The Homemade Heart

unexpected journeys

'The Hobbit' is a cherished book for me. I have several copies of it; a hardback in a slipcase, like this, and an annotated copy like this, as well as a paperback copy, plus a small pocket hardback that I have temporarily misplaced, as well as access to Isaac's rather magnificent hardback slipcased collection of The Hobbit and Lord of The Rings, which he received a few years ago at Christmas. Obviously that is several more copies than strictly required for the purpose of reading a story, no matter how enjoyable, but I do take great pleasure in reading the same words in different editions, to see where a favourite phrase or paragraph sits on the page in a particular hardback or paperback.
Whilst my journeys this summer have not involved gold-hungry dwarves, fire breathing dragons, or flights on the back of giant eagles, they have in their own way been as unexpected as Bilbo's, and have the added piquancy of not being fictional.  

unexpected journey: by train
In the Spring, I bought a ticket to see James Taylor at BST in Hyde Park, on July 15th. As a bonus, Bonnie Rait was playing with James, and it was also Paul Simon's last UK gig as part of his final tour.  The day at the festival was to be wrapped within four or five days of solo pottering around London, a long cherished ambition of mine. The hotel was booked, plans involving the Persephone Bookshop, Liberty of London, Fortnum and Mason and the Foundling Museum were made, as well as booking tickets to the ABBA exhibition at the Southbank Centre, and I began to feel very excited. 
Then some unexpected, hefty domestic expenses in early June left us reeling, and my London plan came crashing down in pieces. The money earmarked for my trip had to be diverted elsewhere. Swallowing my disappointment, I cancelled the hotel, and packed away the new dresses and sandals I had bought for my London wanderings, as well as my day dreams of drifting round London at my own pace, with no-one to please but myself, for a few days.
However, the day before I had originally been due to leave, Derek unexpectedly suggested that I go anyway, but with some modifications to my original trip. I still had my BST ticket (non refundable, non transferable),  and if I went for three days, not five, stayed here, not here, and generally took it easy with expenses, then it was do-able. I found myself, therefore, in the style of Bilbo running out of his Hobbit Hole without a pocket handkerchief, sitting on a train to London, not quite sure what I had thrown in my bag, checking I was not still wearing my apron, did not have toast crumbs round my mouth, double checking I had brought my BST ticket and wondering if I had left anything remotely resembling dinners, or clean clothes, for the family for the next few days.
And yes, I had an absolutely wonderful time.

unexpected journey: with camera
Last year, Jacob fell in love with Andrea, and he fell hard. This is entirely understandable, as she is the sweetest, funniest, kindest, most adorable girl you could ever imagine. He decided, sensibly, to ask her to marry him, and laid his plans for a very simple, sincere, and beautiful proposal. He asked me, unexpectedly, the day before the momentous event, if I would be there to take photographs. I was honoured, and extremely excited, and instantly said yes.
Hence, on the morning of the proposal, when Jacob and Andrea were driving to a pretty Inn outside Edinburgh for what Andrea thought was to be an overnight stay, I was driving there too, ahead of them. I parked behind a wall, and searched for a vantage point, from where I could discreetly take up position in the hotel gardens after they had gone inside to book in. I found myself lurking in some overgrown bushes opposite the Inn; camera in hand, hoping with some sincerity that nobody would approach and ask me just exactly what I was doing.
That day I learned how hard it is to take photographs when tears of happiness are running unchecked down your face. Jacob proposed, with a ring he designed and commissioned, as unique as the lovely girl I now proudly regard as my daughter. And of course, she did say yes.

unexpected journey: to health
If you are a long time reader of my blog (and if you are, thank you), you may remember that Isaac has had a tough time with his health over the past few years. I am extremely happy to report that we have finally had a diagnosis, and since then, life has improved for my boy.
What has been rather unexpected is the fulsome blossoming of his personality in the face of better health. He has energy, enthusiasm, and stamina. His natural wit and humour has come to the fore, and his calm wisdom and counsel are overtly clear. There are very few people whose advice I would seek, but Isaac is one of them. He is wise beyond his years, and has a clear, logical, yet kind way of looking at the world that is truly beautiful.

unexpected journey: in the wee small hours
Nobody wants to receive a message at 11pm on a Sunday evening saying 'Jacob has had a fall, we are in A+E', however that was my experience some three weeks ago.
Taut with tension, I threw a few essentials in a bag and set off for Aberdeen, arriving in the wee small hours of the morning, to find Jacob, lovingly and capably supported by Andrea, on a trolley in A+E. He had no sensation, movement or control from the waist down. He had slipped that afternoon, coming down the steps from his house, 'sober and undistracted' as he put it in his scholarly way, and was clearly in a bad way. An MRI revealed herniated discs in his lumbar spine, which were impinging on his spinal cord. This is a red flag situation, requiring emergency surgical intervention, if the patient is not to be left permanently disabled. With a nursing background, I had an inkling of how serious the situation was, but fortunately, at that time, Jacob was unaware of the severity of the situation.
His consultant ('Call me Tosh') was outstandingly capable, and he and Jacob had an immediate rapport, which made the following hours marginally more bearable. Jacob was taken away to theatre, with Andrea by his side in to the anaesthetic room (it will take me a long time to forget watching his trolley being wheeled away down the ward; my darling boy waving, saying, 'Don't worry mum, I'll be fine'). 
Many hours later, around 1am, he came back to the ward. Surgery was successful.
I will skip forward the gruelling days in hospital, as they are too painful to dwell on, however Jacob was amazing, and despite terrible pain, and life altering surgery, he faced his fears and challenges with courage and dignity, and walked out, 10 days later on two crutches, flanked by Andrea on one side, and me on the other. Pale, a bit clammy, but resolute; on his feet, and on his way.
The nursing and medical staff were almost without exception, cheerful, kind, and accommodating, but it was a hard time.
I was away from home for two and a half weeks, a truly unexpected journey.  Andrea never left Jacob's side; her devotion was complete; what a test of their love, and how well they came through it.

an unexpected journey: with needle and thread
If you are a long time reader of this blog (and, again, thank you if you are), you will know that I took up quilting about three years ago, writing about my first attempt at making a quilt here. Since then, I have made many quilts, some of which I have written about on the blog, but many which have been made without fanfare or photograph. Some are in use at home, some have been given away as gifts, all have been a joy to make, and my love affair with quilting is pretty strongly established.
In my last post, I mentioned that creatively I was 'almost' fulfilled. Amongst other things, I wished to become properly proficient at quilt making; learn more techniques, and possibly gain some sort of qualification. Browsing through options, I unexpectedly found what seems the perfect online City and Guilds course in Patchwork and Quilting, and after much discussion with Derek, and a bit of piggy-bank emptying, I enrolled on 3rd September on the C&G course 'Level Three Patchwork and Quilting', which is provided by the School of Stitched Textiles.
I am excited, and nervous, but also determined and committed. I'm not sure where my course will lead but I know I will work hard and do the best job I can. 

an unexpected journey: back to blogging
My final unexpected journey, as summer wheels steadily towards autumn, is back here to the blog. I hope, and intend, to be writing again more regularly again. Thank you for still being here.

mulling over

As I write, it is a warm day at the end of May. The dog is lying, panting, on the floor at my feet, occasionally opening a lazy eye to check all is well before snuffling back down into summer dreams of baby rabbits and cool walks in the wood.
I have been mulling over this blog for such a long time now, so uncertain how to proceed.
Sitting here today, it feels natural, and good, to type these words; there is no difficulty, and so much to tell, yet for so long I have not been inspired to write.....

