Autumn ride in the park

I love my bicycle and I love autumn - some hurriedly snapped shots celebrating both. They were taken with a Blackberry so they're not great, but I still wanted to share ...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Photograph

The contents are already on the living-room mantlepiece. A silver frame containing bright yellow card. On that card, carefully cut out from its original context, a photograph of me.

I laugh wonder, shake my head. Run upstairs to ask my sleeping mother. Some curiosities kill cats. This one stirs a parent from their slumber. Where did it come from? She mumbles into the pillow. I make my apologies and leave.

Downstairs, I open the white Vera Wang box. It's lined with purple tissue paper. A small yellow card written in that familar scrawl. "Joan's attractive daughter. Kind regards". Nothing more. Me? The attractive daughter?

It can't be mere flattery. Flattery might take the picture, send it. But mount it? Frame it? Pay the extra postage? With nothing to gain? I swallow hard and refuse to believe it. Sincerity. Genuine appreciation for the photograph.

The photograph that, in my hands, would have been erased long ago from a sea of digital memories. Head turned so that my already-too-short neck virtually disappears. Awkward nose I've never made peace with captured from the worst possible angle. Eyes crinkled from staring into the sun.

It represents every picture of myself I've ever loathed. He calls it attractive. And there it is, proudly displayed on my parents' mantlepiece. They will never get rid of it. They like it.

Are these people blind? Don't they see what I see?

Re-post #5: Autumn

It's been a bit quiet around here lately. Hope you've all been enjoying the re-posts! This may be the last one for the week. There are a couple more I'm considering, but I might save them for another day ...

November 7, 2008

Autumn

Maybe it’s because I’m a September baby, but I love Autumn.

There is something almost magical about a solitary walk through Kensington Gardens, wrapped up in a snug plum-coloured coat, brown boots crunching red and golden leaves while their friends fall around you. 

About standing at the edge of the Round Pond, laughing as the pigeons and ducks do battle for scraps of mouldy bread chucked with glee by chubby, red-faced toddlers while their parents hold them back from the water’s edge. 

About the prim tranquilty of the swans, preening and cleaning amidst the chaos. About the people, of all colours, shapes and sizes, experiencing their own piece of autumnal heaven.

In moments like these, everything seems alright with the world. God is everywhere – in the trees, in the grass, in the leaves that still show off their colours with pride, even when lying on the ground defeated, in the birds, in the ducks and swans, in the giddy dogs lapping up every second of freedom, in the children constructing piles of leaves to jump in.

The combination of the experience leaves me so deliriously happy I want to dance. It is as though time has stopped. There is just this microcosm of autumnal happenings, uniting all of us in the park, adults, children, animals, birds, while life whirs by outside.

October Afternoon

Update 29/10: My director loves the story and it'll be published today. Hoo-rah. Let's hope the editor doesn't kill it!

I'm not feeling particularly inspired to blog today. I think I'm just tired. Who knows - maybe when I'm sat at home, with food in my stomach and a soft robe on my shoulders, my brain will kick into gear.

On the plus side, the reason for my fatigue is a good one. I'm writing a news story on the Indonesian tsunami, namely the alleged failures of the country's early warning system, and it's been draining but enjoyable.

There's a growing dispute about who should take responsibility for the fact that residents of the Mentawai islands - where the current death toll tops 300 - did not receive an early enough warning about the disaster.

The UN Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization (UNESCO) insists that a 5-minute warning was given but it just wasn't quick enough for villages minutes away from the earthquake's epicenter. They say that villagers (who apparently would have almost certainly felt the earthquake) should have run for their lives, and that the failure of some of them to immediately do so means more disaster-preparedness education is needed.

But some Indonesian officials claim that two buoys had been vandalised, which may have affected the functionality of the system, and one official went as far as to say that the entire system was broken by last month! UNESCO says they have data to prove it functioned fine and that warnings were sent out.

And, just now, I received a press release from the German Research Centre for Geosciences (Germany helped build the system) saying that any claims of damaged equipment (even just the two buoys) are baseless.

I sense tomorrow is going to be an even busier day. This calls for some yarn:

Colinette Point 5 'October Afternoon'. By the time I get round to knitting with this it won't be October anymore. But that's okay.

Re-post #4: Maybe I'll try again

Maybe I’ll try again

June 3, 2008 

What am I so afraid of? Making a mistake? Check. A perfectionist by nature who’s her own worst critic, I loathe revisiting a piece of my writing only to find it makes me cringe. Silly, childish thoughts that would never win a Pulitzer. That would never encourage anyone, change their life, or even just plant a seed. Too cute. Too serious. Too descriptive. Too bland. Too confessional. Too…typical.

But does that matter?

I love words. Unsurprisingly I’m an editor. (Well, an editorial assistant — I’m thinking ahead!) I love the way they come together to form intricate structures that can unleash the strongest emotions. Words can soothe and comfort. They can frustrate and hurt. They can draw someone in or push them away. Words have power.

