Storing, sorting, preserving

Yes, it's a very dark, bad picture. But this is a little peek into my pantry and it's a shame there's no tempovision on computers yet or you'd be able to touch that picture and find that the chutney's still warm! (And no, sorry, there's no such thing as tempovision; I'm just a little weird).

When in doubt, work on storage.

In the last few days I have sorted out the storage in the over-the-stairs-cupboard (sounds strange - we have stairs that used to lead to the attic, then we converted the attic, built new stairs, sealed off the top to the old ones, but left them there behind a door. You just climb them til your head hits the ceiling. It's like living in Alice in Wonderland. I.e. freakin' fabulous... only most of the time they have suitcases, boxes and sleeping bags resting on them). I have also sorted bits of the eaves storage (the bits that don't involve toys the Little One is too young for but would go crazy for if he discovered them).

Last week I sorted the drawers in the utility room (finally put the winter scarves and gloves away now that it is just about warm enough to do without them... just). And the sewing storage (pretty ribbons were organised into boxes = pretty ribbons are now jumbled on the floor out of boxes = the Little One found them).

In a sort of storage tangent, today I have turned three punnets of organic plums into plum chutney, using this Delia recipe... only I had the old version from her 1970s books and didn't know about the 'thick enough' test. I don't think it was thick enough. Oh well. But it felt good to make it. It's that classic psyche-yourself-out technique: when you are not doing the everyday things that need doing and instead do an added extra, and it makes you feel super-capable. Only, don't tell anyone, those everyday things are still waiting to be done. You should see the toys on the floor around me. They'll only be strewn around again tomorrow so, tonight, I choose not to bother putting them all away again.

It's been a bit of a tough fortnight. I figure if I spend some time sorting, storing and preserving all around me, it might encourage a bit of spontaneous, tandem sorting, storing and preserving of my insides too.

Today will be better

... and it was. Fingers crossed, eh?

(Picture of my kitchen blackboard. Nothing like a bit of self-psyching up.)

(Yesterday was worse. And the day before. The weekend was busy. Hence things have been a little quiet around here. Time to get the sewing machine out I think.)

O Daddy! My Daddy!*

(* slightly clumsy augmentation of the famous 'O Captain! My Captain!' poem by Walt Whitman)

You may remember that, some time after Mother's Day, I wrote a post about my fabulous mother. Well it's been Father's Day and I can't let my dad go uncommented on. So strap on your seatbelt dad, here we go...

I made my dad a chequebook cover, out of an Ikea beige plain fabric and a beautiful V&A shell print. Crikey, it's tough to sew for a man. Sewing seems such a feminine thing (though I know a fair number of men do it). If you ever take the time to look through an online fabric shop, you'll find most prints are floral, pretty-coloured or child-oriented. There's little masculinity to be found (though, contradicting myself again, Amy Butler's husband has started designing his own line of manly prints).



But a chequebook is a sort of masculine thing, and a cover for it is a little more - well, a lot more - manly than a bag or somesuch. In the recesses of my memory I remembered Mary Emmens had sewn a few, so I had a go at making my own, making up the design as I went along (though I can now see that her remembered chequebook cover provided more than a little inspiration - thanks Mary!).

So there's the chequebook story over. Now to what I really wanted to say...