Isaac has left school, and starts at Music Academy in August. He is well, and thriving, and the joy of that is in itself a reason to celebrate every day.
Jacob is thriving; he is in Thailand, on holiday with his adorable girl friend, and has finished 1st year of uni. The changes for him this year have been monumental, and all positive, another reason to rejoice.
The boys are older, more independent; their lives have changed, and mine also, in response.

I am quilting and sewing, and finding such creative satisfaction in doing so; creatively I am almost fulfilled, though there is lots more I want to do.

Life is busy, the boys are moving forwards, I am seeing a time on the distant horizon when they will both be pretty much independent.  In many ways I have much more time than I did when they were younger, though Mother Nature abhors a vacuum, and so my days seem more full and hectic than ever.

So where does regular writing for this dear blog of mine fit, in the changed pattern of my days?
Simple answer is I don't know..........

Until I decide what to do, I am closing for the summer season.I hope to be back, but I need time to think, and refresh my ideas, and perhaps blog with a slightly different emphasis, or try a new format.
Thank you for reading my blog, and for your friendship, it has been a gift.

I will still be on Instagram, and the blog will still be here, but for now it's 'Au Reservoir' as my fictional heroine, Lucia would say, twinkling off down the cobbled street with silken scarf trailing, hat tilted just so, to protect her porcelain complexion from the sun; her mind buzzing with a million plans for the summer, as is mine......

 

 

teetering

What's going on?
My blog has been teetering on the brink of extinction in recent months....
My last Cookery Calendar Challenge did not materialise (though I am still cooking)
My quilt posts dried up (though I am still quilting)
My book posts failed to materialise (though I am still reading)
My seasonal posts have not been written (though I am still noting and enjoying the changing seasons)
My annual Dalmally Show post has never been composed (though it was a good year for prizes and cups)
My Christmas crafts and recipes have not been shared (though preparations are well underway)

 

Why?
The lure of Instagram (easy, colourful, quick, communicative)
The less you blog....the less you blog (losing the habit)
The difficulty of knowing how to restart (feeling mildly embarrassed)
The nagging question 'Do I still want to do this?' (still having doubts)
 

But....
The main reason I have not been around is a change in our lives which I have been focussed on adapting to, and it has taken time: Jacob has left home to go to University, and my little nest is half empty. One of my baby birds has flown, and is joyfully spreading his wings as a fledgling adult. A very large baby bird, at 6' 4" with size 12 feet, but my baby bird nevertheless.
This is, of course, what we bring our children up to do, and I am truly happy and proud that my dear boy is forging ahead with his characteristic single minded energy and commitment, calmly taking this new situation in his stride. He is loving university life, keeping in touch with us, and staying true to himself, and I can't ask for more than that.

 

However....
How to get used to the empty bedroom; the un-raided fridge, the clean bathroom, the lack of dirty dishes in the sitting room, the loft ladders no longer dominating our narrow hallway (Jacob had a man-cave in the loft, and I had grown used to daily negotiating my way past the wooden loft ladders).
How to get used to not seeing him, cuddling him, talking to him every day, going in to his room at night to say goodnight, tell him that I love him, and go to bed knowing my wee family was all under one roof.
In the end, it comes down to a hefty dose of self discipline. I haven't sent him to war, and I haven't sent him to sea, so I can cope, and I am coping, and will cope. 

I have also been very absorbed in supporting Isaac through some challenging health issues, which have been adversely affecting his well-being for a long time. We are now slowly - painfully slowly - moving forwards and hopefully life should begin to gradually (how I wish it were instantly) improve for my wonderful, creative, musical, sensitive, kind, funny, gentle boy.

So...
I have been busily assimilating the changed rhythms of home life for the last few months, and my familiar blogging subjects and themes have not felt a natural fit for what was happening, and how I was feeling.
My lead carnivore (Jacob) is eating his dinners elsewhere now, and we are eating differently at home because of this absence, hence no Cookery Calendar Challenge.
I have been sewing, and making quilts, but not taking photographs of them; it didn't seem important.
I have been reading, but not as much as I usually do.
I have been walking every day, but not taking my camera, or actively looking for 'good' photography subjects for the blog when out and about, as I previously would have.

The question is....
Is blogging still something I want to do? Is it still a happy fit with what I want to write about and can I truly write about what is currently important in my life without compromising privacy, or sounding mysterious; neither of which are acceptable?

And the answer...
I honestly don't know. I have been thinking about writing this post for several weeks, not sure what to say, or how to say it. I have been writing this blog fairly consistently since January 2014, and I guess it is natural that there will be fallow periods now and then. This evening, sitting at my desk beside the fire, the winter wind howling round the house, it feels pleasant to be writing again; rather like meeting an old friend, and realising that you have missed them.
I think there are things I would probably like to write about soon: I have a big pile of books waiting to be read, and several recommendations from recent reads. I have a Christmas quilt well underway. We are having a pre-Christmas brunch for family this weekend, and it would be nice to take photographs of the table, the food, the twinkling light from the candles. I will be planning my Christmas food gifts soon, and might make something new this year, and share the recipes....
Hmmm, I think my blog rehabilitation period may officially have begun.

 

 

(*photographs from family holiday in Northumberland this summer)

Winter Project Link Party January 2017

This winter I am joining Jennifer from Thistlebear, in her link party, where bloggers post their current crafty makes, and encourage each other through the long evenings of winter with lots of hand crafted beauty.
The project I would like to share this month is a crocheted scarf I am making to enter in to this year's Dalmally Show.
I am not an avid crocheter, nor a skilled one, but I enjoy making an occasional piece. My Nana taught me how to make a Granny Square when I was twelve; she had been taught how to do this some weeks before at her W.R.I. meeting, and kindly passed on her knowledge to me. I proceeded to make a Granny Squares pram blanket for my new baby brother in rather scratchy purple and cream wool. It is still in existence some 40 years later (in fact it is currently in my loft) 
My crocheting career then lay fallow until minimally revived a few years ago, when I made another baby blanket (stripes this time), and I have made several other small pieces since then, so when I saw that a  crocheted scarf was one of the competitions for the Dalmally Show this year, I dusted off my crochet hook and started looking for a suitable pattern from here .
The name of the pattern is Land Girl Scarf. I considered the name very evocative, and also loved the names and shades of the wool used, all of which are place names in glorious Yorkshire, where Derek and I spent many happy holidays before the boys were born. 
The original colours were:
Tan: 'Thirsk'
Green: 'Richmond'
Turquoise: 'Bedale'
Brown: 'Helmsley'
Thirsk is a gorgeous market town, but despite this, I chose to change the tan colour to grey (an equally delightful 'Skipton'), as the colour tan sets my teeth on edge.
 
