NICE Things 2.

 Jean Shin's Prescription Bottles

  Following on from a previous posting, here are a few more 'NICE things'. Why? Well, after a long fortnight of trying to be Florence Nightingale to various combinations of my childrens' germs, throughout night-time moans and day-time groans, I have exceeded my battery powers. Love is abundant but this mamma is looking for a chair. So to remind myself of a few 'nice things' spotted on my weekly travels, I'm going to sit back and let the pictures do the work.

NICE bricks n' door thing.

NICE paint work.

NICE wall lady.

NICE. Funny sign thing.

... well, strange but NICE colour.

... where did that bloke come from?

NICE curtain print.

NICE wood stained frames.

loving NICE exterior tiles.

NICE sewing box - (now my bedside table.)

... oh, not again!
(NICE cakes though.)

...Play On.

  
  Music is a powerful force. I have always loved sounds and rhythms and as a kid I was the tap-dancing, ballet leaping, bendy legs one, who on hearing a tune would definitely 'give it some'. But growing up in a house where the radio was habitually switched off whenever an adult walked past it, my back catalogue of tunes were somewhat limited until ... I met Garth! (His name works well with an exclamation mark.) My husband comes from a family of music lovers. His was a house that always, always, had music playing. REALLY LOUD! Before I met his Mum, I remember getting in her car with his sister (who had 'borrowed' it for a country road jolly) and on turning the ignition, we found our seventeen year old senses blasted with T-Rex' 'Get It On'! A self-taught guitarist and lover of all musical genres, my inspiring mother-in-law raised her children to have a depth of appreciation that emulates in their emotional response to life. 
  Over the years we have been together, I have begun to make up for my lack of exposure by very occasionally spotting and introducing a new song here or there to this musical dictionary of a husband. A rare thing, for a man who is only ever at arms reach from a ukelelee, guitar, piano, ipod or plugged in music industry friend. So with my daily tea-time disaster zone that is my kitchen, my mini men get fed sounds alongside their organic, quorn fed, hand-reared, massaged, buddhist chicken (cut to - a plate of beans on toast). And they lap it up. The results are boys who hug, shout, dance, sing and cry! 
  My only problem comes when they ask me to stop dancing.


-the Tea Time Crew' homework for this week is;

"Wizbot" by Sea of Bees.
(- terrible, off-putting video though.) 

... and "In Your Dreams" by Dark Dark Dark.

Enjoy.
   
   

Thou Shalt Covet

Dear God, I pray for world peace and Vivienne' new shoes.
Amen.

It is with some embarrasment that I am writing this post but my obsession with these shoes is doing funny things to my head. Focus on a more worthy, high-brow topic is not possible. I have tried but failed. So with regret for my own image, I'm forced to confess to my pre-occupied state. Vivienne Westwood has designed a shoe that tickles my fancy, ticks all the right boxes and was made with me in mind. (I know that is not the case but you see how deluded you can become!) But it isn't just the shoe that has taken me by surprise here but my own giddy, child-like state.
  I am beginning to observe things in two ways; my own self - going about my days doings whilst mentally piecing together my new shoes (which I don't have) with various different jeans and scruffy top combinations and the out of body me, looking down on this fairly intelligent woman (stick with me here!), capable, articulate and certainly not a fusser but a do-er, thinking 'Wow, I thought she would have grown out of that by now. Doesn't she have more important things to occupy her mind with? Shouldn't she be thinking about the money needed to change that annoying drippy tap or get busy with some curtain making for the top landing. And how about chipping a bit more off the mortgage. Silly white female!' Then I look at my children and I remember what it is that keeps us young. Our 5 year olds tireless addiction to all things 'Gremlin' are not based on having seen that rather strange horror-comedy film made way back in the 80's. It is the drip drip of information he gleans from anyone who might remember those rather macabre looking lizardy things (yesterday, it was the mattress delivery man) and with it comes an energy that seems to make all things possible. Knowing those shoes are out there makes another Wednesday morning a little more thrilling. Thoughts of how I can raise the capital to pay for them without selling off half our house inspire some creative thinking and I always like a challenge.
  Will I get them? I don't know but the pleasurable feeling of desire is not something to be ashamed of any more. It's what keeps us young and makes life worth getting up for. Only for me it's a shoe. When I was seven I might have hoped I'd be onto world peace by now.

the guilt

...on someone else!

   

Honky Tonk

The nose is an incredibly wise old tool. It quickly alerts the brain to offensive food, delicious wines or alien environments so to ignore the hum that can radiate off your own self is little more than selfish. Living in a city, I am often amazed by peoples lack of respect for their fellow dwellers, whom you might often find shoved up against you on the sardine ride we call the Tube or our London buses, being forced to inhale each others smells and to remain impartial, too polite to tell the guilty party that their honk is not at all pleasing! I'm not just targeting the strong 'natural odours' here but the drowning stench of perfumes and after-shaves, both chic and cheap.
Scents invade other peoples personal space and when that person is not invited to share that 10cm square with you they need to re-consider their spritzing or they are straying into trespassing! territory.
Childhood memories of warm, safe grown-ups, who I wanted to wrap me in their arms, are tied up with the subtlety of a smell that only addressed my senses when I was close. They were scents that didn't smack you between the eyes and leave you unconcious but seemed to add a level of elegance and welcome to the person regardless of their face or dress. 
So now I'm an adult with small people around my legs all day and married to a man who would put Perfume' Grenouille to shame as far as the fine tuning of his nose goes, I am very aware of any scents I use. I stay away from most perfumes or eau de thinga-me-jigs. I have memories of school discos being saturated in a fug of Cacherel' Anais Anais and Loulou. The lurid staying power of Christian Dior' Poison and of course the sickly sweet pong of all things Impulse! For me a body oil is the trick to harbouring those lovely memories and inoffensive wafts. Body creams too but as far as perfumes go take it easy. It's time for low-key, under-the-radar, subtlety. When your next pressed up against a neighbouring traveller, on a hot, unforgiving day just hope they have read this internationally reaching blog! I might have saved you from a sensory nightmare you would never shake off.

my apothecary of nice whiffs.

p.s however, despite all the above I'm pleased Old Spice is still going, just so I could laugh out loud at this brilliant ad -

A Brilliant Eye

There isn't much I can write about the recently discovered works of street photographer Vivienne Maier as little is known about her. She resided in the same city as her subjects, Chicago, worked as a nanny, was an incredibly private person and spent much of her time documenting life through her lens from the 50's through to the 90's.
It is due to the sale of a box of work, at a local auction, which included over 100,000 negatives, prints and undeveloped film that her work has been shown for the first time. John Maloof, who made the purchase has since made it his work to bring Maier' photos to our attention and their poignancy resonates with every print. Sadly, Maier died in 2009, unaware of the audience her work has come to reach.
The first exhibition of her work here in the UK is to be shown in London in July at the London Street Photography Exhibition. 
Don't miss it!

(Paloma, thankyou for the tip off.)