• My dad is brilliant, bonkers, unforgettable.
• He's sixty-something on the outside and sixteen on the inside.
• He's absolutely head-over-heels with my children, just as he was head-over-heels with my brothers and I growing up. I had my unappreciative moments, particularly when breaking free as a teenager. Now I know how lucky I was; how lucky I am. I don't tell him often enough, because we tend not to with men, because 'I love you's' are more known than spoken.
• You'd be hard-pressed to find such a Pied Piper to children - in the best of ways (by which I mean he's not leading them into the mountain!). I've yet to find a child not completely potty about him. Does he have some kind of secret magic? They just know that the twinkles in his eyes were made by them. My children are as lucky as me. And that's very lucky.
• My mum taught me about the mother I wanted to be, about the woman I would become. My dad taught me about the person I wanted to be and would become. That's really quite something.
• He had so much time for me. We would spend hours talking through the way the world and the people in it worked. I can't tell you how often the 'fruit-economy' and 'wine-bottle-perspective' lessons have come in handy over the years. You can't help but be in awe of  a man who loves a good metaphor.
• He taught me, stood on a chair, to recite Wordsworth's Daffodils. That's a gift to anyone's heart.
• He gave me my love of words and writing. He taught me to watch and draw. So many of the lessons I've learnt and the passions I've grown have been down to him.
• If a dad can teach you 2-point perspective at about eight, and take you for trips to look at railings, chimneys and window proportions, you're a lucky girl. You'll learn how to see the world, how to represent it, and to notice all the little overlooked things that can enrich your world and your day.
• Counting my blessings, taking my rose-tinted glasses off, mowing my own lawn rather than going where the grass looks greener... all these things, all this philosophising, came from him.
• He's a realist. His praise is saved for when it's really deserved. He tells the truth. He thinks deeply. He thinks hard.
• He knows me. And for the things in me that have changed or improved, I know I can show him those things and he will learn. He won't always tell me how great he thinks I am, but he will probably be telling someone else. When he does tell me, it'll mean so much more than the easy, little praises other people can give you. I will have really earnt it. He will have really meant it.
• I don't know how I could continue without him around. He keeps saying he's not long for this world. Stop it, Dad! Live, live, live. We none of us could be without you. You're the cement holding us all together. You're the magician to my children. You are the captain, my captain. I would be adrift without you.

Baby steps

What's new pussycat? Well, the Tiny One went from these...

to these...

Yes, his first pair of shoes. Time's just rolling on by, and I feel like a twig in floodwater some days. Whoosh.

The Tiny One also had his first swim at the weekend (tears to smiles in five minutes) while the Little One went in for the first time in over a year (and finally likes it). The Big One wouldn't come. He was having a teenage moment. Usually I just let those moments roll over me, but this time it was sad. He would have loved it. He used to love it. And the two littlies would have loved him there. So I say, "next time" (or else!)

In other news, tonight was a sewing night, but here I am still at the computer. So much for rolling back the blogging stuff: I feel sucked in again. And I don't seem able to stop writing, thinking about writing, reading, searching for inspiration and being inspired. It's hard to roll back on something that feels like it's doing you good. But the balance is better this time round.

I've got a blog redesign up my sleeve but I need the lovely husband to give me a hand with the photography and the design side (he has a good eye, and I need a sounding board). Watch this space!

A few more things I've been sewing

I said I'd give you a sewing catch-up. We're half-way there, so here's some more...

I made a wall/bed hanging pocket thingy (what would you call it?) as a 3yr old's birthday present. I'd like to say the wonkiness is as a result of perspective, but it's me not measuring properly. Lesson learnt! Still, I'm rather fond of it. I'd love to make one for the Little One.

The lovely fabric is from Robert Kaufman's 'City Centre' collection: 'City Commute' in primary (here's an example). I bought it from Fabric Rehab but they've currently run out.

Here's the second of my commissioned lengths of bunting. It's for a little girl with yellows, browns, neutrals and greens in her room. Her mum picked out the fabrics. Aren't they lovely? Good taste! I can't wait to see it in situ. There are some curtain samples from my mum in there, some fabrics I'd bought, part of my dad's 1970's corduroy brown trousers (!) and broderie anglaise from a pillow I had as a child. Hard to part with, but off to a good home.

 

And for another 3yr old's birthday (we're in the middle of a long run of them), I used some apron fabric I picked up at our local fabric mill's second's shop. I really love Maisy Mouse. With a bit of pretty yellow ribbon and some careful hemming (a curve! I know, you've all probably done one before, but it was quite something for me), it came together in just under two hours. I have the fabric for two more. Hooray!

Yes, that is the Tiny One making his mark. I know I don't usually show photos of my boys but this one is still very anonymous and I just couldn't resist that little dimpled hand in the picture. I'm off to give it a squeeze now.