So why am I so reluctant to write? 

In bookshops I see row upon row of titles, from the classic to the obscure. All these people have written a book. They have put pen to paper, finger to keyboard. They have taken their chance. They have faced rejection, ridicule, criticism, setbacks of all kinds. But they have taken their chance. The result? A published book. The sweet payoff? Not the fame (at least, not for me) but the legacy of leaving behind a little piece of yourself.

As a Christian I strive to think eternally, to not get too attached to this temporal world. But the idea of leaving something of me behind, of harnessing my words for God's glory, still appeals.

Some books are better than others. Some are classics, some produce strong polar reactions, some are loathed. But all of them are a reflection of the writer. Perhaps not their whole being, but a part of them. During a particular moment of time perhaps. When they were feeling powerful, vulnerable, happy, sad, quirky. And there’s something beautiful about that, even if the final outcome is somewhat unsatisfactory.

So maybe I’ll try again. Instead of starting afresh, maybe I’ll stick with this. A tweak here and there, and onwards I shall go.

Maybe this time I’ll succeed. Maybe I’ll disappear again, and re-emerge in 2010. But surely it’s worth trying. All great achievements start with a simple step. Here is mine. 

And if my “great achievement” is simply making peace with the inner voice that God chose to bestow upon me … well that's okay.

Short scarves and heart-gardening

My scarf is short again. Even my amazing crafting friend couldn't make the unsightly lump go away - and she spotted a stray stitch that was at risk of unravelling. So she had to undo the scarf right down to the mess, and a few rows below for good measure.

I've lost about 12 rows and I usually average 4 rows a day. That means my scarf should look like it does in the picture (hopefully sans mess) by Friday night. Not bad.

This is why I started in October.

On the way to work this morning, I was mulling over yesterday's post about 'gardening our hearts' (that sounds really twee, doesn't it?)

I'm sure many of us are aware of issues in our heart that need dealing with. But how do we begin?

Watering: Daily watering with the Word of God is essential, lest we become dried-up and vulnerable to sin. Without it we're wandering aimlessly, letting things "just happen" ... and our heart is spiritually dying. I don't know what your morning routine is like but, from personal experience, when I don't start my day with God I'm much more unfocused.

Tending: A healthy garden requires regular tending (I hang my fairweather head in shame). We need to take time to regularly assess the state of our heart. Self-reflection for the purpose of holiness is different from mere narcissism. We must get into the practice of looking back over our day, our week. Are there certain attitudes that have crept in? Are there things that we've done that we shouldn't have or have failed to do when we should?

Weeding: Focusing on one aspect of tending - are there certain influences (be it books, films, music, hobbies ... even relationships) that need to be "weeded" out of our life? Particularly in the case of relationships, this needs to be done sensitively. But it also needs to be done fully. As those who garden will know, when you weed you need to pull out the whole root. If you merely pull out the head and stalk, almost immediate growth is inevitable - the problem is still lurking beneath the surface.

This list is by no means exhaustive, and I'm sure others have done a (far) better job. But I just felt that a post exhorting us to garden our hearts should at least provide some starting points. Comments welcome, as always.

Re-post #3: Hand writing (or why I'll never be a true lady)

A lot changes in two years. Nevertheless, the sentiment of this still rings very true (and I've since reverted to an Oyster card-style holder - it's just a pretty Cath Kidston one) ...

November 9, 2008

Hand writing (or why I’ll never be a true lady)

For all my Romantic longings, the quirkiness of a London upbringing has left its mark. I like cute dresses from Darimeya and Yumi (a true Romantic would never wear clothing with cartoon-like pictures of dancing girls), 80s pop, and eclectic, useless little things like Momiji dolls (I only own one, but if I had more space…)

I wish I could say that everything I love is elegant and classy, right out of the pages of Victoria magazine – but it just isn’t so. I am a combination of Romantic nature-lover and alternative kitsch kid. Becoming ‘more ladylike’ would mean giving up the funky little dresses and the longing for rollerdisco. And I cannot do that. I could try and force it out of my system, but that would be denying who God made me to be.

There are other personality traits that convince me I’ll never be a true lady. Don’t get me wrong – I want my character to be shaped into that of a Godly woman. But a lady in the general sense? Hmm.

For starters, there is my penchant for writing important messages on my hand – the word handwriting takes on a whole new meaning. I’ve tried Post-Its, scrap paper, plain notebooks, pretty notebooks, and emails to self. I still indulge in these methods from time to time. But having the message inscribed on my hand gives me a sense of security – I know I’m eventually going to look at it, especially as I bite my nails (another unladylike trait). 

Frequently, I will snuggle inside the duvet only to remember something that I need to do. Right. I struggle out of bed, grumbling, flick on the light, whip out the pen and voila. I can go back to sleep, safe in the knowledge that my reminders for tomorrow are close at hand.

Adventures in knitting

For a blog called The Yarn Belle there isn't much yarn on here. So *drumroll* presenting some pictures of the scarf so far (details of this evening's 'knit night' below) ...

