Miscellaneous place to put stuff. Nothing in itself

DIKI, The Enchanted Red Robin by Bernard Roy. FRENCH & ENGLISH

2010-01-20T19:17:00.000-08:00

I have written abc? in blue where I am unsure of a word (or phrasing). PLEASE, anyone, let me know if you can correct anything. I know nothing and am appreciative of a friend at work who was able and willing to take the story this far (thanks Tim).

My email is rmsquare@connexus.net.au

Anjon is one of the most beautiful provinces in France. The abc? which arises here, the flowers, the fruits and the delicious wines which the sun produces make the people the most affable, enjoying the bounties of their territory.
In the heart of this friendly country, near Angers, lived in the time of Louis XVI, a painter famed for his ability to paint flowers and to colour his paintings. He was named Jean de la Baumette. The artist believed in the traditional values, each day, the truth of nature. Roses, thoughts, jasmines he reproduced so realistically that, sometimes, butterflies came through the windows to abc? them, and then left, worried at their misunderstanding.
Jean de la Baumette was a charming gentleman – even if a little different (as are many artists).
abc? He lived with his Francoise, his beautiful daughter, in a small cottage decorated with fine abc? And he loved to be with his abc? Also he had written on the door of his place “Know, dear visitors, you who come to see me do me an honour, and in coming give me great pleasure.”
Not being vain, the painter attributed part of his success to Francoise. Since her childhood, the young girl, for sixteen years abc? To the violets, brought him from her walks the most beautiful flowers, the most delicate foliage in the world.
One day after a devastating storm while Francoise was returning home with her hands full of flowers, she noticed at the foot of a tree a robin wounded by the storm which, a abc? under it and abc? with a abc? of a small branch under its wing, was making feeble sounds. You could hear it say Diki… Diki… so much that she christened it Diki.
The child delicately placed the bird in the folds of her dress to carry it home, where the father and daughter sought to warm it up, care for it and get it some milk.
They thought that the wounded one would recover its health. Its little cries Diki… Diki… seemed to say thank you! ... thankyou!
It was at this endearing moment that the artist, without any flowers, did a portrait of the bird that was so good you’d think it could sing.
Francoise was enraptured, and put the pretty drawing at the head of her bed as if it was that of a lover.
Alas Diki did not survive his injuries. When one morning Francoise found it abc? and cold in front of abc? she felt deep sadness in her heart. She cried all day and then decided to bury her little friend at the foot of the tree where she had found it. On its tomb, covered in tulips, she wrote “Diki”, and left weeping.
When next morning Francoise opened her eyes, she let out a big cry that made her father come running.
-Look, look she said while pointing out the drawing on the wall where, the day before, Diki, with the all-seeing eye, and proud of his red hood like a Chief Judge’s, seen on the top of her little friend… Diki was no longer there, he had flown away.
In fact, the sheet was white. No bird!
How odd, said the painter. My pictures are so lively that they take wings?
With these words, a robin just like Diki came and settled on the bed.
- Who are you, asked the anxious girl – A magic bird?
- Perhaps, replied a mysterious voice.
But Monsieur de la Baumette let his palette fall to the ground in wonder when the robin added:
- Listen to me, little Francoise, and don’t cry. I have chosen you to be the heroine of a great adventure. My master is a prince of marriageable age. He has asked me to find in Anjou the prettiest, the sweetest, the girl who cares most for the unfortunate – and I think you are that girl.
- Francoise blushed and said: I’m confused, Monsieur Diki, with your overly generous opinion. I have two big defects: I am picky and I don’t like housework.
The robin, flattered at being called Monsieur for the first time in its life, took charge, rested on the painter’s shoulder and said: I’ll wait for you in the orchard. Take your paintings and a abc? To work…
And he flew out the window.
Monsieur de la Baumette obeyed and, following the exact word of Diki, painted on the white wall of abc? a magnificent golden carriage pulled by black horses.
- Perfect, cried Diki, looking at the work like a knowledgeable critic. But you’ve forgotten to give a collar to your creation, my dear friend. Please paint me a black abc? and dressed in rose. I love this tonal harmony.
- My dear friend – are you a decorator also? Asked Monsieur de la Baumette while putting on the front of the carriage a turbaned negro, ready to seize the reins.
- without abc?, I am one of the party, says Diki. The robin is a friend of the painters. But even if everybody admires the vermillion abc? which adorns our crest, few would know the origin of this feature. Understand that on Calvary one of our ancestors, desperate at his powerlessness to save the Lord dying on the cross, came to rest on the shoulder of Jesus to console him and tell him of his love. A drop of blood then fell from the crown of thorns onto his plumage and marked his throat forever. Ever since, we wear at our neck, like a gift from God, this cravat of the legion of honour for small birds. But I digress, and time passes.
Go, little Francoise! Go on your adventure.
The next brush stroke had not been made by la Baumette, when Diki let forth in his strongest voice his familiar cry: Diki, Diki!
And then abc? was completed.
