The exuberance of youth

Sometimes I'm convinced I've aged in dog years. I don't exactly feel old, and in my head I've not changed for the last twenty years. It's just that every now and then I find myself saying or thinking things that have no right being said or thought by someone my age. By my mother, most definitely, but not by me.

I blame the children! Until they arrived I hadn't really paid much attention to time passing, only milestones like driving, voting and graduating being of note. My boys however provide a daily, tangible reminder of the years that are galloping by. For a time they kept me young. Caring for them in their formative years helped me remain physically and mentally active (twins understand very early on the concept of divide and conquer!) 

I could ascend a climbing frame or tree with the best of them. I thought nothing of scrambling over craggy terrain to get to the most interesting rock pool, spending the next half hour or so up to my elbows in frigid sea water as we tried to identify the inhabitants.

All done while keeping watch over them, protecting them and all the while getting the opportunity to see everything again through their eyes.

Now in their teens I, quite rightly, have taken a back seat in their escapades. They are stepping out on their own. That's as it should be. But subsequently it would seem that from this position I'm no longer party to their 'joie de vivre' , and that's what makes me feel old. No longer buoyed by their high spirits and air of discovery, I worry! Out of sight isn't out of mind. On the contrary, out of sight means a mind full of horrific possibilities. Every one of my concerns leads to yet another wrinkle, another furrow in the brow, another year that feels like seven.

This weekend I was informed of a camping trip they were planning along with four of their friends. Their excitement at the proposed outing was almost palpable. I, on the other hand wasn't quite so enthusiastic. I slipped in to overly cautious mother mode and bombarded them with questions, pitfalls and 'so help me' warnings.

"Who are you going with?", "Where are you camping?", "Who owns the ground?"

"It's raining, you'll get wet", "It's midge central out there, you'll be eaten alive", " You can't have a camp fire, there's no dry wood. How will you stay warm?"

"There had better be no cigarettes/drink involved or so help me.....!", "What? Some of your friends are girls? There had better be no nonsense or so help me.....!" 

You get the picture. 

I began to feel like an old biddy, my maternal caution making me sound like a killjoy. Fortunately the exuberance of youth prevailed. To put my mind at ease they camped in the garden (actually I'm not sure if I gave them much choice but the access to a toilet seemed to sway them) As the six of them started to unpack the tent I hovered anxiously at the back door, waiting to step in and take charge. My help wasn't required! They were carried along on a tide of good natured co-operation and in between laughing, spraying jungle formula on each other, and getting damp in the ever present drizzle, that none of them seemed to notice, the tent was erected.

That evening there was the occasional foray in to the kitchen for treats and hot chocolate. I have a feeling that was more an effort on their part to let me know they were okay than an actual need for sustenance. Their subtle attempt at saying, 'we're fine, we'll manage, you don't have to worry so much'. When did my boys start taking care of me?

As I sat watching the flickering lights of their citronella candles and wind up torches I wondered if there will ever be a time when I won't worry. A time when I can just let them go and enjoy themselves. A time when this age I'm feeling provides me with the attending wisdom, and the ability to relax.  

So what did I do as I sat pondering time, age and wisdom? I took up my embroidery! It seemed appropriate somehow. There was however no rocking chair involved, I'm only willing to take the image so far :o) 

Sinister or Dexter

Some nights I don't sleep very well. While a number of these wakeful episodes are the result of a very convincing impersonation of a traction engine performed by he who shall remain nameless, most often than not I am the one to blame. I can't seem to get my head to switch off and I start mulling over some seemingly inconsequential thing that has been put to the back of my mind earlier on in the day. 

One of these little brain teasers that is becoming a firm favourite (!) is 'does it make a difference if a bag is left or right handed?'. 

I wear my bag on my left shoulder, and quite frankly didn't really notice if anyone else did the same. That was until I started making bags myself. I design them around me, using myself as a model to work out sizes, strap lengths and overall usability. So of course my bags are going to be geared for a right handed, left shoulder user. Does it make a difference? Well, yes, I think it does.

