My resolution this year was to curb my magazine puchasing habit. And I have been really doing very well, until I read a review of Crafty Magazine and stumbled upon it in the newsagents.
See that title font - somehow reminiscent of Blueprint (still miss that magazine), add in red converse, and bandanas - breaking my resolution seemed a foregone conclusion.
But in my defence, I have at least used the purchase to kick start a little creativity. There was an article about making a cabinet of curiosities full of fabric insects. Now I have a soft spot for bugs on pins - I studied quaternary entomogy way back in the dim and distant past, when my brain cells were still firing - and spent many hours hunched over a microscope, teasing out bugs from soil samples and attempting to identify them.
The thought of fantastical fabric versions called to me.
Don't want you to think we spend all our time gadding about making merry. But we've been off to the seaside visiting my folks. When we got here it was frrreeezing, with a howling wind and sleet falling. Hiding inside weather, for sure. But today, we awoke to the sun shining and positively balmy weather compared to that of late. Time to grab the camera and head out to capture some of it, in case it is a short lived interlude.
Hope you caught a few rays and made the most of them.
Apart from an hour in the Milton Keynes snow dome, the last time I stood on a pair of skis was 1994.
When we lived in Japan, some pals of ours decided to take us skiing in Nagano for the weekend. We drove up there overnight and were kitted up and out on the slopes as the dawn rose over the mountains - spectacular, if a little exhausting. My ski gear was borrowed from my 6'3" boss and was somewhat on the large side, to say the least. Oh, and there was the small problem that my only idea of how to ski had come from watching Ski Sunday and the odd Winter Olympics. No matter - our friend Masahiro grabbed me by the back of the jacket and bundled me onto and off a ski lift. In rudimentary Japanese, he explained how one snowploughed and then pointed me down the mountain. Off I slid - all very good. Skiing! Faster and faster, until I hit what felt like about 30mph and thought I'd better try the snowplough thing, at which point I discovered that at that speed, it really doesn't work too well, and flung myself onto the ground instead. When everyone else finished howling with laughter, they explained to me that skiing generally involves traversing the slope from side to side, not just heading straight down it. Well, how was I meant to know? That's not what they do on Ski Sunday!
It has taken me nineteen years to get round to going again. But go, we did, last week. And it was brilliant.
The snow was thick and fluffy, the hotel, perfectly placed for easy access to the lifts and ski school and the instructors got us all whizzing along and really enjoying what La Plagne has to offer. Predictably, the boys loved skiing and took to it really well - they are certainly much braver than me, as we discovered when we took a wrong turn and ended up on an extremely steep slope. They flew down, without a second thought when I made the mistake of looking and engaging my brain. Cue 10 minuites of knee trembling and agonisingly slow descent (but I made it!).
One boy child (and I'm sure you might be able to guess which) might have been a little gung ho at one point and managed to ski over the back ends of my skis resulting in a big fall and a colourful bruise.
I may have had the teensiest sense of humour failure at that point - he learned his lesson and gave me more room from then onwards!
And the best thing about skiing is that you feel totally justified in eating like a pig at every opportunity. Cooked breakfast - yes please, lunchtime tartiflette - don't mind if I do, 4:30pm - must be cake time, and it would be rude to turn down any of the three courses at supper. My kind of holiday!
Honestly, I'm slightly sad that it has taken me till my 40s to discover what fun a ski holiday is. I'm sure I would have bounced better at twenty something. And I might have stood a better chance of keeping up with the offspring too. Though I don't feel the need to do everything they do...
When I looked out at the snow this morning, it seemed impossible to think that in a week it will be Easter. But even if the weather hasn't got the message, the days are marching on.
I'm having a week off from technology and I'm hoping that when I return, Spring will have sprung. Consider yourself on notice, big bad Winter.
Round 2 of The Compound Word Project is poised to kick off - I'm chasing up photos and making diptychs like a woman posessed ready to let loose over the next fortnight.
