Domesticali

December

When I opened the curtains this morning, it looked like this outside.

Glorious, proper frost, no sign of rain (nothing short of a miracle given the last few weeks here) and December! My favourite month of the year by a mile.

Not least because it begins with treats for me. Though I'm not really supposed to have this until Christmas, but hey, hubby's in India this week, so he'll never know I sneaked a photo of it.

Those are my boys' fingerprints cast in silver clay by the very talented Emma of Silverpebble.

There's something about that piece of jewellery that just gives me the tingles. I just have to be patient before I can wear it. Torture. Now I know how the children feel about their advent calendars. Really - Johnny was so excited about getting into his this morning that he opened it whilst in the buff. I have a photo, but it's not for sharing here!

I have serious advent calendar envy this year. Not on the childern's behalf - they are more than happy with the hideously commercial (but chocolate-free) Lego variety. But really, all the stylish advent calendars  I've been seeing are just wasted on the children. 

I'm thinking of having advent in February for grown-ups. 'Seven days of specialness' or something along those lines. Perhaps a swap is in order -  anyone interested?

Happy December!

Hard shell

Yes, it HAS been quiet around here. I have had the gentlest of kind and friendly prods from some of you asking if all is well. Thank you, and yes, it is really, in the grand scheme of things.

Do you ever have a crisis of confidence? When suddenly you seem to loose sight of quite who you are or what you think or what is important to you. It happens to me every once in a while. And I look round at everyone else and think how sorted and together and assured they seem. How secure in their own skin. And I flounder about feeling out of my depth and over-exposed.

And like a turtle, I long for the security of my own shell. Where I can just read a book or loose myself in a film and not be required to have an opinion about anything at all. The good news is, I have been cracking along with my reading pile and have seen more films in the last fortnight than in the preceding 6 months. 

But at some point, you have to face up to sticking your neck back out. Because really, life is defined by interactions. Some wonderful and life affirming and others less so. But without them it's all a bit pointless. I would never make it as a hermit.

So, hello, waving from my shell and heading back to join the party. I was planning on bringing these walnuts to share.

But once I had hacked off the fibrous exteriors and broken the extremely hard shells open with a hammer (wearing latex gloves,  to protect from the yellow staining), I discovered that they tasted absolutely revolting.

And don't even get me started on the smell. I had to search my memory banks for what it reminded me of - now I think I have it. Bile. Nasty eh?

The small spaces in between

Do you ever get the feeling that the really important stuff happens in the periphery of the day? The child, who gives you the biggest insight into their inner life in the couple of sentences exchanged as you kiss them goodnight. The planning of a whole week's worth of domestic arrangements in a dialogue carried out between the shower cubicle and the bathroom sink as the day gets underway.

We are cramming an awful lot into life at the moment. But the most enjoyable bits are often at the edges - rather like the sticky margins of a perfectly baked crumble.

Or the Toasty gloves which fit neatly into the 'waiting in the car park' knitting slot.

Here's to the tasy morsels at the edge of life.

Fall colour week - burnt sienna and brick red

Meg at Elsie Marley has nominated this week as fall colour week. I thought it might kick me out of my non-picture-taking rut. This time of year, photography begins to be more tricky - by the time I am home, the light is fading and nothing looks wonderful without light. So I decided to get ahead and take some photos yesterday.

Hubby put up some little shelves outside our back door, and the  shard of broken plant pot with our house number on seemed to fit the bill for burnt sienna. Do you like my gourds? They have been making  me so very happy each time I return home. As if getting home itself wasn't a happy enough event. 

And then when I got back today, my neighbour had picked the apples from the tree down the street and left a share for us on the top shelf.

Which solves both the brick red dilemma and the after school snack question.

I wonder what the universe will provide for the rest of the week?

Wednesday: Goldenrod (warm, deep yellow)
Thursday: Chesnut (dark, warm brown)
Friday: Plum (like a plum...)

Happy autumn days.

On the bench

Another load of washing needed to go on the line, so I headed into the garden. And that's when it happened. The bench, it called my name. And in a sweet siren song it summoned me "Come, sit a while, it's been too long". And it had, so I sat and then I lay down and then I brought my new book to look at.