Slowly, slowly, like abc? the carriage detached from the wall. Then the horses took on life, puffing and panting and then the negro coachman abc? his whip. The robin hardly left any time for Francoise to kiss her father. The team abc? Soon they flew away.
The voyager whose garden dress miraculously became a abc? dress, sees from the bottom of its abc? flew over the countryside hidden under its swift passage. She would have been scared of this incredible journey with the unhappy negro if Diki, flying close, hadn’t reassured her.
- Don’t worry Francoise. I am here. I’ll guard you from danger!
After travelling for several hours along the river to this abc? the team did a slow trot to go into a forest where Francoise saw the abc? clearing?? . The beautiful black horses became white under the abc?
- We’ve arrived, cried Diki.
Night fell on the black abc? At a turn in the avenue a white abc? barred the passage but at that time, coming out from a abc? a small faun, one could say, leapt, while laughing, towards the travellers and opened with two abc?
The vehicle goes slowly into the sandy courtyard and stops in front the abc? of a lovely abc? of lilies. The small faun opens the carriage door and lays out a carpet under Francoise’s feet who only has three steps to go into the abc? of a room coloured with blooming roses that her father has imitated so often. A large lamp was ready to welcome them between silken curtains.
- Please rest, little Francoise, said Diki, you must be very tired. Tomorrow morning we are going to meet my master, the young prince. Goodnight.
And they went to sleep. The negro, after taking the horses to the stable, lay down on a carpet just like Diki the robin, rests his head on the bed, says good night, just like his abc? on Calvary.
Then darkness came quickly. The abc? played on their little flutes while in the night sky the stars took their place for a magical feast offered by the moon to amateur poets.
Next morning, while Francoise and Diki were walking in the lovely park, the bird disappeared only to return suddenly to the young girl, carrying in its beak a fiery coloured rose.
- I bring you this welcoming flower on behalf of my master, Prince Andegave, who follows behind, telling me to place a rose in Francoise’s abc? where it will remain, like in a nest, saying you are tired from so much travel.
Then a young man dressed in golden satin and riding on a white horse appeared a moment later. Seeing Francoise the horseman gave an admiring glance – Diki immediately made the introductions.
Prince Andegave bowed to Francoise and said many gallant things. Then the trio sat under a abc? where people chat or sing, laughing or playing abc? while gorging on chocolate, far from abc? the drama which was occurring ???
The happening was tragic. In fact, our negro driver was charmed by fairies and especially by the way that Diki had brought to life, with his little cry, the paintings of Monsieur de la Baumette on the walls of the abc? had wanted to imitate him. Oh! for sure he didn’t have the talent of Francoise’s father. At least he had arrived to trace with a piece of coal on the wall of the abc? a strange silhouette of a huge abc? which in his distant land was the idol of his people.
Proud of his work, our black driver stood before the image of the monster, tried to imitate the cry of the robin and succeeded so well that he didn’t have to repeat it. Di-ki, Di-ki, Di-ki. The words abc?
Suddenly the image came to life, let out a frightening scream and threw itself towards the small negro who put up his arms to save himself and only had time to abc? to a tree. The animal was pursuing him when Prince Andegave and Francoise appeared. Seeing them, the savage beast turned and, baying, breathing fire, he turned to them. Francoise thought she would die from fear and disgust. She was as pale as the moon.
Fearlessly and with a level head the young horseman took his sword, and shielding the young girl, walked toward the horrible image. The blows which he made courageously seemed unfortunately to have no impact on the abc? beast which, after gathering itself up, went to abc?
But from where he was watching, hidden in Francoise’s crinoline, Diki saw the threat. Like a page from earlier times defending his lord in combat, he flew into the monster’s face and with all the strength in his beak, he pecked at its eyes.
The blinded beast tottered. It turned round, thrashing and crying out. Really thirsty, its instinct led it to the river in a zig zag manner. But, in these fields, the banks of the abc? are steep, and when the prince and Francoise (who was still carrying Diki the hero on her head) reached them, they were just able to help the incredible monster in its final plunge. The drowning was accompanied by a piercing scream and a thrashing of water. A column of sulphurous air came up from the river where the monster had fallen in, leaving when it had dispersed, an enormous dark rock in the shape of the monster.
This mass named “The Black Rock” or “The Pierre Becherel”, was glowing during the night and still is there. It became the last pedestal of Diki.
Perched on top of the rock, the enchanted bird said goodbye to Francoise and the prince, and advised them to get married immediately so as not to waste a day’s happiness.
To finish, the robin repeated twice: Diki, Diki as if it was saying: so it should be, and, his mission complete, flew away into the sweet beyond.
When the young lovers returned home after their marriage had been blessed under the marvellous flowery walls of the old abbey de la Touissants, they found a portrait of Diki drawn on the wall near their bed. And each morning, during the abc? years the lived together, the little enchanter would wake them with its joyous cry: Di-ki, Di-ki, Diki, to tell them of the new day, and that the time of baked tarts and chocolate creams had come.

