Love

We’ve just enacted our shivery skinned, soft lipped, sensual supplication to love…….love that leaves a big hole when it goes on vacation, and fills the house to overflowing when it returns. Love that turns a potentially tragic life into a dream.  Love that makes sense of everything, imbues with meaning, and can turn every action into purpose.  Love that reminds that everything is everything, connected and created, following the slip threads of every other thing into love……..

Kids safely bribed with cups of tea and a cartoon, we close the doors and settle into each other again.  Hello eyes, and lips, and that strong band of arm, and our hair entangling, and that warm, moist place where only we connect……the electrical touch, the building friction of warm soft skin.  Hello again my love, wrapped in this cocoon of us for a snatched moment in a life surrounded by younglings and small limbs and fractious cries and nappies and feeding frenzies and tiny fingers and border disputes and infectious giggles and the elephant stampede of small feet bounding and rebounding over bouncy wooden floors.  Hello again to the pull of our bodies that created so much life shimmering through the corridors around us.  That unrelenting sinking into each other that never seems to have an end.  The plummet into eyes and skin and lips and limbs and soft hair and hard man…….  The ancient magnet of mammals to create life in the cycle of birth life and rebirth, ever rounding circle of life through it’s stages, the young, the fertile, and the diminishing.  And then bodies sated and satisfied fit together so snug that there’s no beginning or end, limbs draped gracefully and sharp shoulders so soft a pillow, no slight movement is required to make it more comfortable.  Everything slows to minute detail, the blood gently lifting a pulse in a wrist, cool breeze drifting through the window, bird calls clear as a bell ringing outside, body’s sanguine reposing in layers, the slow drift of a dust mote, resting in that endless moment.  All of it makes sense, all of it has meaning, all of it is perfect if it led us to right here and now.  Of course we love, and we love so deep, and there is no end, and there can be no withholding of the great big love that we have for each other and our lives and our children and our friends.  Nothing can damage or stop the strong driving river of our shared experiences and lessons of each other and our places in the world. 

Which isn’t at all how it felt only a few days ago.  Stopping still in a home at last, after a long and arduous journey through fear and betrayal, judgement and heartache, jealousies and intrigue, threat and defensiveness, deep and gnarly patterns surfacing due to the stress.  Ugly bits of ourselves that we didn’t want to show, dragged out by excruciating circumstances.  Long hauls of personal strength and heroic efforts done alone.  Isolated feelings of being unappreciated.  Unloved down in the marrow of childhood aloneness.  Hiding behind the barricade of our battered love, till great tidal waves swept over them, and split us apart to battle the waves on our own.  Enacting the rituals of the love that felt faded, hoping that pretending would bring back the strength.  Pushing and striving and hurting to leave the place where all the pain focalised.  To leave the people that looked at us with grim eyes and snappy mouths.  To leave the arched eyebrows and slimly disguised taunts.  Pushing against invisible and seemingly insurmountable barriers that constantly seemed to be in front of us, blocking our escape. 

Till we did.  Escape.  Run fleeing from the harsh and lonely desert that was aching all around us.  We ran and we stumbled and we fled through the bitter cold and the sultry heat.  Cloaked in a magic tent that shipped us through the salty rocking waters. Bits of our love bumped back into each other, and we started remembering who we were before the heartache, but the moments retracted like eyes on a snail, whenever the rigours of the journey became too taxing.  Easy to take it out on each other. Easy to blame one another.  Easy to think that without that other, life may be easier.  Wouldn’t have to remember so much. Wouldn’t have to try and keep healing those wounds.  Wouldn’t have to be surrounded by children full time.  Staying in other people’s houses, and on other people’s floors, and in other people’s camp sites, and on other people’s land, and in other people’s headspaces…….quiet kids, and don’t swear in public, and stop hurting him, and don’t ask for food, and stop playing with their special things, and don’t keep asking questions, and stop stop stop and squeeze yourself in so you don’t……take…..up…….too…….much………space.   Dreaming of a sanctuary and a private space, and blaming ourselves and each other for being this old, and still not having all the ticks and ribbons that we’re meant to have as grown ups in our culture.  Still not having a home.  A safe place to be who we are and take off the masks. Let the kids swear.  Let them make mess.  Let them yell and scream and bounce all the floorboards.  Let them sound like harpies at each other, let them eat with their hands, let them, let them smile. 