Is your grey matter up to the challenge? Please feel free to head over and play along. The more the merrier. Rope in your families - if the last round was anything to go by, you are probably going to need them!
The Underground is synonymous with excitement, in my book. If I'm jammed on the tube, it is because I am heading somewhere awesome. There are people to watch and a sense of purpose about the whole enterprise. Yes, dirty, smelly, hot, overcrowded and expensive - all these are valid criticisms, but I do still enjoy the thrill of travelling on the tube hugely.
Intrigued? Very colourful isn't it? But not just any colours. It gives a hint as you begin to wind the skein.
Casting on for the first sock was exciting. I discovered and trialled the super stretchy sock cast on, which is a teeny bit fiddly, but is also a triumph - I will use it again.
Knit, knit, knit - you know how it goes when you are using teeny needles. But slowly the sock emerges. And I found the perfect backdrop for photographing the first finished one - Nancy's teatowel.
Because those wild coloured stripes? They correspond to the colours of the lines on the London Underground map.
And now they are finished and making my feet feel extrordinarily happy.
They might also be classed as art - my Needles and Nater group are taking part in Oxfordshire artweeks this year - my contribution? A washing line of handknit socks. Beauty and function. Bit like the underground map, now I come to think of it.
You can guess a lot about a person from the pictures they take. Their passions, their humour, their lifestyle. It's all captured there in those digital images.
And I seem to have bred a couple of photographers myself - I love finding their shots hidden on my SD card or lurking on my phone. The eldest has decided to take part in his own photo-a-day challenge on Instagram. I won't share his details with you, if you don't mind - not sure you need that much insight into the inner workings of my on-the-cusp-of-teenagehood son! But I really am pleased that they have the chance to experience the pleasure of capturing their lives through a lens.
But I'm looking for some more photographers - to help with Round 2 of The Compound Word Project. Yes, it's coming head over here for details if you're interested.
And if you flick through your digital album, tell me what your pictures are saying about you.
One of my mother's favourite wise sayings when I was growing up was 'you get out of life what you put into it' - usually quoted to me in a warning tone when she believed that I was failing to apply myself to something with the required degree of effort.
As I go through life, sometimes her words come back to me and I see them in a different context. Often, the fruits of ones labours are clear. If you take the time and trouble to raise chickens, you can expect to be rewarded with eggs (though beautiful coloured shells might still be an unexpected treat).
But sometimes the link between effort and benefit is not as clear cut.
And so it is with blogging. When I began sharing my thoughts in cyber space seven years ago, I had few expectations - it was merely a passtime, to exercise my mind in days largely consumed by domestic and maternal duties. I hadn't the faintest idea that the investment of my time would be so richly rewarded by friendship.
And, for the life of me, I cannot fathom what the karmic reward for knitting a dozen pairs of handknit socks might possibly amount to, but Kristina, perhaps you should buy a lottery ticket.
Small, muted, unassuming, but with beauty in the detail.
The making of a shawl is a more contemplative passtime than any other form of knitting. There are no concerns of gauge or fit. Just the beauty of the yarn and the steady unfurling of the pattern as the rhythm of the stitches takes over.
That's two months in a row I've remembered to make a mosaic. Three, and it's a habit. Or so they say. Happy pictures - perhaps February isn't as grim as I've always assumed it is - birthdays help. And the odd sunny day.
I'm so happy to be able to help Emma and Ros with some Lavender Cloud Pillows for the dolls to rest their sleepy heads on after a busy day. Hopefully there will be no squabbling about who gets which one!
Details of the auction are on the dolls' Facebook page - bidding begins March 7th!
And Mac - the flannel tartan might just have your name on it! All campers know your own pillow makes all the difference to in-tent comfort.
A van, backing down the driveway, left a branch dangling off my Magnolia tree. The sadness of those furry buds which would not be able to flower was too much. The branch is now residing in a milk bottle in the hallway to see if it is possible to force Magnolia.
