An open letter to Leafie + Lize fans

To our Mum’s, siblings, partners and two other friends who read this blog,

We want to sincerely apologise for letting our commitment to Leafie + Lize slip over the past months. We have become distracted and and in turn we have let our dedication to this sweet little blog slide. It’s not that we don’t have a good excuse, we totally do. First of all there was a wedding (ahem, the wedding of the century), work (boring, but as per usual we have to do it), then Summer, then Santa came, then an engagement, then a long distance relationship, then the end of summer (cue depression), then a holiday to Tasmania and more work in between. So, obviously we have lots to update you on and the excuses are wearing thin.


So, here is to a blog filled 2011 (yes, we know its March, give us a break will ya?), to being inspired and to finding the positive in the everyday.

somewhere on the south coast...

Why do we 'I Do' ?

I’m getting married in 5 days. Yep. I’ll be a wife this time next week and I can’t wait.

It wasn’t until a couple of weeks after Owbags and I got engaged that I actually starting thinking seriously about what marriage means.

In our society, it’s every girls dream to get married. We fantasize about pretty dresses and prince charming but in all our dreaming we forget to seriously consider the act of marriage and what it actually means to us. That seems to be the boring part.

Today marriage is becoming a lot more of an event rather than a serious lifetime commitment. Over the past two decades, divorce rates have skyrocketed and the wedding industry is booming out of control.

No doubt there’s a heap of love involved but I do wonder how seriously tying the knot is being taken these days. As soon as he pops the question, there’s no time to ponder whether you can really see yourself with this man forever because you’re way too busy rolling out the lifetime dream of tulle, sappy love songs and marzipan.

Today, I think choice and freedom can be blamed for these ironic facts. We choose to be happy and we can be. If we’re unhappy in a marriage then we’ll end it. In a society of people who want quick fixes and to work less with the same rewards, these statistics are kind of inevitable.

But can someone please tell me where the real love has gone? The love that will stick it out through thick and thin, for richer for poorer in sickness and in health. The love that can see through the hard times, can find romance in the small things and remembers all the reasons you fell in love in the first place?

Owbags and I have been together for a long while now and I think we’ve had our fair share of ups and downs to test us. However I’ll never be that smug as to say that we’ve finally made it, nor are we kidding ourselves into thinking that the rest of our lives are going to be peachy because we are going to exchange rings and make some promises.

All I know is that I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with my best friend. The one who has seen me at my worst on a dodgy hostel floor in Nicaragua, the one who doesn’t mind if I eat the best part of his dinner and the one who makes me feel at home wherever I am in the world. I know that the future holds lots of challenges and bucket loads of joy and I cant wait for either because I’ll be sharing them with my husband.

The Blue Line

I have a love hate relationship with my journey home each day. It’s love because I get to go home to my little family of dog and boyfriend. It’s hate because I have to get on the train to get there. Ok, hate is such a strong word. Like any good relationship I go through passionate highs and lows with the train. There are moments when I feel inspired, when the sun glints through the dirty windows onto the grafitti and makes it seem like anything is possible. Then there are days where it is so depressing you want to get off at the nearest stop. You know them…the days when it’s raining, you don’t get a seat and the man who gets off at Sydenham is letting his umbrella drip into your shoe.

One of the factors that contributes to my mixed feeling about this mode of transport is the way people look and act when they're on the train. To be frank, they look dead sad. They don't make eye contact. They pretend that other people aren't there. They leave their bag on the spare seat knowing that someone else could sit there. Since when did it become hard to be polite to other people?

The other half of me hangs onto to the train ride for those tiny sparks of life. There are days when you see people give up their seat for others, when the baby in the stoller giggles his way through 5 stops and when you get a seat and can read your book the whole way into the city.

