A paler shade of white

Two and a half weeks back at school and I'm afraid it can be avoided no longer. The time has come. No more walking by at an accelerated rate. No more averting my eyes at the crucial moment.  After a cessation of almost 8 weeks, hostilities have been resumed. Once more I have to engage with  ...... (imagine the strings from 'Psycho' here) .....  the school shirts!!!!

This is a war that has been waging from the moment the boys started school. In the beginning I had the upper hand. Admittedly that was down to the fact that I cheated slightly. I mean honestly, what mother in her right mind is going to stick with white polo shirts (White. On small boys. Seriously?), if after a little minor rule bending she can go with sky blue? (It looked better with the navy uniform too if you ask me.)

My complacency was short lived. Lines were redrawn the moment we moved from polo shirts to shirts and ties ( well that and the fact I can only flout rules for so long before guilt plays havoc with my conscience) 

Since then it has been a constant battle between my desire to keep shirts white, and the shirts desire to revert to what I can only assume is their natural state - a shade most definitely not white. 

Sifting through the washing pile I'm reminded of an advert in the 1980's when Dulux were launching a new range of paints 'White with a hint of...'(here it is just in case you have no idea what I'm talking about) 
Only this particular palette consists of white with a hint of Biro, white with a hint of grass, white with a hint of yogurt, white with a hint of - actually, I'd rather not know what that's a hint of.

So how do I beat the grime? Having opted for easy iron poly-cotton and as I'm trying to do my bit for the environment the good old fashioned boil wash is out of the question. Fortunately I have reservists on hand. 

I think I have tried every stain remover ever marketed, even some  made from recipes found in books of household hints and tips , in a bid to be victorious  Yes, there have been a few casualties on the way. A handful of collars may have succumbed to an over zealous scrubbing (who knew necks could be so grubby?) and a number of small holes may have appeared when I left the paste on for too long (that recipe was never used again!) but most have come out of the skirmishes if not pristine at least intact. I would say at the moment the score is even.

So it is with a heavy heart I once more join the fray, armed with Ariel, a vanish bar and a packet of good old Dr Beckmann's Glo' White. Who, I wonder, will win this year?

'Once more into the bleach, dear friend once more

or dose the wash up with the vanish fluid '  

The vagaries of doors

'When one door closes another one opens.'

I've heard that phrase many times and having lived in both old and new houses that don't seem to have had one single well fitting door between them I'm willing to believe it on a purely literal basis. Some doors have indeed opened when one has closed, some have closed only to pop open again while others haven't closed at all. And of course there was that memorable occasion when one closed so adamantly that my exit from the room had to be made via the window ( since that involved dangling from the sill while my feet frantically scrabbled to reach stairs underneath it has to be said it was not the most dignified departure I've ever made!)

On a metaphorical basis however I'm not too sure. My good crafting buddy is a firm believer in the phenomena, that there is indeed a plan to life and that opportunities present themselves according to a pre-arranged schedule. I'm more inclined to think that as in my aforementioned window episode when life closes a door you simply look for another way out, ways that have always been there but up until that point might not have been considered an option. 

Coincidence, serendipity, providence, fate. Whatever school of thought sits most comfortably with you there is no denying that timing is the key, that you generally see that other door handle just when you need it most. 

Last year I decided to give craft fairs a bit of a break. Although I had a reserve of stock I hadn't been active in my workroom for months and didn't know when I'd get back to making so signing up for events didn't seem like the most sensible thing to do. There was nothing for it but to pack up my wee mindings and leave them to languish under my worktable until I got back on the craft fair circuit.
Weeks after making that decision a friend informed me that a new shop was opening in Moffat - a craft shop to be precise. A craft shop that was to sell craft supplies and...wait for it...goods made by local crafters! What were the chances?

Crazy Daisy Crafts opened it doors in April last year but it was another 2 months before I plucked up the courage to approach the owner and enquire about shelf rental. Turns out Ann, the owner, had been about to contact me having picked up my business card at an event the previous year. So I rented a shelf for a month and would pop in every now and again to see how things were going. 

Now I'm not quite sure about the next sequence of events but I have a sneaking suspicion I may have taken advantage of Ann when she was in a vulnerable position. Only weeks after taking on the shop with a business partner she was left to run the place on her own. Juggling a family while trying to run a full time business can't be easy and during one of my visits a conversation to that effect may have led to me suggesting I worked one day a week in return for shelf space. I'd like to say my offer was purely altruistic, wanting to help Ann out, but if I'm honest it was more as a lifeline for me. Fortunately she took me up on the offer.

