Lenten Craft.

This soft cardigan is following me everywhere at the moment. I am feeling the need to use things up, finish projects and shift into another season. So I find myself allowing deep holes to be dug in the garden so I can finish a long yellow row in the sunshine. I spent yesterday afternoon with a friend delving into the recycling bin and ironing plastic bags, drinking straws and Hama Beads between sheets of baking paper for children to make into garden sculptures. We were so delighted with the jewel - like results that we went into a frenzy, hunting around for more scrap plastic, blasting plastic bottles with a blowtorch and melting plastic food trays and lids in the oven- heaven! C is still poorly, home from school, tired and hot but cheered up by making an Easter garden in a big dish with grass seed, baby spider plants and tobacco plant and lobelia seedlings stolen from the window sill.

Spring!

There has been a lot of miserable coughing and sneezing going on all around me here, so stabbing soft wool into sculptural fuzziness has been a treat. I am hoping soon to make figures that look less alarmed or 'Trumpton'esque. I was hoping for an ethereal quality which sadly defeats me (in all areas of life!)

I may be some time

I found this in my drafts box- it has lain forgotten rather like letters in my hallway, so often waiting for stamps and a walk to the letterbox.

I haven't written for so long, looking back through my posts it looks almost as though the snow never thawed and here we still are in arctic conditions! This somehow eases me back in and makes me feel that despite a little turbulence along the way (mostly dog related) things are rolling on just as they always were, just a little more peacefully, with an older toddler and a dog we now share with another family (really that should be a national scheme!) Things feel as though they are more often coming back together, sledge and snow, toddler and older children, energy and camera.

Carefree Clothes for Girls

Myrtle hates dresses. Ever since she could voice an opinion she has insisted on (loose) t shirts and trousers; even her toys are boys . But the patterns in this book appeal to her, with their raw edges, loose fit and rolled up trousers underneath. Of course we are not calling them dresses, they are 'blouses'. I'm really pleased with these. I left the sleeves out and they whipped up very quickly and fit well. The green spotty fabric is by Amy Butler and so great was my enthusiasm I cut straight into it. The flower motif is a section of a crocheted doily bought from a jumble sale (the spoils of which I will show you soon.) The turquoise linen is from an adult skirt found in the charity shop and it meets with Myrtle's approval despite its lacy edge that reminds me of a circular tablecloth. This thought has had me sniffing through my piles of vintage linens and old curtains for little pieces. Even a pair of Mr B's trousers had me thinking. Finally Myrtle wants me to make her dresses; believe me nothing is safe..

Potions

I've been full of cold and restless this week, mixing up soups (celery and cashew nuts my favourite) and potions of coffee; in a flask for dog walks, with hot milk, cardamon, cinnamon and brown sugar for home. I've been trying to draw something everyday, badly but patiently. I'm dreaming of mixing this inky blue mohair wool (rescued first from a deep plastic box in the charity shop for 50p and just now from Treacle's mouth) with other oddments to create something like the pictures in this book.

Dress

A work in progress, hanging in front of our calender and weather tree. This was a big shapeless vintage dress with two pockets. I sliced into it using a home made pattern I love using over and over again, knowing it fits, sits happily over trousers and under cardigans, knowing it needs only a metre and a half of fabric or a found dress. I tend to live with things a long time before I finish them, a fact I used to find frustrating about myself but now I accept as a kind of celebration of process.

Carrying Bread

We wake up to fresh breadmaker bread every day (thanks to Mr B) and wrapping the remains of the warm loaf in a plastic supermarket bag has been feeling all wrong for ages ( though it is rare for there to be much left after three ravenous children spread slabs of it with my mum's jam and Mo and I dunk it into soup or hummus at lunchtime). I made this little embroidered picture a year ago now, remembering a golden autumn walk home from the shop with a loaf of bread, secretly carrying Mo inside me, watching Myrtle make ladybirds and butterflies into pets all the way. I turned it into a drawstring bag last night, with a little patchwork frame that I agonised over for ages, staring at fabric and playing with different combinations, daring myself to get over my inability to use the really special pieces (which in my case are always the ones that cost the least- tiny 50p 1950's aprons or tablecloths, that feel like treasure washed up in the tide, never to be found again) So now the final crust of todays bread is wrapped in its cloth story bag and the very oldest fabric in my collection is still behind glass and all is well with the world.