Christmas Greetings

The days of this month of the year seem to have less hours in them than any other.
I love Christmas, anything Christmassy but particularly handmade Christmas, there is nothing more satisfying to me than knowing I have made something from scratch with my own two hands, be it food, decorations, cards or presents.  My problem is, no matter how much I plan and prepare, I never get through the list of Christmas Things to Do.  My husband tells me it is my own fault, if I just relented and went to the shop for a pack of beautiful cards, that would free up about 15 - 20 hours and I might get some of the cooking underway sooner.

  I know he is right and I don't know why it is that I can't bring myself to do it, there are beautiful cards available that I would be more than happy to give, or receive for that matter, but it's just not quite the same for me.  And so I stress myself to the limit trying to get the cards done and posted so that they will actually be received before the big day.

I not only make the cards but I make each card individual and a little bit different from the rest, meaning no time saving with a production line.  This year I did get my son involved in making some origami embellishments for some of the cards and I think he will be employed next year too, in some form or other to speed up the process.

I don't know if any of the recipients know just how much time or energy goes into their card and that's not the point, I know and it makes me feel good.
I did outsource the little gifts for my daughter's class mates this year - handmade by a wonderful lady I have befriended via Facebook (you can find her at Cards by Cassy on Facebook).  And they went down a treat.

Speaking of treats I have managed to make a start on some yummy treats for our tummies too, these are always a hit at Christmas gatherings.

And here is our advent calendar, I made this one three Christmases ago with the idea that would fill each box with a little handmade something, that plan came to fruition the first year but these last two I have had to fly out in a mad rush on the 1st of Dec to find 24 little somethings that will have the children oohing and ahhing each morning.

I still have so much unticked on my To Do list this year and there is no doubt I will get to 10pm Christmas Eve and once again say to myself  'Oh well, there is always next year' and the list will be mentally folded and put into the little box in my brain labelled Things to Do next Christmas.

There must be others out there like me, let's band together and spread the homemade, handmade Christmas spirit, in the hope that we may learn to cherish these things again.  Not enough is cherished these days, or kept, in order that future generations might have something to hold and feel made by the hands of an ancestor.

And on that nostalgic note, 

Until next time,

Kazza.

Fire!.... no wait...... I've got it covered.

Well we are all settled in to our new house and are absolutely loving it, though the garden is very neglected and with the current bushfire risk I do get very nervous about it all going up in flames.  On that note here is what happened in my kitchen earlier this afternoon (written minutes later crying and laughing at the same time). The oven just caught on fire, in the back where the fan is, like real proper orange flames and smoke. I stand there going through the checklist in my head: fire - extinguisher (used to have one, left it in the last house we sold, FLUCK (tempered for parents/grandparents) water (no it's an electrical f

ire) blanket (what the hell do you need blankets for in 35 degree days, no idea where they are, FLUCK) Shut the door it might suffocate (Holy Flucking Shit the gas lines run right behind there for the stove (I know nothing about gas and whether the pipe will catch alight or not but I saw the big red digital 10 on the second clock flash in front of my eyes and knew I was a gonna, Dear Lord just save the children, just save the children..... oh and the cat) BLOODY HELL SCOTT WHY ARE YOU NEVER HERE WHEN I REALLY REALLY NEED YOU TO TELL ME TO CALM DOWN YOU STUPID WOMAN!! ok think, think, think.... Casey arrives, I'm running around in circles repeating the ovens on fire, the ovens on fire, the ovens on fire. My darling sane Casey, I'll call triple zero. Yes good, you do that and get me some towels. Nek Minit (there must be some common sense left in this addled brain somewhere) wet towels, smothering back inside of oven, lots of sizzle and hiss and no more flames. Case ends 000 call before it's answered and I sit on the floor staring at the inside of the oven wondering if it's still going to explode in my face. Phone Scott, 'honey the oven was on fire' Scott 'what! hang up and ring me back on the other phone' What if that was the last 5 seconds of my life and you want me to call back????????????? :) All good, I'm still sitting here so guessing no explosion, no dinner either however as I'm not going near the bloody thing anytime soon!!