So I go in every Monday, do the window display, move stuff around to keep Ann confused, offer help, advice and chit-chat (whichever is required) and generally revel in all things crafty. Crazy Daisy and its cosy kitchen table has become an oasis of calm and creativity. I'm not back to full blown crafting yet so it seems as if craft fairs are still on hold, a fact that isn't really bothering me. My crafting buddy says thats because everything happened according to plan, that I am where I'm meant to be. All I can say is I like the view through this door, and it beats being stuck in a hall! 

Out of Hibernation

Soft sounds of movement come from deep within. Faint rustling while a body shifts and limbs extend. Muted rasps as the tingles of waking skin are relieved. A deep, sharp inhaled breath followed by a long, audible exhale. A stretch, a scratch, a yawn. Hibernation is over.

A lumbering form emerges from the opening , blinking in the vernal sun. Sniffing the air it steps into the light , shaking off any lingering languor. Definitely faster than a tortoise, hopefully less prickly than a hedgehog, probably not less hairy than a bear! (Okay that might be a bit of an exaggeration but surely I'm not the only one guilty of lapsing in the razor/waxing department during winter!)



Hello! I'm back. My self imposed ( but much needed ) hibernation is at an end. Since all other dormant species in my garden are making a comeback I figured it was time I made a move too. Green shoots are appearing everywhere and since, regardless of the snow and sub zero temperatures, the frogs have returned to the pond I consider it to officially be Spring ( even if I'm still wearing 3 layers of wool in attempt to keep warm). The lethargy of the winter months is slowly dissipating and I'm looking forward to creating. Yay!

Of course that would be a lot easier if my workroom hadn't been commandeered by the man of the house in my absence. When it became apparent that I wouldn't be able to gain access to my worktable without scaling a mountain of Bass cases, amps and guitar stands or navigating my way through a forest of wood I decided a tactical retreat was in order. I grabbed a box of scraps and retired to my favourite chair in front of the fire (yes I know its Spring but remember those temperatures I mentioned earlier?) and began to cut and fold. 

And fold, and fold, and fold....

Each time I delved into the box I came up with another favourite fabric and possible colour combination. 

 I played around with different shapes.... 

...and sizes...

...and all in all got a bit carried away.

Ahh, it's soooo good to be back :o)

Now I just need to catch up on what everyone else has been doing. Blogland here I come!

A Cupboard Full of Yesterdays

'A cupboard full of yesterdays' was a phrase I heard used by Neil Oliver last year in a documentary about Scottish explorer Thomas Blake Glover. It was such an evocative expression it stuck in my head for days. When the writing group I was a part of met in February I put it forward as a prompt. Some wrote short stories, some poetry and there was even a one act play. It was quite intriguing to discover how differently everyone had interpreted the words.  

Because I alway find it quite difficult to post at this time of year ( I've said before I don't really 'do' resolutions so I can't write about that and as I wasn't particularly productive last year I can't put together any sort of crafty retrospective ) I thought I'd cheat slightly and use my offering to the group since it could be seen, if you screw up your eyes - tightly , as some sort of new seasons aim.   

Clearing my cupboard 

It's time.

Time to discard

the ratty, matted oversize jumpers of failed relationships

and missed opportunities,

to dispose

of the long heavy coat of regret.

Time to cast off

shapeless smocks of intended snubs 

and imagined slights,

to shed

the old shabby robe of self doubt.

It is time.

Time to get rid

of skin tight suits of expectation,

black bin bag

the track pants of low self esteem.

Time to let go

of the dull, drab tones of disappointment

and Parental dismay.

It.

Is. 

Time.

Time to make room

for Jessica Rabbits red sequined dress

Happy New Year to you :o) I hope its a good one.

Return of the Make

It's back! 

My creative mojo finally returned, just in time for a Christmas crafting frenzy.  

Unfortunately its arrival was not accompanied by any great fanfare. There were no bells or whistles. No purple peacocks, white Persian monkeys or dancing elephants. Not even one single spurt of excess energy to herald its homecoming.

Rather it slunk in very much like an errant youth fully cognisant of the upset its absence had caused and the lecture it would receive on its return

"You left without saying goodbye. You didn't call, you didn't write, not even a post card! I had no idea when you'd be back"

So it was a rather sullen mojo I was faced with. One that was not prepared to face the tundra like conditions downstairs ( I swear there is some bizarre space/time rift going on down there and my workroom is actually a wormhole to the arctic), sit behind a sewing machine for hours on end or do more than was absolutely necessary to get by. 

Was I daunted? Heck no! I'm the mother of teenage boys and do battle with sullenness on an almost daily basis, and usually win.  No workroom? Fine, I just brought some bits and bobs in to the house. No sewing machine? Okay, I concentrated on smaller projects that could be done by hand. Just enough to get by? Oh that one was easy, it's exactly my philosophy on dusting. 

