Spring springing

I have a cream blouse, haggled for in the Bazaar in Istanbul, which fell foul of one of the very occasional times I succumb to chocolate ice cream. You know it was a hot day, because I was wearing that blouse, light and loose, cotton, embroidered round the neckline and sleeves, just right for a very hot day. That was the last time I wore it, because of course, chocolate ice cream stains, so my cream blouse had a couple of brown marks front and centre, impossible to disguise or erase. Unless, of course, you have recourse to dye and a bucket - oh, and an old stocking.  The blous is folded and comresssed into the stocking, which is tied at the top. The dye an indeterminate colour, an amalgam of magenta, turquoise, and sprinkle of golden yellow and a final flash of purple five minutes before the soda went in. Spring always nudges me to get an orange bucket or two out

Yes, I know the image looks a little .... ummm, strange shall we say. And that's after I've cropped it

Looking forward to unwrapping this

Time together

Courtesy of Google Maps

This week I had the pleasure of spending a day and a bit going to London with my beloved daughter. We were visiting the National Hospital for Neurology and Neurosurgery, in the service of investigating a whole series of hidden but debilitating symptoms; tachycardia, extreme fatigue, dreadful giddiness and the like, with which am very familiar as they are part of having an inherited connective tissue disorder. In Jen's case this is exacerbated by dyspraxia. We were seen by a delightful consultant, and I was able to help fill in details of family members affected, going back six generations. I was also able, by being there, to learn from the consultant more about how better to manage it, as I too have the condition.

It was lovely spending time with Jen. We live in the same town, so see each other, regularly, but going away is different. We went up Wednesday evening and spent the night there. She crocheted and I sewed on the way there and back. We talked about life and the way of living it, had smiling interactions with fellow travellers on our journey, people watched with mischievous pleasure.

Had Jen felt well enough while in London, we would have gone to the British Museum for a mooch and lunch after her morning appointment. As it was I was happy to be there to provide an arm for balance and leaning on as we navigated the mad whirl that is our capital city, with hurrying folk whizzing along in the Underground; talking business in Pret; striding down the pavements; people who would not understand her frailty. I used to have the same feeling when out with Mum, who was badly affected with brittle bones, an element Jen and I have escaped, but also invisible to the onlooker.

We came home by train in the afternoon; both exhausted and painful, but carrying on because what else can you do with a life limiting condition? It is a short walk from the station to her home and she was happy not to wait for my lift, so we hugged and parted. As she walked away I could see her swaying steps, hand out for balance, the occasional slight lurch. To passers by, a quick glance might prompt some dismissive though about lunchtime drinkers waving their way home.

I know that there goes my brave girl, getting on with life.

Down in the Dell - an update

The Dell is at the very bottom of the garden, it is where the badgers dwell, and where the butterflies and buzzies dance in the summer. it is semi wild, very untamed, but we try and keep that wildness under a little bit of control, otherwise there is the chance that a Sleeping Beauty level climbing rose will take over the greenhouse.

so I expedited with tools of a cutting variety this morning, and was faced with this,

I had desultory companions, who quickly vanished once the serious stuff started to happen

and had to remember that, as this is where the badgers dwell, I'd better keep an eye on my ankles

I toiled and toiled in the morning sunlight in this tucked away little corner

can you see the difference below?

Of course the light has changed, but the barrow has filled to a towering pile and a great deal of deadwood and tall arching rose stems have been reduced to a tidy pile. Just above the wheelbarrow, looking like frail little sticks in the air, is a rather lovely lilac tree, suddenly able to breathe and full of blossom buds, which I was very careful not to disturb. Just beside the wheelbarrow is a plum in delicate blossom

We hope for more fruit this year. We also know that, despite my effort this morning, we will still find the Dell full of the soft scent of roses once the season is upon us.

At the top of the garden, the pond is practicing catching sunlight

Enjoy this lovely spring weather while it lasts

Signs of Spring

I took advantage of the wonderful warm weather to catch up on a bit of gardening in the front garden yesterday. There really are some glorious signs of spring out there - being south facing everything is bathed in sunlight, even at this time of year, and the flowers hold their faces up to the sun and catch all that light, transforming it into beautiful colour and pattern.

the daffs and crocuses glimmering in one corner

candytuft flowers just beginning to swell and peek out from their tight little buds

lots of wonderful green from other bulbs gathering energy for their later flowering - although con one have an excess of bluebells? I feel not, but when they pop up just everywhere and you've got more things to fit in the space it's a bit perplexing

a warm cat soaking up the sun behind the buds and wondering why his 'ooman has cut back all that lovely nesty grass

stonecrop and tulip leaves forming a harmony of colour close to the soil

the brilliant winter jasmine, glowing against terracotta

yet more crocus

last year's osetospermum tucked under the window, complementing the colours of the euphorbia behind

and a little cluster of snowdrops at the base of the weeping birch, just beginning to clump up after five years in the ground (you see why I have snowdrop envy Els)

Hope they cope with the coming change in the weather

Seven down

We had our monthly patchwork meeting today, and I'm glad to say I was all caught up with myself. We have completed seven of our nine blocks now, so are romping towards the finish line. I am really happy with where I am with these blocks. I have enjoyed each one - all different in terms of techniques, all challenging in their own way, but terrific fun nonetheless.