Getting there slowly but surely. Mistake near the top left happened tonight, sigh



Close-up of mishap. This is what happens when you don't concentrate! My friend did her best to salvage it and turn it into a knotty lump instead of a gaping hole, but it turns out I should have gone with my instincts ...



The wool looks a little orange with my well-worn 5MP digital compact. It's actually a deep red.

Re-post #2: Sweet peas

In keeping with the theme, here's a post from last year about my first foray into gardening. I should point out that not all of these re-posts will be particularly meaningful. Some will be fun and light-hearted. The aim is to share a few of the posts I've kept private until now:

March 21, 2009

Sweet peas

Chipped red nails in crumbly brown earth. 

I planted my sweetpeas this morning. I received a DIY sweetpeas kit from M&S, consisting of cream-painted growing bucket, compost and seeds. Sinking my city girl hands into the soft soil was a blissful experience. There was a lovely moment of careful calm as I gingerly filled the bucket, “scattered” the seeds – calculated placing, if I’m honest — and patted some compost on top. 

I don’t think I filled it quite as high as I should’ve, but it’s a bit late now. Hopefully it won’t do any harm. The tricky part was finding a place that’s warm but out of direct sunlight. Although the sowing season is March-May and it’s a perfectly pleasant blue-skied day, it’s not exactly warm. So the bucket is in a somewhat shady place. 

The nice thing is I can peep at it from my bedroom window. I keep checking on it, as though there should be activity by now. 

It feels good to have responsibility for something. Already I’m mentally scheduling check-ups and watering times … and worrying that the little seeds might not sprout. 

Yes, it’s sort of daunting too. I mean, how warm should they be? What happens when it rains? Do I cover the bucket with some tarp? And what is moist as opposed to wet? Call me crazy, but I think it’s a fine line. 

Eep. 

Apparently, I received the gift both to experience the pleasure of springtime planting and cultivate patience. I’m already feeling the effects of the latter. I can wait for the flowers in happy anticipation, no problem. It’s the nervous twitch of whether they’ll grow at all that’s killing me. I long to see a little fleck of green, just so I know that I’ve done it right. 

I think gardening could grow on me. It’s so relaxing and satisfying. All that mucky soil and tender planting. 

If only I wasn’t so terrified of bees and wasps.

The fairweather gardener

I am a fairweather gardener. There, I said it. Come Spring, the fabulously dorky sunflower-print clogs come out of hiding and my garden and I are the best of friends. But as the good weather fades, so does my enthusiasm.

I managed a lovely display of cyclamens last year and I got my bulbs in the ground. But there's a period between September and late October/early November when my garden is abandoned in favour of either my duvet on cold mornings or cosy fires and hot chocolate on cold evenings.

As I look out into the wilderness before me - final, too-ripe tomatoes clinging to dying branches and wondering when they will be rescued; marigolds that fight to cheerfully show off their rich ochre and orange petals; beans that long to be made into chutney before it's too late - I feel an almighty lump in my throat. But I just can't seem to fight the laziness within. It's horrible.

Late October, I suddenly feel the urge to go back out there. Not because I realise I'm a year-round gardener after all but because cyclamen are too pretty to resist and I suddenly panic that I'll miss my window of opportunity for bulb-planting - and then there'll be no surprises in Spring (seriously, aren't bulbs an absolute miracle? That's another post in itself).

So I head back out there and plant, thoroughly enjoying it ... and then head back inside to let nature run its course. And it does. After an initial soak with the watering can last year, I didn't need to water my bulbs at all. Rain and snow sufficed. And I remained mostly indoors.

As I looked out at my poor garden the other day, huddled in my fluffy robe; steaming cup in hand, I started thinking about the state of my heart.

A neglected garden is a sad thing to see. But it isn't the end of the world.

A neglected heart, on the other hand, is far more serious.

How often have I looked at the state of my heart with a lump in my throat and just carried on as normal, as if I think things will suddenly change? When I look at those about-to-drop-off tomatoes and fading marigolds, I think about the secret sins we harbour - anger, envy, lust, pride and the like, and wonder how many of us actively cry out to God for help and "grab ourselves by the scruff of the neck", as Elisabeth Elliot says.

A garden left to its own devices will grow wild. It may look deceptively beautiful, like a cottage garden. But real cottage gardens are tended to, weeded, watered. A truly wild garden is a miserable thing - underneath the surface prettiness, everything is decaying, dying, rotten. And so it is with our heart if we neglect to pay attention to it. Our sins may start as mere thoughts, so imperceptible we seem fine on the outside. But if allowed to run wild, these bottled-up thoughts will often spill into action.

It's okay to be a fairweather gardener, even if fellow tenders of the earth don't approve. But we cannot afford to be fairweather 'heart-gardeners'. There is too much at stake.

Do you have some gardening to do?

