A ladybird bicycle bell I painted for my friend, using leftover acrylic paint from ten years ago in LaSalle!



The 'can't go wrong' pot o' succulents I re-potted as a giftie.


With more time on my hands this Christmas, I have noticed a lot more of my pressies to friends have become handmade. Not because I'm crafty, no, but hopefully because it shows more lurve has been put into it. And because it's got that simplicity and honesty that many mass-manufactured products sold in most stores seem not to have.

Less pretense, more suspense (when you don't know if the present is going to fall apart before or after giving your friend!).

Wish I could say that I got this, but no.
But why is it I couldn't take my eyes off their muttering, despite not having the foggiest?
It scared me, and made me want to look. At the same time.

Could it be, because it's Ssssssnape?

:) hee.

Whoa. When was November? I think this blog is functioning very well without me. So much determination goes into perpetuating things! No wonder it's easier to let things fall into decay and disarray. Mind you, I meant the blog. And, just, stuff in general. And also, a very important part of our landscape: the kopitiam. Into disarray.






This kopitiam is meaningful to me: significant, life-changing decisions were made here. Now, it is no longer. The nice couple running it have decided to call it a day, after 50 years of doing this for their livelihood. Should I be happy for them; yes. Should I be wistful this physical remnant of my life has been destroyed; yes. Should I be disappointed there is to be no one to take over this mom-and-pops kopitiam; yes. What gave the older folk the guts to stick their neck out, establish a small coffee shop, start to scrape together a living whilst providing a memory their customers cherish? And why is it so easy to hesitate, to stop in my tracks, to not want to test the water and try to stand on shaky legs?

Perhaps, at the end of it all, it is easier to do nothing. To sit. To wait for something to happen. For anything. For despair. For Godot. For nothing.