Sugru

Thank you Rachael for my care parcel!

I don't know which I was more excited by, the packaging or the contents.

The contents: Sugru.

Sugru feels like modelling clay, or Blu-Tack. It fixes in 30 minutes into whatever shape you mold it, and is ready to be used after 24 hours. It fixes soft because it's made from silicone. It sticks to metal, plastic, glass and ceramic. It's waterproof, dishwasher-safe, heat resistant, cold resistant, electrically and thermally insulating.

I don't write this to advertise, merely to explain.

Or if you're more image inclined:

After I fixed the ring and knife handle I was walking around the house like a woman possessed, trying to find broken things, considering what I could chip or bust or smash, just so I could mend it. I gave myself a high 5 I was so excited, when I remembered the missing bit at the bottom of the food processor.

I must admit I had hesitations at first, thinking of all the energy that goes into creating Sugru, but then I thought that anything that promotes the Repair Manifesto, over buying new gear, is definitely a good thing by me.

An Inheritance

I don't really consider myself overly sentimental, but I always thought I would inherit a sewing kit from a grandmother or from my mum. I felt a bit sad when I realised that if I wanted one I'd have to create my own.

But then something happened. As I mentioned last week, the lovely Steph very kindly made me one of her softies that I turned into a pin cushion.

And then something else happened. Leonie from Raglan Guld, read the post where I talked about starting my own sewing kit, then she very generously sent me a package stuffed full of sewing goodies and beautiful fabric to start me off on my way.

I have had to rethink my definition of inheritance. Because I have inherited my kit, just not in the way I thought it would come.

So thank you again, Steph and thank you Leonie. And thank you to you too, Chunky Chooky Cath, for my lovely bag that also arrived in today's post that I tore at in the post office like a pre-schooler on her birthday.

I Heart Michelle

OK, so the background of this story goes something like this: In December last year, on one of the blogs I read it said that if you leave your postal addresses as a comment, they would send you a love letter, no matter where in the world you live. And so I did.

A few weeks later my love letter arrived and I felt good about it for weeks. And then a few months later another love letter arrived and I felt just as great about that one too.

And now, a few months after the last one, another letter has arrived.

"Have a cup of tea and read an old dusty book that smells like the past," writes the sender, Michelle.

Who am I to argue??

Rednesday: Number Six

I went for a three hour bush walk with Z and a friend of his yesterday. The halfway point was a visit to the house we lived in before this one.

This is our old letter box. I came home from Melbourne one afternoon and PJ had painted and stuck the number on it.

And this is the greeting I once wrote inside for our postman.

Mysterious Letters

Mysterious Letters:

In April 2009, we sent a personal, handwritten letter to each of the 467 households in the small Irish village of Cushendall. We hoped these unsolicited letters would prompt neighbourly discussion, spreading across the town, promoting community curiosity.

The art work consists solely of the discussion between the recipients about what on Earth these letters are, who sent them and why, etc

– Lenka Clayton & Michael Crowe

Love Letters

I can't decide which I prefer – love letters from people who know me

Or from people who don't:

Good News

To keep things nice and neutral, we meet Z's mum up at the post office when he goes to her place or when he comes back to ours. Yesterday while we waited for his mum, the mail was being collected and I just couldn't resist asking the postman if I could take this photo.

And my other good news is that the personal essay I wrote about my experience as a stepmum has been accepted for publication in a book; a collection of essays written by women about becoming mothers for the first time. I am not sure when it will be through the editing tunnel and out the other side, but I shall let you all know the details when they're delivered.

That Which is Possible

Four years ago our friend Jason and his partner at the time, Esther, handmade a series of beautiful postcards. Each card contained a picture of claimed roadside food, recipes for preserving and a map of where the various plums, pears, apples, blackberries, and quince can be foud and when approximately, the fruit are in season. They sent the postcards to friends and also to random strangers, to encourage a practice of gleaning and self-sufficiency.

They called the project That Which is Possible.

Yesterday PJ and our friend O, maps in hand, went out to see what treasures they could pluck.

These early season cherry plums are proof of their afternoon's success.

Happy happy! 

And a happy birthday to you O! We look forward to another whole year of discovering treasures with you, and discovering the treasures of you.

I Heart Nadia

I heart Jake Bronstein. And I heart the Internet.

About three weeks ago, blogger-to-the-stars, Jake Bronstein, asked his readers: When was the last time you received a love letter? All you had to do was leave your address as a comment on his blog and a letter hand-written by one of his interns would be snailed to your heart.

Thank you, Nadia! Your love was successfully received.

Click for bigger.

The Advocate Letter Project

When I first moved up here from the city I began The Advocate Letter Project, as a way to get to know, and participate in my new community.

Every week I read our local paper, The Advocate, from cover to cover and I send somebody I read about a handwritten letter.

Each letter is a tap on the shoulder of another human being. A small nod of recognition.

One week I wrote a letter to a couple celebrating their 60th wedding anniversary, the next, to the winner of a jam making competition. Two weeks ago I wrote to a woman named Joy who was being celebrated as an integral member of the nearby township of Clunes.

I feel like I'm outing myself here, as I don't write any details about myself in the letters, I just sign off from Meg. Revealing who I am doesn't really seem the point.