The scarf is worked in a ripple pattern. I used ripple pattern I had used before, (from this book) as opposed to that specified in the pattern, as I am not a wonderfully confident crocheter, and preferred to use a familiar pattern. It is based on multiples of five, and gives a pleasingly uniform wave.
I particularly like the stepped colour change, I think this gives the scarf an old fashioned feel which I like. I imagine a beret worked in the same stripe pattern would be adorable; not that I am going to attempt one, but it would be very 'Land Girl'.
 

This is the scarf about half way finished. I am not looking forward to sewing in all the ends, but nor am I motivated to sew them in as I go along. An absorbing audio book and a big mug of tea will see me through that particular afternoon!
The original pattern has two plump pom poms, one on each end, and they will be essential to the finished appearance. I made pom poms a lot as a child, using two rings cut out of cardboard,  but they seem to have become very professional in recent years, with hardly a strand out of place. Not sure I will be able to achieve such a level of perfection with mine when the time comes.
Here is the wool label, for those who like the look of the wool. The colours are beautiful, vibrant, yet soft.

I still have sixty two rows to go, and am steadily ticking them off  my list. Each row takes around four minutes. Now that Christmas is over, and life is settling back in to more of a routine, I should have the scarf finished reasonably soon, though I do have several other projects tugging at my time and interest, but that's a story for another time.
Do remember to pop over to Jennifer's blog, and see what all the other Winter Link Party crafters are up to this month.

Christmas is coming

Christmas is coming; my favourite time of the year, and preparations are in full swing here at Homemade Heart HQ. The tree is up, the mantlepiece is dressed, the fairy lights and candles are twinkling to brighten the short winter afternoons, and long winter evenings.

Unfortunately, my laptop has developed a few problems and has today been sent away for fixing. Composing posts on an ipad is a frustrating business, so today I am here simply to say hello, and hope that your preparations for Christmas are going well. Hope to back soon with longer posts, more photographs, and a festive recipe or two.

the last generation to

(image from here)

I am distinctly aware of belonging to a specific generation; one that grew up in the '70's, had their youth in the '80's, established adulthood in the '90's and 00's, and are now embracing with vigour and dignity the challenge of being 50 plus. 
I don't feel particularly old for my years, but nor do I fight against the passage of time. I don't try to look younger than I am, I don't lie about my age, I don't wear inappropriately youthful fashions, but nor have I quite yet given in to the lure of elasticated waistbands and comfort shoes.

The world is both remarkably different, and remarkably the same, as the one I grew up in, but it has recently occurred to me that I am probably one of the last generation who will routinely use some expressions, and observe some social mores, that will age me as surely as the laughter lines round my eyes.

Therefore I ask the following question: am I one of the last generation to

• use the words 'dinner' and 'party' in the same sentence
• not discuss bowels, sex or politics in mixed company
• send Christmas cards in quantity, by snail mail
• think it's cool to say 'cool'
• miss sending cheques in the post
• sign off  'Yours Sincerely' in cordial letters
• sign off 'Yours Faithfully' in business letters
• reach for a pencil and paper to work something out
• remember when everyone wore a vest (wool in winter, cotton in summer)
• get out the good china for company
• think trainers should be worn only for sporting pursuits
• worry that I am wearing  too much make up
• still think of John Pertwee as Dr Who
• never have cleavage and knees showing (in one outfit)

List to be expanded no doubt, as more examples spring to mind.

What about you? What markers and mores fix you in your particular generation? I'd love to know.

Winter Project Link Party November 2016

This year I am joining with Jennifer over at Thistlebear, for her Winter Link Party, where bloggers post their craft projects over the autumn and winter months, and encourage each other along the way. Do pop over to Jennifer's truly heartfelt and delightful blog and read all about it. 
 
 For my November Winter Project Link Party post I am sharing my most recent make; a Harris Tweed scarf, lined with Liberty lawn cotton. Harris Tweed is a unique fabric, proudly made in the Western Isles of Scotland. The colours are truly remarkable; complex, beautiful, and reminiscent of the remote and stunning landscape of the islands. Please read more about this truly amazing fabric here. 
I bought some offcuts of Harris Tweed when we visited the Western Isles during the summer, and amongst the pieces was a pretty length of pale blue, which was just the right size for a chunky winter scarf. I chose some co-ordinating fabric from my local sewing shop to use as lining, and, with right sides facing, machine stitched the lining fabric to the tweed along three sides. I left the lining slightly longer along the second long side, and brought it round to the front of the scarf, hand stitching it along the length to break up the plain blue at the front.

Every Harris Tweed item is entitled to have a Harris Tweed label attached. I had a few tucked away carefully, but when it came to stitching one on to my scarf, they were so carefully tucked away that I couldn't find them. I improvised with a label from the sleeve of a Harris Tweed jacket of Derek's. Unfortunately this meant there was a tiny nick out of one side, but I tried not to mind about this small flaw.

I am very happy with my scarf. It is extremely cosy. I wear it with the lining side next to my neck. Here I am wearing it; this shot taken today between chores when I realised I didn't have a 'live' photograph of my scarf!

Do pop over to Jennifer's blog and catch up with all the other crafty bloggers joining with the Winter Link Party.

The August Break '16: three

Continuing with The August Break, hosted by Susannah Conway. Today's photo prompt: three.
 
Three little mugs hanging in the kitchen. Spot the odd one out? (It's the self decorated one from here)

 

The August Break '16: my face

Day 23/31 of The August Break with Susannah Conway. Today's prompt, 'my face'. As in "Just give me five minutes to put on my face".

The August Break '16: squares

Day 22/31 of the August Break with Susannah Conway. Today's prompt: squares. I have a lot of fun with my Instagram squares. You can find me there at @penny.homemadeheart

The August Break '16: today is...

Day 21/31 of The August Break, with Susannah Conway, posting a photograph every day in August according to a list of prompts. 'today is...

Today is... the day I started running again.

I wrote about my first experience of running here, and about fracturing my foot during a 10k here. Following the fracture, I encountered further problems when I tried to start running again, and was found to have an underlying foot problem. Initially I was advised not to run at again at all, which was exceptionally disappointing. However, I eventually persuaded my Podiatrist to allow me to start again providing various criteria were met: that I was very, very, very careful, and that I bought trainers specific to my needs, that I complied with my foot exercises, and wore my special insoles. 'I can do all that', thought I.
So, today is... the day I started running again, using the brilliant C25K app, in my new trainers from here. My aim is to complete the 9 week running course using the app, and then carry on as I did before, adding minutes every week. Perhaps I will even be able to run the Glasgow Womens' 10k next May.

The August Break '16: clouds

Day 20/31 of The August Break, hosted by Susannah Conway, prompt 'clouds'. Big skies from the beautiful Isle of Lewis last week.

The August Break '16: my hands

Day 19/31 of The August Break, hosted by Susannah Conway. Today's photo prompt: my hands.
With thanks to oldest son Jacob for obligingly taking the shot.

