing away madly down the road as we came down again, and there were so many beautiful ferns and trees on the walking path when we turned back along the mountainside.  At the top of the mountain a cold wind was blowing but it was warmer and less windy as we came down again.  We took a side-walk to a waterfall (by this time we has been walking for hours and a little detour seemed inconsequential).  By the time we climbed down again we were footsore and our limbs were nearly seizing up.  We looked forward to a soak in the bath, but were very pleased with ourselves.  

View from part way up the mountain

My mum recently cut back her lavender plants but before she did I harvested the flowers to dry, and spent time this weekend stripping all the tiny blossoms off the stems.  How therapeutic and relaxing this was!  In time it would be fun to make lavender sachets but for now the blossoms are filling bowls and scenting the cottage.  I fear Mr Shoestring is glad to see the end of the process because it became rather time consuming and addictive, the stripping off of the flowers.  I was happily muttering away to myself as I attempted to remove every last tiny blossom and shreds of foliage seemed to fly all around the room, very mysterious.   

I recently told my dear mama that I planned to make a wind chime with old pieces of cutlery, since the garden was already full of old pieces of china hanging on the trees and off pieces of trellis.  The next time I saw her she presented me with a random selection of cutlery from her local op shop so there was no need to search out any pieces.

Here is the end result, courtesy of Mr Shoestring.  It looks very effective hanging in the old cherry tree and the sound is very pretty.  There was a little bit of cursing involved, but not too much.  

Today Monsieur and Madame La Poste visited and we had a good session comparing our many and varied WIPs (Madame La Poste taught me that this stands for Works In Progress), and the dream projects which keep us awake at night.  Also Madame La Poste donated this beautiful violet tea cup to Shoestring - isn't it the perfect match for the other two recently acquired treasures?

And as we are both working feverishly on our crazy quilt projects Madame La Poste also gave me a selection of treasures to use in my forthcoming crazyquilt projects.  

 Antique mother of pearl buttons and glass trimmings

Beautiful mother of pearl buttons with inset letter and bee

More treasures - and another bee!

Another short working week coming up, and then Art Deco Weekend - life doesn't get much better.  Then sadly the return to real life and autumn.  Sniff.  

Aerial Adventures

On Saturday morning I awoke at Shoestring Cottage with a sinking heart, despite the fact that I was comfortably tucked up under my rose-strewn duvet.  I had resolved that I was going to help Mr Shoestring paint the roof, having boasted to my girlfriends all week that I was planning to spend the weekend sewing glamorous art deco weekend evening dresses.  But in all conscience Mr Shoestring could not be left to paint the roof alone, especially as it is a well known fact that he is terrified of heights.

So up we both went, and part of the reason for my dreading the experience is that these joint working parties with boys usually do not go well.  Boys (and men) have a nasty habit of being very critical of one's workmanship and no matter how hard one tries, there usually are tears before bedtime or at least one or two harsh words.  Well do I recall the painting efforts when they come along behind you and point out that the paint has been applied too thickly/too thinly, there is a run or you have "missed a bit just there".  Also their pursuits always seem to have a rather violent tinge to them.  I can still remember having to help my father "bleed" the brakes on his car.  (Poor brakes, it sounded just ghastly for them.)  Also there was the issue of "choking the hammer" whenever I tried to help with carpentry, another rather violent and unpleasant sounding thing.  So early on in the piece I asked Mr Shoestring, "Is this alright?  Am I putting it on too thinly or too thickly?"  He muttered through clenched teeth, "Just slap it on, if we need to buy more paint we will."  After a while though he questioned, "Are you really fine about going over into those corners?" and I could tell he was secretly impressed.  So I would scurry crab-like into the far reaches of the roof and paint those parts with the brush, while he used a roller with a long pole on the parts he felt comfortable with.  It was a scorching hot day and it became burning hot if one's nether regions should happen to make contact with the roofing iron so extra care was needed.  After the second time my sun hat flew away cheerfully into the wild blue yonder I gave up retrieving it; I feared that once I clambered off the roof I may never return.  There was one nasty incident when my paint container made a bid for freedom and flung itself off the roof and onto the grass below, but luckily there was not much paint in it and amazingly it did no damage to the lawn or the garden, apart from a splash of paint on one of my treasured lilies.  Once I got into my stride I rather enjoyed myself.  The dear little nails which hold the roofing iron in place looked to me like top hats, or was it boaters?  (I did not share this pleasant thought with Mr Shoestring, not wanting him to suspect I was not taking my task seriously.)  A passerby called out cheerfully, "It is so wonderful to see people loving that old villa again and taking care of it" and I have to admit I badly wanted to invite her to come up and share my brush, but bit my tongue.

At the end of the day I gratefully came down the ladder (the most frightening part of all for me) trembling slightly with fatigue or relief, and gladly went inside for a clean up.  I have recently decided to let my hair go grey but when I saw the chunks of grey paint all through my hair I knew that was not quite the effect I had in mind.  Mr Shoestring told me the best way to get the paint off my skin was to use a scouring pad from the kitchen and it gave a whole new meaning to the concept of exfoliation, I must say.

That night as Mr Shoestring lay on the couch groaning softly from time to time (his bad back had a relapse on account of the roof painting) Sir Lancelot telephoned and announced his intention of paying a call the next day.  I was rather surprised (but pleased) to hear Mr Shoestring encourage him in this plan, rather than put him off until another time.  So we did not get the second coat put onto the roof after all, which was probably a good thing as it was lovely to catch up with Sir Lancelot and his good maiden.  The roof will await our further attentions; I do not hold out much hope that there are any roof fairies who will come in the dead of night and paint it for us.

Luckily before I embarked on the roof painting mission I did have a lovely coffee with Mrs Peaceable at our favourite cafe.  We goddesses generally find that coffee appointments (we prefer to think of them as Summit Meetings) will put most wrongs in the world to right - and I am not sure whether I would have had such a resoundingly successful day on the roof if I had not first had my Summit Meeting with Mrs Peaceable.

The lilies are continuing on their wonderful blossomy progress.  Here are the new ones for this week:

You can see a spot of dark grey on one of the petals on this one - it is from my paint disaster

And this week before clambering up onto the roof I had to call into the local op shop where I could not resist these bargains for a grand total of $8.

And then, seeing the shoe, I remembered another shoe I already possessed.  I fear another collection may be in the offing.

My mum has gave me this lovely pink art deco powder bowl this week, she knows I am on the hunt for the elusive pink and green glass now.

I had a similar one which my Nana used for decades, and I think it must what sparked the passion for old pink and green glass.  I always remember the smell of my Nana'a powder and the Oil of Ulan she used religiously.  Sadly I cannot find my Nana's green powder bowl now;  I think it was lost in the big move to our small apartment, but perhaps it will reappear one day.

These two treasures came from a second hand shop.  The little cup doyley is similar to another one I have - more collections!  The tablecloth was rather marked but the marks have all come out after a good soaking.  It is in perfect condition and the paving stones, lupins and hollyhocks are all beautifully worked on  linen.  The edging is hand crotcheted lace.