Yes, you can now get it in the UK. And you really should. It's worth it for the photo styling alone, let alone the full sized pattern pieces and instructions for 26 projects.

And half an hour on the bench passed, and then a little more. But it was time very well spent. Pip says in her introduction 'Making is one of life's great joys' and I couldn't agree more, but some days just sitting is good enough.

Key

Life has  a habit of getting busy sometimes. To the point of overwhelming. Tonight there were many ways I could productively used my time - stuff needed doing. But there's a film I'd been dying to see ever since I heard it was being made. You know what it is too don't you?

Tonight, in spite of the hundred and one little things which need my attention, I snuck away from the house and saw Juile and Julia. Many reviews I have read have painted it as a portrait of Julia Child by Meryl Streep, but it was the Julie Powell angle which really drew me in to the story.

Because, as I suspected, the film captured the same essence that I found when I first read Julie Powell's book a few years ago. That sometimes a blog can begin when we are need of something and the simple routine of commiting to pressing the publish button on a regular basis can lead us to discover things.

I went to see the movie by myself - not because I couldn't have seen it with a friend, but because I didn't think I could bear to see it with a non-blogger. The thrill when Julie gets her first comment (followed by the swift come-down when she realizes it is from her mother), only a blogger could get it.

Driving back from the film, I was thoughtful - the portrayal of bloggers as narcissistic and willing to sacrifice their real life relationships to the cause of their blogs was not a comfortable thing to watch. I am under no illusion that my musings here will be leading to book deals, which seemed to be the rationale behind justifying the tantrums thrown by Julie Powell in the course of her project. Is blogging without objectives just a totally self-indulgent waste of time?

But then my thoughts returned to Julia Child, who didn't set out to be the phemomenon she became. She was searching for something to occupy her. She was just doing something she enjoyed. And that seems to me to be key.

Nesting mode

I think it's the time of year, but I've been feeling in full on nesting mode of late. There are boring things which need to be done and are unlikely to be achieved in the near future (like painting the hallway), but there are also lots of little things making me extremely happy.

The first for our kitchen, from the most incredible place in Corbridge RE - found objects. It's not the most salubrious of locations, tucked round the back of a petrol station, but inside? Well, it took my breath away - an Elysian Fields for bloggers.  Looking at the website guarantees a case of the wanties - just warning you.

Products and photographs by RE

My peg rail was salvaged from a mill - the piggy tails used to guide the threads as they were fed into the loom. I didn't know this when I convinced hubby that it had to come home with us, but now that I do, I love it even more. It seemed the perfect place to hang a few of my cookie cutters. For a long time now, I've felt they deserve better than lying jumbled in a giant tupperware box deep in the bowels of one of those ludicrous kitchen corner cupboards which swallow your stuff, never to return.

They make me smile, and I have grand plans for little seasonal vignettes to hang on the rail. Who knows if that will ever happen, but dreams are good.

The rail sits above our kitchen table in the space that used to occupy my much loved Mrs Eliot Books print. You can just see the corner of it there, but because I had framed it in a pale wood, it doesn't look quite right in that spot any more and needs to be moved. Fortunately I have just the replacement from Tiel at tsk tsk . I fell for it before I even saw the peg rail, but my planets must have been in alignment, because they look beautiful together. Now my nesting kick just  just has to extend to getting a frame and mounting it. The print is called '8 days a week' and features clothespegs, which just says it all, really. I'll show you mine when it's all done.

The kitchen also witnessed the unwrapping of a very special box.

The sweetest of gestures from Jen of Painted Fish Studio. Just because I fell in love with them.

There is such great joy to be had in having things around you which remind you of special people and places. Even the cookie cutters have tales to tell. See yours, Louise? Katherine?

Look around you - bet there are a few items with a story and if you've been blogging long, I'm almost certain there'll be an internet friend or two attached to them.

Monopoly

You know that Chance card 'Bank pays you dividend of £50'?