Please forgive the language, it just erupts out of me in stressful situations!

On a lighter note my sewing room is coming together nicely and I hope to be back behind the machine very soon.

Till next time,

Kazza.

A Favourite Thing!

It is all go here in the KwozzieGirl household.  Not only is it a crazy time of year with happenings at school, trying to get just a little bit organised with the overseas Christmas cards and presents this year (not a hope), trying to get just a little bit organised with our own Christmas this year (no show) and just trying to get a little bit organised in general (yeah right), but we are in the middle of moving house too.  This is not an uncommon occurrence for my little family, in fact this will be the seventh move in seven and a half years of marriage and three of those moves were across the Tasman - sigh.   As I have made clear to anyone who will listen for the last two moves at least - this WILL be our last move for a LONG time - the problem is a LONG time in our world seems to be approx. 18 months.  Anyway, while we are quite practised at packing, cleaning, cleaning, unpacking, this move seems to be particularly mind-boggling for me.  I really don't know whether I'm coming or going, head up or bum up, fully-alert or fully-have-left-this-world-and-am-travelling-on-some-other-plane but somehow (mainly thanks to a husband who understands the concept of just getting on with it) our house has been boxed up and we are living on the barest of essentials for the next week until the truck arrives.  In amongst all of this chaos I have continued to try to complete some items that have been on my to-do list for a few weeks now and which I have decided must be out the door before that truck arrives.  It is while completing one of these projects that I have discovered what is currently My Favourite Thing!  and I just could not wait to share it with the world.

Please let me introduce you to the Crop-A-Dile.  A tool well known to paper crafters and now my new best friend for setting eyelets in fabric.  

For years I have battled with the piddly little tool included in the packet of eyelets and a heavy unwieldy hammer (pink of course).  Today I extricated my long-time owned but previously unused toy from it's prison of plastic and minutes later I had a line of perfectly set eyelets. 

I can not describe the satisfaction of knowing that this was a task I no longer had to look on with the memory of well-hammered fingers and black fingernails. 

I am looking forward to creating more of these beautiful pages for my Busy Books with much glee!!

Love Kazza. 


From one crafter to another, please respect the time and effort I have put into my designs and refrain from replicating any or all parts. If you are interested in purchasing a pattern please contact me at heplayedone@gmail.com

Let the good times roll..........

Hello out there,
I blinked and suddenly we are into November, do not ask me where the last 10 months went between the last post and this one, I have no idea!!
Life just seems to get busier and busier and I think it might be time to chill out and smell some roses.  I have been thinking I will take this blog in another direction, the trouble is my mind wanders so aimlessly I don't know which idea to settle on.
I think I'm just going to keep it free and easy and let the posts wander where they will so expect to see a lot of craft (have I mentioned it is the love of my life closely followed by children and husband?), a lot of celebrating the good in the world (we can all use a lot more of the good and a lot less of the doom and gloom), a little bit of this (cooking, kids and fun things) a little bit of that (my life in general, including that dragon in the closet, my multiple sclerosis and how I cope or don't).
So just know that I am full of good intentions and hope to get this blog back on track with updates more frequently than once every 10 months.
And as I have left this post laying out my plan of attack until minutes before my bed starts calling seductively, I will sign off for now with a pic of my latest work in progress.

Kazza xxx

Hot Hot Hot!!!

Tonight, at least, I have a reasonable excuse for not being asleep at 2.39am it is HOT - 26 degrees Celsius in fact according to the weather website.  Half of Queensland (those without air conditioning anyway) must also be awake probably tossing and turning and cursing every so often.

How typical is it that, on the day before the hottest day of the summer so far, the air conditioning starts blowing only hot air out and not the icy cold that keeps me sane?