Then we finally get here.  Our home.  Snuggled in by the owner of our home, who hugs us and kisses us, and thanks us for being here, and has left fragrant snippets of her life to surround us, and seat us, and feed us, and clean us, and keep our food cool.  A sweet wooden sanctuary, perched on a hill, surrounded by colourful folk and rainforest, tree’s dripping with life and surging green.  A home and private space at last.  The journey from heartache has finally completed, and found it’s solution in a place to finally let….it…..all……go……  Now that the fleeing and survival is over, there’s time to lick wounds again, and to finally feel into the new one we created, that’s been sitting inside quietly, silently promising to be no problem.  Our new child cradled and biding it’s time, the time that’s drawing nearer with every breath.  We finally have the time to turn our attention inward.  To redress what we can, and let all the ragged bits of skin that had to be pushed down unfurl, and set about soothing them.  And then all should be better shouldn’t it?  All should magically fix itself when the home’s been found? And it is and does…….to a certain point.  We know that we’re lucky, and we know that we’re doing the right thing, and we know that it will start to get better.  But unnoticed by us the heat keeps rising, and the humidity sweats on our lips and drops from our brows, and feels like walking through water.  Our internal temperature gauges start to boil.  Insides feel like they’re slowly cooking.  And it feels like I have a heavy hot water bottle strapped to my middle.  For weeks on end it builds.  And builds.  The heat.  The sweat.  Unrelenting apart from brief downpours of sub-tropical intensity, and then the continued build up of heat.   

And unnoticed by us the rise in temperature mirrors the rise in our unease with each other.  I remember things that hurt.  I spend hours in tears.  All the hurts and pains come bubbling up simmering to the surface, feeling so so alone and betrayed and wondering how to forgive.  Can I forgive?  Has something been broken?  An unbroachable gulf between us?  And with the bleaching of love, the children seem harder, and more difficult to deal with, and the reality of another one popping into our nest starts to seem silly.  Like we’ve gone too far.  Gone over the edge of practicality and manageability.  Everything seems difficult, in the sweaty reality of a beautiful home that’s void of all of our personal treasures that we left behind in our dash to get away. Taking love out of the equation leaves a dusty, slightly macabre and messy life between two former colleagues.  Two ex best friends.  Two comrades who lost faith with each other in the battle’s dying glow.  Love leaves a sad ship wreck on the sandy desert floor. 

On the last night of heat, I slip away into town on my own.  To a women’s dinner.  He’s been trying hard to mend the gaps and spaces between us.  Asks me if I’m going to be swept away by a long haired lovely and back into the arms of a woman.  And I throw a “I wouldn’t leave the children” over my shoulder, as I shimmy out the door in my red velvet pants and drive through the cool evening breeze and thank everything I can think of for this break in the sultry heat.  Driving on my own feeling sad for my hurt bits, and glad to have this moment of my well known company all to myself.  I remember me.  I’m always there. Always willing to make the best out of everything.  Always wryly observing myself and loving all my bits.  Loving the sense of me. Driving through the uber green I feel a sense of peace and ease. Forthcoming adventure.  Sliding down the road into town I slip into the hall and haunt around, looking for a familiar face.  A few women who have met me take notice and introduce me around, seat me with them, wrap me in friendship, touch my burgeoning belly.  A string of talented and passionate women perform for us, sitting sweating in our seats, by our tables, with our plates of food and glasses of wine and water.  Poems and songs and words of women and their places and their skills and desires and attempts at finding….love.  And stories float round me from the tables nearby, and faces speak tomes of love held and lost, and optimistic love spreads it’s wings over couples, and all seems to be a promise and faint hope to the potential of love.  I listen to women talk about how they’ve been loved for a year and it still keeps burning!  I listen to how they’ve decided that love has become a worthwhile and surmountable path to follow. I hear the reasons why they think love is worth the gamble.  And the hollow ache that sits beneath the surface for the ones that have given up the challenge.  Decided the odds are too great. And I sit, hiding the blood red heart of a love that’s been burning hard and singing our skin regularly with lust for a full blooded 12 years of lovemaking and yearning and babies and birthing and erotic dreams and fantasies lacing each other in the quiet unobserved moments between child interruptions.  Knowing that I have it.  I have that love that gets songs and poems and yearnings aching for it.  A bit of perspective is always a good thing…….