The August Break '16: 5 years ago

Day 18/31 of the August Break photography project. Today's prompt is '5 years ago'
Every year in late August, when the first leaves are tipped with gold and brown, and the rowans berries are showing scarlet against the green, I start making bramble brandy  (or plum brandy, red currant gin, or some other variation, but most often bramble brandy), for Christmas.
Though I never consciously choose to make it in the same week in August, I noticed today when I took the Kilner jars from the dresser cupboard, that the hand written sticky labels, though faded after going through the dishwasher, show dates within a few days of each other, going back some years. I couldn't actually find one dated 2011, however  I am confident that I was making bramble brandy this week 5 years ago. 
There is a pleasant sense of preparedness which is uniquely associated with making jams, chutneys, cordials and, I can happily report, bramble brandy. It is also very easy to make, and will provide you with beautiful gifts to give to family and friends at Christmas, as well as a gorgeous drink to enjoy as a Christmas treat to yourself.
I wrote about last year's home made brandy here, giving the recipe and method in full, so if you are already dreaming of cosy winter evenings sipping something delicious from a short glass, click on the link. One other note: I use cheap brandy for this (ditto cheap gin if I am making a gin based liqueur), the type that comes in plastic bottles, and at current prices is around £9 for a 70cl bottle. Don't be afraid, by Christmas it will taste like nectar.
 

The August Break '16 bedroom window

 

Day 17 of the August Break, hosted by blogger Susannah Conway. Today's prompt is 'bedroom window'.
Our bedroom in this house was originally the front parlour, and has a small bay window. Our house was built in 1928, and had three public rooms, and only one bedroom, a fact which astonishes me. The public rooms comprised the front parlour, which would have been kept for visitors (or I believe, sometimes used when a family member was ill), the family sitting room, which is also a good size, but with a plainer window, and, I imagine, would have been cosy and comfortable. It is currently the boys' room (television, ps4 etc, I wrote about its transformation from dining room to boys' room here). The third public room was a dining room, and is currently Isaac's bedroom. To compensate for only having one bedroom, it appears that the loft space in the house was used as a bedroom of sorts, as there is a small built in cupboard up there, a green painted chest of drawers, and what appears to be a wooden partition, presumably dividing off bed spaces. I can only imagine how hot it must have been up there in the summer, and conversely, how cold in winter.
Back to today's photo prompt. The bay window in my bedroom is where I keep my sewing machine, on a small painted trolley. Underneath there are a couple of work boxes. The pale blue box holds fabrics, and was originally a gift box from here. The wicker bedroom chair pulls round when I want to sit at the sewing machine (which is from here). Perhaps one day I will have a bigger space, or even a whole room, but for the present this space in my bedroom window will do nicely.

The August Break '16: breathe

Day 16/31 of the August Break, hosted by Susannah Conway, where bloggers post a photograph every day in August, according to a list of prompts. Today's prompt is 'breathe'.

Since returning from holiday on the Isle of Lewis late on Sunday night, I have been in perpetual motion. I have never operated a smoothly efficient system for the start of a new school year. The thought of having new, pristine uniforms lurking in the wardrobe all summer holidays, waiting to pounce, is just too depressing. I always leave things until the last possible minute to mentally delay the return to the school routine for the boys, and for myself. This results in a last minute flurry of activity, but even for me, the two days prior to school re-starting was close to the wire. Two prolonged trips into to town, and a scurry round the local Retail Park, all conducted in uncharacteristically hot temperatures, ensued. Great tolerance and patience were demonstrated by all concerned.

School uniforms needed topping up (what is it that teenage boys do to white shirts?).
School shoes needed bought (note to self: teenage boys do not appreciate maternal advice regarding footwear). 

New school rucksacks were deemed an immediate necessity (the old ones having been judged 'Ok for next year' until closer examination revealed significant structural wear and tear).
Both boys like stationery, so there was slight compensation for all the trudging about in the heat with the purchase of a bundle of Pukka pads, Post It notes, and many packs of new pens and pencils.
Additionally, the hired kilts for the wedding we attended whilst on the Isle of Lewis needed returned to the kilt hire shop . An unexpected pang of sadness caught me as we handed them back in. The much anticipated celebrations and festivities were over. The new term was, inevitably, upon us.

Since the boys started secondary school, and have turned man-sized, school uniform has generally been easier to buy; black trousers, white shirts and black shoes are almost permanently available in the shops. Only the school blazer requires separate ordering and a bit of forethought, and I must here confess that I also delayed ordering new school blazers until the last possible moment, with the result that Isaac is returning to school tomorrow in his tatty old one, and Jacob will not actually have one at all until both new blazers are delivered next week, thanks to my over zealous clear out of his room during the summer holidays.
.
In all the running about, it was a pleasure to take five minutes in the garden, looking for a suitable image for today's photograph challenge. The hibiscus flowers I planted in early summer have been an elegant addition to the garden, steadily producing bloom after bloom. As I fiddled with the settings on the camera, the wind stilled for a moment, the bloom settled on the stem, and I could feel myself just breathe.

The August Break '16: unicorn

Day 16/31 of The August Break with Susannah Conway. Today's prompt; 'unicorn'. Some head scratching here (metaphorical only, I try never to scratch my head, it looks so off-putting). Unicorns are challenging to photograph in the wild; being elusive, secretive, proud creatures, who disappear at the mere whisper of the presence of us clumsy humans.
Their natural habitat being bluebell woods, little girls' day dreams and the pages of beautifully bound story books, I had to settle for this particular unicorn, spotted here, on a recent trip to Edinburgh.

The August Break '16: love is...

Day 14/31 of The August Break, hosted by Susannah Conway. Today's photograph prompt is 'love is....'
All I can think about when I read these words is my boys. I remember a friend telling me, before I had any children, that the love you feel for your children is beyond anything you can ever feel for anyone else. At the time I didn't fully understand what she meant. Her words often echo in my head now, however, when I look at my boys. I adore them. 'Love' doesn't even come close. This is one of my favourite photographs, taken about 9 years ago.

The August Break '16: 6 o'clock

Day 13/31 of The August Break. Today's photograph prompt is '6 o'clock'. Evening walk on the sands in Lewis. Evening light on the sand showing the ever fascinating worm casts.

The August Break '16: a secret

Day 12/31 of The August Break, hosted by Susannah Conway. An annual project where bloggers post a photograph every day in August, according to a list of prompts. Today's prompt: a secret.
We are currently on the Isle of Lewis, in the Western Isles of Scotland, and driving round on our various expeditions, we have seen many abandoned houses like this. Who knows what secrets they hold?

The August Break '16: green

Day 11/31 of The August Break, where bloggers are invited by Susannah Conway to post a photograph every day in August, according to a list of prompts.
Today's prompt; green.

Green grass (purple heather and yellow buttercups too) blow in the ever-present wind as we climb up the shallow stone steps towards Shawbost Norse Mill and Kiln, on the splendid Isle of Lewis.

 

The August Break '16: yellow

Day 9/31 of The August Break. My yellow summer dress, ironed. I fold all my clothes with tissue before travelling. It makes such a difference; they arrive at their destination looking fresh and uncrumpled (unlike their owner). This dress is a pleasure to wear; yellow is not a colour I would usually choose, but it is so summery and bright that it makes me feel happy every time I put it on.

The August Break '16: red

Day 9/31; continuing with The August Break, kindly hosted by Susannah Conway, who supplies a list of photography prompts every day in August.  Today's prompt; 'red'. My (mostly) red Russian Doll, from Prague.

The August Break '16: favourite taste

Day 8/31 of The August Break, hosted annually by Susannah Conway. If you click on the link, you will find lots of blogs to visit, and there is also an Instagram hashtag #augustbreak16
Today's prompt is 'favourite taste' and I didn't have to consider my answer for a single second.