Well, in real life it tends to be balanced by 'Your dishwasher breaks'. The repair man sucks his teeth and says "It's going to cost you".

I am spending a lot of time at my kitchen sink. Or on the internet, researching replacements.

Baltic

We had the most amazing time here. Shame it's 274 miles from home. Practically a sock worth of travel knitting -  in between breaking up tussles in the back seat.

Some days I question the sanity of grandparents far away and a principled refusal to buy an in-car DVD.

Soul food

Pleasure is not only derived from eating, shopping and friends, but I can't deny the importance of that triumvirate in the pursuit of happiness.

Lunch at Ottolenghi, afternoon tea at Fernandez and Wells. I'd highly recommend the clementine cake.

Shopping all over the place, but especially for me:

They made me buy it. But oh how I love it.

Almost as much as I love spending time with them.

Comments

Comments are a lovely thing. A little e-mail in box full of good cheer. But sometimes, I get a comment that is totally unjustified. And I don't mean a nasty one. On the contrary, it's usually someone paying me a compliment that I really really don't deserve. About having a tidy house, or beautifully behaved offspring, or managing to 'do it all'. And I laugh, and sigh a bit, and wish I had truly earned those accolades.

So before you pass judgement on my Amaryllis. I feel I must come clean.

It was all a big mistake. See, I bought the bulb last year, planning to force it for Christmas (like normal people do).  But in my frantic disorganized manner, I forgot to do it. And then 'lost' the bulb in the garage (because it's like a black hole out there). Then I found the bulb, but was too riddled with guilt to do anything about it because it was too late. Then I panicked that I had wasted money, so I stuck it in a pot about 4 weeks ago.

And look how it has rewarded me. Sometimes we get so much better than we deserve.

Youthful vanity

Today was my book group meeting - we were discussing Somewhere Towards the End, a memoir from Diana Athill dealing with growing old. One of her quotes really struck me:

'Appearance is important to old women, not because we suppose it will impress other people, but because of what we ourselves see when we look in the mirror'

It can't only be my wardrobe that contains 'happy clothes' and things I pull out when I'd really like to crawl beneath the nearest rock. But recently, my personal vanities have centered more around hair and scent.

Scent, because the perfume I have relied upon to lift my spirits has been discontinued. Origins Fretnot. I'm sure it's the power of suggestion, but when the box says 'In times of confusion and concern, let nature's aromatic cheerleaders, including perky Tangerine, Orange and Lemon, rally your spirits and motivate your mood' you can't fail to feel uplifted.

I'm loyal to my perfume - pretty much a one scent at a time girl. Begining with Anais Anais (a gift from my brother when I was about 15) and phasing through Obsession, Chanel No19,  Floris Malmaison and Eau Dynamisante. I didn't wear perfume at all when the boys were babies, but when I got back on the wagon, that Origins did it for me.

Being without a current fragrance leaves me slightly adrift - shopping the perfume counters is too much like speed dating - overwhelming and unsatisfying. It seems I need to encounter the right choice rather than seek it out. And perhaps it is this. Madonna of the Almonds.

Last night, Marina Fiorato had a return visit to the shop to read from her second novel, Madonna of the Almonds .  As part of the marketing for the book (which is set in in 16th century Italy and was inspired by the back of an Amaretto bottle!), Marina had the opportunity to develop a perfume with Floris. I found the whole idea of that, totally fascinating and had asked her about it the last time she came. So I was thrilled when this visit, she brought a sample. It's good. It may be the one.

And my other current vanity? Hair. I have vaguely curly hair which  is generally stuck, still wet from the shower, up in a clip and ignored. But the recent discovery of (whisper it) a patch of suspicious silvery members of the follicle gang has prompted action. I don't think I'll ever be committed enough to my appearance to contemplate colouring it. Too much upkeep. But perhaps I ought to have a final fling of enjoying my hair, before I go grey gracefully. So it's off to the hairdressers tomorrow.

Don't know exactly what to ask for - do you think 'something to savour the last moments of youth' is sufficient guidance?

