Big Plans & High Hopes

I am absolutely in the most nesting of nesting moods, and am finding this full time worky thing is getting right in the way and scuppering my plans. Rubbish! But.....I can spend the dollar with the best of 'em, and so I guess it's absolutely completely necessary and must be attended. Urgh.

I'd quite like to be a cat some days

I could sleep in guitar cases, travel over chimney stacks, sleep in mixing bowls (?!), get wrapped in blankets.....

But I'd get tired of not having those useful opposable thumbs........

This blogger Mcdoogly thing is super new to me. I'm going to attempt to add a clever link today :) 

You ready? 

I have fallen a little bit in love with the blog Hettie Brown. I love her writing, her musings, her photos (oh my the photos), and her paper mâché critters. She attributes her inspiration to Julie Arkell....and has now inspired me. I long for a guardian of blankets. So....I'm going to have a go. Along with a zillion other projects my head is cooking up.

I'm gathering supplies for my big plans, in between the crazy nesting.

And I had a little eBay parcel arrive too. I love old coat hangers. I think this will be a marvellous addition to my 'space' when I finally persuade man to build me my desk out of an old stable door we've been keeping in the shed for an age. 

My mission this week, collecting newspaper. 

Did the link thing work. Am I in fact brilliant?

A Stitch In Time

I'm going to sound like I have absolutely no skill, and a terribly short fuse now after my last write, as I want to send out my frustration to the ether about my inability to use a sewing machine. I have a grand desire to be able to. My head bubbles over with ideas and inspiration and projects, and then they get backbenched because I lack the necessary knowledge to bring them to fruition.

I had my babies very early, in fact, I was round and glowing when I sat my A Level exams. Despite some pre-misconceptions, there was no accident, I simply just knew it was what my heart was made for, needed and very much wanted at the time. There's not an ounce of regret, and I am the proud 'owner' of two incredibly beautiful, thoughtful, clever, sensationally wonderful rugrats (well I call them rats, though it is a term of endearment that seems lost on the majority).....now 11 and nearly 15. 

In the last year, I've noticed a change. I'm slipping towards near redundancy on many levels. I have time.... Ok so we've swapped one lot of trials and tricky times for a different set of mascara'd trials and hormonal times, but it's easier. And I realised that I found it difficult when asked to list 10 things that interested me. Hmmmm. So what do I like? How do I spend my free time? Who is Jo? It became apparent that if and when I was in possession of aforementioned free time, I generally scrubbed the kitchen floor, sent old Wendy Washer off on another 40 degree cycle, and then gravitated towards the rats' bedrooms, for a sort and polish and tidy and rearrange. A little panic hit. I'm 14 years into this Mother stuff, and I don't have 14 more years ahead. Well, I have a lifetime, but not with them all dwelling in my nest. What will I do after? You know, after the fledgling flight? There'll be fewer bras drying from the handlebars of the vintage Triumph motorcycle that is currently parking in my dining room (whole other post/rant). I'll put hairspray down and not need to spend 40 minutes trying to find it again. It'll be where I left it!!!!! 

I won't go on too long. I've had tears, sulks, thoughts of another baby, and all manner of crazy reactions. I've given some good time to 'finding Jo' and had the odd success along the way. The crochet is cracked, the blogging.....well I've had a go. Next.....Sewing. I can't get away from it, it's a trick I need to tackle so that I can truly unleash my inner creative Jo'ness. As with the granny square and the knitted scarf, the sewing stopped 3 years ago at a cushion cover. It was old stinky hessian too which was probably the worst thing to start with.

Cute. Quite pleased. But beginner. Not a patchwork quilt. Couldn't even get a straight line. And man had to thread the darn thing as the instructions were missing.

I want to make gorgeousness. I want to take my linen finds and stitch a patchwork of them, to hang at the window for the sun to shine on. I'm writing to Santa to ask for a new machine that has instructions and can have its tension altered. I've been a super good girl, and so I'm hopeful. Until then, I'm hanging my linen at the window anyway. Man thought it had been put there to dry, and didn't seem all that thrilled to learn it was permanent temporary installation. Oh well. 

I've had a few good linen finds of late. Meant to be.

Proud To Be A Hooker

There are many many objects that hold my fascination. Tins, enamelware, jugs, fairy lights, wisteria that actually flowers, pastry that isn't crunchy and a tiny bit too solid, dogs that can be walked off the lead....and granny blankets. Lovely luscious, multi-coloured, multi-patterned, granny blankets. I tried knitting 2 years ago, with grand designs of making a patchwork blanket, but I can't work out how many stitches x rows makes a square, and then my casting off row always looks a bit loopy in comparison to the rest.....and so I made a couple of scarfs, and I quit when I looked at a pattern and realised with great sadness that they were written in a different language that didn't suit my impatient character. So I've spent money on them, because I wanted so desperately to be cuddled up in them, sitting on my rocker at the front of the house with a book, and tea in a china cup. 

