Sushi, sketching now sleep...

Haven't uploaded straight up sketches in a while - but I don't have time to fix them up right now; 

will definitely get to them later though ^_^ 

reading "Clive Eats Alligators" by Allison Lester when drawing these 

above is scenes from breakfast

Types of dress...

Kids at play...

Did this one whilst waiting for my sushi to arrive at lunch... 

Here's a little poem to appease my inner writer as well (I've been neglecting her a little lately thanks to a sudden influx of work) can't complain though, definitely better than no work ^_^ 

THE DARK

The light turns off

Its cold out there

Shadows lurk

know your not there

you left me here

alone in black

you said to sleep

that you'd be back

I wouldn't know

I'd be asleep

just close my eyes

try counting sheep

But I hear noise

there's something there

it thinks that I am unaware

Well I wont wait

for it to strike

I'll sleep with mum if so all night

Have a fantastic weekend everyone! 

New Year, New ID

New year, new ID

Been growing out my hair - it's now Mermaid length...

Girls - you know what I'm talking about ^_^

Just a quick one this week - things have been kind of hectic with work - which is a good thing, 

Just something about hair, I used to have really really long hair, so long that I'd have to sweep it off my back before sitting so it wouldn't get stuck under my butt. 

Every morning, like Rupunzel in her tower, mum (who was nothing like the witch from the story) would brush it out and plait it, accompanied by my occasional screams and whining - "mum, stop, it hurts". Until one morning, in an act of desperation, she dragged me outside and cut it of. 

I couldn't believe it I went from being able to use my plait as a children's climbing rope to a bob so short I looked like someone had stuck a small cereal bowl on my head and cut around it. Which she had - much to my Aunty's horror (she was a hairdresser and tried her best to fix it when I saw her later that year). I was so traumatized that anytime I saw a movie where someone would cut their hair I would freak out, curl up in a ball and tug at my bowl cut - you can imagine everyone's surprise when before Joan of Arc even got to the stake I was balling my eyes out over her long locks floating down the river... Don't even get me started on Felicity... 

It didn't take me too long to realize though that when running around, getting dirty and dealing with hot summer days short hair is definitely an advantage, which is why I kept it that way till at least year 8, when in a friendly girly sleep over I was told by friends that if I wanted to be prettier I'd need to get a tan, wax my eyebrows and grow my hair... aggh the tactfulness of 13 year old advice :) 

But here I am 10 years later, with a yellowish tinge that took me till today to develop, two separate eyebrows and hair that reaches just past my boobs, a fact people are constantly shocked by as it's so often up and out of my way - even I forget it's long until I need to wash it... 

Don't worry though, I didn't do it for them, I took my time and let changes happen gradually - something I recommend to any young readers out there - don't let anyone force you into doing something you're not ready for. Unless it's wearing deodorant - trust your mum when she's says it's time to start ;) 

Have a great week! 

Lely Cinderelly

I'm not really into fashion, in fact if you asked any member of my family or particularly truthful friends you would come away convinced that I insist on dressing with my eye's clothes each morning and simply hoping for the best. I've gone way beyond that stage of looking through photos of your early years and cringing at the clothes you deemed "cool" I do that every morning when I look on the back of my chair and see the combination I had attempted the day before. 

The awareness of my impending trip to jail,  escorted roughly by the fashion police, didn't arise recently from a general look at normal outfits around me or the continued disproval of family and friends "Lesley, you look like a dag, go back upstairs and change or your not coming out with us". No, I've always had a feeling deep down I was destined for a life of odd looks and sad muttering. 

Who could forget the hand shirt I wore for about a year that not only linked me to the joyous members of the toddlers band "high five" but invited anyone I passed to to either snicker inconspicuously then high five their friends or simply touch the shirt with an open hand as if I had asked them to do so (back in the days that this wasn't considered a sexual offense). 

