Naomi Bulger: messages in bottles

Saturday: a road-trip toward the tropics; surprisingly good latte from McDonalds drivethru; mapping out our next 20 years together while rolling past banana plantations, deserted farmhouses, lovely Queenslander homes and strange monoliths; a birthday party in a house at the end of a country lane; long table on sunny porch, spread with white cloth and strewn with flower petals; warm winter sun gleaming off wine-glasses, quickly drunk and refilled; children playing piano inside; a toddler in the vege patch; crochet cupcake for the birthday boy; dog and chicken sharing scraps; a tropical garden: trees laden with grapefruit, lychees and avocados; jokes and laughter; coffee inside as afternoon shadows lengthen. 

Sunday: cushions soften the steps of the stone amphitheatre at Bond University, in the company of the famous Aunty Bev and friends; stretch legs, hug hands to hot drinks; and tap toes to the lovely, warm vocals of Nadia Sunde and guitarist Michael Fix as the breeze catches a chill and the sun slides over the lake and into the night.

And here it all is in instagram. What did you do this weekend? 

Hooray for Friday! To take you into the weekend with a smile and a sigh, today I bring you: five things that should not be possible but somehow are. And I'm ever so glad they are. 

1. Trees that draw pictures
using pens attached to their branches and assisted by the movement of the wind, no less

(The artist is Tim Knowles, and I learned about him from singer, songwriter, blogger and all-round Seattle sweetheart Shannon Eileen of Happiness Is.)

2. Reliving all the fun of the Ikea ballroom
even though you are all grown up, and the balls are now GOLD BALLOONS. So much better

(For the joy, the inspiration, and to learn how fun this could be, I have Rachel 
of The By & By to thank.)

3. A super pretty dress 
with a matching hat, made entirely out of postcards

(Rachel Burke of I Make My Day is making a dress a day for a whole year to raise funds for The Starlight Foundation. This dress was from day 75.)

(Take a look at the World Beard and Moustache Championships website. There are no words.)

5. The Winchester Mystery House 
built under the instruction of spirits, complete with twisting corridors, secret passageways, stairs that lead to nowhere, and more than 160 rooms

(More about the Mystery House here, and the photo comes from here.)

Happy Friday!

...

We are moving to another state in three weeks. Again. After living out of suitcases for such a long time, I am nesting in the biggest possible way, even though we're only renting. Here's what's on my wish- (no, shopping)- list: 

Lights to string across the back courtyard, where there is a lemon tree, an orange tree, a tiny little salt water swimming pool, and just enough paved space for a table where we will dine with friends, and big pots in which I will grow herbs. 

A blackboard that I'll hang up somewhere central, I'm thinking possibly the kitchen? For family and guests alike to leave messages, write poems, draw pictures, do anything they like. 

A ping pong table to put in the garage, because our car would probably freak out if it had actual shelter anyway, and we'll need something to do with our friends in between swimming, eating and creating chalk art in the kitchen.

Speaking of the kitchen, a proper mixer, a pasta maker (Mr B's request) and other culinary accountrements. Preferably not in floral or yellow, but I couldn't resist the picture.

A home for the 1000+ books I have packed in boxes right now, because our own bookshelves are attached to the wall of our house in Sydney, so our tenants are enjoying them right now. 

And some soft, wonderful new linens for our bed, and new pillows, because what we have is tired and old and yellow, and both of us are ready to dream good dreams. 

Did I miss anything? What else do you recommend? 

I've been getting ready for the official Airmail book launch in Sydney. To find something to do with all my excess energy while I wait for things to happen (and while Mr B has been working weekends to prepare for his new job), I've been hand-making the invitations. 

First, I tried my hand at illustrating envelopes with characters from the novella. This proved to be well beyond my skill, but I did scan one of them and leave a little thank-you message for people who like my Facebook page. (I don't know why it went pink. My lack of skill, again). 

I turned to Plan B. Sticking with the 'airmail' theme for the invitations (of course), I bought a massive bag of used stamps from the markets and got to work soaking the backs off them.

I'm usually a big fan of the crafty process. However, I have to say this involved a marathon seven hours of backbreaking, mind-numbing work, and I still didn't have anywhere near enough stamps for my purposes. If you get one of these invitations in the mail, you should know you are very important to me indeed!  

(Confession: after I had done all this work, my father found some of his old stamps for me, packed away in a box. His were much better stamps, from all over the world, with the backs already taken off. So I've used Dad's stamps instead, but the love and toil will still be there in your invitation, I promise.) 

Next, I hand-wrote one of the letters from the book onto a sheet of blue paper, and photocopied it several times over. I'm making this the backing of the invitation, and the stamps will form a kind of collage over the back. I made a start the other night. 

That's all I'm up to for now, but I'll keep you updated on my progress. Or check your mailbox.




Don't be afraid to dream big

and to follow your dreams

wherever they may lead you.

Open your eyes to their beauty;

open your mind to their magic;

open your heart to their possibilities.

Julie Anne Ford

I dream of so many things.

I dream of owning a big, rambling old home in the English countryside, where I can write books. When I’m not writing I can grow herbs and forage for mushrooms, keep chickens and ride horses, and never once worry about drought.

I dream of becoming a baking queen, making cupcakes, shortcake, French-style bread and cookies every day, and never getting fat.

I dream that one of my books will overnight become a phenomenon of Harry Potter standards, so I can quit my day job and spend the rest of my working life creating worlds and peopling them with marvelous characters.

I dream of taking a whole year off, or maybe two, and exploring the world, digging literally and figuratively for the answers to ancient mysteries, learning new cultures and languages, making new friends.

I dream of moving back to New York, even though I know New York will have moved on without me, and it could never be the same, just as Sydney had moved on without me when I returned to it last year.

So I dream of finding a place that once again feels like home and, when I do, building a community there.

And I have another little dream, but that’s secret for now.

What are your dreams? 

A warm and welcoming home; children smiling, cheezles tinting fingers orange; meeting new friends like they are old friends; devouring casserole, couscous and homemade strudel; elegantly sipping champagne; ok gulping champagne; inaugurating a Who Is The Biggest Princess competition; storytelling around the table; reminiscing about New York; making sweeping generalisations about the French, just for the fun of it; pondering the meaning of 'home'; debating about James Blunt and the motivations of songwriters and poets everywhere; a story about a dragon who is also a boy; a friend achieving the near impossible - a literary agent; gazing at the Milky Way; spotting my first shooting star; making a big wish.

How was your night?

I have been living out of one since April. I don't love it. In particular, I don't love wearing the same clothes over and over again, with the rest of my wardrobe sealed up in boxes in a rented storage garage in Sydney. Right now, suitcases to me spell "constrained."

On the other hand, suitcases pulled out of the closet and dusted off can also mean 

At those times, I love suitcases. 

Last night I met a woman who had packed her suitcases so many times and lived so many places that home was no longer "where the heart is" because her heart followed the people she loved, and they were scattered across the world. I know how she feels. 

I said "I couldn't tell you where I'm from any more." I don't know a place that is my home. I guess I've just packed and unpacked too many suitcases. 

What do suitcases mean to you?

For Mr Lee (top) and Ruby (bottom), my best kitty-pals in New York and Australia respectively, suitcases apparently represent the ultimate in luxury and comfort.  

So much so that when we finally do get settled in a home and unpack all those boxes, I am going to buy a Ruby a vintage suitcase, put a rug in it, and make it her bed. She will be over the sleepy moon, and our house will still look nice.