Ship Sampler

2008-12-06T22:08:00.000-08:00

Attention Nella

2008-09-17T17:28:00.000-07:00

Iconography. The Nice Girls (silk, rayon, cotton, polyester, glass beads and murderers sequins).

Skirt & Bodice

This card dress is 5 year old size and hangs beautifully. I'm in the throes of making 2-3 others in various styles. I want to make a big, real or over sized wedding dress for Fashion Week.

'Night/Day' style dolls. If you can follow the diagrams (I promise to show it better for the actual submission)... You will see either the dicephalys twin heads and a long skirt, the single (twin) head and a long skirt, or the other twins, joined at the tops of their heads (forgotten the name), and a skirt coming down from both.

Ink drawing but will be Penny Rug design.

Misc drawings. These are drafts for the further Icon embroideries. The top one (Thinking About The Nice Boys) will be adapted to make Lamp Shades like the Card Dresses.

2007-11-11T22:22:00.000-08:00

Crazy Patch Bluebird detail (CP6)

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Crazy Patch, Dragonfly detail (CP7)
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Crazy Quilt, Roumanian Floral detail (CP5)
gg
Crazy Quilt, Fern detail (CP4)
bb
Crazy Quilt, St. Basil's detail (CP2)
vv
Crazy Quilt (CP1)
xx
Crazy Patch, Tree detail (CP3)
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Brown Cloth detail (BC1)
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Rabbit Cushion detail (RC2)
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Rabbit Cushion (RC1)

friday

2007-08-05T01:29:00.000-07:00

my dad
used to pull people
out of car wrecks

we knew what happened
if you crashed

and your seat belt wasn't on

you'd fly from the back seat
right on through the windscreen

breaking the necks
of the front seat passengers

on your way

and lose a hand
or maybe two

before you landed on the road
twenty feet
or ten feet

or more

in front of the car

or maybe they'd find your
hand
a hundred yards
down the way

the next day

covered in blowflies

we had seat belts
the second they were invented
and we fucking put them on
don't you worry

so

sitting here by the road
under a blue blue sky
on the green green grass

with little white lawn daisies
looking so sweet

waiting for wig to finish the hedge

i'm fully aware

that if a car lost control
on the corner here

it'd go right over

me

and pop my head
just like a watermelon

2007-08-04T22:52:00.000-07:00

Little Children

2007-07-11T23:24:00.000-07:00

Worst F#!! Ever

2007-07-03T23:29:00.000-07:00

the worst f*ck of my life. a story. i left in the morning, early. dunno why really because, after all, he was there last night, pink and hairy and he saw the lot too. of me that is. if he was looking. but i'm not bothered to say how are you and pretend like it mattered. he's not a good f#!! , not by any stretch of the imagination and i've got a good one... imagination i mean. what kind of bloke says to you (while he's putting a donger on) 'i'm not much into it really'. well, hey, that's encouraging eh? whoo hoo! i'm feeling sexy now baby! and me, like the frikking idiot that i am, went right ahead and did it anyway? too frikking shy to tell him to stick that little fella back in the budgie smugglers and piss off. me piss off that is .