One of my favorite clothing blunders came about on a sunny "book day" in Primary. I had begged mum to help me make a cinderella costume, unlike most girls my age I was slightly boyish and thought cinderella in rags was far more appropriate attire for a parade in front of the entire school, so mum diligently stayed up late that night sewing paper patches on a few of my clothes that already looked a bit worn (side bar - this was almost my entire wardrobe). Walking to school the next day busily adjusting my head scarf and ripping some new holes in my skivvy I also thought it a good idea to smudge dirt on my face. It never occurred to me that it didn't have to be actual dirt, it could instead have been anything brown in colour, but I guess I wanted to be authentic. 

I strolled proudly into school, stinking of fertilizer, in what I thought was such a kick ass outfit I'd be asked to lead our year in the parade. Head held high I walked straight into my friend who reeled back disgusted as she attempted to wipe my copious amounts of dirt off her gorgeous gown and then straightened her tiara flustered.

"wow Lesley, you look…. umm (I think she wanted to say dirty but instead said)… what.. aggh, who are you? 

"Cinderella" I said proudly - pah, as if she didn't' know. Her eyes took in my outfit, looking through the dirt she saw the patches and it suddenly clicked 

"Oh right, you're like, Cinderella in rags right?"

"Yep" I swished my skirt proudly "I put the dirt on myself, I wanted to be authentic" 

"mmmm, looks, umm, looks authentic" she smiled sympathetically "I'm Cinderella too actually… the princess" - As if she had to clarify. 

I wasn't fazed, I loved my dirt and the conversation was dropped. 

Later that day it was time to have the parade. We gathered in the hot sun, parents, teachers and children, as each year took turns to walk around the circle. As I had predicted I was chosen to lead the parade - with my friend, little did I know the teachers had only agreed to have me accompany her as they liked the concept of seeing the before and after. A quarter of a lap in and I realized what people were laughing and pointing at, I was no longer the hard done by girl of the fairytale that had to work hard at life and happiness, I was just simply the princesses dirty cousin… Even my little sister shuffled back from the crowd head down when she saw the negative attention I was getting. I looked down and began to wipe some of the dirt off as discreetly as I could, my friend saw and it was in this moment she really became the definition of friend. She held her head up, took my hand and taking the tiara of her head, placed it on mine. 

After that the laughing stopped and people began cheering, now this could also have had something to do with the fact that someone dressed up as Tigger from Whinnie the pooh did a small summersault behind us, but I like to think it was because people had seen the kindness of my friend and thought it was about time they did the same. 

So if you see someone wearing something a little quirky or you think they may have gotten the dress code wrong, don't laugh, don't make fun - they're most probably aware of the blunder already, all they need is a little cheer, and I guarantee you'll make their day. 

So in the words of Ellen

"Be kind to each other"

Your fashion backward correspondent 

Lesley  

I'm back, did you miss me?... don't answer that...

Apparently I'm jewish. 

No I've never been to a synagogue (I just had to spell check the word), practiced judaism, experienced the delights of 8 days of presents on Hanukah or even been lavished in the attention only a Bat Mitzvah could bestow. However thanks to my ancestry I haven't been able to escape the traits so wonderfully endowed within the Jewish community. No I'm not necessarily talking about my excessive amounts of hair - this I very well could have inherited from my mums side - I'd just like to take this moment to thank all the Maltese in my family that made combing my arm hairs a possibility, it has provided both my fiends and I hours of entertainment. 

Nor is it the fact I like to crack a joke - I could very well attribute that to being around my dad and his brothers who enjoy continually one upping each other into fits of hilarity or even my love and consequent study of Stand up Comedy. I could even pass off my utter lack of co-ordination in any activity that involves a more complicated sequence of movement than putting one foot steadily after the other as bad luck. Or an un-explainable need to save money as pure good sense. No all this doesn't prove anything, I know… So what, I can hear you asking, makes me think I have seemingly un-avoided my heritage?… well the answer is plain and simple - staring you right in the face… or on my face, yep, there is no way the nose I have (slightly off centre) on my face says I'm a cute anglo from unknown origins.. It says, I'm jewish, and I'm proud of it. 

