Ah, the traditional last minute scramble. Why would I do things any other way? MiuAndUmi preparation for the BrisStyle indie Twilight Markets is coming together, slowly but surely, and I did have the unique pleasure of having not one, not two, but three Bunnings staff walking me around the big tin shed looking for sandbags! That was fun. I've elected to make them myself, because I like to be resourceful, I like the feeling of finishing a task, and I'm too stubborn to be told there isn't enough time.
I'm jazzed about Friday night, crossing my fingers it doesn't rain, and so far have managed to evade the naked-at-school type dreams of derisive shoppers and epic failure that got me good last time around. I'll be propped up by my beautiful sidekicks Kirsty and Cass, who help make any event something to remember. Look for the brunette, the blonde and the redhead and come say hey, or howdy, or ciao, bonsoir, or just hello.

Ok, the camera issue is really beginning to make me cuckoo. I'm lusting after one of those DSLR with all the trimmings, but I'd settle for one with a viewfinder right now! If this photo doesn't make your eyes dance, congratulations.
We made the mad dash to the BrisStyle indie Eco Markets quite late in the day (as it was little Pom Pom's 5th birthday and we had to have pancakes for breakfast and choose the best birthday outfit) We had time to try a vegan hot-dog - quite tasty, and scoot around, ogling all the handmade goodness. As always, I developed a serious case of the wants, there were so many interesting, clever and eco-friendly items. I came away with a few lovelies, but could've bought alot more.
BiEM finds, clockwise from top left: "Brisbanesque" t-shirt transfer and Frida pendant, Ruby 2 Go-Go, Hair bands and pretty mosaic birds, Cairo Made That, Handwoven ecodyed silk headband, TrishAlan, divine Japanese fabric, Kimono Reincarnate.

A little morning sunlight

The kitchen windowsill with morning sunlight streaming in. The purple flowers are called Batchelors Buttons - how cute is that?

In Rome there is a small and picturesque cemetary tucked away behind a pyramid. I won't start with a history lesson about the pyramid and the graveyard, you can google the hell out of Rome, the amount of history at every turn is almost overwhelming. What I loved about this quiet place (which we dubbed 'the heathen cemetary' for the non-Catholic status of those within) apart from finding possibly the cleanest public toilet in Rome, was the gravestone of the poet John Keats. Near to the pyramid and an expanse of lawn peppered with little white flowers, engraved with such bitter words, it brought tears to my eyes. "...Here lies one whose name was writ in water."
I felt despair at the hopeless anger of one who had died young, thinking himself a failure in his craft. I turned from the gravestone, heart-wrenched, to find a memorial on the stone wall nearby, written by Sir Vincent Eyre.

Keats! if thy cherished name be "writ in water"
Each drop has fallen from some mourner's cheek;
A sacred tribute; such as heroes seek,
Though oft in vain - for dazzling deeds of slaughter
Sleep on! Not honoured less for Epitaph so meek!

I know poetry isn't everyones cup of tea, but this story makes me think about how we value ourselves, and the importance that we place on being valued by others. Isn't it enough to honour our hearts and our crafts? To live truly? Must we have the critics nod before we are ok with our creations?