Rickety ol' heaters

Browsing through my old blog, I came across a short post I wrote two years ago. It's a little cute but the sentiment is genuine and I think it illustrates well the reason behind gift-counting:

November 7, 2008

Simple pleasures

I’ve just taken a long, warm bath with lots of nice-smelling potions. I feel so refreshed and ready for my forty winks (following some apple crumble and custard, a deliciously comforting winter treat).

Our boiler has decided it cannot go on any longer, and so we have to rely on our immersion heater for hot water and a little fan heater to keep the bathroom warm. It’s a noisy, dusty thing but it is our lifesaver during the long, cold evenings. Without it our upkeep of good hygiene would be sorely compromised, I’m sure. Stepping into a freezing cold bathroom and flicking the switch is one of the loveliest experiences I’ve ever known. The comfort of heat whirring around the tiny room makes me want to sing praises to God.

Believe me, I have known far more wonderful, luxurious experiences. But simple pleasures such as that ol’ heater have a way of humbling your heart and making you thankful for everything, taking nothing for granted. After all, it is only by the grace and mercy of my heavenly Father that I do not have to endure the bitter cold in a sleeping bag on dark, crime-ridden streets. And thinking of that makes me so grateful for the gift of warmth, albeit via a rickety, sneeze-inducing heater. 

And on that note - giving thanks for simple pleasures:

#146 The feel of yarn running through my fingers as I knit it into love
#147 A bike workshop I feel comfortable going to - and a bicycle that rides better than it ever did
#148 Cycling through crunchy piles of autumnal goodness
#149 Tea and cake on a rainy afternoon
#150 Burrowing into a fluffy red dressing gown after a long day
#151 Moussaka
#152 Trees decked in yellow-gold fineries in a part of my hometown where you don't expect to be hit with such beauty
#153 Sunday lunch gals embracing the cold in vivid purples, pinks, blues and yellows
#154 'Now We Are Free', the hauntingly beautiful closing theme from Gladiator
#155 Sunshine on a frosty morning that makes the start of a working week that little bit easier to bear

Thankfulness

It's Monday morning, which means it's time to start counting!

At church yesterday our Pastor spoke on Ephesians 5:19-20 (emphasis mine):

Speaking to yourselves in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing and making melody in your heart to the Lord;
Giving thanks always for all things unto God and the Father in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ;

His words were so encouraging that I decided to post some excerpts here.

Is it your practice to give thanks constantly? Through Christ, to Him and to God the Father? This is one of the greatest things in the Christian life. These two verses and the climax of them, the exhortation to thankfulness, these two verses are worth more to you and I than all the modern counselling books put together. All of them, containing so much nonsense — as well as many obvious and edifying things but so much nonsense. 

Thank [God] throughout the day. The practice of praising and thanking God in your heart throughout the day is so important to believers. In every need, confronting every activity, constantly thankful.

Yellow

I've decided that my blog needs a new look. Yes, already :) The autumn leaves were lovely (and appropriate!) but the tiny grey text and general 'busy-ness' made it very difficult to read. I've gone for a simpler, more cheerful look that's - I hope - easier on the eyes.

I've also inserted page breaks for almost every post, which means that most of the (few) photographs are hidden. Blogs with long, sprawling but well-illustrated posts are lovely to look at - and I know beautiful photographs often determine whether or not people stick around to read - but at the moment I want to keep things clean and focus on writing. If something genuinely merits photography, I'll make the effort. And there will be an occasional 'photo post'. But otherwise, it's just going to be text for now.

Over the weekend, I re-read my previous two (private) blogs for nostalgia's sake. Most of the posts have actually aged fairly well. And there is a discernible voice in there somewhere. It just needs to be brought out.

But I don't think I'll be making those blogs public. For one thing, I'm a fan of just having one blog - unless you're, for example, a crafter and have one personal blog and one displaying your wares. For another, some posts are very personal hearthoughts and I don't want to edit them for public reading as I find that somewhat deceitful.

What I have decided to do is publish some of these posts on here. I think a couple of them might provide some encouragement. So each day this week I'll be posting something from my archives. Watch this space ...

Saturday ...

I'd been putting off taking my bicycle back to the shop - despite a strange click in my right pedal and a constant freewheeling sound ... even when I'm not freewheeling - because it would mean using The Roof Rack. I should explain.

I only learned to ride a bicycle in July, at the ripe ol' age of 25. Since then, I've been steadily improving but I'm still confined to parks. So going places with the bike means driving there with it on my beloved's roof rack. The rack itself is fine, even if the idea of standing my precious bicycle up there like that makes me a little queasy from time to time.

The reason I'd been putting off using it is because following a trip for a standard one-month checkup in August, we were metres away from his house (where my bike lives) when he drove under a low roof in order to access an empty parking lot where he wanted to turn around.

To this day I do not understand why he couldn't just pull up wherever, get the bike down and find a proper place later. The roof was just a couple of centimetres too high. All I remember is a loud bang and my shrieking.

Untitled

<random botherations> I'm sure there was a time when blogging was just life-casting and there was absolutely no problem with merely giving a rundown of your days.