While the other kids were busy searching for lollies on treasure hunts at the odd birthday occasion, I was sniffing them out. When pretty little friends of mine were  being complimented on their beauty I was being asked by the kid next to me whether Pinocchio and I happened to be related. It's a fine nose, don't get me wrong, and when your a picky eater like me has an advantage - only I could find out which milk went into which coffee while I waitressed by sniffing them and handing them to the appropriate, albeit confused, customers. 

After 24 years I have come to except my most prominent feature as in some ways my best.  I've also learnt that when taking photos it's wise to avoid the profile shot. 

So dear bloggers, in this new year - be kind to yourself, love your flaws, accept your heritage and be proud where you come from. 

Until next week :) 

I Believe I can fly...

My grandparents live on a golf course. 

That's right you read it correctly, you open their back garden fence and walk right onto the grassy, well mowed lawn of a respectable 18 hole golf course. A very handy happen stance if it's your hobby, and it was, or is rather. With two metal knees, a bad hip and extremely well permed hair my nanny still manages to do her 9 holes or so every weekend with the girls (that is ladies of her between 60 and 75 age group). What's more she's still extremely good at it. I still remember the time she attempted to take me out for the afternoon and after almost continuous swings and misses decided the golfing gene had definitely skipped a generation. A fact she was happy to tell me in a statement that went something like - "Well your rubbish aren't you" shattering any delusion I had of it simply being a bad day. 

My golfing dreams aside, it's not all "rubbish" when it comes to my skills in activities on the green. For example I can walk around the course whilst dodging golf balls quite successfully (I haven't been hit yet), I am rather skilled at spotting balls in the long grass when shots go astray… careful to avoid deadly brown snakes that may be living in the vicinity and after a few years of driving experience I am a relatively accomplished golf bugger driver. Ok so I wouldn't say this was always the case - no I haven't been hit with a ball or bitten by a snake, but I have had a run in with some plants. A black boy to be exact - back when it wasn't politically incorrect to call them such, I think they're now referred to as Grass trees. 

It was christmas night, we were celebrating at our grandparents, when all the kids (that is all 6 of us) decided we would take the golf buggy out for a spin. There's something about driving any sort of moving vehicle that is incredibly thrilling when you don't yet have a license and are still too short to reach the pedals. Well after years of pleading with my oldest cousin Paul we agreed that having grown an inch or so over the holidays, I was finally ready to have a go. I took my seat in the drivers side and slide to the edge in order to get my toe on the pedal, noticing quickly that I could barely see over the steering wheel. 

Call it the christmas spirit but my cousin either didn't or pretended not to notice and continued his brief instructions. right is go left is stop - turn the steering wheel slowly in the direction you want to go and take it easy on the pedals. I nodded, feeling excitement well up inside of me… I lightly put my foot on the accelerator and got a laugh from the passengers behind me "you have to press harder than that Lesley" So I did, I think it was the joy of going fast for the first time in my life combined with the fact that I had a steering wheel in the way and bad night vision but within a minute of feeling the wind on my face we felt the car slam into something and I went flying out. Cue "I believe I can fly" as you imagine a skinny little 8 year old flying through the air onto the freshly mowed grass. I lifted my face from the dirt, spiting grass clippings out, and marveled at the fact I had no serious injury. Everyone came running over to see if I was ok, some genuinely concerned, others attempting unsuccessfully to hide their laughter.

In fact Paul was the most concerned… that was until he saw the damage I had done to the buggy. For those that have never known someone with a short temper let me explain it. imagine a very fast car that can go from naught to 200 in 30 seconds… that's what it's like for a person quick to anger - you could see the emotion well in him, like a red tidal wave advancing from the bottom of his neck to his forehead. I remained on the ground hoping that if I still looked helpless and disabled he may direct his eminent torrent of abuse on something or someone else. I sat waiting… and waiting, but nothing happened. "Get in the back" is all he said. So piling back into the buggy we headed back to the house, scared and wary of Paul's eventual outrage but even more so of what Granddad would do. 

