corner view ≈ the incredible, the mysterious mustache

even though we’re moving soon, and boxes are piling high around us, i know exactly where to locate trouble and genius (unless ofcourse i’m mistaking). Subsequently, i found wrapped up ‘taches so easily. i may use ‘em in a x-mas spirit later on this year, now they’re out! follow suite to hallowe’en, in a gimmicky sort of way, no? darn if I’m curious for all those other ‘taches over on tribecayummymummy !!! 

do not touch my dome {renov # 7}

la ninja, yo ! and thanks for the walking boots, honey, they got me walking alright! today i also stared at safety boots all day, from the second, the first and the ground floor in the new, old house. i am even temporarily mesmerized by safety walking boots, as worn by connoisseurs

l. turned up early and we took rides to and fro’ to the recycle park. 

the sparks sparking on that … anyway, in between sun and rain and laughter and pain, a small anecdote unfolded. the one where a hysteric voice suddenly screeches ‘don’t touch my dome!’. 

the last return from the recycle park did turn sour my absence my sweet contractors got verbally abused by my (too close to be good) next door neighbour, for soiling her flat roof with tiny debris and dust in the wind. 

moreover, her dome would scratch from flying chips and (unassuming particles of) brick. that wasn’t all. she continued to verbally shoot me down on the pavement, in the presence of son and l. and both contractors, and her husband, and her father-in-law who sprang from nowhere, ‘who knew so much better than me...!’. ahem. 

well, from shock towards a solution was needed. to usher one hazy culprit i urged the husband inside my house and pushed him toward debating further in a less agitated way. some husbands do have them, i'll say?

i guess, when renovating, you win some, you lose some. the winner today? my sweet, handsome, sturdy, muscular contractors. the loser? yeah, well, she had it coming. this one's out for a drink, you know? and cheers!

this holy cow

lead singer ian mc cullough once said in an 80’s interview how he didn’t like to slip in the lyrics to ECHO AND THE BUNNYMEN albums, since it took away a good deal of magic. ‘when people just listen in, they hear different things, they hear their own things. surely, someone who’s making the effort to listen in, is allowed his/her own version of the truth’. hey, i may have altered a few stresses in his own words repeat, but i’ve never forgotten the true gest of what mc cullough tried to explain. up to this day, i enjoy making up words and phrases to songs not clearly articulated. moreover i feel comfortable in doing so. it’s how i recently ended up with this holy cow i’m moving out*, which original translation let me down a little. All of a sudden, miss humour left the room. as did the cow, ofcourse (not that the eyes disappointed me in any way, they just restricted my imagination☻).
*[‘cause holy cow, I love your eyes] - elbow

corner view ≈ humour

taken and posted already last year, i find the snap deserves attention again today. when the scene first caught my eye, i walked past it. then the absurdity struck me to the bone. could i really let go such a delicious occasion of silliness? i smirked at the view, and caught it on my mobile.
i could not track down the rightful owner of this pair either, that clearly felt the part...
all humourous corner viewers come together at theresa's!

the sky's the limit, baby

such a beautiful monday to fly up the roof. i was amazed at the ease demonstrated by the roof workers, climbing on beams like monkeys. i squinted at the sun. the windows were being measured too, today. tomorrow the skylights will be put in place. i love this stage.

all mushroom are edible ... once

a few weeks ago, while visiting mum, i stumbled upon a handsome pair of mushrooms my brother pulled out of the grass, while mowing.

i saw them lying in the ditch and recuperated the dear molds. i took them home and tried out a print. naturally i wasn’t well prepared and frankly i thought the mush had left the room a little. i didn’t think a print would work. but well, the bigger one had a little bit of juice left… that was fun! i didn't eat them either.

corner view ≈ seven

i’m serious. i lie awake and i start listening to night noises. there’s someone on the stairs, and it ain’t son, ‘cos he’s with dad. i rise from the bed and i debate on getting up and go hunting for a night shadow in thin air. because there-is-no-one on those stairs, let me assure you. but i’m awake, and so is the nearest mosquito, the fall chill hasn’t conquered her yet. i curse her blasted night noise. it’s 1 am. and then it gets to 2. numbers, huh? i’m beginning to think about corner view's suggestion of “seven” (currently hosted by theresa). between drowsing over the as yet non existent kitchen extension and having a new bathroom suite installed in the new, old house, the number seven starts to haunt me like it’s nobody’s business.
at night, i am no hero. i’m too lazy to read, i’m too cowardish to wander, i’m too tired to stay awake, but there it is. until it dawns upon me. we’re living on number seven, aren’t we? life saver, if ever.☻

sour grapes

they don’t look much like grapes anymore, i agree. i actually boiled them down to a pulp in kiwi&apple juice and plenty of sugar. i’ve been wanting to make a (°breton) far (recipe/recept) for weeks now. a far is a kind of clafoutis, basically a sweet eggy & fruit mixture, baked in the oven, dusted off with powdered sugar, if you like. easily done, totally satisfying, and it has used up 5 % of the grapes i gathered. that’s right. 5 %. all other grapeys have found their way back to earth on the compost heap. i’m telling you in kind, i am not your most dedicated pruner, therefore I am a goosey harvester. but i can bake a far by far!