Many blogs are still like this, but there seems to be this growing requirement (although I think we often place this pressure on ourselves) to be intellectual, witty, relevant. That seems to be what makes a good blog. In the secular mainstream anyway. There are other blogging "communities". Christian mums is another one. Those blogs are cute and quirky, with endearingly-written posts about how they don't-have-all-together-but-that's-okay-because-it's-all-by-His-grace-anyway and lots of giveaways etc. In this sphere, life-casting is fine.

I don't have kids. I'm not married (some married women do the above, they just don't have the cute kid stories).

As a single person - at least on paper - am I allowed to merely life-cast? Or is it narcissistic, given that there are no other regular characters inhabiting my posts?

A Thousand Gifts

I was always planning on writing this but, following yesterday's somewhat downcast post, today seemed like the right time.

Even the cheeriest and most contented of us are prone to melancholy and covetousness. And the remedy for both of these is thankfulness, reflecting on the countless gifts that God has bestowed upon us. So I was delighted when I discovered 'A Thousand Gifts' over at A Holy Experience (more in the links below). I started keeping a gift-list of my own but recently it has waned. So I've decided to maintain it here as a regular feature, perhaps posting once a week. I can always do a giant paste job if I someday decide I want the list in its entireity.

So here is the list so far. I hasten to add that *all* blessings are here, from the great, more 'obvious' ones to the tiny surprises that put a smile on your face when you most need it. Some of them may seem trivial to you but that's the beauty of the list - it's personal. I also love that the gift-counting is normally done on a Monday - the day of the week when I most need to count my blessings. Join me?

Confession

NB: Since writing this, a dear friend has started following ...

My blog is messy and awkward. It doesn't really know what it wants to be. It started off as a record of 'doing something'; of living life fully and outwardly. It still wants to fulfil that role, but it wants to broaden its horizons. It wants to be an influence, it wants to carve out a place on the web.

Its layout isn't perfect. Its entries are too long. But it wants to encourage somebody out there.

My blog has no followers. And I'm ashamed to admit that, even though this was initially expected and accepted, it stings a little.

I joined Meet Me At Mike's LinkyTools post and, according to Blogger stats, 4 people visited me as a result. But they didn't stay. That's the risk of having a public blog. People may never follow. My blog may forever remain the wallflower that people look at but never talk to. That's why a private blog is safer. No opportunity for people to join so no risk of getting hurt.

Simple things ...

Lunch break in Soho - a browse in one of my favourite craft shops and takeaway crispy duck lao mian from Cha Cha Moon.

Facing the blah

Yesterday my work computer had 18 viruses. Our technical support seemingly got rid of them. This morning they came back. And my notebook's gone missing - I rummaged in the bins to see if the cleaners had accidentally thrown it out. But nothing. Nada. I know I left it on my desk last night in the usual place.

It's one of those days. In addition to the setbacks I feel tired, ill and just want to go home and hide under my duvet. My colleague remarked that all the bundling on of wooly jumpers and eating of comfort food that autumn brings is reminiscent of bears getting ready to hibernate. Hibernation sounds good right about now.

The viruses and lost notebook are annoying. But they're just the sprinkles atop a big cake of blah (or apathy). For months I've been avoiding things that need to be dealt with. Decisions about love and work that need to made. A room that needs to be cleaned - I'm not 16 anymore but my room screams otherwise. A body that needs to be taken better care of. Family and friends who need quality time, not just a rush of words here and there.

Change needs to come and I know it. I ask God for it all the time. But do I want it enough? Am I truly desperate for it?

My constant aversion to facing the blah that my life has become would imply "no".

Vern and Lettuce

Allow me to make up for my being way behind the times with Red Velvet and Chocolate Heartache by introducing you to Vern the knitting sheep and his best bunny pal Lettuce, who has a host of tiny, loveably-troublesome siblings:

In author Sarah McIntyre's own words:

It stars a sheep and a rabbit who live in a tower block in a neighbourhood in south London. While Lettuce the rabbit is watching a talent-spotting show on telly, she suddenly decides she wants to be famous, and scoots her best friend Vern off to the big city, despite his protestations that they need to work on getting a talent first. They are both hugely inept at doing most things, but while reading, you hope that the strength of their friendship will help them survive in dark and dangerous places.

Red Velvet and Chocolate Heartache

Two things about me - I love books and I love cake. So anything combining both equals a very happy me.

Lately I've come to realise that I am a *total* cake monster. Honestly, I have no self-control when it comes to baked goodness and I don't even pretend to. So when I found out that the delicious 'Pistachio Pops' my friend brought along to our crafting session yesterday contained aubergine instead of butter, I started thinking. The initial idea of "veggie cakes" is rather unappealing. But the Pops were delicious and, while I certainly knew I wasn't eating regular Hummingbird-style cupcakes, I would never have known they contained actual vegetables had she not told me.