A day of one's own

Bank Holiday weekend, no offspring. Did you get the full significance of that statement? The sweet scent of freedom on the breeze. The boys went to Wales with our friends and their caravan. And me? Well, I did work on Saturday, but Sunday was mine all mine.

So I got up at the crack of dawn and went to meet Kristina at Columbia Road Flower Market. I would show you artful photos of the flowers, but quite frankly, all mine look like this.  It truly isn't the place to be if crowds of people freak you out.

It's a miracle that I managed to find Kristina at all. But she very wisely suggested meeting outside a cupcake shop, Treacle. And I can sniff out a cupcake at 50 yards. Even if they were trying to camouflage themselves in the grass.

We mooched, nattered about floral preferences, ate cupcakes and did a spot of shopping - here, amongst other places.

By an amazing stroke of luck, I also bumped into Jessie Chorley - whose altered book workshop I went to last year. She has a new shop on Columbia Road, but it was shut in preparation for their grand opening. Apart from being a talented artist, she clearly has the memory of an elephant, because she recognized me and gave us a sneaky preview of her new space, which is the most atmospheric treasure trove of a place. And provides me with the perfect excuse for retuning to the area soon.

And another spot that warrants a re-visit was the V&A Museum of Childhood in Bethnall Green, a short stroll away. Walking through London always gives me the greatest pleasure - the streets you never see on the bus or the tube.  Imagining the lives within.

And the museum was so much fun - even without small people in tow. There's a Quentin Blake and Roald Dahl exhibition on at the moment and some groovy kitchen chandeliers in the entryway.

I think the boys would love it (particularly the case full of vintage Scalextric). Perhaps I'll take them. After I've scrubbed the camping mud off.

From the air

When Alice does one of her 'Just for the Record' posts, I get all excited. Because I know I might just get a glimpse into the world of her Department. I have an enduring love of Geography departments. There are always plenty of slightly strange things going on. Like this:

That's not me, by the way. If it was, my fists would be clenched because I used to find stereoscopic aerial photographs fiendishly tricky blighters. My ability to make them pop into glorious 3D seemed to re-set itself each time I blinked. This meant an hour long practical in which I tried to blink as little as possible and hence emerged at the end with frazzled eyeballs and more often than not a pounding headache.

But through the paracetamol haze, I retained a passion for aerial photographs - if you like them too, then you must take a look at Rhett Dashwood's work. He's collected an alphabet of google images from the air. My Dad is going to love it.

Hangers

I'd been keeping an eye open for a little while, so I was very very excited to finally come across some hangers in a charity shop recently. Lovely wooden ones. With felt pads on the inside all intact.

Just perfect for a little hanging masterplan I have been ruminating on.

See my drift? Just an example, you understand. Not the finished article. But pleasing nonetheless.

Six things

1. To say I dislike having my photo taken is putting it mildly. I'd much prefer to remain in the shadows.

2. So it is utterly mystifying to me why I allowed myself to be filmed for television this week. Thankfully it is being aired on a cable channel which I don't get, so I don't have to re-live the trauma.

3.  When I am under pressure I occasionally loose control of my thought processes and my powers of speech. This is the only reason I can come up with for having called the central character of the novel I was discussing, by the wrong name. Not once, but twice. On camera.

4. The sleeve of the cardigan I am attempting to knit is too short. I am terrified that my efforts to rip out the shaping at the top of the arm and make it a bit longer will lead to the whole thing unravelling.

5.  I found 3 grey chest hairs on hubby. For some reason, I find this enormously depressing. He refuses to let me yank them out. I may have to pounce on him with a marker pen instead.

6. Today, the first bunch of daffodils of the year found their way into my shopping basket. The thought that Spring is not far away makes all the above seem less hideous

Courtesy of Allison and the 'six things' meme that just will not die.

What's on yours?

Sal asked me what was on my bedside table. It's all pretty boring really, lamp, tissues, hand cream, reading material, my glasses when I'm sleeping, oh and these.