And the next day, the heat breaks, and clouds hover, and suddenly everything seems better.  I hear mention of how people go troppo in the buildup to the wet, and how extreme behaviours come bursting out in the heat.  And I wonder how much a part that heat played in our drama.  And with my newfound perspective, and remembrance of how lonely and desolate life can be without our love……………we bribe the kids with cups of tea and cartoons, and submerge ourselves in our love renewed. As it always will be.  As it always has to be.  As I will ever keep it. Untattered.  Unbroken.  Bouyed by the long distance haul of shared experiences and traumas and birthing and babies and walls scaled and hurts healed.  Love is.  And always will be.  Even if sometimes it seems to go on holiday.  Love wont let us down. We wont let love down.  It’s ours for life.

Flowmadic Flo.....

What a synchronistic journey.  What a journey full stop!  In exactly three weeks almost to the hour after our lovely green machine died, Currawong drove in the driveway with our new home on the road.  How quick was that?  And exactly two weeks after our back up green machine died also.....was when we bought our new home.  Love that this story had all these little timing details.  

In case you hadn't heard the story, we've been travelling for nearly eight years in our green van, and it died by the side of the road.  We thought it was okay, cause we had a back up vehicle, but after getting it ready, that one died too.  

We were low on funds, and suddenly transportless, and I cried 'HELP!'.  And a lot of you answered.  Between our internet friends nearly two thousand dollars was raised to try and help us get a Coaster, and to move to the next stage of our vehicular journey.  One very generous donation - you know who you are and thank you darlin - in particular got us towards our goal.  And then money just kinda magically came together from all sorts of places, and I got my crochet mojo back, and put my book 'Balthazar & Nimue - A Love Story' into a pdf file ready to send out (send me an email if you'd like to read it.  I'll send you a copy, and if you like it, you could send me a donation...), and listed wearable art for sale on Etsy, and all sorts of life came out of the death of our van.  

A bit like in real life.  I've been having a lot of thoughts about birth, sex and death lately, and how they all interrelate and feed each other, and wrote a piece about it that's coming soon as a guest post on an amazing womans blog.   And I'm also totally inspired by a new direction I'm taking that's combining all my favourite learnings - blending my old desktop publishing skills, with all the photos of our life that I love to show off and tell stories about, with my words that I'm increasingly happy with my crafting of, and my favourite topics that I have stock standard stories and experiences I want to tell the world about - and turning that all into ebooks.  Self sufficient.  Self motivated. Self designed.  And a totally flowmadic way of trying to make a living from our living.  I'm thick in the middle of a colourful 'Post Phyber Philosophy' ebook at the moment.....

But all these serendipitous occurrences have occurred, and within three weeks of what seemed like total devastation, Currawong was driving in the driveway in our new Coaster.  It was beautiful and easy from the beginning to the end, Currawong made friends with the awesome dude we bought it off, and was looked after by a wonderful friend after he flew to Melbourne to buy it.  And took a swift two days to drive it home.....