Veggie cakes would be kinder to my waistline, without forcing me to give up cake altogether (I know that sounds horrifying but it was starting to head that way - my wardrobe will testify); they would enable my mother to enjoy homebaked treats without launching into a spiel on how fatty they are and requesting only a sliver when she clearly wants more; they would enable my diabetic father to join in the fun, to a degree at least ... and I know my beloved would be intrigued by the idea of vegetables in a cake.

So I asked for the recipe. It comes from a beautiful book called 'Red Velvet and Chocolate Heartache' (clearly the author was advised against "Veggie Cakes" - I know I'd balk at such a book). I'd seen it before - it was published last summer so, yes, I'm very slow on the uptake - but the use of carrots, which I loathe, and the idea of 'parsnip fudge' made me feel a bit queasy.

Cake'n'crafts

So today my friend and I had what could be considered our first Cake & Crafts get-together. We didn't say so. And I'm not sure she knew so. But there was cake (tiny cupcakes called Pistachio Pops, made with eggplant - bizarre but delicious), there was crafting (I continued the scarf, my friend crocheted a flower for the brooches she's making) and there was plenty of gabbing.

My friend's been having doubts about this Brown Owls craft club idea as she doesn't quite see the point of it. From her perspective, she crafts every day and often prefers to do it alone. That made me wonder about the sorts of people such a "club" would benefit.

Obviously these Brown Owls clubs are for people who love to craft - and, namely, craft as a community - regardless of their ability. But I think the clubs would most benefit those who want to craft but don't know where to begin or are embarrassed - because they think they're the only ones with nannarific tendenices - and need that community to help them get started or realise they're not alone. I know I've been there, and my crafting friend was a great source of comfort and encouragement.

Until she came along, I didn't know ANYone my age who crafted, the odd bit of baking and herb-growing aside. Maybe I just needed to get out more, who knows. But that's the way it was. And the response to my mumblings about how it "might be nice to, you know, make something with yarn" was always laughter or a hand to my forehead. My friend showed me I wasn't crazy. The pretty blogs on the 'net that I later discovered did that too. But there's nothing like having a real person to share your interests and swap ideas with you.

Thinking about this has made me all the more determined to start this club, even if I have to do it by myself. The numbers may never top 5, but it would still please me to know that we're doing our bit to keep the twenty/thirty-something crafting spirit alive.

At last

My Blackberry has arrived at last, hurrah. It's a great-looking phone, and I love how it feels in my hand. I'm too tired to fiddle with SIMs and contacts, so I'm charging it and will deal with everything else tomorrow night.

This evening has turned out to be a very late one as my beloved and I were finishing off our study of Hebrews and, as with everything in life, it took longer than expected. I'm off to eat my dinner and flick through the new Country Living. I want to try and knit a couple more rows before lunch with my friend tomorrow, but I doubt I'll have the energy for it.

*Yawn* Good night campers.

Glorious things to do ...

Over the weekend, I found a book I'd bought and forgotten about. This happens a lot as I frequently buy books I don't need. In this case, I couldn't have dug up 'Glorious Things To Do' by Rosemary Davidson at a better time. I originally bought it because it was cute and full of old-fashioned childhood pleasures, from fun science experiments (exploding Cola bottle or saucer rainbow, anyone?) to yummy things to cook (coconut ice and butterscotch) to nannarific skills (making a skirt and crocheting flowers).

Since my twenties have become the decade to make up for a 90s childhood, I snapped it up immediately. The pink cover didn't faze me, I actually thought it was quite sweet. Nor did the "What ho! Jolly good fun" tone. It's all a bit of a lark and some of the activities are actually quite useful to learn - I think those who balk at the idea of a book teaching little girls to sew are taking it all far too seriously. Learning homely skills does not equal you-must-stay-at-home-and-never-get-a-job. It's about learning to slow down and find entertainment away from TV and the Internet. It's not about recreating the 1950s - that's just ridiculous.

Anyway, seeing as I don't yet own a sewing maching (thus the gorgeous Meet Me At Mike's and Sew La Tea Do books probably aren't the wisest buys for the moment) I've decided that 'Glorious Things To Do' could be a sort of project book for me. I know it's aimed at young girls, but this is precisely why it's perfect for someone who's struggled to get things done and isn't very skilled at crafts - as the projects are for eight-year-olds, they're quick, simple and inexpensive. A great starting point, methinks.

Blackberries and nannas

The blackberry crumble's all gone, and there's still no sign of my Blackberry. Dad and I ordered Bold 9700s and have been anticipating their arrival since Friday. In the meantime I've been scouring the 'net for cases. I'm determined to enclose my phone in something bright as, although it's a great piece of tech, it's far too business-y for my liking. I think I'm going to go with this one in purple. I love this one in hot pink, but it doesn't protect the bottom of the phone - and given my reputation for prematurely killing mobile phones, I think full protection is the way to go ...