This is when the story takes a surprising turn, something to this day I am still baffled by. We were right about one thing, Granddad was not happy - we waited in another room the next day while he sat with Paul furiously explaining his disappointment. I could hear yelling and table fist slamming, waiting with dread for my name to be called to join the barrage of reprimand. After about 15 minutes Paul walked in, steely faced and tight lipped. "Does he want to see me now" I gulped, worried that I may actually wet my pants. Paul just looked at me, a sort of sadness in his eyes and just shook his head "Come on" he answered "Let's go to the garden and play". So we did, I don't know if it was the shock or the fact I was easily distracted but I forgot about it after that. I found out later that Paul had taken the wrap for me, something he neither owed me or was better off doing. If anything, as a bit of a goody goody, I probably would have got off quite lightly compared. I never told my granddad it was me, and when he died it's the one thing I regretted (however mum is sure he knew), maybe he did, maybe he thought I would punish myself enough (which I did). I don't know, all I know for sure is that, people will surprise you, and that when others say you are still too short to drive, they really mean it. 

MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE, 

Drive safe this holidays ^_^ 

B-O-R-E-D

When your a kid, going to a restaurant can be really boring, especially when the company is comprised mainly of adults. The idea of a child being better seen than heard tends to apply and you end up forced to sit there amongst clinking cutlery and plates listening to the 'grownups' of the table go on about work and commitments and many other topics that have absolutely no relation to you. They may as well be speaking in another language, which can seem the case if your parents have jobs that tend to involve a completely ludicrous amount of jargon. The KPG's and the CPI's, investments in BMO's and SJ who apparently was seeing MR behind PK's back. The amount of acronyms the average work environment can come up with is actually quite startling, in fact I'm sure if this creative energy was funneled into something more constructive, productivity and idea generation would abound. Alas, I digress, my point was that adult conversation can be really really boring! 

Even now I found myself stuck in the middle, no longer young enough to be amused by the romance of my knife and fork (yes I used to pretend they were married, with the smaller, entree set becoming their children) but I'm not yet old enough to have succumbed to the average pressures and annoyances of being an adult and working a job you either don't like or aren't particularly happy with.  Not to mention I haven't accumulated enough life experience to be annoyed by most of the things around me that fail to meet my expectations or high standards. 

So being at any table with adults, or even just people you can't relate to, can lead to mind numbing, comma inducing boredom! Thank goodness I managed to think on my feet, so when the prospect of yet another night spent moving my knife and fork around the table avoiding the spoon and keeping up with the smaller yet equally shiny silverware sent me into fits of narcolepsy, I decided I was going to occupy myself. This had to be done strategically, I couldn't appear to be 'acting up' neither could it seem like I was bored with the parents, insolent, or that I had disappeared. A parent can sense these things quite expertly, unless of course the conversation moves onto politics or problems faced by their respective industries, a case where they tend to spend the next hour one upping each other. I thus want to share with you, my lovely readers, ways in which you can occupy yourself discreetly and thus maybe keeping you from empaling yourself on your fork after having to 'actively' listen to topics that are as interesting to you as watching paint dry in a white room with no furniture. 

1. If your in a pizza place, elect to help them fold takeaway boxes - not something for my older readers but great for you kids, it not only gets you away from the table but the parents are usually so enthused by your eagerness to be helpful and you are in 99% of cases offered dessert. 

2. Ask for dough, this can work at any place that make's bread or pizza, while away the hours making cute little snowmen and unflattering effigies of your boss. If anyone asks, you can better concentrate on conversation when your hands are occupied

3. Make up stories about the people sitting around you on other tables, highly amusing and can entertain for hours - just be careful, if you start laughing at an image you've conjured about a particularly strange couple next to you be sure that the laughter matches the conversation of your friends. I have often placed giggles or comments in highly inappropriate topics of conversation due to lapses of concentration, not something I enjoy being remembered for. 

4. Fold napkins, hard when dining at a more fancy place where linen has been chosen over more disposable materials, but still a great way to work on your origami skills.

