Domesticali

Caramel Apple Bites

Everything was ready:

I had promised the boys the mini toffee apple bites I'd seen here. I'd heard rumours that you could melt down Werther's originals as a coating (if you could get past the mental block of that pervy advert). I was sure I could cobble this together. And then I chanced across Molly's post, and the cold finger of doubt crept across my kitchen. But a promise is a promise.

Now, I wouldn't exactly say they were a breeze, but they are very more-ish. That salty sweet thing gets me every time.

I melted a fifty fifty mix of hard and soft Werthers in a pan over a low heat. The hard ones I bashed a bit with a rolling pin to break them into smaller chunks first.

Then used a melon baller to scoop out chunks of apple and impaled them on a cocktail stick.

I couldn't get a nice thin even caramel layer to stick to the apples, so I drizzled it on (just like making one of those cheffy spun sugar nests - well, ish). This does have the advantage of making them slightly easier to bite too - otherwise you're left going 'obble obble' until you've sucked the caramel off the apple, which defeats the object somewhat.

They only take a little while to cool and harden on the baking mat.

And those boys had better be mighty impressed tomorrow.

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?

The joys of Etsy

My little Etsy shop is empty again - it usually is, to be brutally honest. It's only when I have a spurt of creativity and make more of something than our household can make use of, that the excess makes it in there. But that's what I like about it - there's no pressure, no weeks of amassing stock to fill a table at a craft fair, no deadlines.

But truly, the very best thing about it is spending the pay pal 'funny money' afterwards. Because if it comes from selling something I made, it never quite feels like normal cash. Certainly not to be spent on groceries or the gas bill. Because why would you do that when you can have these?

Utterly frivolous purchase of Claudia's perfect little felted acorns - I think she still has some in the Aux Petits Oiseaux shop. They just make me so happy. Because they seem to symbolise for me, everything that is wonderful in this crafty community. Carefully selected raw materials, talented people, friendship and beauty. And the perfect circularity of things.

Toasty

Well, bits of me are anyway. Bits that don't depend on the Central Heating which sprang a mysterious leak this weekend, leading to a damp patch on the living room ceiling. It has been repaired, but when the guy's parting words are "Well, that could have fixed it", I'm wondering if we're in for a round two.

Having said that, finishing a pair of Toasty mitts could well guarantee a heatwave.

I love the pattern for it's elegant simplicity (and speed, which when you knit as slowly as I do, is no small matter). And I love the blog it came from - A friend to knit with, for its beautiful photos and the way it inspires me to believe I may yet, one day, call myself a real knitter.

Retail re purposing

Yesterday  I went to Oxford. Nothing unusual about that in itself, but it was a very odd trip indeed. For starters, the car park had oodles of spaces. On the ground floor where you can almost never find one. Odd. When I stopped for a quick caffeine pit stop, there was no queue. There were plenty of seats - whole sofas, vacant. I've been in one woman credit-crunch denial, but it's hard to argue with the absence of spenders.

Similarly, the usual deluge of Christmas Catalogues seems this year to be lacking something. Perhaps it's soul. But with a little folding of pages (and a dollop of inspiration from Anthropologie), the catalogues do seem to contain some festive sentiment after all - just in a different way to that which was intended.

I'm practicing making catalogue baubles. Giant ones. Fold fold, fan fan, ta-dah! Zero cost Christmas decoration.

Shift in perspective

The Halloween socks are finished! Aided somewhat by a housebound day on Friday with a sick Mark. Knitting socks proved to be a very companionable way to pass the time as he snuggled on the sofa, bowl at the ready.

And news arrived in my inbox from another knitting project - Whitstable's Beach Hut Cosy.  I knit a section for this, way back in the summer, and was delighted to hear that the organizers have put together a Blurb book, chronicling the project.  I'm feeling the need for one (not only because I am in it, honest) as I'd really like to check out the quality of Blurb for myself, having heard so many good things about them.

And speaking of good things, you truly are good eggs. Thank you for your kindly words on my last post. For some reason, it helps immensely to know I'm not the only one. That, and orange socks. It is impossible to feel miserable when you are wearing a pair.

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.

Hibernating day

A batch of Lina's Apple Muffins.

A pot of chicken soup all ready for dinnertime.

And motivated by this post over at Shutter Sisters, a first attempt at a Christmas Card photo. I may have to re-visit it on a day with better light, but cloves are better behaved subjects than small boys.

Hustle and bustle

A toasty fire, a suitably hued autumnal sock on the needles and the prospect of a blank square in the diary for tomorrow. Bliss.