This is one of my newest bags ( apologies for the poor lighting, but if I had waited for a sunny day I might not have posted this until September! )

worn on the left shoulder

worn on the right

The leather embellishment on the front of the bag is a brooch so it can be moved to any position ( a concession I made after a sleepless night!) but the one on the strap is fixed. Even the inside of the bag has been geared to wearing on the left. The key clip is at the front and the zipped pocket works from front to back.

I've done the same with this bag, the strap being adjustable as you are wearing it , but only if worn on the left shoulder.

I thought I'd cracked it with this one. No embellishment to dictate a front or back. The scarf handle can be tied on whichever way you please. Hurrah!

Oh, but what about the zip? Well, obviously I've put it in so that it can be opened front to back. After all, when you're in the middle of a busy street, rooting around looking for your purse  you don't want to give everyone access to the contents of your bag. 

But if you wear it on your right shoulder it zips from back to front, and the key clip is further away . A bit of a fiddle wouldn't you say?

And if you flip it around so the zip is once again operational from front to back the inner zipped pocket is now on the outer side of the bag. Aaargh!

So I asked the lovely Lisa Lam of U-Handbags for some help. She very kindly offered to do a straw poll on her FB page to discover whether most women were right or left shoulder users. Many thanks to all of those who took the time and answered what must have seemed like a strange question. 

There were right handers that wore them on the left, left handers that wore them on the right, lefties on the left, righties on the right and some that couldn't make their mind up, changing side depending on bag style or how heavy it was.

You would think with all of that information I would be able to say once and for all whether we wear our bags predominantly on the left or right and design them accordingly. I can't. Unfortunately it was almost a 50/50 split! 

He who shall still remain nameless came in to find me with my head in my hands, bemoaning the unfairness of it all. 

" You didn't really expect to arrive at a logical conclusion did you?" he said, "It is women you're dealing with after all."

Methinks the traction engine will be running in the spare room tonight!   

Back in the driving seat.

I've been trying to motivate myself these past few weeks and get back in to a making frame of mind. Working in the charity shop has given me access to some fabulous fabric finds, and while I can picture them as any number of new handbags or home accessories I can't quite dredge up any enthusiasm to sit behind my sewing machine and get creating. 

After arranging and rearranging my workspace for the umpteenth time, hoping that re-acquainting myself with all of my bits and bobs would help, I finally had to admit that I needed to find another way of spurring myself in to action.

Fortunately salvation was close at hand. During the reshuffling I had moved some boxes that contained unfinished projects. I hope I'm not alone in the habit of starting one thing then getting sidetracked on to something else. It's not a case of getting bored, just that the next project becomes so compelling that I have to stop what I'm doing and focus entirely on it.

Last year I had cut out some pieces of felt to be made in to key rings. I sold a few of the finished items at craft fairs but they were quite time consuming, being all hand sewn, so I decided to take them off my product list. Since my bags were my main focus I put the remaining pieces to one side with the intention of getting back to them at a later date.

Today proved to be that later date. 

Sequin headlights......

....and button wheels...

...a car key ring for car keys.

I enjoyed making this so much that I think I spent the entire time sewing with a smile on my face. I doubt very much I will ever sell them again but as my needle went in and out, in and out I could feel the joy of making, just for the fun of it, returning. 


So if you find yourself in a rut, or facing a bit of a road block, try going back to something familiar. Put yourself back in the driving seat and revisit a route you've taken before. You might be surprised at just where it may take you.
  

Sunglasses and pleasant surprises.

I'm not sure whether it's a sign of ageing or a result of living in one of the wettest towns in the country ( it's the clouds hitting the hills you see, no scenery without sacrifice! ) but I've noticed over the last few years that I start squinting at the merest hint of sunshine. 
That's not a problem in itself. A bit uncomfortable yes, what with the scrunched up facial muscles, saline irritated skin and limited visibility, not to mention the knowledge that the inevitable outcome will be crows feet you could plant potatoes in. No, my predicament comes when I try to alleviate the glare by the expedient use of a pair of sunglasses.