And it took within seconds of him getting home to be mobbed by kids.  We all really missed him.  In fact we all miss any of us when we're gone.  It's like together we're the full orchestra, but when someone's gone, the most essential instrument is missing.  

Especially Currawong.   Currawong is like the battery of our family.  He's always on the move, and on the think, and on the hop, and trying to do a million things at once, and full of laughing and songs and silly quips, or full of sorrows and grumping, but no matter what he's full.  And alive, and talking and joking and surprising people with what he comes up with, or doing a somersault, or pushing the trolley hard at the supermarket and then lifting his feet and flying down the aisle.  He motivates us and spoils us and spends all his time working out how he can do his part of the deal to keep us all moving.  And when he's gone he leaves an awfully big hole.  Almost unsurpassably big.  Everything's a bit drier, duller, mundane, and more humdrum without him buzzing round.  So we all really missed him.  

Max and Merlin were really stumped by him being gone.  They yelled 'Daddy!' from the verandah a few times, hoping he was just on a walk, and the first morning after his first night away, Merlin snuggled up to me and very seriously said "Daddy.....work".  And I tried to explain that in a way he was working, cause he was buying us a new bus, and how he'd be home as soon as he could.  As soon as he got back they were in the bus and on his lap and stayed close to him for as long as they could.  

And it also didn't take long before the cow skull went on the bumper bar, cause it's become a bit of an icon for us.  A symbol and talisman of the wide open roads.  Buying a Coaster has been our ultimate dream for a long time.  A full sized bus is just too big for us to be a daily driver.  And a Coaster with a camper van trailer, is the ultimate way that we can have beds and a kitchen on wheels without having to do a huge amount to set it up.  Which is going to make our Flowmadic lifestyle a lot easier.  Thank you so much for helping us to reach our dream!  We're so incredibly wrapped....

But I'm almost a bit embarrassed by how sooky we are.  We're hardly ever parted, and spend all our time together, and are regularly having impassioned conversations, got some kind of plan or idea on the go, and shunting the kids off to bed so we can have our minutes together.  You've gotta come up with something pretty alluring to tempt us out of our nights together.  Cause we love em.  And each other.  A lot.  

So we hadn't been parted for anything longer than hours for over 10 years now, and then he was gone for THREE DAYS AND TWO NIGHTS!!  They stretched an eternally long time.  For all of us.  And Currawong and I went all Wuthering Heights and got on the phone to each other whenever we could, trying hard to connect as much as possible in our minutes, to make up for what we were missing.  And hanging out at home with 4 little boys under the age of 4, with various tactile obsessions like silk, and pillow slips, and that bit of skin webbing between your thumb and forefinger.......translates into spending lot of time sitting, and laying, and carousel hugging, cause if one is getting some love, you can almost guarantee that another one or two will want some too, and I hate for any of them to miss out.

So we survived our separation, and spent some days without dad.  

Balthazar fell asleep in the cupboard.....

And hung out with Zarra who he loves to distraction.....

The kids watching Winnie the Pooh.  Zarra's starting to really take his place more in the family.  He's awake mostly during the day (and night still....sigh....), and loves hanging with the kids.  Getting in on the action, and eating what everyone else does.  He's got the most gorgeous smile this little one, like the rest of them, and I can pretty much be guaranteed that every time he sees me I get a huge one.

And then the conquering hero returned, our new steed looking very 'Yar' (as Katherine Hepburn said in 'A Philadelphia Story'), and a great reunion was had by us all.  And the morning after she got here, we decided to call her Flo.  Both for our heroine Flo in 'The Darling Buds of May', who answers every problem with a huge hug in her ample bosom, and some gorgeously cooked food, and also for The Flow, that we're going to step into every time we step into our beautiful new bus.  Flo the Flowmadic bus.  What a perfect name for her.  