Su Doku is a bit like Marmite - you either love it or not. I'm a big fan of a quick puzzle before sleep and it seems that liking these is a hereditary trait. Hubby came back from a business trip to Portugal with a Su Doku sticker book for Johnny, who took to them like a duck to water. His version is a 4 by 4 matrix with pictures instead of numbers. My Dad got Mark into Junior Su Doku, with numbers, but on a 6 by 6 matrix. Now, of course, both of them want to do mine.

Thankfully, with Johnny, I've discovered he is quite content to act as a scribe, writing the numbers in the correct squares for me.

The way in which we accomodate our small people into daily life and routine is a constant exercise in creativity. But I think I'm going to have to find a better hiding place for my books shortly.

I know I am meant to tag folks, but I am hopeless at doing that. If Blue Monday is getting to you, and you need cheering up, go ahead and flash your bedside table.

Unintentional career moves

Quietly, in stolen moments, I have been beavering away at my next Alabama Stitch project. Having decided to have a go at the corset , I gamely hacked up a ginormous promotional t-shirt that’s been hanging around the bottom of my wardrobe for months. Snip snip, stitch stitch – all fun.

Until I tried it on that is. Now although corset is a suggestive moniker for an item of clothing, but I was a little taken aback when I saw the acreage of flesh on display. Quite frankly, I looked like I was auditioning to make a film - one of those films.

I showed hubby, who smiled broadly (in a not entirely innocent way). It was only as I looked closely in Flickr, wondering why the makers before me weren't displaying quite such an impressive amount of boobage, that I noticed my error. I'd reversed two of the front panels. Phew. Some unpicking required, but my modesty will remain intact.

Shockingly, this is not my first scrape with the 'arty film' industry. When I was 20, I moved to Edinburgh at quite short notice and was scrabbling around in a strange city looking for a place to rent. After answering an ad for a girl to share a flat, I  was shown around by a nice guy, who shared his very clean and bright flat with 2 other girls. He was  friendly enough when we chatted, telling me he ran his own business as a freelance cameraman.  The location was convenient and it seemed a good option to me, although the flat did have some odd quirks, like bedroom doors with louvers and glass panels.  I couldn't really understand why my friend Paul, who had come with me, was giving off such negative vibes. It was only when we were back safely on the pavement outside when Paul told me he had seen the landlord's business card - black, with the company name in neon pink 'Flesh and Fantasy'. I could have had a whole different career...

For friendship

Going in...

Wish me luck comrades. I may be some time.

 

What, you mean the fun activity in your Advent calender today wasn't 'Clean the Oven'?

Wicked thoughts

Do you ever buy something for someone else and then long to keep it all to yourself?

Some flowers, for my friend, who didn't have the best of days. But at least I have a photo eh? One of the few from this week. Alice was lamenting her lack of photos of late. Me too, me too. Somewhere between work and grey days, they seem to be hard to capture.

I thought the 'week in my shoes' idea over at The Philosophy of Lists might kick me into snapping action. But there has only been one photo. A very representative one, I hasten to add, because  my feet have looked like this all week. With slightly varying degrees of mud on the boots.

I am very loyal to my footwear and tend to wear a pair until it falls apart. 
 
So my trusty red boots will no doubt be accompanying me to Bath on Sunday, when the hubby and I escape for our 2 days of pretending we don't have children each year. I am looking forward to Fishworks and apple strudel and being a grown-up very much indeed.

Confined

Another day home with a sick child - my Florence Nightingale impersonation is getting a little stale. But I did at least get the chance to run away from the House of Lurgy on Sunday to go to Handm@de.

Now this was the kind of craft fair I've been lusting after. Great venue, fab sellers, practically on my doorstep. I got to finally meet Alice of Raspberry in the flesh, and take home one of her bags:

Hooray for craft fairs that sell raw materials too - found this incredibly silky yarn made from banana fibre at the Cafe Knit stand:

This little badge from Snappy Sausage wouldn't let me leave it behind either:

One of Monda's trees came home with me too, but I took a blurry photo, so you'll have to look at hers instead.

