Domesticali

Read it swap it

There's a phenomenon sweeping my bookshelves. It involves things I have bought, read, in the most part enjoyed, but don't feel the need to keep forever.

One of the customers in the bookshop, Annabel, told me about read it swap it.  For the cost of postage, you can swap books you have finished with and read new ones.

You list some books, someone wants one, so you look at their list and if there is something you fancy reading, you swap and send each other the books. There's a ratings system similar to ebay to keep track of swapper reliability.

It's cheap, it's green and in my experience the site is well run and the whole experience, pleasant. It is, though, only available to folks in the UK (I assume to keep postage costs low). As far as I can see, there isn't really any other down side, apart from the failure to reduce my book mountain. And don't blame me if you get lost browsing their library...

Attitude re-boot

Right, that's it. I have had enough. I've been floundering about in a 'hostage to fortune' funk for weeks now. Feeling low, lacking oomph. I thought the keep calm and carry on approach was working, but it's clear that plodding mindlessly onward is not my style. I need a different way, and I think I've found it.

From here. Can't think of a better mantra for the first day of British Summer Time.

And to put it into practice? Well, Janet and I had a little inter-library-loan recently (she made some very inspirational stuff). When she returned my book, she sent me a wonderful machine embroidered patch. I loved it, and I wanted to do something with it straight away. So, a frame and an internal mailing envelope. And new art.

Not very well photographed (it's hard to tale a picture of something behind glass isn't it?), but you'll have to take my word for it. It looks good. Hooray for getting excited and making things.

Mother's Day

I was thinking back today, to my very first Mother's Day with a child. Mark would have been around 6 months old and wasn't a good sleeper. Hubby was commuting and away from home for 12 hour plus days. I was a zombie and becoming increasingly aware of the fact that I had no idea whatsoever of how to be a mother.

And 8 years and another baby later and our parenting style can still often be described as a mixture of 'fly by the seat of your pants' and frenzied firefighting. Though mercifully these days, sleep is in better supply.

I wonder if a moment will ever come, when Mother's Day doesn't have me feeling like a bit of a phony. Because the real Mum is, of course, my mother. And these flowers are for her. Happy Mother's Day Mum.

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.

I always knew this was going to be a good week. Not that I could have predicted the sudden advent of the most glorious spring sunshine. Although perhaps I did have a premonition. There must be some explanation for feeling the urge to make laundry haiku sets for Karen and Monica.

What's laundry haiku? Clothespegs, with words printed on them, so you can be poetic while you do your chores. Like these. All sewn into in some re-purposed Toast catalogue pages. Well, you can't see bloggy friends without a little something can you? Especially when said friends are about to give you a priceless present.

Yes, Monica had agreed to bestow the gift of crochet on Karen and I.  Unfortunately, I wouldn't say I was naturally gifted in the crochet department. She's a great teacher (not to mention an awesome crocheter - have you seen this?), but I swear my fingers just don't work the same way as other people's. And my terminal inability to count to three  consistantly seems to be  a minor handicap. But I am getting there. Which is a good thing, as I have something I am burning with desire to make. Thankfully it's teeny weeny.

Which I've decided is a good thing as you can't spot any stitch irregularity. Must fly, my hook is calling.

School dinners

Many a school dinner has passed my lips (and plenty of breakfasts and suppers too). I was nine when I went to boarding school. We sat to eat at long tables - four down each side and a prefect at the head, who served the food. In my case, this was Jael Johnson and my first meal there was tinned ravioli in tomato sauce. Each table had a plate stacked high with Mothers Pride sliced white - I suppose providing copious quantities of bread was a sure way of making sure children were full by the end of each meal. I took a slice and mopped up the sauce, unaware that her eagle eyes were upon me. "What do you think you're doing? We're not Spanish here you know".

A somewhat brutal, but effective lesson learned - to keep your head down and watch how other people do things first. To conform for an easy life. To speedily dispatch whatever happened to present itself on your plate. It wasn't how things were at home, but it was clear that certain adjustments would need to be made.

Before boarding school I had never encountered tinned ravioli, or Findus crispy pancakes. Even Arctic roll was unchartered waters. My mother cooked from scratch - that was the way it was done.   And coming home for the holidays was such a blessed dietary relief. Because food really is love, especially if it doesn't come out of a cardboard box.

Pip over at Meet Me at Mikes is running a School lunches writing challenge, and this post is my way of joining in. Hey, it worked for Eliza Beynon, author of The Vicar's Wife's Cook Book. She got a book deal out of a Waitrose Food Illustrated competition.

And I found a copy of her book  in the library this morning (a fresh, new, first borrower copy no less). Wow, that woman can write a good meal.  Something from it's pages will be landing on our table very soon.

green week: 4

Jade, the colour of the plant on my windowsill. It's looking a bit worse for wear now and is ripe for replacement. I have a terrible habit of clinging onto houseplants for grim death. Way past the point that they add anything to our decor. But somehow, delivering them to the great compost heap in the sky seems beyond me. Maybe this weekend. After one last photo.

Getting rid of the plant must be preying on my subconscious, because walking through town today, I was stopped in my tracks by a pair of patent shoes in the same hue.

I am cursing having seen them, because now I have the wanties. And I'm trying so very hard not to spend any discretionary money.

It's hard to go against your natural impulses.

green week: 3 Tunic

Something had been sitting on my shelf unused for way too long.

Despite having fallen in love with several of the dresses that have appeared in blogland from within its pages.  But taking the plunge into uncharted Japanese pattern waters has taken a while.  And I won't pretend it was all plain sailing. The pleats are not absolutely perfect. And I couldn't make the sleeves fit at all. Which necessitated a swift modification with some bias tape bound armholes.

But all in all, there's something about my tunic that makes me feel very happy indeed.

And that's not to be sniffed at.
 

green week: 2

Green floss.

green week: 1

Emily is hosting green week this week. Seems apt, as it feels like spring might just finally be arriving. But no lovely outdoor spring shots here today. Because the garden is looking sorely neglected and I am chained to the kitchen trying to quell the chaos in there.

It's ugly. That's what you get for working on Saturday (thereby leaving 3 males to fend for themselves) and then hosting a birthday party on Sunday (thankfully not at home) which left us both too shattered to clean up the kitchen in the evening.

The following is the result of a worktop swoop for all things green.
The chaos calls. See you later.