Do you believe in another dimension? A parallel universe running along side our own? I do. And I know that that universe is inhabited by Biro's, odd socks and sunglasses! There must be a wormhole somewhere in my home that allows those items in this world to seek freedom in the other one. It's the only explanation I have as to why I can never find a pair of sunglasses when I need them. I keep my prescription pair in the car and I can always lay my hands on them which is why I'm sure the wormhole is in the house.


So I've had to start getting sneaky. Instead of only having one pair of sunglasses, and risk leaving them in a room where they could find their way along an Einstein-Rosen bridge, I have loads of sunglasses dotted around the house, safe in the knowledge that if one pair escapes there will be another to take it's place on my nose.
   

That's all fine and dandy, but it doesn't always keep them safe, especially not when you put my memory in the mix.

We had a brief bright spell here in Moffat last week ( I say last week, I mean Friday! ) I grabbed my second favourite pair of glasses, the first having obtained their freedom a couple of weeks earlier ( a pity really, I loved those shades) and set off into town as I was covering a shift at the local charity shop. At the end of the day I couldn't find them for my return journey. Do you ever have a moment when you're not sure whether the thing you are remembering took place that day or whether you are remembering it from a previous occasion? Well I did. I wasn't sure whether I took my sunglasses off before I got to the shop, leaving them in the car, or when I got to the shop. A brief search had me convinced the car was their resting place, so of I toddled. It hasn't been sunny since so the whole episode slide from my mind.

I was working today and about half way through my shift I was called upon by an older lady to see something in our jewellery cabinet.

"I've just had my cataracts done dear and I need some darker glasses. Do you think I could have a look at that pair" she said pointing her arthritic finger.

Yup, you guessed it. There were my sunglasses, staring blankly back at me, almost daring me with their indifference. Well what could I do? I sold them to her of course. What are a few crows feet compared to protecting sensitive lenses.

That Karma thing must have been working though ( I'm not sure whether physics and religion really blend but for the purposes of this post they will) because later on that day another lady came in to the shop. We are on nodding and chit-chat acquaintance as she attends our craft fairs in Moffat. Anyway when I spoke to her at the fair in May she said she had some things I might be interested in. She found out I was volunteering in the shop so in she popped..... 

 ......with a potato bag full of wadding.........

......and over 7 yards of red wool fabric. Never underestimate the power of a good deed.


And keep an eye on your sunglasses at all times, they're tricky little devils!

Duuuck...!

Sometimes in this multi media age of ours it would be so easy to become jaded and cynical about life, the universe and everything in general. To be inured to war and poverty by an unending flow of negative images. To read every word with a jaundiced eye, having been told so many lies before. To become a voyeur, the lives of people we neither know or care about spread out for our delectation, to feast on their fame or misfortune.

So when I helped out yesterday at the annual Fun Day in Moffat I can't begin to tell you how good it made me feel to see people enjoying the simple pleasure that was 'The Duck Race'. For those of you that don't know a duck race involves an abundance of individually numbered ducks, a stretch of flowing water and a finishing line. You put your name against a number and if that's the duck that crosses the line first, you win. It's as simple as that!


People both young and old picked their duck and then lined up patiently along the river, waiting to cheer them on. At 3 o'clock the ducks were released.

Did I point out these are plastic ducks? With no ability to paddle, fly, or respond in any way to the vocal encouragement of the crowd on the river bank. Did that stop the crowd from cheering them on? No it didn't.

And that's what gives me hope. It's not possible to feel world weary in the face of such optimism and enthusiasm. Disenchantment flows away with the current. Watching everyone smiling and laughing at something as unpretentious as a few plastic ducks left me feeling content and uplifted. 

Although I'm not sure that's what Colin was feeling as he stood in the freezing water corralling the little yellow darlings!

A bit tardy

The white rabbit could have learned a thing or two from me this month. I know the saying is 'better late than never' but such platitudes do nothing to assuage my guilt at leaving things to the last minute.


