Remember You’re a Womble..

I have a sore spot on the roof of my mouth, it has been there for a few days now and has discouraged me from eating my usual marmalade on rye sourdough toast for breakfast – too sharp.  Instead I got to eat my first porridge of the year.  Porridge with full fat organic honey, Greek yogurt, banana, and a large spoon of dark muscovado sugar.  Mmmm, soft, warm, rich and sweet, feel sorry for me?

The sourdough has been a recent addition to the household.  My neighbour Rosie kindly introduced me to her baker – a woman who lives on the next street over and makes bread to order for collection every Monday.

I have started, rather cautiously, making things again.  My recent attempt at chemical relief resulted in a complete non-interest in any sort of creative endeavor at all.  I did keep trying for a while, with rather disastrous results.  I had to pull apart my knitting several times, then I just chucked it into a corner.  And the bag I was making!  I had to unpick THREE TIMES, and when I did it wrong again, I chucked it into a corner as well.

A couple of evenings ago I picked up the knitting again, figuring the drugs must have worn off enough by then, and sure enough, no problem.  The same with my bag.  I got it out yesterday afternoon and a couple of hours later it was finished – not perfectly mind, looks a little ropy – as you would if you had been pulled apart and put together that many times.  But I was determined..

Made from vintage curtain material and lined with grey blanket

There are a couple of things I learnt from making this bag

  • Next time I will alter the pattern and make the bag deeper, so I can lose things easier and..
  • When you are making something for the first time do NOT use your most favorite vintage material which is probably IRREPLACEABLE.  So that if you DO cock it up and can’t fix it, it won’t be such a big shame.  Duh!
  • Remember you’re a womble, and lighten up 😉

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A few more photos of the wedding..

Kath looked wonderful and THE DRESS!  Just lovely and made of silk..  I will never forget the moment during the wedding breakfast when, in the middle of a conversation, she hit her hand on her knife handle and flicked tomato pasta sauce onto the bodice – her recovery was masterful!   She is my good friend and absolute honey – I am so glad Julian had the sense to marry her..

Signing the register

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Not So Exciting, but Interesting..

It’s interesting watching the way events play out.  After yesterdays excitement,  the people who were going to buy our bed to enable the plane ticket purchase have backed out, at least for the mean time, so we shall just have to exercise our patience a bit longer.  I am very much not bothered by this and actually – I love our bed and was not looking forward to seeing it go so soon.  So it’s all good.  And it will all happen when the time is right..

Poetry

My good friend Kate, who lives in Wellington, is getting married in April this year and is looking for a extra special poem to read at the ceremony.  This is her request of me:

I loved the Wild Geese poem you put up, and it got me thinking. I’ve been trying to find something for one of Colin’s siblings to read at our wedding, but I can’t seem to find anything that isn’t too mushy or archaic or god-ish or been used at a million other weddings. I wonder if you might know of something. I’m not sure exactly what I want, but something about love or relationships I guess, something different, maybe funny, could be modern could be old… Dunno – any ideas gratefully received!

I had a thought that someone out there in interweb land might be able to help – so leave a comment if you can, most appreciated.

And talking of poetry, here is one for older love.

from Twenty-one Love Poems

Since we’re not young, weeks have to do time

for years of missing each other. Yet only this odd warp

in time tells me we’re not young.

Did I ever walk the morning streets at twenty,

my limbs streaming with a purer joy?

Did I lean from any window over the city

listening for the future

as I listen here with nerves tuned for your ring?

And you, you move toward me with the same tempo.

Your eyes are everlasting, the green spark

of the blue-eyed grass of early summer,

the green-blue wild cress washed by the spring.

At twenty, yes:  we thought we’d live forever.

At forty-five, I want to know even our limits.

I touch you knowing we weren’t born tomorrow,

and somehow, each of us will help the other live,

and somewhere, each of us must help the other die.

Adrienne Rich