The August Break '16: beneath my feet

Day 7/31 of  The August Break, hosted by Susannah Conway. Today's prompt: beneath my feet.
Beneath my feet today, and for the next seven days, is some of the oldest rock in the world; Lewisian Gneiss . We have travelled by road and sea to the Western Isles, for a family wedding. We are staying in Stornoway, where I was (briefly) at boarding school thirty four years ago. When I left a few days after finishing 6th year at school, it was with no desire ever to return.
Time, and circumstances, however, change our outlook, and I am happy and intrigued to be here, looking forward to exploring and re-discovering this beautiful place. The knowledge that the rock under my feet the rock is some three billion years old, makes our human squirmings and frailties seem very insignificant and temporary, which is rather comforting.

The August Break '16: I'm reading

Summer reading is a different from autumn or winter reading. Lighter, perhaps a little more frivolous, always enjoyable. This is my current 'to read' bundle. Nina Stibbe's latest, Paradise Lodge. I read Love Nina, and Man at the Helm, and loved them. Her writing voice is funny, fresh, and original. Slightly Foxed is a quarterly literary review, charming, and a portal to all sorts of interesting literary discoveries. The summer edition of the Enid Blyton Society magazine (I am a member, of course). Uppercase is a quarterly magazine I have not read before, but it looks full of creative inspiration.

The August Break '16: midday

Day 5/31 of The August Break, posting a photograph every day according to a list of prompts provided by Susannah Conway. Today's prompt is 'midday', and it was causing me some mild consternation. In my head were images of cowboys in a dusty western town,  blistering midday sun beating down overhead, trigger fingers itching, but that didn't seem applicable, nor was it actually happening. I was contemplating this minor creative crisis around 11.40 a.m., gazing speculatively at my late brunch of banana squashed on to toast (divinely delicious, but not photogenic...) when the postie came whistling up the path with a delivery. It was my self decorated dishes and baby mug from my recent visit to the Emma Bridgewater factory. 'Midday; Emma Bridgewater delivery. Yep, happy with that' I thought.

The August Break '16 sweetness

Day 4/31 of The August Break: sweetness. Isaac, aged about four.

The August Break '16: handwriting

 

My image for day 3/31 of Susannah Conway's The August Break: a bundle of letters from my pen friend in America. We have never (yet) met in the flesh, we currently know each other solely through our  handwritten letters.

Writing letters by hand is an excellent discipline for both mind and manners, and a delightful way to make friends. There is some effort involved in writing by hand. This is no hasty email dashed off between chores. There is a modest sense of occasion about writing a hand written letter; the gathering of paper, ink, and envelopes, the gathering of thoughts, and the physical sitting down to write. There is the requirement for concentration; if your letter is to be attractive to the eye as well as the mind of the recipient, there is less room for mistakes (unless you send a page full of scored out passages).  There is a sense of conversation, of trying to make your letter interesting to read, of demonstrating, via the written word, that you have read carefully the letter to which you are replying, that you care about what is contained therein, that you are responding appropriately before sharing your own news, views, or opinions. There is the affectionate signing off, with 'Hope to hear from you soon!' or 'Sending love', before the letter is finished, carefully checked, and finally posted. 
I still find it remarkable that a I can compose a letter at my desk or kitchen table, send it from our local Post Office, and a week or so later, my pen friend, in her American house, can be boiling the kettle in her kitchen for a cup of tea to drink whilst she reads it.

Do you still write letters by hand, or send postcards from holidays, or write thank you cards? Something that can be treasured, or at the very least, appreciated, by the recipient? Propped up on the mantelpiece, or on the kitchen window sill, to be savoured again when there's time, perhaps slipped between the pages of a favourite book for safe keeping, or kept in a bundle with other correspondence.

Author Susan Branch writes lovingly about the art of handwriting here , and here is a website devoted to all things snail-mail.

The August Break '16: leaf

The Acer tree in our back garden. Even in August, the leaves are starting to subtly change colour. In Scotland, autumn is never far away.

Day 2/31 of The August Break, hosted by Susannah Conway, where bloggers are given a daily prompt throughout August to inspire a photograph every day, with or without accompanying text. Fun to do, and open to all, to join at any time. A good place to find lots of new blogs to read. There is an Instagram hashtag #theaugustbreak16 too.

The August Break '16: morning light

Today's prompt is 'morning light'. I am a morning person; I love early mornings pottering round the kitchen when the rest of the family is still asleep. Meg, our sweet natured yellow Labrador, trots through from her cosy bed, and relentlessly nudges my arm with a wet nose until I pat her. I hear the wood pigeons in the garden softly cooing their distinctive song. I hear the clock ticking on the mantelpiece, a sound usually obliterated by the hurly burly of family life. The kettle boils for that welcome first cup of tea.  The morning light shines through the slats in the kitchen blinds. All is well.

 

This is day 1/31  of The August Break, an annual project hosted by blogger Susannah Conway.
Susannah provides a prompt for each day in August, from which bloggers take inspiration to post a photograph, with or without accompanying text.
I have taken part in the August Break for the past two years (click The August Break category in the sidebar to see my previous efforts) Being a Completer Finisher I worry about finding suitable images for each prompt, or missing a day, but others probably take a more relaxed view.
The August Break is open to all, so if the idea appeals to you, do drop by Susannah's blog, where you will find many other participating bloggers. There is also an Instagram hashtag #augustbreak2016 

Too Much Stuff

    Since returning from holiday some days ago, I have been assessing my immediate surroundings, and coming to the conclusion that I have Too Much Stuff. This is a familiar pattern; whenever I come home after a spell away, my home always appears to be teetering on the brink of clutter-overload (I wrote about it here after a previous summer holiday). 
Our house is small, with poor storage, and I am a maximalist. The kitchen is a fine example. My dresser (it is 'my dresser' not 'the dresser') is piled high with crockery, serving dishes, mugs and jugs; the cupboards underneath are stuffed with kilner jars, empty jam jars (surely handy for something?), and pretty tins (purpose yet to be decided). The kitchen shelves are filled to capacity (and slightly beyond) with cookery and baking books. The food cupboards are packed to the gunnels with food staples; pasta, rice of every description, tins, and packets. The baking cupboard has enough flour, spices, flavourings, dried fruit, and chocolate to bake a hundred cakes. 
I have something of a siege mentality when it comes to the kitchen. When I was young, and we lived in the far north of Scotland, it was very important to be well stocked with food. The nearest shops were 17 miles in one direction, and 21 miles in the other,  and in the winter we were often snowed in for weeks at a time. Bulging cupboards and freezers were a necessity to see us through these times. I have never managed to shake off the habit of laying in stores for the winter. As soon as the temperature drops in October, I start filling the cupboards with long life milk, and tinned and dried goods, much to my husband's amusement. My parents were hoteliers, so providing plentiful food for hordes of people was ingrained in their behaviour, and some of that passed on to me. I operate on the proviso that food for the masses may be required at a moment's notice, and I must be prepared at all times for this eventuality.