The scarf is continuing to grow, and I'm looking forward to showing it to my friend tomorrow. She's offered to check on it for me so she can suggest ways to make it look neater/make sure I'm not doing anything ridiculous :)

I wrote to Aneeta Patel, author of Knitty Gritty - the best "learn-to-knit" book available as it uses photographs to show you what to do and doesn't bring in the purl stitch until you've completed two projects - last week as I was a little overwhelmed by my 40cm needles and wasn't sure whether to go with the 25cm ones that she appears to be using in her book.

She finally wrote back yesterday and said the 40cm weren't a good idea.

For the chunky scarf in Knitty Gritty 40cm is really too long and you'll find them unweildy. I'm not sure why the shop assistant suggested you buy them!

Alas I'm already a tenth of the way through (I proceeded without waiting for Aneeta's reply on the advice of my friend who thought the longer ones were better for preventing slippage). Still, it was nice getting email from the author of a book I love and she seems really friendly. I wrote back and asked her about her experiences as a non-Caucasian member of the Women's Institute as I'm thinking about giving N1WI a go. It would be great to meet up with fellow nannarific 20-somethings and swap ideas/learn new skills. Amusing article about the rise of young WI members here.

Another option is to attend the the Tuesday 'Knit Night' at the fabulous Drink, Shop & Do, but this clashes with barbershop practice (4-part a cappella harmony, not hairstyling!) Decisions, decisions. D, S & D is also a potential venue for our Brown Owls crafting club. Exciting!

I close with a picture of the most fabulous handmade wooden knitting needles this newbie has seen. You can find a small Artviva selection on UK sites if you look carefully, but I'm guessing I'll have to head down under to enjoy the whole range.

Butternut squash and broken chairs

Butternut squash and porcini mushroom risotto

So the meal didn't go quite as planned. I didn't have it ready on the table when my beloved arrived, he felt ill and had to leave soon after we'd finished eating ... and he somehow managed to break one of my mother's brand new dining-room chairs. Which cannot be bought individually. Oh. Dear.

This is a classic example of why I think lots and do very little - the reality never lives up to the image in my head.

I wanted to have the house to myself, with Kitty, Daisy & Lewis playing in the background so I could bop while I cook. Instead my father pottered about painting and hanging wallpaper while I dodged the workbench he'd set up in the middle of our tiny kitchen.

I wanted my beloved to arrive to see the meal ready to eat, the house spotless, and the girlfriend in a pretty dress. Instead the living room was atrocious (DIY does that), the meal wasn't ready because I overslept and forgot that being an infrequent (read - never) cook means that things take longer and, for the same reason, I only managed jeans and the Joules polo shirt he bought me for my birthday.

As for the illness and broken chair? I pictured a speech about how wonderful I am and curling up to read or watch a film. Not "Have you got any paracetamol?", "I think I need to go home and sleep", "Aaaah!!" and "Oh no. I'll replace it".

Bits'n'bobs

Two quotes really encouraged me yesterday and I enjoyed two videos today, so I thought I'd share them here. We have some wise words on our fear-filled imaginations and facing change, an adorable Sesame Street video embracing non-Caucasian hair (check out 1:06 and 1:28 to get an idea of my hair at its wildest!), and a wonderfully creative cover of a generic pop song. Strange juxstaposition but I don't want to clog the blog with posts containing just one link ...

Just keep knitting, just keep knitting ...

My "scarf" is starting to look like a scarf. Clearly keeping going, even when I can't bear to look at it, is the way forward. Unfortunately I don't feel the same way about this blog. Already I'm starting to cringe at my writing and I've reached for the "make private" button several times (ok, such a button doesn't exist but you can't reach for a process ... )

In theory, the same principle should apply. Just keep x-ing, where x is whatever activity you're undertaking. But I loathe seeing my heart on paper. It just confirms that I'm sappy and cute when what I want to be is cooly detached (whatever that means) and tough. But I've started so I'll finish. Besides, I said this blog wouldn't be particularly public. I'm just not hiding.

Anyway, the scarf. I'm really enjoying it. Actually, when I'm at work all I can think about is going home to knit a few more rows. My tension is fabulously wonky but I'm starting to get the hang of the rhythm ... and with this comes the calm that everyone seems to associate with yarn.

I've decided that unless something goes horribly wrong I'm going to finish this particular scarf. I don't mind starting again but, thinking sensibly, there's no way it will look perfect first time round so I might as well learn from this one. I'm sure I'll see the homemade charm in the mistakes once it's completed.

Tomorrow I'm making a surprise lunch for my beloved. Pumpkin soup (from a carton, but two out of three ain't bad), porcini mushroom and butternut squash risotto, and blackberry crumble. I haven't cooked solo in so long, I'm really looking forward to it.

And speaking of blackberries, a new phone should have arrived in the post this morning ...

What would my mother say ...

I thought of my mother today while trying on a pair of navy blue suede ballerina pumps.

And again when considering a gorgeous knitted plaid scarf in purple, magenta and marigold.