Did the Typepad spam filter have a breakdown? I'm being overwhelmed with comments of the wrong type. Which is ironic, because comments of the right sort seem to have been in much shorter supply. Entirely my own fault as I have been guilty of reading and running elsewhere. Bad.
Spent a happy half hour making up 'in-lieu-of-party-bag' parcels , wrapped with road atlas pages. They contained books (and obligatory sweeties). I may abhor plastic tat, but I'm not a complete monster.
Usually the party bag is a gesture to say thank you for coming and the pleasure of your company. And this time I really did mean thank you to those kids. Usually, parental party responsibilities end with providing food, drink and some sort of entertainment and then clearing up afterwards. But this party? Best I've ever hosted by a country mile.
See, one of the guests sprained his ankle on the morning of the party and couldn't make it. So what's a mother to do? Join in and shoot people with a laser gun in the woods, of course. Highly recommended.
"When I learn a new word - read it in a book or something - and find out what it means, I hear it all over the place after that"
I understood exactly what he was getting at. It happens to me too - less often with words nowdays (my vocabulary probably reached it's zenith when I was about 17 and has been in serious decline ever since). But visually, it is certainly the case. When Monica began posting photos of lost items, I started to notice them too. Lying about all over the place, forgotten and forlorn.
And something compelled me to begin photographing them.
Even if it makes my family think I'm a bit odd. Doesn't stop them pointing out the ones I've missed spotting though!
And my prayer to the baking gods worked out, because after looking for a while like my first go at an Angel Food cake was never going to exit the tin, it finally eased out intact. And proved the perfect vehicle for whipped cream and berries (two things high on Johnny's list of favourites). Sweet boy.
This is a good week, if you are fans of seasonal celebrations. Shrove Tuesday and Valentines Day and during half term too - enough to get anybody's creative juices flowing. However, some of our efforts to mark the occasions have been more successful than others.
The idea is, you put your batter in a squeezy bottle and then you can make doodle heart pancakes. Look how cute those things are (images from the Bite delite blog).
Okay, want to see mine?
Hmm - not really as attractive, is it? Thise suckers are more difficult to do than you'd think. Plus lacy looks nice, but isn't as filling, so I'm afraid we abandoned all efforts to be chic and just had round pancakes instead. Greed 1 - Style 0
Thankfully, there are other ways to celebrate the festival of love. Our antlers got a little seasonal makeover.
And we thought we might try our hands at making a celebration of love film - me and the boys. We've begun, even though it is highly unlikely to be ready in time. The photoshoots have been fun, but they keep getting hijacked by play dates and games of football and cat sitting duties. I'm sure Sam Mendes doesn't have these problems.
Sometimes, it doesn't take until the end of the cooking time to know you are onto a winner.
In fact, when Laura posted about baking peanut butter and choc chip cookies, I was salivating before I'd even turned away from the screen. And the bowl lick test showed very positive signs.
One half-batch later?
Cookie heaven.
I used the Hummingbird Bakery recipeLaura pointed me to here, halved (with extra choc chips though). On the grounds that you can seldom have too much of a good thing.
Gina knitted a baby hat recently, which I knew it would be the perfect little gift for a friend who is about to pop! It was on and off the needles in a day. Even if I had to substitute a chunkier weight yarn for the green bits. I sort of like the lumpy leaf look though.
My model, Reggie, is less convinced.
I didn't want him to get too puffed up with all the comments the other day about how lovely he was. Truth be told, he's a bit of a git. Likes nothing better that to swipe at me from between the banisters when I am going downstairs with an armful of laundry and am defenceless. Call this my revenge.
I've been a long time admirer of the samplers that Sue makes. Whenever she posts a new one, I think to myself 'I should do that'. And this month, I actually did it. And lo, January came out with more colour than I had expected. But I'm still relieved it's February tomorrow.