And there's this seriously groovy thing about her that makes her even more perfect than any other Coaster, and that is, that the owner who bought her new, had her fitted out with custom made, cherry red lengthwise seats.  Which happens to be totally perfect for us as a 9 person family, cause we need a lot more seats than your average motorhome.  And this seat means we can leave the original seats in, but remove the ones we don't need, and this lengthwise seat is perfectly opposite where we're going to put our kitchen, and then there's room for a monster bed for all the babies and us at the back as well.  Didn't get time to write the wish list before it happened!  And just as well, cause I never would have imagined this seat.

So all's well that ends well, and like I have any right to ever worry considering the miracles that have happened in the past, this story just shows that we've never got to worry about anything.  The most amazing solutions can create themselves as a gift when you're not trying to craft it too much.  And from seeming disasters always come valuable lessons and treasures.

Now we've just got to register it, and get it ready for travelling, which is a whole other story...........

And just cause I can, and just cause I love my gorgeous babies, I'm throwing in these photos, cause they were in the same folder as the photos of Flo, and they show our loverly outdoor bath, but mostly cause they are some very loved faces.

This is bath time at our place.....

Life is good!

Wearable art and Coaster dreaming

I think my crochet mojo has come back.  I taught myself how to spin at 30, and then spent the next 10 years trying to turn it into a career.  (As well as having 7 babies ).  I did exhibitions, and festivals, and markets, and wrote stuff, and tried just about every thing I could think of to 'make it' and 'get it out there'.  And about 2 years ago, around the birth of my twins, and the onset of a whole bunch of things that were really heavy and hard to deal with, I kinda just let it all slip.......  It was easier not to try and sell my stuff and get acknowledgement for what I was doing.  It was easier to not have the rush of creating something I loved, and then not being able to sell it.  So I just kinda let it all go.  There was a bit of a 'well if you're not going to play the game the way I like it, I'm just taking my ball and going home' going on, but no matter how much I thought I'd stuffed it all deep down in a cupboard, I suspect it will never go away.

Cause I LOVE IT!  And I think I'm good at it.  And there's so many things I want to say about spinning and wool dying and crochet and how important it is to find a practical craft in these post industrial days.  And spinning as therapy, and how many ways you can find to do it your own way, and how everything is energy and remembers where it's been - and it's INCREDIBLE to be part of making a beautiful thing from fibre where you know the shepherd and the sheep and how happy they are, and then the making process and the creating process and then send a literal and metaphysical yarn out into the world carrying all sorts of beautiful memories and energies with it.  

And this whole van dying thing has really kinda pushed me into doing a stack of things that were in my 'to do' list, that probably would have taken months for me to get to, if my hand hadn't been pushed.  Cause we need to get ourselves a Coaster, to take our flowmadic show on the road.  So all monies raised from the clothes I sell, or folk who buy my book, or send me a donation, is going towards the Coaster Fund.

All around, I've got to say that I'm starting to think that our beloved van dying was a great thing.  If it hadn't died, we would have kept dribbling away for years, fixing a growingly unfixable van, not doing what we really wanted to because we loved it so much.  But we both really knew that we had to move up to a bigger bus, and I never would have DREAMED of asking people to donate money or buy my things to help us get it, but in the way it all happened, with both of them dying and the whole shock of the affair, all this amazing stuff is coming out of it.  

The biggest of which (at the moment) is my reunion with Crochet!  This number above came and swept me up in a brief and sudden affair.....and most of the skeins in this work were on their way to becoming other things.  The pink in the middle was a panel of crochet I was gonna turn into a belty flappy thing, after I'd pulled it apart from trying to be a hat, and there was another incarnation before that too.  None of it worked.  So I pulled it apart, and started this web, and loved how the colours worked.  And the skein of red with green glints kept on flashing me up on its shelf, so I balled it up and put on the three panels that I'd seen in my head.  And then there was the beautiful orange that I was making an attempt at turning into a skirt, but there wasn't too much of it, and it kept winking at me from the wool stash.  I realised the orange was the next layer of colour that needed to be added as a border.  It was like I kept seeing the next stage ahead of me, and just had to find the colour or skein that fit.  Then there was this lovely deep turquoise that I had picked for the top of a kids jumper I was making, but it just begged to go on as a fringe.  And voila, there it was.  The first crochet frenzy that's hit me in years.  Where I just had to sit and crochet to see how the next bit looked, and if it looked the same as I saw it in my head.  