I love my bought blankets, but they make me feel like a fraud, because I didn't stitch them myself. 

My job means I get to chat and drink tea with lots of old ladies on a regular basis, and I've had 3 different granny's attempt to teach me to crochet. Unsuccessfully. They went too fast, like some kind of yarn superhero, and thought it was surely obvious which hole to poke my hook back into. Errrr......

I got a 'how to' DVD given to me by the last 99 year old exasperated granny who tried to advise me. No joy. I threw my hooky toys out of the pram. 

Then came the push I needed. My cousin, who learnt to knit with me, and didn't master even the scarf, learnt to crochet, and sent me a very proud photograph over the www of a perfect, glorious, granny square. My competitiveness took over, and this became personal. So. Vodka. Hook. Wool. YouTube. And this happened.

And then this......

I bloody got it! It made more sense than any knitting shenanigans. With the old needles, if I dropped something, I struggled to fix it. If I put it down (to fetch more vodka), I couldn't work out where I was, or how many blasted rows I'd done (hence just looong scarves), but the hooking....I understood.

And it grows miraculously fast, which suits impatient Josephine to a tea. 12 days of obsessive hooking later, and I had completed my very own GRANNY BLANKET! Aside from giving birth to my girls (pain relief free I might add), this could be my very most proudest achievement.

One rugrat loves it, and has took up the hook herself and produced a beautiful square with absolutely no swearing or vodka. The other rugrat eyes it with the same look of despair she wears every time I bring home more junk/treasure. I told her that when I'm dead, it'll be her prize possession, and she'll hold it tightly and marvel at the love of her Mother in every stitch. She nodded.

If I can do it, anyone can do it, honestly. Again, though, I'm kind of in the same 'scarf' scenario.....I now need to progress to patterns, which again contain strange shorthand and language that makes me feel inferior, and a bit not clever, and let me know I'm a long long way from becoming a proper, fully fledged hooker. I want to make a tea cosy. I'm stocking up on earplugs for the family in prep. 

Blankety Days

So today was a bit of a strange old Saturday for all kinds of different reasons. The good start was that there was no alarm clock set for 6:15am this kinda grey, turning Autumny morning. My body woke me at 8:30ish, which is good, because I am particularly cranky if I feel the morning has slid past me in a rush of possibilities while my eyes were shut and my hands were idle.

Now it was strange because man was away fishing (in the rain, crazy boy), and both my girlies were at friends', and so the house was empty. Except for me, The Moo and the constantly hungry cats. Last week I has spied a mouldy old chip board sign for a village garage sale today, commencing 10am. This was my plan. I could feel the anticipation of treasure, waiting for me.....I could hear my house groaning "but I'm sort of full to bursting" and I ignored it, knowing I could always find a spot for a new old thing that I didn't need. 

After a false start, with a boring tale of a lost bank card and a call for 'Mum's Taxi Service', I left the house for a second time, a teensy bit anxious that I'd missed the first 40 minutes and possibly some thrifty witch had spied and taken what should have been mine (I had a bad experience at Newark Antique Fair last month.....*sobs). Before I reached the car, I saw a lovely gentle giant friend, who crossed the street with terrible news of his broken heart. My tummy turned, and my heart beat way up in my throat, and as I watched a tear trickle down his cheek, I recognised his terrible pain and lostness, and held my tears in only long enough to spare him the sight. Sitting in my car, I suddenly felt insanely grateful for my 'lot', and rang them all to tell them. On expressing my sad mood to man, he urged me to press on with the garage sale, which I did.  

I'm glad I did.

But I have thought about gentle giant ALL day, and want to dry his eyes.

I found lovely lovely wool blankets on my travels. These have all even laundered now, smell beautifully of softener (my addiction, or one of), and are drying on the airer overnight.

I couldn't pass up this chipped little jug either, at 30 Great British pence, and so rescued her to take on the hugely important role of 'The Keeper Of Knitting Needles'

On returning home, and feeling a bit humbled and grateful, I decided to mooch on into town and visit the second hand book stall in residence in my local church. In fact, St.Mary's quadruples up as a) Church, b) Bookshop, c) Coffee shop, d) Fairtrade Outlet.

Oh, and did I mention that the postman had been?

Life is good. Love is wonderful. And hurtful. And scary. We each make ourselves vulnerable in order to reap all the glories of love. I hope the giant heals. 