My wardrobe is another area where clutter accumulates. I am only moderately interested in clothes, and I do not have a huge shoe or hand bag collection (if only!), but I do have two distinct wardrobes: fat, and not fat. The difference is about two and a half stones, which I gain and lose in a roughly three yearly cycle, with much accompanying misery. That is a story for another day, however it does mean that I have many more garments than someone whose weight is stable. Within these sets of clothes there are distinct winter and summer wardrobes, which I rotate between my bedroom and the loft, seasonally. That's a lot of clothes. Too many, in fact, yet I find it hard to dispose of garments that have seen better days.
In addition to providing for both my fat and non-fat self, another reason for keeping clothes longer than I should, is an ingrained anxiety about not having the resources to replace them. This stems from the many years of (comparative) poverty that Derek and I have lived through. I am talking strictly first world poverty here, nothing dramatic, but a budget for clothes was simply not available at various points in our lives together; most recently during the last recession, when I didn't (couldn't) buy any new clothes, at all, for five years. So now, even though we are no longer in that impecunious state, there is a small learned fear associated with getting rid of even worn out clothes.
However, I am able to overcome these irrational thoughts with a little conscious effort, and always feel mightily refreshed when I do eventually have a wardrobe purge, so the other day, armed with a roll of black bin bags and mug of tea, I had a ruthless clear out of bobbly jumpers, tired jeans, unflattering dresses and what I loosely refer to as 'dog walking clothes'. I still ended up with a bag for the loft labelled 'Do not currently fit' (note the optimism inherent in that phrase), but many garments were packed up for the charity shop, and others for the rag bag donation container which sits outside the village community centre.

Next task, the bookshelves. Books are so close to my heart that I find it terribly difficult to objectively decide which to keep, and which to lose. I constantly accumulate books, regarding a new book as one of life's greatest, and simplest, luxuries. However, as a result I am faced periodically with overflowing bookshelves. I refuse to have books seeping on to the floor in tottering piles, so roughly once a year I need to straighten my shoulders and tackle the job. Certain books I will never part with, but paper backs I have read once, and know I will not re-read, I am able to let go; cookery books I have picked up second hand, and found less than useful I can re-donate without a pang, plus the occasional clanger I have bought at full price (ouch). My 'to read' pile becomes a 'will I ever read?' pile, and usually a few of those go too.

Despite my initial reluctance to have a  clear out, I always warm to the task, and rarely miss clothes, books, or other items I donate to the charity shop (though I do recall one slightly over zealous clothing purge when I spent the following week skulking round Oxfam waiting to buy back two skirts I had too hastily discarded).
I do also have a horror of hoarding, and inwardly tremble at the thought of becoming an old lady shuffling in broken down carpet slippers through piles of old newspapers, lidless plastic containers and broken toasters in a fly infested house (dramatic, moi?) which vision is usually sufficient to send me scurrying for the bin bags.
More seriously, I also need a bit of  head-space to think through a wardrobe or cupboard (or room) clear out. During term time, day to day life is simply too hectic to take time for extra tasks, especially those which initially create more, not less, mess. The christmas holidays are not the time to do anything requiring such psychological effort, but during the long summer holiday days, I am able to take the few hours I need to make a difference, and always feel so much better, and psychologically lighter, when I do.
Do you find it hard to let go of possessions? Are you are clear eyed Clearer Outer, or a misty eyed, just in case Keeper? I would love to know.

(The photographs in this post are close up shots of Isaac's quilt. I finished the quilting on holiday, and have only the binding to do. All being well I should finish it next week, when I will post more photographs and report on Isaac's thoughts about it.)

 

deeply dismayed

This is not a political blog, and it never will be, but I am so deeply dismayed by the result of yesterday's referendum I want to record that reaction here.
Why, when the world is at its most unstable for decades, have we chosen to reduce our contribution to a significant proportion of it, to remove ourselves from influencing and engaging with Europe from the inside?
Britain's exit from Europe, to my mind, is a backwards step. It is xenophobic, retrograde, inward looking, selfish. Where is our generous minded, gracious, multi-cultural, open minded, inclusive society?
What message does this send to the rest of the world about the citizens of the UK?
I am no less worried about the chaotic economic instability that will follow. We have just started to crawl out of the worst recession since the '30's, and the Exit vote will plunge us right back in there. Already, a few short hours after the result, the pound has plummeted. The UK is likely to lose its AAA credit rating, significantly impacting on the government's borrowing ability.
In Scotland, we have the added horror of the possibility of another Independence referendum; the last one was the most divisive, nasty and stressful political event in Scotland's recent past.
I truly thought that when Nigel Farage revealed his true colours along with his repugnant poster campaign, that people would realise what sort of Britain they were voting for if they chose to exit Europe, but tragically they either did not realise, or even worse, they did.

 

 

Looking back, I squirm...

 

As a young teenager, Valentine's Day represented nothing less than psychological torture: would anyone send me a card, anyone at all? Flowers and chocolates were unheard of; no-one had the budget for such extravagance, but cards were occasionally exchanged. When I was about fifteen, I remember giving one card, and receiving one card. Saint Valentine slipped up a little, as the card I gave was to a boy I was hopelessly infatuated with, who wasn't remotely interested in me. The card I received was from a very sweet boy I was not remotely interested in, but who was (perhaps) infatuated with me. When I read his card, I just laughed, and showed it to my friends.
Looking back, I squirm at my indifference.

In my very early twenties, I was in a relationship with a very clever, very cool, very self assured young man. I followed him around in a state of wide eyed adoration. I couldn't believe he was interested in me; I never felt good enough for him. On Valentine's Day I rose at dawn, in my shabby shared flat, and made him a Valentine's packed lunch. I made heart shaped sandwiches, I wrapped heart shaped cookies in greaseproof paper, I polished up a perfect red apple, and made a hand drawn label, decorated with little hearts, for his bottle of juice. I tucked in a napkin decorated with hearts. I packed everything in a heart shaped box I had spent the previous evening constructing from red card. I took two buses across town to leave it at his front door so that he would find it when he left for work.
Looking back, I squirm at my neediness.

A year or two later, I fell head over heels for a dark eyed architecture student. He was older than me, the handsomest man I had ever seen. On our first date, he brought me a little cake. I was utterly smitten. On Valentine's Day, I kept my head. A beautiful, shop bought Valentine's Card was selected with care. None of that needy, hand made card stuff. He blew my expectations (downwards) by giving me a joke Valentine's card. I hate joke cards; they make me uncomfortable at the best of times. Given by him, the card represented our very different hopes and expectations for where this relationship was going, i.e. nowhere.
Looking back, I squirm at my naivety.

When I met Derek, I was not indifferent, needy, or naieve, but nor was I very romantic. It had been kind of knocked out of me, and, though undoubtedly in love, I didn't show it in a romantic way. I still don't. On Valentine's Day I will dust off my heart shaped baking tin and bake him his favourite cherry cake. That's about as romantic as I get.
But I never, ever, look back on our 27 years together and squirm.

deeply salty

When I wrote my first post for this blog in January 2014, I had no concept of the warm friendliness I would encounter from other bloggers, nor did I imagine the relationships I would form. I did not anticipate meeting other bloggers in 'real life' or making blog-friends with others whom I may never meet in the flesh, but whose words and thoughts I have the privilege of reading, whose photographs I have the pleasure of admiring, and whose lives - or those parts of it they choose to share- I have come to care warmly about.