Ironically I am one of those Kiwi's who, when asked how I cope with the heat, says 'Oh the heat doesn't bother me, I love the heat' when what I should really say is 'I look forward to 30 degree days with no humidity and a light breeze' so all Aussies can smirk at my naievity.

One thing heard and said by many a wannabe Aussie contemplating a permanent move across the Tasman is 'it's a different kind of heat over there', well all I can say is Hot is Hot and if you have difficulty coping with the rare 28 to 30 degree day of a New Zealand summer then you've got no show of enjoying the 34 degree plus days of an Australian summer.  

Some hot days are easier to cope with than others, I agree, for example, my husband (less crazy than myself but also less sensible) spent one 42 degree day chain sawing logs on our rural property (an hour south-west of Brisbane) during our first inhabitation of Australia and coped quite alright because there was far less humidity that far from the coast.  Admittedly he did dive into the pool clothes and all when he'd had enough.

On a positive note, it is actually warm enough for me to swim at the moment, I've even contemplated moving into the pool area on a more permanent basis these last few days.  I can't remember submerging in anything other than a hot pool in NZ since I was a wayward teenager, when it was more important that my bikini looked fabulous than how many goose bumps covered my body.  Hot pools, as in swimming pools heated until steam rises, are one of the few things still unique to New Zealand, as far as I'm aware.

I do feel for the tradies (that's trades people or blue collar workers for you Kiwis), the builders, road workers etc who don't have a choice but to be out in the heat all day.  My tradie at least has an air-conditioned lunch room and a swimming pool at the workshop to escape to.

I also feel for the mother's with grumpy and bored children, I'm sure there are plenty thanking God for movie theatres, ice skating rinks, bowling alleys and shopping malls during these school holidays - some shopping centres are so big that you can easily waste a day there revelling in the modern wonder of air conditioning and still not get around all of the toy aisles in every chain store. 

Now don't get me wrong, I'm pretty sure I would still far rather cope with an Aussie summer than a New Zealand winter as long as I have the necessary survival tools on hand, that being a working and large air conditioning unit, a large unoccupied swimming pool, ice cold water, a large hat, sunnies and the all important cabana boy to lather sunscreen on my back - just kidding, I must be heading for dream land again.

Until next time......

The green, green grass of home.

Every few weeks or so I find myself craving some green, green grass and I'm not talking about Te Puke Thunder either (you Aussie's can google that).  Real green, not insipid khaki, brown-yellow green grass, but lush, juicy, sweet smelling, good enough to eat, Emerald green grass.  I miss seeing paddocks of Fresian's drunk on the juiciness of it  (New Zealand farmer's don't like to move outside of the square when it comes to their cows, it's Fresian all the way with the odd Jersey or two thrown in to pretty up the herd), I miss the feel of it, the smell of it, the knowledge that there is nothing more scary than a giant earthworm slithering around amongst the shoots.
Sometimes I imagine myself running through fields of the stuff, under a cloudless, bright blue sky (it is my imagination so I can omit the clouds), with a light breeze tousling my hair, skirts hitched up to my knees and Michael Langdon at the front door of our log cabin waiting to greet me - no wait - I think I'm confusing my imagination with a TV programme from many moons ago.
Ok so the reality is I imagine flinging myself full-length on the lawn and smooshing my nose along the ground, just like my poodle did as soon as he could escape from the bathtub, blissfully ignoring the horrified stares of onlookers as I drink in the smell, feel and taste of real, green New Zealand grass, before gracefully returning to my feet, brushing a couple of wrinkles from my spotless white dress and getting rid of the leaves in my hair with a practised toss of my luscious locks.  Of course in reality I would emerge from this drunken-like stupor covered in mud from the recent rain, with prickles embedded in my nose and a number of neighbours wondering if they should call 111 to report an escaped psych patient.
And it's not just the grass I miss, it's the things that go along with it; grass stains are not a common sight on the knees of youngsters over here, the ground is too hard to fall on without breaking a bone for one thing, and, more than a few seconds spent out on the lawn will in all likeliness result in a bull ant attaching itself to your behind, for another.  I miss hours spent under the sprinkler in the middle of summer and waterslides covered in Sunlight dishwashing liquid.  I miss sitting under a tree with soft grass cushioning my precious hiney and not a bull ant, green ant, red ant, yellow ant or bloody rainbow-coloured ant in sight and it just doesn't feel like summer until you've had a foot full of Onehunga prickles to extract.
Ahhhhhhh the green, green grass of home, I think I might try to grow some lawn in a planter box to tide me over until my next New Zealand holiday.