A small table by the fire became my temporary workspace (as did most of the surrounding area, I'm not the tidiest of crafters!), and the last couple of weeks has seen a flurry of festive fabric, felt, buttons, beads and ribbon( lots of ribbon, lots and lots and lots...). I made more of the ever popular angels, fairies and  pinecone pals  to sell in a local craft shop and some  silk flower pendants  as gifts ( sorry you're having to look at old pictures but I've misplaced the camera...again) Eventually, faced with my constructive response to it's state of pique my mojo began to be a bit more co-operative, even offering a few flashes of inspiration once in a while.

My take on the 'Tomte'. With unravelled wool hair, a needle felted nose and a jauntily angled hat he sits on a peg so you can clip him anywhere ( I eventually found the camera!) 

However time is marching on, or about to end if you are that way inclined, and in a bid to prepare for Christmas I have had to relinquish my spot by the fire. Crafting is once more put on hold, though hopefully not for as long this time. I'll take the opportunity now to wish you a very happy festive season.

Merry Craftmas

A bit like Jackanory

I feel I've got you here under false pretences. I started this blog with craft in mind, both my own endeavours and the myriad of talented others in blogland, but I'm afraid there has been a dearth of all things crafty these past nine months. 

I've not been productive in my work room for some time and while I've made a number of comments on that fact they've been rather oblique as to the reason why. Blogland is mighty big and I've always felt that the only way to maintain some semblance of privacy is to keep personal information to a minimum. However in this instance I'm getting just a bit tired of all of the pussyfooting around and think its time I spill the beans (and drop some clichés while I'm at it).

So if you have time I'd like to tell you a story. Are you sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin.

It was a dark and stormy night! I've always wanted to start a story that way but actually, no, it wasn't. It was a rather ordinary Friday evening in the middle of January and I was sitting in front of the fire reading a book. A few chapters in I was having difficulty focusing on the page and decided perhaps I should be wearing at least one of the pairs of glasses I have scattered around the house, especially since I'm constantly reminded that that's what I got them for. 

So I stood up to go and get them .... and almost fell over. Whoa! Must have stood up a bit too quickly. I waited for a moment to regain my equilibrium. But it would seem it had left the building without informing anyone and I was left to stagger from the room like a bagatelle. Don't you just hate it when the minimalist effect you were going for leaves you with very little furniture to hold on to ?   

I was reminded of a similar occasion a number of years ago when a virus of the inner ear had knocked my balance off and prevented me from attending a belly dancing taster session (probably a blessing for all concerned!), and assumed it was the same thing. Fortunately I had an appointment the next week with my GP as my arm, the one that had bothered me last year, was bothering me again. So for the next three days I bounced around the house holding on to whatever I could, if I could see it clearly that is, or crawled when it felt safer than standing up (the boys thought that was hilarious).  On Tuesday the doctor confirmed my diagnosis and I left with a prescription that would see me upright and functioning again. Yay! 

Two days in and the medication didn't appear to be doing much but I knew sometimes these things could take a while. I stumbled to bed that night, washed my face, brushed my teeth, and spat the toothpaste on the floor. What!!!. Well I say spat, what I actually mean is sprayed since my mouth had lost its ability to spit. I would have whistled at this discovery, but I couldn't do that either!

Stupidly I went to work the next morning where I got an ear bashing from my good friend about my lackadaisical approach to the whole thing and a promise from me that I would go back to the GP that afternoon. By the time I got there the entire right side of my face had stopped working, including my eye. Oops! Needless to say a trip to A&E was immediately organised.

After the usual poking, prodding, and the same questions being asked by at least half a dozen different people I was sent for a CT scan. Much to my delight while it proved that I do indeed have a brain (something that had been brought in to question on more than one occasion) it also confirmed that there was nothing else in there taking up space it shouldn't be. They would have liked to have done an MRI to double check but as it was the weekend it would have to wait. I was allowed to go home and told an appointment would be sent out to me.

I was pretty much confined to Moffat for the next three weeks. I couldn't drive anywhere, I always feel its best to stay off the road when you can't decide which white line you should be keeping to the left of. When walking I needed to keep my hands free (thats when I discovered I didn't have any bags that went across my body, what an oversight for someone who makes handbags!), and out to the side slightly to maintain balance. I looked rather like an overgrown penguin and drew some curious looks (and the conclusion in some quarters that I'd taken to drink!). I was still able to go to work, the shop being narrow enough to navigate with plenty to hold on to. 