One such blog-friend is Linda, whose blog, Linda's Life Journal, is a total delight. Linda writes straight from the heart about her day to day life in Texas with her family. She has immense energy, and such a zest for life her joie de vivre jumps straight off the page and smacks you (in the best possible way) right between the eyes.

Linda and I are occasional real life correspondents too; sending Christmas cards, and now and then chatting by email, so I recognised her handwriting on the surprise air mail package I received last week. When I opened it, I laughed aloud to see a substantial bag of the idiosyncratically named 'Texas Trash' that Linda makes for friends and family at holiday times. I had commented on her blog that it looked absolutely delicious when she blogged about it pre-Christmas, and Linda, with her characteristic kindness and sense of fun, decided to send me some.

The boys were back from school and clustered round, keen to taste. We all crunched our first mouthful curiously. It was crispy, deeply salty and savoury, and absolutely delicious. There were mini pretzel sticks, tiny crispy wafers, nuts (my favourite!) and tiny pieces of savoury biscuit, all of which were smothered in flavour. Linda makes up a mixture of secret ingredients and bakes the 'Trash' in the oven. We couldn't stop eating it! 

As you can see from the photograph above, taken hastily last night, before it all disappeared, there is now only a small bowlful left. What remains is earmarked for my exclusive enjoyment, on Friday evening,with a nice cold beer, which I will raise in a toast to Linda, and her kindness. 

 

Plum Brandy and writing in the cracks

Home made plum brandy is a gorgeous drink, perfect at Christmas, being rich, aromatic and sweet without being cloying. Just right for sipping in the evening in front of the fire, or to pour into the bottom of a glass before topping up with champagne on Christmas morning. It makes an excellent gift too. I give away bottles of it to those kind souls who drop in around Christmas for a cup of tea or to hand in Christmas cards. Sending someone away with a small bottle of something warming and home-made tucked in their coat pocket feels like the essence of the festive hospitality to me.

Although I have made plum brandy this Christmas, the alcohol and fruit elements are interchangeable, lending themselves to many variations. In recent years I have made bramble brandy and redcurrant gin (particularly delicious!). Home made liqueurs are not a last-minute option, as they have to be started in the late summer. Making the liqueur is the earliest Christmas preparation of every year, and tucking the newly filled Kilner  jars into the dresser cupboard in late August engenders a delightful sensation of preparedness that is sadly lacking elsewhere in my life. We must take our comfort where we can, and jars of plum or bramble brandy do it for me. 

So whilst time may be against you for making and enjoying plum brandy this Christmas, please consider it next summer (I will try to remember to put a reminder on the blog for those who are interested!). This is how it's done:

Plum Brandy

 325g fruit of choice

200g caster sugar

600ml spirit of choice

Check over the fruit, discard (or eat!) any that is over ripe. Stone fruits, or those fruits with a slightly thicker skin, such as plums or sloes, should be  pricked with a sharp knife or skewer; soft fruits such as brambles or redcurrants should be left whole, though any stalks should be removed.

Sterilize 1litre Kilner or other jars with an airtight lid (I put jars and lids through a hot wash in the dishwasher, then place in a low oven to dry out).

Pour the sugar into the bottom of the jar, followed by the fruit, then pour over the spirit. Fill to the top and screw the lid on tightly. Invert the jar a few times to encourage the sugar to dissolve and disperse throughout the jar. Wipe the jar/s down with a wet cloth and place them in a cool, dark cupboard. Every few days for the first couple of weeks, take the jars out and give them a gentle shake. Leave for a minimum of three months.

When ready to bottle up, sterilize some pretty bottles and leave in a low oven to dry out. Pour the brandy through a sieve lined with clean muslin or a thin dish towel into a large jug, decant into bottles, wipe down and label.

Next, a brief nod to the fact that I have been absent from my desk for some weeks. No sinister reasons for this, just an increase in family commitments, combined with a particularly hectic November, meant that suddenly it was four weeks since I had sat down to write, then it was five, then six...

I missed writing here, and reading, and generally enjoying the sensation of belonging to a blogging community that embraces its members yet constantly reaches out with welcoming arms. It is a creative, supportive, and kindly community, and I have missed it. I  have realised (once again) that keeping this blog is important to me. It is in part a loose journal of events: when I read an old post (usually whilst looking vainly for a recipe and then suddenly thinking 'Oh, it's on the blog, I'll get it from there') I am very effectively reminded of time and place, the atmosphere of the moment when I was writing. The writing and photographs become an aide memoir and a (slightly haphazard) history of  family life. It is also an exercise in creating short written pieces that others may enjoy reading, and when someone does enjoy something I have written, I am deeply gratified. Gratification is not available by the spadeful, so a little sprinkle of it from blogging friends is warmly welcomed.

I also realised that my writing is done in the cracks; in the little slivers of time between other commitments; writing and photography is something that makes me feel fulfilled, yet it is the first thing to drop when life speeds up. I treasure it, but I don't value it. Having time to write feels like a luxury, not a right. How do you feel about your writing? Do you do it no matter what, or do you constantly push it to the bottom of the 'to do' list?

All being well (and it is) I should be back with another seasonal post pre Christmas. 

a long way from there to anywhere

When I was growing up, we took our family holidays in October, and always in Britain. Not for us the sunny beaches of Majorca, or a charming house in the south of France for a sun soaked summer. Our holidays were all about slightly nippy October weeks in self-catering cottages in Perthshire; Dorset, Yorkshire, or Somerset.

They were also all about exceptionally lengthy car journeys. We lived in a tiny village in the far north of Scotland. It's a long way from there to anywhere. Our family holiday was enthusiastically, though hastily prepared for, and our mantra was always 'better take it, just incase'.  We packed enough clothes for a fortnight of probably cold/possibly warm/probably wet/possibly dry/possibly sunny/possibly windy British weather, with more bags and suitcases than the boot of our car could ever hope to hold. I took a bundle of favourite books, my sister was inseparable from her cuddly black and white panda (fortunately not life-size, though doubtless we would have determinedly squeezed it in somewhere if it had been) My brother's wooden cot would be dismantled and strapped to the roof, where it would bounce alarmingly as we rounded corners, and fly serenely a few inches above the car when we picked up speed.

We would always be late setting off, usually by several hours; one memorable year by two days. This is what happened.......

The car was packed. My sister and I were jammed amongst various bags and packages that wouldn't fit in the boot. We each had a tiny floor space just large enough to accommodate our feet; our arms were resting on parcels of rolled up towels and sheets (in those days you had to take your own linen on self-catering holidays). Even my little brother had a couple of bags jammed under his baby seat.  Mum shared her foot well with a large bag full of supplies for the journey; damp face flannels for sticky hands and faces, sandwiches, chocolate bars, flasks of tea, a change of clothes and nappies for my brother, tissues, maps, Dad's spare glasses. None of us (except my brother) could move our legs. The space between the back seat and the rear windscreen was full to overflowing with coats, negating the possibility of Dad checking the rear view mirror at any time during our two day drive to the south of England.  We were on the point of departure, in high spirits, and just waiting for Dad to finish various vital tasks he had left until the last minute. My parents were hoteliers, and there was always a lot of work involved in handing over responsibility to others when we went on holiday. We waited. Time passed. We grew restless. My sister and I started bickering; my baby brother turned hungry and fractious. Mum dispatched my sister to see if Dad was nearly ready. She returned with the message 'another twenty minutes'. We waited again, the bright October sun shining in on our expectant faces. Time drifted on, with one of us occasionally being sent inside for a progress report; always the same reply; 'yes nearly ready, go back out to the car'. After several hours we all trooped back inside for lunch. Then we all trooped  back dismally to the car, to wait again.  The hours dragged on, our spirits flagging, then (momentarily) reviving, as Dad reassured us he 'wouldn't be much longer'. As the short October day darkened to night, we went inside. Mum, stony faced, whipped up something for our dinner, then we all went upstairs to sleep in beds we had not expected to occupy for another fortnight. 