you can imagine how horny he was.

n't. i couldn't even tell whe he was finished. as for me, i didn't even bother to pretend. it takes a few goes for me to relax you see, enough so's i can read them and appropriately anticipate and understand what's going on. and to tell you the truth i don't get off on them being a new conquest. novel and untried. like a man does. like i think a man does. for all their talk anyway.

so he says stop and i'm thinking he can't finish with me sitting on him like that so i hop over a bit and reach down to play with him out of an inordinate and sacrificial sense of obligation or fairness, not from desire, and i'm thinking i'm so bored and he's nothing to me anyway and ick! i don't wanna touch that thing!

bleh! anyway, he stops me and i'm so completely grateful that i could kiss him, which is a contradiction i know, but i'm grateful because it's just a floppy little bored, slippy slug anyway and no wonder i couldn't feel anything.

next time some guy says i'm not that into it he can go fuck himself, if he's into that that is.

i never knew if he came or not and obviously i couldn't give a rat's and i'd rather not talk about his unappealing bits anyway thankyou very much.

so i'm leaving before he gets out of his drunken coma and i should have gone right then, last night when he said to stop but i couldn't be bothered driving home.

it's too too far.

it's raining. cold and perfect as far as i'm concerned. i washed my fanny on his face washer, no spoof there anyway, and i brushed my teeth. it was only five am and sunday at that, so i wasn't going to disturb his hungover musicians backside, no matter what i did. i pondered the idea of sticking a record on, nice and loud before i walked out the door. aw nasty.

but i'm not nasty.
it was a good morning for a tune, that's all.

ah the lovely smell of wet winter air in melbourne. i shivered but was glad for the coldness in the air. fucking smokers, what the hell was i doing?

well, alright, i know what.he thought i was a spunk when i met him that time (with my brother) before i'd left my erstwhile, before he'd thought he had the chance. ha ha if only he knew... anyway, it was too easy to slip up in this (post marital) void. just used to having someone around. go figure since i couldn't wait to get out the door. i'm gonna be way more picky from now on in i promise myself and i've seen the light anyway so it's a given. i've got a new word and i'm gonna try it out.

no.

the city's winter morning seems so pale and wan. it blinks with big, crusty, sleepy eyes. it's caught having a piss by some headlights sort of thing, if you know what i mean. st kilda 5.15 sunday morn, all quiet. the day shift's still asleep and the junkies have slunk away. still a bit grubby with last night's litter.

oh hey, there. i can see some stragglers not gone to bed yet. a cheery little group of ravers, moving subtly to the reverberations of last nights doof and heading for the beach. i wonder if i could cope with a dip in the sea this chill morning?
i wondered and scratched around for my keys out there on the footpath. but no, and vroom.. off i go and don't look back. bugger the city sea, i'm for fresh air and country living, just having a flirt with city life. groovy at night, but this morning's kind of shame faced and i'm out of here.

or is it me that's shame faced? hmm, nah, don't think so.

hmm..hmm..hmm..hmm here we go, macca's for brekky. coffee $2, bargain! drive through too so no bother there.

i reach over and put the radio on, sipping this first of many coffee's and you wouldn't believe it! it's him! the 'i'm not interested' bad fuck! the worst root ever! ha ha ha. what a laugh! i mean, he's good at the music and everything, i'll be the first to admit, but it's rock, so... well you know. and hey, it's pub rock too and i hate pub rock so why did i ever think we'd get married and i'd fill the hole in his heart that his ex wife left? or girlfriend. whatever. young, pretty, french. ha ha ha! i'm such an idiot for fuck's sake.

i reckon he's in it for the music but and not the chicks like a proper musician! ha ha ha!

so now it's good, this morning romp. i'm laughing and cackling to myself, at myself about this little overnight experience, and hoping like fuck the condom didn't break... or leak, spoof or not. eek!
this fella's given me enough material for the best laugh ever and i can't wait to tell someone, so i roll down the window and yell out to a couple of young streetwise groovers, 'i just had the worst fuck of my life!' and laugh like an idiot, tooting the horn. they yell something out and wave their arms, calling me back. i think the offer was there for some worthwhile redemption but i'm going home. that's fucking IT!