It was one of those events which got the creative juices flowing. And that can only be a good thing, as I'm getting to work dreaming up a little something for the Third Annual Holiday Ornament Swap hosted by cake & pie and freshlyblended. I think you may still have a moment or two left to sign up.

I think these may be light enough to post easily. And if small folks would hurry up and get healthy again, I may even be able to show you how to make one.

Now the sofa-ridden one is summoning me. It seems CBeebies alone is not enough...

Kitchen poetry :: the real thing

When I followed the recipe for West Country Apple Dappy, (which I highly recommend you try, perhaps with some cinnamon too), I misread the title. Consequently, throughout the cooking and eating of it, a little refrain was repeating in my head.

Appley Dapply, a little
brown mouse,
Goes to the cupboard in
somebody's house.

In somebody's cupboard
There's everything nice,
Cake, cheese, jam, biscuits,
-All charming for mice!

Appley Dapply has little
sharp eyes,
And Appley Dapply is
so fond of pies!

(Beatrix Potter,  1917)

And I can't think of a better refrain to end my week of kitchen poetry.
It's been such fun. Hope you find much joy in your kitchens this weekend.

Kitchen poetry :: visitors

I always wanted one of those kitchens, with an ever present pot of tea on the scrubbed pine table. A happy place, where friends would drop by and stay a while. Share some food or stories or laughter.
Reality may have slightly different furniture to that which I'd imagined. But it's not bad at all. And some of the visitors even wash their own dishes.

Kitchen poetry :: sunshine

Sunshine of the artificial variety here today. Because the real thing seems to be in short supply.

Kitchen poetry :: crumbs

A humble thing, the breadcrumb. But I was stopped in my tracks this morning by how delicious they smelled when I opened up the processor.

When we eat the meatloaf tonight, nobody but me will even know that there are breadcrumbs in it. My secret subversive pleasure. Like wearing clashing orange socks under my boots. Yours?

Kitchen Poetry :: preparation

The end product is seldom realized without a good deal of behind the scenes work. This fact has taken me a long long time to grasp. Effortless glamour is an oxymoron.

So it is only fitting that I kick off my week of kitchen poetry with the preparation stage.

Want to join in? Details over at Simplesparrow.

Half term, half gone

Not entirely sure if that title refers to the passage of time, or sanity. Both probably. We've squeezed in a quick trip to my folks for some sea air and a little buttony goodness.

Some  garlands, made from the bounty that lurks in my Mother's Charity Shop button box. When a garment donated to them is not fit for sale, they recycle it for rags, but always snip off the buttons first. Sets get carded up and sold on, but the odds and sods make it into a giant tin. I've been thinking of ways to up-cycle them and am hoping these garlands just might hit the spot with the charity shop punters.

Then a whizz home, a re-boot of the washing and a cross country scurry to meet up with Karen and Monica (and assorted offspring, all male!). You'll have to see Monica's post here for all the details, because Karen doesn't have a blog (though she does have an amazing craft room, so there's still hope) and I forgot to take a camera. Which was ridiculous. Especially given how much fun was packed into one day.

I blame it on a stinking cold - one of those ones that begins just as the pressure of real life eases off, thereby perfectly timed to co-incide with all holidays. I'm having difficulty stringing any coherent thoughts together at all - can you tell?

Theft

Someone out there is stealing time from me. I know this, because I seem to be in a permanent state of rush. Stomach churning and heart thudding because for each thing I accomplish, I am conscious of three more which I want to be doing.

On my way to work, I pass a coffee shop. And I watch women like me - women with children and jobs and domestic obligations. But they sit and enjoy the interlude in their day. Why can I not give myself permission to do the same?

And I don't mean going for a coffee - I can do that any time, of course I can. But I am struggling with putting the imperatives on hold and enjoying the moment.

And so everything ends up feeling like a chore or an imposition. And the pleasure is sucked out of life. An existence robbed of pleasure. And that really is a crime.

The Remains of the Day

No matter how pretty the remains look,

I can't help but feel a little sad when a good day is over.

The simple pleasure of spending time with friends. Much chatter and laughter. And eating.

Again soon hopefully. Because I can't wait to try this out.