Astonishingly (though not that astonishingly if you had known my Dad) the next day continued in the same way, though this time we stayed indoors; the car sitting forlornly at the back door, still packed to the gunnels. Eventually we left at about 5 o'clock, a mere 35 hours late.

I can't remember if that was the year we planned a holiday in York, but Dad took us a further south, to Bath, because he wanted to go there instead, and nothing, certainly not a little thing like a wife and three children all expecting a holiday in York, was going to stop him. He didn't even tell us until all road signs for York had petered out, and yet our journey continued, and continued, and continued. Eventually Mum asked him when we would get to York, and he announced in confident tones that we were going to Bath instead. The additional 230 miles to an existing journey of 460 was brushed off with his usual combination of optimism and impatience. Dad was impossible; stubborn, and yes, selfish; there was always a lot of forgiveness involved in loving him, but our lives would have been infinitely more dull (though very possibly more stable)  if he had been less so. We all did love him, so very much, and we all still do. 

The August Break '15: Smile

Drawing to the end of the August Break photography challenge, which sees participating bloggers post a photograph every day in August, helped along by a list of prompts from project host Susannah Conway.

Today's prompt is 'smile'

Essential, I feel, to avoid a sugar-coated list of 'things that make me smile'. Instead, this story: last night whilst searching through old SD cards, I found a collection of photographs from a long ago holiday when the boys were small. We were all entranced by them; I could hardly believe that the two huge teenagers looming over my shoulder to look at the photographs were the same little boys in the photographs. However, they were, and are. One thing that has hardly changed strangely enough, is their smiles. I leave you with a few photographs from the rediscovered collection. 

 

The August Break '15: Listening

Day 29 of the August Break with Susannah Conway, and today's prompt is 'listening'

I am not much of a television woman. I lived without one for years before I met Derek, and even now am a far from avid viewer. However, I do listen to the radio every day, and would miss it terribly if I had to do without it.

The August Break '15: In My Bag

Continuing with Susannah Conway's August Break, posting a photograph every day in August, aided by Susannah's list of prompts.

There was a similar prompt in last year's August Break. The contents of my bag have hardly changed since last year, I still have the same purse, make up bag, even the same notebook (now very shabby) so this year I am sharing the contents of a different bag.

This bag contains the fabrics I chose last week at my quilting class. Everyone in the 'Beginners' class is making the same thing; a quilted bag. Whilst making the bag, I am learning how to use a rotary cutter and rotary ruler, how to sandwich the fabrics together, and how to use a walking foot on the sewing machine. All very interesting and helpful, and once I have mastered these rudimentary skills, the world will, I hope, be my (quilted) oyster. (The 'stags' fabric will be the outside of the bag, the 'tiny hearts' will be the lining.)

The August Break '15: Favourite Recipe

Continuing with the August Break, posting a photograph every day in August, following host Susannah Conway's list of prompts.

The prompt for day 27 is 'favourite recipe'

I find it impossible to choose a single favourite recipe; I don't even think I could choose a favourite recipe book. This is my current selection in the kitchen. I have an informal sorting system; books that haven't been used for over a year or so are moved to another bookcase elsewhere in the house, then if they are not retrieved from there for another year they are quietly donated to the local charity shop. Thus the firm favourites remain, and others just pass through...

The August break '15: Door

Day 26 of the August Break with Susannah Conway, and today's photo prompt is 'door'

This is Jacob's door, with a stag horn he found one year in Argyll when he was quite a small boy.

The August Break'15: Green

Day 25 of the August Break, hosted by Susannah Conway, who has supplied a list of photo prompts for the month, encouraging bloggers to post a photograph every day in August.

Today's prompt is 'green'

I keep things pretty simple in the garden in the summer: lots of shrub roses, lavender, and some pots of geraniums. All very pretty, and lots of green foliage.

 

The August Break '15: In The Distance

Day 24 of the August Break hosted by Susannah Conway.

Today's prompt is 'in the distance'

Our village is surrounded by farmland. At harvest time the cylindrical bales of hay provide photogenic silhouettes, interesting shadows, and focal points in the foreground, middle ground, and in the distance.

The August Break '15: Water

Day 23 of the August Break photography challenge hosted by Susannah Conway, where bloggers post a photograph a day for the month of August, assisted by a list of prompts from Susannah.

The prompt for day 23 is 'water'

Water, evaporating from school shirts on the washing line in the sun and the wind.

The August Break '15: Curves

Day 22 of the August Break, hosted by Susannah Conway, where bloggers post a photograph a day in August. There is also an Instagram account at #augustbreak2015 where you can see lots of interesting interpretations of Susannah's photography prompts. You can find me there at penny.homemadeheart.

Today's prompt is 'curves'

The retro curves of my hardworking Kitchenaid.

Much used, much loved.

 

The August Break '15: Real Life

Joining in with Susannah Conway's 'August Break' project this month, posting a photograph every day in August, following a list of prompts.

Today's prompt is 'real life'.

In real life I am 51.

In my head I am 35.

    

I remember a conversation I had with my mum a few years back; the gist being that I didn't want to 'turn out' in a particular way. 'Oh for God's sake' she exclaimed with asperity, 'You're a grown woman, how much more turning out are you expecting to do?' (Mum is a highland woman who doesn't mince her words.) She did have a point. I guess in real life we do reach an age that we more or less stay internally for ever, though always of course with room for improvement and the ripening of character.

The August Break '15: Two

Joining in with Susannah Conway's August Break project, posting a photograph every day in August. The prompt for today is 'two'

Two favourite serving bowls. These are in almost daily use, large enough to use as a mixing bowl for smallish cake mixtures; to whip up a quick pancake batter, or to serve vegetables or potatoes in at dinner time.

They are both Emma Bridgewater design, the pomegranate bowl being a particular favourite. It was made for Persephone Books and has 'One Hundred Persephone Books' stamped round the outside rim. I sometimes worry that I will break it if it is in constant use, but I enjoy the colours and pattern so much, as well as the shape, weight and size of the bowl, that it's a risk I am prepared to take.

The August break '15: Sweet Delights

Day nineteen of the August Break, posting a photograph every day in August.

Today's photo prompt is 'sweet delights'

It's jam making season here at the moment.

The August Break '15: Look Up

Continuing with the August Break, hosted by Susannah Conway, posting a photograph every day in August using Susannah's list of prompts. The August Break can also be found on Instagram at  hashtag #augustbreak2015. (You can find my Instagram account at penny.homemadeheart)

The prompt for the eighteenth day is 'look up'

So I did.