It Was Twenty Years Ago Today (Written Sept. 4th, 2002)

2007-03-30T23:56:00.000-07:00

it was twenty years ago today...
...my baby died in her sleep. which is what we all say is how we want to go isn't it... she's a blur, a dream. i pinch myself and know her to be a fact. i broke my finger yesterday. now i feel sickly and ouch and annoyed and it's fitting to feel a bit low today. didn't do it on purpose of course and it's a bloody nuisance but sometimes one looks for a reason to emphasise the pain you want to feel. just so you don't think you're forgetting, or something. she's not my handy topic, my maudalin common thread that we might have, my deep reason for you to empathise. i've never put it public like this and i'm healthy about it and so on and so forth but she truly did exist and i forget that a bit and usually it's ok, but they played 'the first time ever i saw your face' which is about her baby being born, they played it on the radio on the way home from 5 hours at the hospital last night. how do they know to play it every year on her birthday or this her death day? my brain gets it. some people die young and some don't. but today i feel sad and sick a bit and the mid-day movie's crap and my finger is throbbing to the rythym.

lucille gladys melia. january 4th 1982 - september 4th 1982

Kejoma

2007-03-30T04:10:00.000-07:00

Leaf Stitch

2006-05-07T04:30:00.000-07:00

Roumanian Couching or Roman Stitch

2006-04-29T21:08:00.000-07:00

Stupid Story About the Rabbit Cushion

2006-04-12T03:19:00.000-07:00

My Mum bought a white rabbit-fur coat when I was 12. She was trying to justify its purchase and I’d said of course I’d wear it too just to make her feel better. But really I wouldn’t have been seen dead. It wasn’t until the night before I chopped it that I wore it. First time and only time. I put on my Grandma’s green crystal and gold-painted-plastic bead necklace, frocked up, and drank a toast to its softness and it’s feminine beauty. Then I went home and snipped.

There is some Japanese thread I was lucky to find which I used up completely in here. It was the day of a bad and boring date. We had gone to see a film which I enjoyed and he didn’t. It was, in my opinion, one of those fundamentally good films that you know you’ll buy the DVD when it comes out, which showed that fundamentally he wasn’t a keeper. Grumpy to boot. So there we were. Fumbling. Bored. Enduring stoically with not much to say, and as a handy diversion we went into a Japanese-ware shop in South Melbourne. I found inside a basket carelessly placed up the back full of perfect threads all in a mess. Obviously quite unappreciated. Not priced. I only had ten dollars and deliberated and hummed and hahhed choosing two. Thinking ten dollars was two. It was hard because there were three I needed. But I took two up to the counter. The date was bored and boringly sighing and gnashing his teeth. The boy in the shop didn’t know what anyone would want these for and asked me with a puzzled face. I told him Embroidery. His eyes registered a dull vision of something dull old people did and we were much too clever these days. You can have them he said. So I explained that really I needed the green one too.

I havn’t used that one yet. Every time I see it in my box of silk I have a Mona Lisa moment.

So you see that the date was worthwhile in the end. But even the silk didn’t save him.

Years later I was making it, the cushion, working as a gardener. Lunch time or morning tea. I carried little bits of silk and fur in my overalls pocket. Little snippets of fuzz and gold littered the flower beds wherever I went.

One day I lost my thimble. It’s a First-World-War ‘Housewife’s-kit’ thimble and I’ve used it for fifteen years and I nearly cried. It’s a humble sort of a thimble. I offered the owner of the garden a million dollars if she found it, and I looked and looked and looked. My big love worked there sometimes too. Weeks later he walked down the path that I’d walked up and down and up and down looking and looking and there it was! So I’m happy now. And he’s happy because I’m happy and that’s always good. We’re both happy. I got lucky and so did he. He’s a keeper!

A friend asked if The Cushion could stay at his place for the weekend and I let it, just the once. He sent it a post card afterwards.

But it’s still just as pure as the driven snow.

P.S. The thimble and I had fifteen years together, but I lost it here at home and it’s gone. Really gone.

P.P.S. There's another, stupider story about the bad date here...