My babies both came home, we ate pasta and fresh crusty bread from the market.

And then I had to leave for the nightshift :( Which is quiteish so I could write to you :)

Strange Saturday

Making A Statement.....When Less Is More

So, I had a couple of brain waves. I thought I had better share them, as electronic proof in the future that they did actually occur once. You know, good ideas. I think I mentioned before that I had bought some china tea cups to give out instead of party bags? I hate party bags. HATE. Plasticky, gaudy and obligatory. My cups? Yes, I can go with that! I filled them with jelly beans and chocolate buttons, and secured them with Washi tape, and I was really most super pleased with how they turned out :) this is definitely one to do again.....or maybe jam jars?

Then, a very lovely friend of mine, having gone on a vintage hunt with me a few weeks ago and sussing out my taste....bought me this wonderful tennis racket press! I loved it instantly. I heard a few sceptics say "but what are you going to DO with it?!" Ha! Obviously they know me so little, for I am a genius (or quite good sometimes) at turning trash into treasure :)) Oh ye of little faith! 

TA DAAA! I got some lace tape out, and framed a photograph of this gorgeous girl, my Grandma...... Kathleen Therza Dunkley. (I stuck her to the tape with PVA glue, hope she doesn't mind!) 

I then proceeded to frantically search eBay for more racket presses! I mean, if there's inspiration, roll with it! Man then pointed out that sometimes, maybe, a statement is a statement and doesn't need repeating several times, thus diluting the message. So.....I took the advise on board, and just bought one more. :p I had grand designs of giving them as gifts, but again, many would be horrified to hang an old racket press on the wall next to the conventionally framed family portrait. I'll keep this one just for my house

When you start thinking though, allsorts can find another purpose! 

Vintage Tea Party

Here are some tea party pictures! I was obviously so engrossed in the cake that I forgot to include images from the actual day! Monkey had a fantabulous time, and is in love with her phone :)

Monkey Socks reading a birthday letter from that there Wiltshire!

Waiting for some guests to arrive so we could truss them up like 50's housewives! (Check out my Mother!) Sadly, we did get the curlers stuck in the hair of one guest, and had a panic stricken 40 minutes detangling in the kitchen and hoping and praying we wouldn't need the scissors!

We brought as much of the garden indoors as we could, and I was super pleased with the room in the end. Jo 1 - British Weather 0

Until next year...........

🎼I Can Sing A Rainbow

So, my youngest turned the big 11 on Sunday.....she was beyond excited! When she was 7, her elder sister got a mobile phone, and poor little Emily (aka Monkey Socks) sat in the bath and cried and cried because she couldn't have one. My man promised her through the tears that when she turned 11, she too could have a mobile phone, and so the day finally arrived, after three and a half years of waiting. Last years birthday was a complete wash out as it fell the day after my Dad's funeral. As I was his next of kin, all preparation fell to me, on top of my devastation, and so the birthday fell into the shadows. THIS YEAR HOWEVER, full steam ahead!
We decided to have a Vintage Tea Party in the garden for Monkey and three friends. Of course, after 4 days of glorious sunshine, the Great British weather took a turn for the worse and rained on my bright yellow optimistic flip flops! We'd strung bunting in the garden, bought a chintzy table cloth.....I got a cracking Glenn Miller album, and had rummaged through lots of charity shops for headscarves, to tie our guests heads up in like 50's housewives :) and sang please please let the sun shine! It didn't, so we brought everything inside, and had a fantabulous time anyway!
There of course is the matter of a fabulous birthday cake. Man and I have had competitions over birthday cakes, and one year he was requested to make the cake over me!! Yes, over their mother! What's that about!? I think I equalled him when I pulled off a cracking Red Velvet cake once, but he seems to bake an incredibly good and light sponge. Pfft. Whatever. Soooo, I had to come up with something extraordinary this year, to make up for last year, and to knock him and his Victoria sponge out of the baking water. In blog hopping, I found a great tuition in Rainbow cake from http://kerrycooks.wordpress.com/2012/04/02/rainbow-cake/ and set about it a few days before the actual birthday, as I felt a wee bit anxious leaving the masterpiece until the night before the big day. Oh and how great it's going to be :)) I baked all six brightly coloured layers, and wrapped them carefully before hiding them at the bottom of the freezer. I assembled it the night before, and hoped that there was no leaning tower of Pisa'ness, as I'd read this is one if the perils. I bought gel food colouring from eBay, as I heard that the liquid ones are far too weak and wishy washy, and I must say, they worked great. It was really exciting (like kid exciting!) waiting for Monkey to cut into it and find a rainbow!