Mummy breakfast does not refer to the usual weekday offering of a large mug of caffiene and some toast grabbed with one hand while the other performs essential domestic tasks like signing homework diaries or locating misplaced PE kit. No, it is an entirely different beast alltogether which occurs a handful of times each year.
So this morning, I hared home from the school run, mixed up a batch of apple and apricot muffins and fumigated the downstairs loo. And right on cue, they began to appear - a motley assortment of friends (I am allergic to cliques), who have children who may or may not all know one another, but who vaguely overlap at various different schools or activities or who have homes in the same village.
I lay the proper dining table with a cloth, and my favourite glasses and cups and dishes and we sit and enjoy a leisurely breakfast of juice and fruit salad and yoghurt, croissants and muffins and too many pots of tea to count. And someone might be late because their child was doing an assembly, and someone might have to dash off to an appointment, but the time in between, with the fire lit and a bunch of simple daffodils on the table and snippets of news is precious indeed.
Sometimes I wonder why we don't do it more often. But then perhaps it wouldn't feel as special. And afterwards, there remains a wonderful sense of fullness. Not just of tummies, but of life.
Do you subscribe to the view that your body lets you know what you need? Today, mine is asking for vitamin D. Feels like the sun has been absent for an eternity. I love the snow, but the endlessness of the leaden skies has been sapping my spirits this week. And all I feel like doing is eating.
There are some side benefits to this for the rest of the family, who have been getting very good food this week (even if I do say so myself). And with the oven on, the kitchen is a warm and cosy place, and probably has the brightest lights too, which is cheering in itself, when there is precious little of the natural variety.
So there was a batch of Marmalade this week. And then, because I seem to have made more than we will probably get through, a Marmalade cake, to use some of it up again.
It's waiting for a little glaze of icing. And I am waiting for the sunshine to return as patiently as I can and contemplating other orange things in the meantime.
Reggie, our big ginger moggie - he hasn't been out much this week either. We've both got our paws crossed for next week. At least only one of us has to worry about getting too stout to fit through the cat-flap. Though my jeans may also be cause for concern...
This has been a weekend for revelling in the white stuff. What had been, in the diary, a jumbled expanse of commitments, suddenly transformed into a blank canvas. Such is the magic of snow.
Don't laugh at my movie making skills - I had to get Mark to help me a little bit (filming the live action downhill sections, as well as a teeny bit of technical knowhow). But somehow, in spite of my ineptitude, the finished thing is somehow so much more than the sum of its parts.
And I am seriously contemplating a little Creating Time Capsules course. These days, like the snow, pass so quickly. Somehow it feels important to capture them.
Today, there was an unexpected treat when I picked up the trolley - another person's shopping list still there on the clip. I love those days (they looked to be planning Shepherds Pie for dinner).
But even the thrill of a found list couldn't bring this shopping trip up to the dizzy heights of the one yesterday. It was slightly insane to drive sixty miles to go to the supermarket. But then I did get to spend the day with Monica too. Even if she might disown me after being so insanely excited about grocery shopping. But it was Whole Foods Market in Cheltenham. And it was worth every moment on the road.
I've been dying to go since Sue blogged about her trip. And she was braver than me about taking photos. Actually, I was in too foodie enraptured a state to think of photos. Too busy soaking in the sights and smells and tasting what was on offer and lobbing random items into my trolley. They really were random - hence the proper shopping trip this morning to buy actual food we could eat, not esoteric elements.
You know it's a great shop when you come home feeling excited about ingredients and cooking and eating. And selling a lifestyle with some of the most amazing visual merchandising I have ever seen in a shop is a smart business move I'm sure. In fact, I know if they were closer to home, I would be heavily subsidising their profits by my regular presence.
Yes, there are cheaper ways to provide fuel for your body. But the psychological boost that it gave me? Priceless.
The best antidote for January blues seems to me to be looking squarely forward. I find myself contemplating the prospect of Spring and knitting socks in an optimistic daffodil shade.
