Come out and play

This blog started as an indirect result of my leaving my job to be at home with my baby boy. HORROR! What are you going to dooooo? Women would ask me with their noses a bit wrinkled up and eyebrows a bit raised. What are you going to do all day at home with the baby? You'll get bored, you'll see. Three years later the questions haven't changed much. What do you do all day? They still ask. This is what I do:

I cook. I go to the supermarket. I try to squeeze in some yoga. I embroider. I play. I play with cars and trains and trucks. Sometimes I am a dog, others an elephant. And I like it!

Extensive studies have shown that it is not in a child's best interest to start school early. In England they are considering adding a year to the school starting age. In Finland they don't start till they are 7, and they have an exemplary educational system with the highest results in Europe. They believe that a child's early years should not be marred with lessons. The greatest lesson is play play play.

My friend Natalie is a play expert. She is a certified playtherapist and dramatherapist and she works with parents and children, teaching them how to play. Its not easy to enter a child's world. We carry so many judgements with us, so much don't do this and don't do that. Playing is a skill that teaches children about life, and learning how to play effectively is vital for healthy mental development. If you are a parent, take a look at her website http://www.homeplay.gr/ She was also recently featured in babyspace.gr and the link is here http://www.babyspace.gr/Article/interview-natalie-samba/444-2204.html

I for one can't wait to start!

Breathe the Pressure

A couple of weeks ago I reached what felt like the edge of my sanity. I was saved (I think). I went to a village high in the mountains away from the Athens in August heat that was steadily melting my brain. Other than the village (and anyone who baby-sat) I would like to thank three things for the resurrection of my mental facilities.

• My embroidered yoga girl


• 'The Man who fell in Love with the Moon' By Tom Spanbauer
  
• Yoga

I haven't practiced Ashtanga Vinyasa for ages. I had said in a previous post that this was due to embroidery obsession but the truth is its mostly due to a knee injury that has me skipping postures and focusing mainly on breathing. But thats ok! Breath is the most important part of yoga practice anyway.

My Breath has prevented me from having horrible stupid arguments with people. 'Just go somewhere and breathe for a bit' I ordered myself as my mind spiralled out of control with egomaniac thingys. After sitting in lotus position for a minute or two I would open my eyes and- ping! Not even the slightest inkling of a desire to go for the jugular. Magic!

''Most folks are damned fools," Dellwood said, "and have no idea they're making themselves up. But you're different, Shed. You live with the knowledge and understanding that who you are is a story you've make up to keep the moon away,''*

Our stories keep us sane, its true. But I think we need to be careful not to get too caught up in them, keep our distance a bit. Taking some time to breathe consciously helps do that. I don't want to be preachy about yoga and I feel I'm on thin ice here so I will stop. And finish by saying that I made this breathing** girl to hang on my wall as a reminder of what to do when I start feeling a bit bonkers. She is my idol!

The hands are 2 year old ones trying to get in the picture, so you can see its small. All my works are little cause I don't have the stamina for anything too extensive.

*THE MAN WHO FELL IN LOVE WITH THE MOON 1991 Tom Spanbauer pg 218 The English student in me is still alive and wanting to reference.

**For those who may be wondering the writing says inhale exhale (ees-pno-ee_ek-pno-ee).

The Power of the Evil Eye

Here in Greece, the evil eye is everywhere. It dangles from car mirrors and peoples necks, stares at you from baby's prams and restaurant walls. I used to hate them. I found them cliche and kind of freaky. Plus I thought the concept was medieval. But recently I'm starting to re-think the evil eye. When I see them around I feel strangely drawn to them. Maybe because the shit is hitting the fan with our economy and everyone is panicking I'm subconsciously searching for alternative ways to protect myself.

I'm haunted by the little old spitting widows of my dad's village. One minute I'd be peacefully walking along the street then one would pop out of nowhere and... 'FTOU'! I can still feel the tiny but plentiful blobs of saliva on my skin. 'They think their spit protects you from the evil eye' explained my parents sympathetically. I just didn't get it. How dare they? Surely they were horrible old witches, who were just using the superstition to wreak injury and misfortune on poor unsuspecting children.

Ironically enough, all these years later, 'ftou ftou ftou' -spit free- sails out of my mouth on an alarmingly regular basis. Superstitious? Moi? So I thought I'd make my own evil eye with turquoise beads and 'ftou ftou ftou' included-for extra shield. Ah poor little old ladies. I now know they meant well.

embroidering a broken heart tattoo

I have no tattoos. But I really want one! So many times I've pondered over designs, taken photos of this and that going 'this is IT!'... only it wasn't. Once I even booked an appointment at a parlour in North London then cancelled on the day. Why? I don't even know. Probably because I am one massive chicken. 'Will it hurt'? I ask in a small voice, screwing my eyes up tight at sight of the needle at every routine blood test. Sigh.