it was bell who mentioned recently, eyeing the little tableau i dug up in our local, and rescued from a grisly frame (and hard work it was too), that she felt i was going to do up the new, old house bloomsbury style. i found that a pleasurable enough thought. at the very instant being far removed from the actual stage of decorating yet, i drew a picture with my mind’s eye, and i can sweetly live with the outlook. my own little charleston!
son, naturally, doesn’t want to hear of it. he just wants his bedroom floor in vivid aqua, and bare walls. already worried he is too, musing on ‘next year i’ll be away to study, and won’t be here at all to enjoy the new place!’. sure enough, sweet son will be back on weekends? that forgotten perspective makes him break out in a conspiring smile that leaves little room to the imagination. and i will ofcourse not paint that (attractive enough) aqua floor myself. sofie hosts plenty more vintage hunters.

stitch and glue

[excerpt from la visite du sultan des indes]
for a few weeks now, my blogger account is jumpy. it loads half, it gets stuck, pictures don’t show, google doesn’t load. i could go on. i feel i’m at a loss. this is, as for all those suffering from similar hiccups, frustrating. i can only apologize for my less frequent visits to your lovely sites, for blogs not loading, comment windows blowing up in my face, and general strike of all things blogger (funnily enough 'straightforward' w3 is okay, so i hardly think my computer is the culprit).
can anyone help flick on the light, please? i’ve tried different browsers, i’m deleting browser history (far too) often now, i've been logging in and out as if pushing myself through a non stop revolving door. modem is fine, i’m careful when editing (no ms word distractions nor remnants). i’ve been surfing around for answers and came across suggestions on a.o. deleting gadgets (including follower’s widget) and flickr links. i seem to have tried everything i want to try, unless ofcourse deleting the blog entirely is the one and proper solution?☻
in another, universal word : h e l p ?

corner view ≈ school

- ma, i’m done with the food.
- he?
- that’s right, i’m done with it. don’t want it no more.
- .. as in?
- lunch-time-at-school, ma. no more.
- what then…
- ... i want to come outside over lunchtime and decide what i want. i need a photo for my pass. will you just give me the money so i can do that, i’ll need photos for my driving license anyway. do you think?
- but no more hot food at school, then?
- nope.
- meaning, i need to cook hot meals every day?
- na. whatevva.

school with my sweet teenage boy. man. young man! ♥

more corner viewers here

the chimney less traveled {renov # 6}

part I - it goes tick-tock, throwing bricks through two floors of chimney, keeping fingers crossed no part gets stuck underway. it’s thrilling, and it’s what i’ve been doing for a few days now. someone asked me, why doing away with the chimneys? well, they will not be in use, and i’m a sucker for practicality. that is the short answer. the more elaborate answer would sound something like, they’re in my face, they’re ugly, they’re too big, they’re in the wrong place, they’re old-but-not-interesting. by the time we’d decided to do away with all six of them, i started asking myself if i could fathom it.

first the drilling, then the chucking, the scraping, the dust biting, … ha! let me assure you though, i am a happy bun for those old buggers to have (almost) gone. i’m thinking. next week, i’ll be done with breaking away. next week, we’re building. next week, there will be peace. i know it will be different.

part II - a girl has got to do what she’s got to do, even if her trousers are white. washing the filthy, ash ridden and sweaty clothes from the renovation, time after time, is such a challenge, that i need to dig up unexpected clothing....

naaaa! these old off-white honeys i pulled from the garbage bin, really. too far gone for the recycle shop, i decided to use 'em up to the thread and carry loads of brick in the finest of overalls. while nephew s. is drilling stones from the wall, as if he was slicing a knife through butter (go figure), i stare, until the dust reaches my eyes and my nose starts running.

for me, it's emotion. for him, it’s a man’s job. i’m sure glad when the man turns up.


not everything is worth buying, gazing at things comes in as a second close. the day bell and i stroll over the flea market, just before the clouds above our heads open up without further ado, i bump into a man selling this. i ask the seller politely if i can take a picture of his batch. he scratches his five o’clock shadow extensively (never a good sign), i can see his squirrel mind working overtime. he starts grinning, for having come up with a clever solution. then he screeches, ‘how much you pay me for taking the photo’? i go, yeah, and at that same time press the release button on my camera. i’ll bet i got him framed. i leave the squirrels behind in their box. we would not agree on anything anyway. [more vintage stories on her library adventures]

do not lose your head

does that happen to you ? you are in the capital, you notice something extraordinary and you can’t find any explanatory indication of what you’re seeing. later, you whizz around and about on the w3, and cannot locate one single site mentioning the circumstance, which could be a referral to the running charles van der stappen exhibition, but just as much so, it could be something entirely different. since you can’t find more information, you have to use your own imagination. which is what i do by showing you. if i do discover their reason for being there, i will update this post. in the meantime, enjoy the heads. they are a funny sight, and a little out of place. stunning little corner of the city too. the city being brussels.

ta-da! the blues

do you remember that scene from WUTHERING HEIGHTS, the black and white classic, where the midnight trees, or the moors' heather for that matter, are calling out for the feverish girl in distress? "cathy... come home, come ho-me" (cannot locate the exact scene to show, i might be confounding with this, ofcourse).
ha! the melodrama pouring out from amongst the seams.... i've shortly noticed though that, each time i pass my crochet basket, similar turbulence occurs. that darn yarn is yelping "woolfie, wool-fie, pick me up, no-ow".
i'm starting the blues on it, you know. the granny blues. ☻
(further creative spacing with kootoyoo)