Well begun is half done - Aristotle? Mary Poppins? Someone wise said it anyway.
There have been difficult letters to write this week. One has been swirling round my head all holiday long, but the thoughts needed catching and putting on paper - when it was done I had no idea why I'd procrastinated. It was so liberating to have pinned it down.
So when life threw up the need for a second, vastly different kind of letter, I sat straight down and wrote it. Even though the words would hardly come and I am not sure what comfort it could possibly bring. I suppose I wrote it to make myself feel a little better. Sometimes there is nothing for it but to keep putting one foot in front of the other and see where the journey takes you.
One child back at school, one to go. The early start was painful, but it did at least give rise to a morning in which things could be accomplished, rather than one filled with ultra leisurely tea, toast and pyjama loafing. Lovely though those things are, there isn't much to show for it, come the end of the day.
And January is always the time for bold intentions - for setting goals, achieving things, discarding the superfluous (inches or clutter) - none of which really sits well with loafing. But it has been so comfortable, this period of nesting, that a transition project seemed called for. A gentle beginning.
Some clouds, filled with lavender. For scented linens, or restful sleep. Not that there should be an issue with nodding off this evening. The 6am start sees to that quite nicely, I find. See, every cloud has a silver lining.
It's not quite twelfth night yet, but our decorations are down and stowed away back in the loft ready for next year. It's a strange time - I simultaneously relish the extra space and airy sensation that removing several trees immediately gives, while missing the all day glow effect of the fairylights and the general feeling of magic and wonder that the whole ensemble provides.
Each year though, there are one or two things that I can't bear to put back in the loft. Last year, it was my styrofoam cup wreath which was so at home hanging over the mirror, that it has never left.
And this year, these pom poms, strung by Johnny during his long ill phase in December and hung up high over his bed.
It felt so wrong to take down those little puffs of happiness, that they are staying put. And I wonder why our house feels more crammed full with each passing year - sigh.
Almost time to say farewell to the old year. Thirteen is my lucky number - can't wait to see what this coming year has in store.
Having just spent an age in the unruly archives making this mosaic, I'm nominating 'improve photo deleting/tagging/uploading/archiving' as a resolution priority.
Safe to say, I would make a terrible wedding photographer. Because I am very bad indeed at taking pictures of the main event. So much pressure to sum up all that Christmas entails in a visual checklist - the bird, the table, the tree, assembled family, opening presents...
But in the plethora of obvious photo opportunities, it's the little moments round the margins that catch my eye.
In the quiet minutes when there is space to really look.
Those are the things I have come to enjoy photographing the best. Even on the days stuffed full of all things festive, the crispy edges can be the tastiest bit.
Christmas Eve always seems to bring with it a brief moment of calm. The house is ready, the lists ticked off, giblet stock and cranberry sauce made and filling the house with the finest smells of the season.
Tomorrow the jollity and the mayhem, the champagne and the celebrating and the cooking and eating will take over, but for a few moments this evening, all is calm.
And so I am stealing a moment to wish that your Christmas is merry and bright and that you enjoy each sparkling moment.
Replacing the sparkly strings on my olivewood decorations with invisible thread, it occured to me what a bizarre mix of big picture and minutiae this time of year brings.
Of course, we know that it's the big things that really matter - spending time with the people we love. But sometimes, there are satisfying moments to be had in taking care of the little details too.
In the last couple of years, I find myself far less hysterical about Christmas preparations. Enjoying taking care of the things which bring me pleasure and learning that it is fine to let go of the things which feel like a duty. Trying not to absorb the stress of others.
Am hoping this peace continues into Christmas Eve, when my shopping trolley and I do battle in the supermarket (securing a delivery slot was one of those little details which passed me by...). Though the shops are only shut for a day. Which leads me to believe that the frenzy of over-provisioning is just one of those traditions that my fellow supermarketeers and I just can't seem to let go of.