Until next time..............

What to bring when you don't need to bring a thing.

I think my last post is proof enough not to blog without at least a couple of hours sleep first, let's see if I can improve with this one.  I think it's time to write about something that may be of use to those Kiwis actually thinking about heading over here to live - what to bring with you.

If you are young, single and still sleeping on God Knows Who's couch of a Friday and Saturday night, then I would say bring yourself, a bank account containing as much money as you can muster from selling everything you own, your paragraph long C.V (that stands for Curriculum Vitae) and a 'life doesn't get better than this' attitude.  Leave a box of 'treasures' with the oldies, to be couriered if you haven't returned with your tail between you legs within 5 years or so. 

If you said 'see ya later' to God Knows Who and his couch a while back and have realised that nothing beats coming home to your own bed after a night on the town or better yet God Knows Who's bed has now also become your bed, you're living in domestic bliss and are ready for the two of you to take a giant leap into the unknown together before the stork visits, then I'd say bring yourselves, a suitcase or two of your best 'can't live without' shoes and handbags, a somewhat healthier bank account, you're by now page or two long C.V, and a 'life doesn't get better than this' attitude.  Leave two or three boxes of 'treasures' with the oldies, to be couriered if you haven't returned within 10 years, having made a small fortune working your butt off in Oz but deciding NZ is the place to raise a family.

If God Knows Who and his couch are a hazy memory, one you can only wish you had the energy to revisit after being up all night with a child that won't sleep before the other child is up wanting their breakfast and a game of twister, you wonder if there's more to life and wish you'd gone on that big O.E before meeting Mr Right and delivering his offspring, then you might need a bit more planning and a few more boxes but it's do-able and probably easier than you think.  You will most likely want to pack a hundred or so boxes of 'treasures' and bring them with you along with a 'life doesn't get better than this' attitude.
The first time we made the move across the Tasman we brought with us almost everything we had collected and deemed essential over two 30 year, one 7 year and one not-yet-a-year life-spans, an exercise we regretted somewhat after arriving for a couple of reasons.   The container ship carrying our 172 cartons of 'necessities' takes an extraordinarily long time to sail the 2000-odd kilometres from New Zealand to Australia, up to 8 or so weeks in fact, it is amazing what no longer becomes necessary to life in that amount of time (whatever is necessary has to be purchased to allow for life to continue until the 'real' necessities arrive).  Once we had arrived and had a chance to look around we realised household items were so inexpensive to buy new here that we would have been better off to pay less in moving costs, sell as much as we could live without on Trade-me and start over.  Of course you can't expect the children to give up their toys or the wife to give up her shoes and handbags but anything without emotional attachment can become someone else's 'treasure'.  After moving house 7 times in the last 7 years there's not a heck of a lot I'm emotionally attached to any more, the husband even looks at me twice when deciding what to pack.
The second time crossing the ditch we knew what we were doing and managed to whittle down the boxes to a mere 130, still while unpacking you come across things that make you wonder exactly what attachment one forms to the lid of a plastic container you haven't seen for a good 10 years.
I would strongly suggest employing an experienced moving company to pack up your entire house, well your belongings anyway, the house might be too heavy to lift, and transport it to your new address.  We have used Crown movers once and Allied Pickfords twice both were okay but I would personally choose Allied Pickfords if we ever lose our minds and decide to do it all again.
My eyelids are finally drooping so until next time ............