And I was making it when our home van died.  While Currawong was out doing mechanicky things, I was sitting with the kids and crocheting.  Even when the other van died as well, I still kept going.  Feeling amazing about crocheting again, but freaked out at circumstances.  Instead of sitting in freak out, I just focused on what I could do to raise money for a vehicle, so I finished it, and then got my beautiful friend to come around, and felt all Hugh Heffner as I asked her to move this way and that, telling her how gorgeous she was.

The photos turned out great.

I love this spider skirt.  I made it for the last Tribal Fibres, outta undyed, beautiful, lustrous, yummy sheep smelling fleece, from my very good friend Catherine the shepherd.  And made it in a bit of a frenzy of spider webs.  It was just after I'd finished my massive spiderweb that fits inside our soul pad, and I was on a roll.  So I made two skirts, one going from light to dark, the other from dark to light, and they were belly danced in by gorgeous belly dancers.  

And check out the stage back drop I created!  Massive spider web, and drapey hangy things with the wool womb or earth star cave at the back that a belly dancer erupted from, and there's me and Catherine sitting with our spinning wheels at the edges of the picture.  

And the best thing about this skirt, is that when you're not wearing it as a skirt or poncho, you can draw the drawstring together in the middle, and then put it on your wall as an artwork....

Like I did here.....  And that was a nice excuse to see the gorgeous faces of Alison and Russel again too.  And then there's the Ritual Pheramonial Hat that I made ages ago, and has been on many a head, and that can also be used as a bag.....  Love this hat.  And never wanted to sell it.  But I also want to raise money for a Coaster, so.... 

Doesn't she look gorgeous in it?!  She's taken a hat/bag that looked quite comical on me and lots of other people I know, and turned it into a regal head dress.  

I reckon it looks quite 1920's flapperesque.  And totally stunning.

Here it is from the back....

And this hat is a total treasure.  Made it a few years ago for Lilly, but like most of my kids, she's not really into wearing my art!  As you can see it can be worn two different ways, and the other photo that I really love is right at the top.  She made this one look like a Priestesses head gear too.  This one is knitted in the main body, and crocheted together and then the ear flaps at the back are crocheted too.  I love how crochet and knitting are completely interchangeable when you use the same size hook as needles.

Then there's this beautiful belly dancing outfit with arm bands that can also be leg bands.  Cutest thing that's had lots of people wearing it too, but this model does it the most justice I've seen.  She again makes it look really stylish!  And I suspect I might have to hang onto it to for her, cause she kinda fell in love.....

And this beautiful Mantle that can be a cowly poncho, or a dress, or a skirt, has already found it's new home.  In between our van dying and taking these photos, a friend from Adelaide stopped in with her mother for dinner, and that's when I really knew my crochet mojo was back.  I burbled away to her merrily all night about my crochet, and where it's been, and the market we used to run, and showed her these pictures, and had so many stories and experiences and joyful learnings that I wanted to tell her, that I almost tripped over my tongue.  Right at the end of the night she asked me to show her the things I'd been bubbling bout, and she grabbed this one straight away.....more money towards the Coaster fund!

And this hat is the cutest little top hat I've made, black handspun coming from Catherine as a sultry fleece that I used for a display at the Fringe in Macclesfield, and the purple roving that the black is crocheted around at the top and brim, was the roving that Catherine and I used to spin and unspin belly dancers in for Tribal Fibres.  Beautifully dyed by Catherine.