I took to wearing an eye patch, as much to alleviate the effects of the double vision as preventing scaring babies and small children with my static, unblinking eye. I wish I could say I looked as good as Daryl Hannah but without the sword,...

.... or Gabrielle without the voice......

but in reality I probably looked more like Eli Wallach...without the stetson 

I tried to make light of things. There were numerous quips about where I'd parked my Galleon and what my parrot was doing. At home the boys delighted in swaying from side to side when talking to me, just to see my eye NOT move. There were smiles, there were laughs, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a tad worried.

The day of the MRI dawned, and wouldn't you know it it was the day of Ice. There was a mild panic that morning as it was proving impossible to get down off our hill. With the help of my good friend a plan was hatched and I made it to my appointment.

The following Tuesday, Valentines day, the boys birthday, I got a call from one of my GP's asking if I could come down to the surgery. Oooh, you know its not a good sign when they won't tell you news over the phone. Long story short the MRI showed lesions in some areas. Lesions that were indicative of MS. Multiple Sclerosis. 

Later, my husband and I sat in the car. He let out one short, succinct expletive, squeezed my hand until the bones squeaked and then we set off home. I shut myself in the bedroom , called my sister and then my friend. Strangely, telling them, consoling them, letting them know that I was okay made me feel back in control. A quick cold cloth to the face and it was time to continue with the boys birthday celebrations. Well that's what you do isn't it?

A few weeks later a consultation with my neurologist (a rather handsome young man that had me feeling like a Harry Enfield character), suggested there was a possibility that my symptoms were caused by a simple viral inflammation. A lumber puncture would be required for a definitive diagnosis. Oh goody! What? Were we going with the good news bad news scenario here? 

By mid April there was no doubt. MS it was then. A few intensive treatments had my balance restored, my eyesight almost back to rights and my arm more or less behaving itself. I started driving again in June. Life is pretty much back to normal. I administer medication every week to hopefully slow down its progress and any further relapses, but other than that I'm not thinking about it too much. 

I had hoped that once the physical symptoms had been resolved I would get back to my work room but it seems my crafting mojo is still on sabbatical. Please bear with me. I'm sure, like Arni, it will be back :o)   

Flatpack Frenzy

Space... the constant bugbear.

These are my voyages down the aisles of Ikea. My continuing mission : to explore strange new shelves, to seek out new drawers and new storage solutions, to no doubt buy what everyone’s bought before.

You may remember last year I posted about my addiction to flat pack furniture and no.1 sons new bed . Apart from the struggle I had changing the sheets (stechie me!) I'd discovered, whilst dismantling it, that the solid construction of the bed base had reduced airflow through his memory foam mattress, resulting in the formation of mould/mildew (ewww!). Fortunately this wasn't a problem for no.2 son as his mattress was an old spring one and seemed to cope with the limited ventilation. 

When those very springs began to interrupt his sleep, poking him with a relish I find difficult to attribute to an inanimate object but have his assurance was indeed the case ,it became apparent that a new mattress was required. Subtle hints were dropped that he would quite like a 'comfy' one like his brother (okay not so subtle really)

With last years discovery in mind I eventually managed to persuade him to give up his old bed in favour of something more practical, and less likely to become a biological hazard. A new slat based bed was promptly ordered, although I'm afraid my coaxing didn't go as far as getting him back to floor level. Another high sleeper it was then, very similar to this one (I would have taken a picture of his but I finished it quite late and couldn't find the camera. He had 'colonized' it by the following day and I couldn't bring myself to post such a horrific image). 

  

His two chest of drawers fit neatly underneath but with the loss of the integrated wardrobe, shelving and desk there was a distinct lack of storage, many items having to languish on the floor. One shopping trip, two days and a case of screwdriver fatigue later...... 

...two new chest of drawers for his brother (my formula for a happy household: never give to one without giving something, what is not important, to the other. Besides I needed his old drawers in the laundry room)...   

....a mini wardrobe on wheels....

...two small drawer units for all of the various little "things" they usually keep in their pockets(*shudder*)...

...and last by no means least, a shelf unit that should accommodate most of no. 2 sons books, those that until now have been doing rather wondrous impersonations of the leaning tower of Pisa. I'd had to admit defeat by this time ( my arm went in a huff) and the boys actually helped me with its construction, even followed the instructions for a while (leading me to believe it's not genetic, it's learned behaviour!)

So was the mammoth flat pack session a success? As far as having my jigsaw fix for the year goes then yes it was. Did it give them a space for everything so that everything could be in its place? No, of course it didn't. It would appear that teenage boys deem any horizontal surface a suitable storage solution, even if they have to walk around, over or through it. Who knew?!