Here they are all laid out on the sewing room floor - the wonderful stripes in the middle are the handstitched rug that sits in there, created by a 90 year old lady who knew Cecil "in the dim distant past" to use one of her favourite sayings. 

The blocks seems to be balancing well in terms of colour and design (the design all being Naomi's of course, as she is the one teaching us) and I'm hoping the final two blocks will fit in, once they are made.

The bottom line includes the most recent block, my version of the drunkard's path block.

So what was on offer today? Well the usual delightful teaching by Naomi - who is always so good at explaining how we should construct the current block, and who always brings both interesting books,  relevant to the technique and delicious home baked biscuits for us to nibble with our mid morning coffee. And the block we are to do this month? Snail Trail, a block which seems to have several differing construction techniques. We will be foundation piecing, which means using a base fabric and stitching each scrap down onto this. Each bit of fabric overlaps the previous one, and is placed right sides together across it and stitched before being folded flat so that the seam you have stitched covers up the raw edge of the previous piece. I am looking forward to using up some scraps and probably creating more!

If only all learning was this much fun!

The impromptu design wall

I have mentioned Mesopotamia a couple of times - my Studio 11 focus for this year, to understand what it is to follow a theme and explore its possibilities. It is a project that is taking shape slowly and is often in the back of my mind, rumbling about while I'm reading or doing ether stuff.

When I am at home I have no access to a design wall as we do at Studio 11, so I improvise with shelves full of books. I have many of those and a random title pulled forward makes an excellent support for a hanger, and this type of hanger makes an excellent support for a piece of cloth. Wide pieces, like the ones on the right can be clipped to bit of suitable sized card, but Mesopotamia fits.

Below it is clipped together with a piece of soft blue design cloth which I am using to try out techniques, You might recognise the buff and turquoise fabric - in an earlier incarnation it too was a trial piece for "her ladyships trousers" I used it to develop the dyeing technique for the bottom of the legs.

It is a vintage linen - previously sheets (see the trousers story), and very soft and fine. I'm sure it was lovely to sleep on when used for it's former purpose, but now it stands in for Mesopotamia; layers of linen and layers of time blending together.

There is a moon peering up out of the darkness, and sandy soil rippling ripe for cultivation.

There is the outline of two rivers - the Tigris and Euphrates of course, tacked onto the cloth ready to be couched

The colour ripples in the fabric have an estuarine feel to them, suitable for an environment where water and ground were intermingled. I have stitched across the entire piece with running stitch to hold things all together and create one cloth out of two, backed, of course with a fine muslin.

and at the very bottom, the deep dark water that is "Abzu", home of Enki, and source of the sweet water which is the basis of all life.

I plan to embroider the cuneiform script for Abzu here. 

And this soft blue? Another piece of the same linen, where I am finding out what happens when you couch down a variety of threads, all bundled together. They can turn and twist around each other; separate and rejoin, and even flow off the main course completely and create space for a town or city.

The first city, according to myth, was Eridu, where the sweet water of the Abzu bubbled up out of the ground. I have bought some little chippings of lapis lazuli and carnelian to stitch where the main towns are cities are - and of course I can take the "water" away from the main course to create a surrounding liquidity and space for the soil to be brought together around the city, to build and to grow.

I think the ideas are beginning to coalesce, and I understand where I could go with this. There is much to explore, and perhaps several pieces of cloth to express several ideas and themes. I'm looking forward to the journey, and to the learning.

Ring of light

Our garden is, we hope, a haven for wildlife. We have a big tree near the house which is festooned with bird feeders of all shapes and sizes. My Dear Soul fills up everything every morning without fail,  almost always before he has his own breakfast; often before his first cup of tea of the day. He has a tender heart when it comes to wild things (and cat chaps).

Nearer the house is a bird bath cum water bowl. Just now we are having a very cold snap - frost on the rooves, even some snow on the grass, though not enough to trouble us. But of course the birds are used to having access to water, and this morning, having watched a tiny little blue tit try, and fail to take a drink, I realised that the flowing waterfall in our new pond is too brisk for a little bird, though the bigger ones are very grateful for it. So I filled the kettle, boiled it up and poured the hot water into the bird bath to free the liquid. Popping my hand in to remove some debris at the bottom I found it surrounded by a ring of ice, which I pulled out and put to one side so that it didn't encourage the water to freeze again before the birds had their chance.

Later, as the sun moved round the garden, I noticed that nature had created something rather wonderful - a circle of light.

It will of course, disappear now, as the warmth in the sun melts that icy rim

Beauty in small things