And I love this one too.  Meant to be a belly dancing hip belt, it's a touch long to be worn round the waist, but can either be knotted up to make it shorter, or tucked into the belt.  And it looks gorgeous when worn on the top.  This is also spun and crocheted from Catherine's roving that I used as is in the thick belt bit.  And I got this roving as a prize in the Melbourne Scarf Festival.  How bizarre is that?  Go all the way to Melbourne for a Scarf Festival, and get a prize of some beautifully dyed roving from my fleece supplier back in SA.  

And I simply adore my bird cape.  Another piece I never wanted to sell.  Undyed handspun fleece from Catherine, with a bustle of raw fleece needle felted on at the bottom.  Can be worn all sorts of ways.  And when you drape the sides down your arms, you can tie the fringe together, so it forms itself into a pair of sleeves.  I wore this when I was birthing Zarrathustra.  For all the bits when I was wearing clothes that is.  Made me feel very powerful.

So I guess I've rambled on enough now...suffice to say....my mojo is back!  And I'm glad.  

And I could almost say thank you to our dearly departed van, for giving me the gift of a kick up the bum.

Help!

Well the unimaginable has happened.  On friday we had two working vans, one our home on the road for 7 years and one as a parts vehicle with a nearly new engine (very grown up)......and today we have none.  

It was rather an iconic van. Transporting us all as we grew and travelled in our flowmadic way

It was our home every sunday as we were part of a Growers Market in Macclesfield SA.   It once performed in a military vehicles display at the Strawberry Fete, as the 'swords to ploughshares' exhibit.

It took us to the most amazing places......camping an incredibly large amount of people comfortably

Here it is in its crocheted splendour.  A haven to the fibre and colour addicted

With artworks by friends....

Camping outside Alice Springs

Thoroughly, completely, crochetedly unique.....

We thought we had it sussed, and had complete vehicular security.  Our beautiful roadhome of many years was running smoothly, and we had a parts vehicle to slowly replace her fading parts with.....

Till we went shopping on friday, and on the way home it made a funny noise.

Our roadhome gently died by the side of the road.  We dropped a timing belt. 

We got the kids home with a friends help, and got it towed and considered ourselves lucky as we had the spare.  Currawong reckons our whole van looked sad as she sat on the tow truck.   So he spent three solid days making the other one roadworthy, only to take her out on her maiden voyage and she died an oily death. Possibly dropping a rear main seal.  We got home quick, a bit dumbstruck, and put it on the shelf to feed and bed babies, and decided to leave it till morning.  And I wake up this morning in excited shock.  Ya know that kind of rush you get when present at the great mysteries of life?  With every death a new beginning.....

Can't quite believe that our van is dead.  And the back up van too.  

Now is the time to put into action all those "If anything really drastic happened we could..." ideas.  We need some help.  Caught totally on the hop we have us nine people without any transport.  Without  much savings.  And in need of a miracle.

We've decided we need to get a coaster sized van in order to be able to go out together with our rapidly growing family.  We've actually been talking about it for a while, but felt too much loyalty to our beloved van to take any further steps.  Till the ball's been taken out of our court so to speak.  

We need a new canvas for our dreams.  Getting a vehicle that can carry the nine of us, and the ten of us when Jess visits, is no ordinary feat.  And we could really use some help.

--------------------------------

I'm starting the (snow)ball rolling and selling my book 'Balthazar & Nimue - A Love Story' as an ebook on my blog. A 12 year old book that really wants to be born.  

I'm going to start listing wearable art pieces on my blog as well.  

And we're strongly considering selling both vans to someone mechanical who could make the one awesome van out of them both.

Rather than do a fundraiser, I'd like you to get something for your money, but if you felt compelled to donate us some money to speed our way to a new vehicle and home on the road, there's a donate button on my blog too, halfway down the side bar.  

Please help to share with anyone you think would like to help us.