I took part in another fabric swap organised by Ali at Very Berry Handmade last month. I was to send my parcel to Colette over at Colette Moscrop to arrive on her doorstep by the 27th May. Well, if it weren't for the fact that I recently had my birth certificate in my hand, I would be almost certain that 'procrastination' was my middle name because I didn't actually get around to posting it until yesterday. At this juncture I would happily point out all the events that have taken place in the past few weeks that have hindered me and prevented me from entering the post office ...... but I would be lying! Anything I attributed my tardiness to would just be a poor excuse, not a real reason.


What makes my delayed action more difficult to bear is that my swap bundle from Teresa at a time for stitching arrived almost 3 weeks ago!

My bundle from Teresa

A fantastic selection of fabrics 

And to rub salt in to the now gaping guilt wound I didn't get myself together enough to blog about it when it arrived.


I always have a bit of down time after a craft fair but I usually have another event lined up so can't take too much time out. Since I don't have another fair until mid July there is no sense of urgency to start making again. I think I may have relaxed just a bit too much.


My time management has disappeared down the rabbit hole! What do I need to eat or drink to get out of Wonderland?

A moment in time

The craft fair on the 1st of May went well ( thanks for all your well wishes) but I was right when I said I would no doubt forget something. I turned up without drawing pins, milk, and my camera. The first two items could be worked round but without my camera I was unable to take any photographs of the event.

There was a time when I had my camera on me almost constantly. Perhaps not as often as Eryl( The Kitchen Bitch Ponders), who will find every opportunity, including lunchtime, to take photographs, using them as tools for her writing.

I would take my camera with me when I was out walking with Deefer, looking for inspiration for new paintings. He always seemed to manage to get in to the shot, which peeved me at the time but I'm glad of it now. 

Deefer on Gallow Hill

I would pop it in my pocket whenever we went on day trips, 

Spring at Threave Gardens

or to the beach, 

windsurfing on the Solway

and it was always with me when we went on holiday

a break from building sand castles, Lanzarote

trying to capture every memorable moment

Fishing with their Papa in Dumfries

I don't go on walks any more and as the boys get older the day trips have diminished. I've got out of the habit of carrying my camera, it only comes out on high days and holidays, or when taking picture of my latest make. But I need to get back in to that habit, and the last two weeks have highlighted why.


It was my in-laws 50th wedding anniversary celebration last weekend ( as it was for a time for stitching parents) and the first thing I thought of as a surprise for them was to hire a photographer for the event. It deserved to be documented by somebody with a better eye than me. My sister-in-law, who now lives in Canada, then asked if I would be able to put together an album for them, using family photographs taken over the last 65 years. After a  bit of pilfering and subterfuge I obtained a case full of images that I ploughed my way through. It took a bit longer than I expected, not knowing which pictures would mean the most to everyone, but the excited faces and exclamations of 'do you remember' as they all gathered around the album made the time spent worth while.


Then, while visiting my mum for her birthday on Friday, we ended up going through photograph albums. From moments that I couldn't possibly remember, like my very Scottish christening whilst living in Canada, 

  

to some I remember vividly. 

Taken in my first year at Bantaskine Primary wearing my favourite dress, orange with a brown bunny on the front. I wore it with brown tights, the ones with an open circular pattern down the side, that my mum was always having to darn because I kept tripping and putting holes through them. When it became too small to wear as a dress I wore it as a tunic over brown trousers. A relief I suppose for my mum's darning needle. My earrings ( Yes I had my ears pierced at the age of 5 but you have to remember I was the last of four girls and wanted to be like my sisters, and I'm told I used to be very persuasive! ) are small gold flowers with a pearl centre, a gift from my dad, and the very earrings I wore on my wedding day.
  
In one of those odd, conversational tangents I once remarked to a friend that if I was ever unfortunate enough to have a house fire one of the things I would be most tempted to try and save, after family of course,  would be the photograph albums. I'm not sure that she quite understood why I would reach for them rather than insurance documents or such like.


For me photographs are keys to unlock precious memories. They are not just a captured moment in time but a way for me to relive it. To hear the voices, experience the emotions, to reminisce. In a world where we are bombarded with information and expected to retain it I rely on photographs to help with my unreliable recall.  I want to be sitting round a dinner table in years to come, pointing at pictures saying 'do you remember?'