5. Go to the 'bathroom'. In other words, excuse yourself to go to the bathroom, and go and find more interesting people to talk to instead. If asked why you took so long just say you got locked in. If you are somehow caught having a conversation with someone else, quickly imply that these are the people that saved your life and exit the situation quickly. 

Good luck bloggers, 

and may your meals be filled with interesting conversation

ALSO EXTRA EXTRA 

I just entered a competition and could really use your help! 

All I need is for you to go to the address bellow and vote for my portfolio -

no sign up required, just follow the link and click on the 5th star ^_^ 

Thanks everyone! 

CLICK ME!

Honest truly I do

I have pretty strict parents. Not mean, or cruel, but definitely strict. Report cards were often littered with margined comments of - "need to improve". My school bag would be graded at the end of each day with gold stickers rewarded for organization and cleanliness. Bedtime was strictly adhered to and most shockingly to my classmates, there was absolutely no tv on a school night. "Not even when you eat afternoon tea?"

"Nope"

"How about the morning??"

"Nope"

"No cheese tv?" (apologies to my international readers for this unabashed  Australian reference) 

"Nope"

This would continue until boredom availed and a sense of hopelessness crept in. You may now be thinking along the lines of my peers. "What? No TV, not at all??" but to be perfectly honest, the 'saying ignorance is bliss' is true to it's meaning. I really didn't know what I was missing out on. 

The only thing I was aware of that need changing was my bedtime. Bedtime was 7:30, no I wasn't 4, it was a time set well into my high school years with the only difference being that later on I was allowed to read for an hour once under the covers. I quickly discovered that the well placed timing of reading lights being switched off and on meant that this could be extended to at least 11. That is unless mum stumbled in earlier and switched them of for me, grumbling about waking her up. I became hooked, hooked on the feeling of staying up past your bedtime. I longed for new years eve where beds weren't laid in till after midnight. I loved the sounds that came with the night, the scurrying of possums on our tin awnings, the loan cars crawling down the street and the faint clinking of glasses from the people next door who, like me, appreciated the late hours of the day. 

You can now fitly Imagine my delight when we received the movie Chitty Chitty Bang Bang on one particular christmas day. I didn't really know the movie, in fact it's live action contents didn't thrill me at all at first. Our video library comprised 90% animated films with the exception of mums creepy 80's workout instructional's. That was until I read the back, there in tiny black font, right beside the barcode, was the number 144. I realized with a surge of excitement that it meant the movie was over 2 hours long. 

Do you know what that meant?? It meant that if I timed it right, when mum said "you can watch one movie before bed" this baby could take us into hours WELL after our bedtime. How could they be so naive I thought with glee, this movie was my ticket to late nights, to staying up, to being a grownup. I must have watched that movie at least 52 times that year. Every week when given the choice of what movie we'd like to watch it was out of it's case and into the VCR before mum even finished the sentence. Alex and I even endured the disgustingly sappy "lovely lonely man" by Scrumptious so we could stay up 3 minutes longer. Although sometimes the thought of her swinging and running round her garden on fast forward was too much of a temptation to resist. 

That year it became our mission to stay up. Something Alex gave up soon enough when the thought of going to bed with lights still on was more comforting then the impenetrable darkness of being the last one in bed. For me though, it was just the beginning. As time wore on I came up with new and more elaborate ways to push back my bedtime. Homework commitments, tidying my room, I still remember the night I took out all my clothes from the drawers and convinced mum I wouldn't be able to sleep till they were all folded neatly away.. . I realize this doesn't exactly make me a night time rebel to be idolized by small children looking for ways to escape bedtime, but it was never about not doing what I was told - something I couldn't really conceive of due to what I'm sure was elaborate brainwashing techniques by my parents. No, staying up offered more than the thrill of being up when you shouldn't. It was an escape, a time when I didn't have to be anyone, or talk to anyone. There was only blackness, and in the blackness, the opportunity for my imagination to create worlds. 

Happy imagining everyone 

Lesley

Speaking of movies I love, if you haven't seen Coraline yet you need to! in fact, stop reading right now and go and get it and watch it tonight! ^_^