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...

four eyes

'Get the operation! Its comparatively cheap! Why pay endless $$$ for contacts and glasses forever and wear yourself out with all that crap?'

Indeed. Why don't I even look into the op that so many of my friends and family have done? They all sing its praises to the skies. Why do I insist on this tedious existence, scrambling around for my glasses at all hours so I can make my way safely around my house? Am I completely, barking mad?

I have braved endless insults in the name of wearing glasses. It all started from 3rd grade, when the school routine eye checks showed that I did not pass the test. I-would-have-to-wear-glasses they said. I felt like I was being catapulted into the abyss. What would this mean for me socially? Was I to be a nerd? Was I to be one of those undesirables with magnifying glasses in front of their eyes that nobody wanted on their sports team?

I was. Not right at the start of my glasses career. But I think I grew to fit the model slowly. It was in a way comforting. It gave me room to do the things I wanted: read, daydream, be invisible in the screaming crowd. They were like a shield, a big frame to hide behind. Nothing could really touch me, I was removed from the action and given a free pass to observe from behind the glass.

Until I was 13. Then I discovered contact lenses. And make-up and boys. Glasses became my enemy and I embraced contacts as my life-jacket out of the land of the nerds. But I missed wearing glasses. As soon as I realised that I was able to get the breed of boyfriend I was after I breathed a huge sigh of relief and bought myself a pair of John Lennon round hippy glasses and happily went back behind the lense. And to this day in the face of insults (I have been told my glasses make me look ugly, funny, male and all sorts of other things) I carry on. For me, there is nothing quite like the feeling of glasses resting on my nose. Sometimes it is a reminder that we should never identify too much with this body. Sometimes it is a reminder to not take things for granted. And it is always an option, my choice to be 'ugly' or goofy or dorky. Glasses and I have come a long way together. We have a past and a present. And dammit, I want us to have a future!

DIY Brothel Part II Puttanesca

Yesterday I did it again. Just like that, in 15 minutes you can have a mountain of yum to eat. I love Puttanesca! I've made it 5 times now so I think its finally ready to share with you. I hope you like it as much as I do! I make it slightly differently every time but it always comes out nice and its something really easy that actually works for a dinner party. Its great cause you can have a stash of the ingredients at home at all times and whip it up in emergency situations.

Serves 4
You will need:

• one deep plate of chopped tomatoes, either fresh or from a tin.
• about 8 sundried tomatoes wizzed around in the blender with a squirt of slightly concentrated tomato juice
• one very big onion or one and a half medium sized ones
• 3 or 4 cloves of garlic
• a handful of capers
• two handfuls of olives, pitted and sliced in half
• a shake of dried basil
• 2 or 3 dried chillies or chilli powder
• 10 anchovy fillets
• olive oil
• pepper (salt is optional as the anchovies and olives make the sauce salty)
• one pack of pasta (any kind will do, I like pennes with this dish)
• Parmesan cheese (optional)

So you chop up the onion and garlic (and chillies if you are using dried) and push them around the pan at with the anchovy fillets in olive oil until the vegetables are soft and you can't see the fish anymore. The heat should be around medium. Then add everything else and leave it for about 10 minutes, stirring occassionally. Add another glug of olive, stir it again then pour it over your pasta. Serve with or without Parmesan (I do with) and grated pepper. Oh! And if you live in Greece RUN to the supermarket and get yourself a bottle (or 10) of some 2009 white wine. It was a great year and all the ones I have tried have been droolworthy. And, if you do any of the above please let me know!

Laters:)X