I also hold onto some optimisn about my train rides. It reminds me of being in a long distance relationship with my boyfriend. For a while there we did 8 hour train rides to see each other. It was dreadful and it was romantic...the anticipation, the dreamy stares out the window, the excitement at the end of the train ride. There was also this one time when a dreadlocked hippy from Byron fell asleep on my shoulder. AWKWARD. Another night I sat next to a nice boy and chatted for an hour or so. When I woke up in the morning he was gone. There was a note left under my food tray with his name, number & a nice to meet you message. Of course, I never called him, but it just shows what can happen when you reach out and acknowledge people. I am sure I wouldn't have got a note if I had put my ipod on and pretended he didn't exist.

So next time you're on the train try one of these: Give up your seat for someone, Smile at someone random for no reason, Sing out loud to the music in your ear phones, Get up to let the person next to you out, Help a lady with a stroller. Just DO SOMETHING. Because who knows? Maybe we all feel the same way about the train and we're all too scared to make the first move.

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Women of Letters

When was the last time you wrote a letter? Like, a real letter needing a 60c stamp and written with a pen? This doesn’t include birthday or Christmas cards either, cheaters.

I was about 13 I think. Dad got a promotion and we moved away from the little coastal town I had spent the previous 12 years of my life. For a 13 year old girl this is like, so totally devastating.

So my friends and I wrote letters to each other.  The letters mainly included information on who was new BFF's with who or that Rodney threw a half eaten apple at Anna’s head – he SO likes her.

Sometimes we would send each other friendship bands that we had crafted ourselves and at some point we went through a stage where we’d put the weirdest thing possible in an envelope and send it. I remember receiving a smear of toothpaste with a note that read “try this new toothpaste mum bought me - dare ya to lick it”

A while ago we went to a Women of Letters event at the Red Rattler in Marickville. It bought together some of Sydney’s brightest musicians, writers, and actresses to celebrate the lost art of letter-writing and share a letter they had penned specifically relating to love.

Our faves were Claudia Karvan and Sally Seltman. Claudia because well… she’s Claudia and wrote a letter to love itself. She read it aloud like she was narrating a scene from Love My Way. It was beaudiful.

And Sally because she sang Beyonce’s Halo in a love tribute to catchy pop songs. She had everyone singing along with her, which was quite entertaining in itself.

Hand written letters needing a 60c stamp truly are a lost art. Which is why I’m so glad I kept every single one that I received when I was 13. They’re all in a box in my old bedroom and every few years I read them. Each one has been designed with love hearts or flowers with pretty colours and personality.

Nothing compares to a good old tangible letter, does it?

Poppy the Psychic

We went to see a psychic called Poppy yesterday. She is in Newtown at the back of her store that sells second hand fashion. Not just any fashion, but the outlandish type, with bright colours, big shoulder pads, shiny fabric and furs all crammed into one room. You have to take the trip through this den of pre-loved clothing to make it out the back to her psychic room. It's worth it. It's like going to see a therapist and being able to talk about yourself for a whole hour. No guilt involved. She is engaging, kooky, and wears some very interesting eye makeup. She told us good stuff, some weird stuff and also some stuff that didn't really make sense at all. But we loved it all the same...

Have we mentioned that we love Newtown? Being there gave us an excuse to skulk around the backstreets with a camera. There is so much inspiration....goths, drag queens, grafitti, rubbish, fashion, dogs, music, environmental causes, markets....we love it all. We love Newtown.

If you want to see Poppy she is at 22 Enmore Rd in Newtown. At the back of her store Purple 22. Duh.

funbooth, will you marry me?

I went to a wedding on Friday. It was just lovely. The bride and groom were so happy. Everyone cried, including the men. It was a day that celebrated the love between the happy couple, but also the love they share with their families and the community they they come from.

Apart from enjoying the love in the room, it was also the place where I discovered the funbooth. It is a portable photo booth that you stand in, cue pose, have 4 photos taken, and then get cute little prints to take home with you. I can't really explain why, but I just love photos. All types. Any camera. This being the digital age, I love photos even more when I can hold them in my hand instantly. Polaroid cameras are on my current crush list. So this booth is really just a large version of a polaroid camera. Oh, and did I mention they had a suitcase of props to use as well? I basically wanted to keep going in it. all. night. long.

My sole mission in life is now to have a party that warrants hiring the funbooth. Is it wrong to want to get married just to have one?