Blue shoes and a crazily-coloured scarf that won't match everything? Mum wouldn't approve! It's not that she doesn't have a sense of fun, she's just a lady of the golden era - carefully consider your wardrobe when you make a purchase, make sure your shoes always match your purse, always buy classic, well-made garments.

I don't strongly disagree with any of this, in fact I adhere to it from time to time. But I have a wild, colourful streak that often says "It's too cute to resist, I'll worry about matching later". In fact, on my window shopping adventures today I saw a ridiculously bright yellow coat that I would have snapped up in an instant if there wasn't a dirt mark that showed no signs of disappearing on the only one in my size.

I think it stems from having too much black in my wardrobe when I was younger.

Having a practical mother meant my shoes were always black, most of my coats were black, and my umbrellas were always black - it was so bad that I made a vow some 6 or 7 years ago that I would never own a black umbrella again. It's been liberating. White floral, grey butterflies, pink polka dots ... The only black allowed is a background to accomodate white polka dots or colourful flowers.

I do own a black coat, but that's sort of essential. And a couple of pairs of black shoes for the same reason.

But for the most part, my motto is the more colourful the better. I'm not sure my mother approves of the pink coats and purple shoes. We agree to disagree :)

On a craft-related note, my friend (she of fabulous brooches) and I are thinking about setting up a monthly Brown Owls crafting club a la Meet Me At Mike's. I'm so excited I've, perhaps a bit prematurely, added a Brown Owls button to the blog. Hey, I'm a Brown Owl in spirit!! If nothing else, it will encourage me to keep the crafting alive ...

Of crafts and homemade love

I really love crafting. I have no talent for it - that's not false modesty, it's a fact. I once cut out a heart and my friend looked at it and cried "What is that?!" She genuinely couldn't tell. And as for the scarf ... two more rows last night and it still looks "special", folks.

But I love making things. I like choosing materials, I like the patience the actual making cultivates (even if I curse and scowl my way through it at times), and I like giving away homemade love. It's the best kind.

Homemade cupcakes or store-bought ones? Sure I get excited when I see Hummingbird Bakery packaging. I'd probably eat the box if I could. But to know someone gave of their time to make me cakes from scratch? No contest. My friend gifted me with two brooches, made from recycled sweaters, at lunch yesterday and I squealed at her all the way back to the office. It was also a spontaneous gift (I'd offered to buy them). Spontaneous, homemade love. Even better.

This crafting/homemade/homely/whatever-you-want-to-call-it thing has gotten me a reputation for being twee and a bit of a grandma. I grow vegetables in my parents' garden, I sewed a baby blanket for my beloved's 'newphew', I'm learning to knit, I'd rather spend my birthday having afternoon tea than in a club, and I'm a member of the National Trust (the latter two aren't crafts, of course, but apparently they add to the granny factor).

The teasing I endure is from good friends, and on this basis I thought I was fine. But thinking about it yesterday, I found it sort of bothered me. I actually started to question my pursuits ...

The long-promised scarf ...

Four years ago, I attempted to make my beloved a scarf. In mid-December I purchased some grey yarn and 4.5mm knitting needles and truly believed that, with a friend's help, I could have the scarf ready for Christmas morning ...

Ten frustration-filled rows later, I sheepishly showed him the wristband I had achieved and promised him a scarf by the following Christmas. That was the plan. But other things got in the way and the bundle sat at the bottom of the wardrobe waiting to be played with again.

This year I took it out. This was the year. This was the Christimas. The long-promised scarf would be his.

Four frustration-filled rows later, I bought new yarn.

Big wooden knitting needles and thick, bright wool. Another friend willing to teach me.

Today, two frustration-filled rows later, said friend insisted I finish the ball of yarn before jumping to conclusions about my handiwork.

So, I'm going to keep knitting. Keep winding love into the tangled mess that resembles no scarf I've ever seen. Next week, my friend will help me decide whether I should start again.

And whatever the outcome, I'll just keep knitting until I've got a wearable scarf for stowing away until Christmas. Because if learning to knit so I can bestow woollen joy means facing appalling first attempts, I'm going to face them.

I'll even laugh at them as I unravel the yarn ...

Do something

If you'd told me even two years ago that I would run a 5K non-stop, learn to ride a bicycle, grow my own vegetables from seed and hand-sew a baby quilt, I would have thought you crazy.

Unfortunately, these instances of simple, productive joy are few. I spend far too much time daydreaming, window-shopping, media-surfing and worrying; time that could be better used.

This blog is intended to be a simple record of my determination to do something - not for the sake of doing it, not for admiration, but to ensure that I am making the best use of my time with activities that glorify God and show love to those around me. I'm clarifying this from the start because my faith is central to who I am.

One final thing to add is that this blog is intended to be a record of my doings, not a life-story that I want to share with the world. The only reason I'm leaving it public is a) I realise that I keep my blogs private for the wrong reasons - because I'm afraid people will laugh or because I'm embarrassed about my writing style and b) Who knows, it may encourage somebody.