Anyway, until I find or design the one that will get me past all the hemming and hawing and cold blooded fear it seems I'm settling for embroidering them...

I love vintage nautical tattoos. Many sailors had tattoos of sinking ships done as an expression of acceptance of danger. My design is a bit like those, enclosed in a lifesaver. I think I wanted to make a mini tribute to heartbreak; not because I am a masochist, but because those times gave me a bloody good taste of who I am and what I want. When I say heartbreak I don't only mean being dumped. I mean anything that happens in life that makes for a really strong feeling of loss and pain.

The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.
Is not the cup that hold your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter's oven?
And is not the lute that soothes your spirit, the very wood that was hollowed with knives?

Khalil Gibran, The Prophet.

So getting a tattoo is painful. But it will keep you company forever after!

For those who may be wondering, it reads fourtouness, which means storm but can also be 'troubles' when used metaphorically.

What am I going to be when I grow up?

First I was going to be a writer. Nooo doubt about it. My first novel was the diary of a heavy metal dude called Thanasi who listened to Slayer and was kind of fat. But I never finished it because I discovered... clubbing! Yes thats right. Carried away by the rhythm of the night I decided that no way could I be a writer. I had to do something active. I was going to become an actress! Off to drama school with me!

But I was shit at learning lines. And I hated naturalistic acting. I preferred to prance around the stage wearing a mask or better still a red nose. Not quite enough to pull off a successful career right? No worries. I would become a

singer! Ah I loved being a singer in a band. Until I realised it was actually *work*. Work that didn't pay. So I decided to be practical. I would teach. I was to become a drama teacher! I had found my calling! Finally I knew what I was to do with my life...

But it wasn't enough. I wanted more. I directed professionally. I got good reviews! But on a personal level? Not for me either. Then I got pregnant. Left teaching. Left teaching drama that is. And started teaching yoga. I love teaching yoga, but do I have what it takes to do it full time? So here I am, blogging and embroidering away and asking myself: what am going to be when I grow up? :(

Maybe not so Domesticated Bee

Today is the second time in one week that lunch was more poo than food. In an attempt to pacify a tired wired toddler (we had people over last night till late) I tried to quickly throw something together that would hopefully taste like liquid pizza (don't ask) and it surprisingly enough it turned out disgusting. This is bad. This food is bad, said the 2 year old.

I hardly ever blog anymore because I have become obsessed with embroidering. Any spare minute I have I sit staring at threads and internally debating over color combinations, sketching any new idea madly while lentil soup quietly sticks to the bottom of the pan in the kitchen.

Because my time has been filled with embroidering which by the way takes bloody AGES I no longer practise dynamic yoga but a nice breathey form of hatha yoga which makes me smile at the end. But then when I look in the mirror there ain't no smile at all because my clothes look two sizes too small! I stand in front of my wardrobe pulling things out trying on outfit after outfit while little K pulls my jewelry out of the boxes and loads his trains with it till I lose my patience with him and the stupid clothes. 'Go and watch Thomas on television!' I spit, reminding myself of Don Draper's wife Peggy (from the show Mad Men thats set in the early 60's). And I wonder...am I normal? Is this normal????

I was talking about this with my (amazing) friend Maria who has three babies is a succesful childrens book writer to boot* and she said (hip hip) its normal! So maybe there's hope for me after all...

*http://www.mariasbooks.com http://www.mariasbooks.blogspot.com

The Importance of being Stylish

The other day I had this awful Lady Gaga song stuck in my head. Most of you know the one, it goes like 'roma romama gaga ooh lala'. I really hope that hasn't fixed you for the next two days! Anyway I hate that song. Whats more I think it sounds approximately like all her other songs. But everyone is talking about her. Why? Why? Is her music really so very scintillating? Or could it be that the over produced yawn that is usually sung by the classic bootylicious pvc g-string girlies is actually being sung by someone who is wearing some very. interesting. outfits.?

Style has always been endlessly important. You probably all have your own historical style references, my personal fave is Elizabeth I. Style sticks in one's head and pierces through space and time creating an impression. Of course what is inside shows through anyway no matter what you wear. But whats inside does feed and breed how you dress. And vice versa.

'Clothes are inevitable. They are nothing less than the furniture of the mind made visible.' James Laver

I wish I had been around in the 20's and 30's to stalk James Laver. I bet Tim Gunn knows his books by heart! Anyway he had these theories about dressing that worked around hierarchical principal, utility principal, and seduction principal. Ever since I took to rolling around in parks playing with toy trucks utility principal has featured pretty strongly in my daily dress sense. And around where I live I see lots of hierarchical principal: label on display and generally trying to look $$ ker-ching. I think being stylish is being able to transcend these kind of principals to create something unique. And I think its great if you look like a worst dressed list candidate! Its much worse to dress just to fit in with the crowd. So hooray for Lady Gaga? Well...