Zen

Bulging belly and pendulous earlobes aside, Buddha and I have little in common.

This is not for lack of trying.

I have an entire bookshelf sagging under the weight of good intentions and untapped wisdom:

• Why Buddhism? (why, indeed);
• Awakening the Buddha Within;
• Choosing Happiness; 
• Start Where You Are;
• The Three Questions;
• Zen Shorts;
• Karma Kids; 
• Buddhism For Mothers; and
• Buddhism For Mothers Of Schoolchildren.

The title I'm waiting for is "Buddhism-For-Lapsed-Catholic-Dilettante-Mothers-Of-Spirited-Schoolaged-Boys-Living-With-Overachieving-Spouses".

When that hits the shelves, I'll be set.

In the meantime, I am struggling to practice non-attachment.

After three years of planning, dreaming, scheming, yearning, and plain hard work, we finally have the house of our dreams, in our beloved Adelaide Hills.

And my husband has a fantastic new job... in Melbourne.

Once again, life is teaching me that you can have it all, just not necessarily at the same time.

Leaving friends, colleagues, school and our home, Birk Knott, will be sad and difficult.

But we are so fortunate and excited to be landing in Melbourne, where tremendous friends and precious family await, along with all sorts of new adventures and opportunities for exploring.

Onward!

But first, some "Before & After" snaps of our little project.

It makes me smile.

Maybe it could make you smile - if you're in the market for a tree-change, let me know!

It's a magical spot.


Before

Outside: yellow bricks, small aluminum-framed windows, and lots of lattice-work pergolas.

Inside: a rabbit's warren, with too many doors leading into lots of pokey rooms and a front door that entered directly into the family room where the refrigerator sat. 

The house was oriented towards the garden (good), but the windows were too small to take in either the views or the sunlight (bad).  

Come winter, we could see our breath indoors.

Cooking involved banging the oven into life (think: old t.v. with rabbit ears and poor reception).  Reaching the top cupboards was tricky if you were less than seven feet tall.

The "Big Room" was like a church hall - great for a crowd, but too vast for every day use.

However, if things inside left a bit to be desired, the surroundings - from every angle and in every season - more than made up for it.  

In truth, we had bought a garden, not a house.

The original owners and sole owners (until we came along) had dedicated themselves to creating a miraculous botanic park.

A house, we reasoned, could be built or transformed in the space of a year (or two).  

Twenty-foot-high camellias take a lifetime.  And someone had already spent theirs making this incredible place.

Plus, in summer, there was the pool.  Built-in racing lines were the cherry on the cake - we have a competitive family!

So, as an interim measure, we painted the outside white.  

White paint is a miracle in a can.  (Blue hydrangeas were our wedding flowers - when we first saw the house, it seemed like an omen.)

And then we got busy planning....  

After

Our goal was to make the house as special as its setting, while introducing a few modern creature comforts (like heating!) along the way.  

(view from the study)

I'm smiling.  (Not least because the hydrangea, though not visible above, will be back soon.)

This is the result of a fantastic collaboration with three enormously talented individuals: our architect, David Burton of Williams Burton, his associate Sophia Leopardi, and our builder, Rocky Cirroco.  It is impossible to imagine achieving a similar outcome without any one them, or the delightful, dedicated teams that support them.  

All renovations come with their challenges, but, ultimately, this was one of the most creative, energizing and gratifying experiences of my life.     

And it is nice to feel that we will leave this very special place a little more special than we found it.

Grey Kitchen

I love black kitchens.  

I love white kitchens.  

But I had never considered a grey kitchen.  

Until now.  

(p.s. only five days of school holidays left.)

I apologize for losing the link to the site where I saw this, but I think the images were originally from Canadian Country Living.  

No-Knead Bread

For a long time, I have dreamed about being the kind of mother who fills the house with the smell of fresh baked-bread, and all the calm and tranquility that aroma suggests. 

As it turns out, I am the kind of mom who considers it a personal triumph if everyone gets to school wearing the right uniform on the right day. 

The need to prepare dinner comes as a daily shock - "What?  Again?  Didn't I just do that yesterday?"  

And, too often, the tenor of the house, or at least the woman running it, tends towards shrill, not chill.  

But, as of 3 weeks ago, I do bake bread.  

'Little Red Hen bread', as WB dubbed it, on sight.  Not because I made it myself (though I did - it was 10 o'clock at night) but because it looks exactly like the illustration in our Little Golden Book.

In fact, it is Jim Lahey's No-Knead Bread, which I have been meaning to attempt it ever since reading about it The New York Times, three years ago.  

I wish I could say that three years on the to-do list is a personal record, but it isn't. 

Mr. Lahey's recipe calls for straight white flour, but, in deference to DB's wheat intolerance, I substituted spelt flour, which accounts for the density and color.  

It was spelt, but it was delicious.  

I suspect if you slather enough butter and jam on anything, it will taste delicious, but this loaf disappeared fast.  

And, it was just as easy as Mr. Lahey promised it would be.  So easy, that half-way through my first bite I was fantasizing about making it every other day.  

That was three weeks and one loaf ago.  

But I live in hope.  

Who Loves Ya, Baby?

I am one of those people who is incapable of articulating to hairdressers what I am after by way of cut and color.  

No matter how many catch phrases I throw around ("warm, not cool", "caramel, not ashy", "shaggy bob", "layers") we wind up on different pages and I come away thinking it would be easier to grab a lolly pop and pull a Kojak.  

Unless, I refer to an image and successfully explain what it is I like about said image.  

In which case, I sometimes come away with a glimmer of hope, and am spared that agonizing pause, as friends who see me after a visit to the salon struggle to collect themselves, before choking out, "Have you had your hair done?!" 

We're getting to crunch time with our renovation plans, and this week I must explain to our architect what it is we want our home to look like.  

Lest the painful lessons of so many failed hairdoos go unlearned, I am sifting through my inspiration file for visual aids.  

I do not want a Kojak kitchen.  

You'll note a theme: brick tiles, stainless steel, white and black.  

Let me know what you think.

These shots constitute two sides of the same kitchen.  I love the white brick tiles, black cabinetry and marble bench tops and industrial strength appliances, plus the "word of the day."  Via Martha Stewart Living.

Love the stove and the tiles.  Dislike the lights, cabinetry and draw pulls - too country.  Via House Beautiful.

Love the mod feel, the zany fabric, the shots of color and the way it is both clean and warm at the same time - modern without being sterile or cold.  Full of personality and a sense of humor.  Via House Beautiful.

I want that stove set up.  Badly.  And the hood.  And the tiles.  And the warmth.  Love it.  Via House Beautiful.

Again, I have a hardware fetish.  It's all about the stove, with the red dials.  And the tiles.  Via House Beautiful.

Love, love, love the vintage letters.  And the message.   Via Brown Turtleneck Sweater.

Kate Spade's Manhattan apartment kitchen.  Kate Spade - need I say more?  More black and white, which punches of green - my favorite color scheme.  Love the floor - but would you get dizzy??  Via Brown Turtleneck Sweater.

More amazing vintage letters.  Via Brown Turtleneck Sweater.

Orange stove.  Love it.  Black bench tops with white cabinetry and wooden floor - all good.  Via little green notebook. 

Too masculine?  Too dark?  Via little green notebook.