Another member of the Stasherella wreath family…

Threads are fine and thin

Strands to stitch us together

I scored a bargain this weekend with a copy of ‘granny chic ‘ by dottie angel and ted&agnes, bloggers extraordinaire.

Reader, get thee to the bookshop if you love Liberty prints, doilies or antimacassars (score double if you know why they are called antimacassars). There are some quietly lovely ideas here. Some I’ve done myself already (like my lampshade) without knowing about this book but others are brand new to me like the ‘perfectly round cushion’ which I will try one day soon. Honest.

Anyway, we celebrated the brief sun today by unfurling a vintage tablecloth and eating al fresco. Nice. My granny would have loved it.

H. Want some photos?

But then you set paper to pen
(Or these days your laptop opens)
And instead of a torrent
A trickle comes forth
Your words remain twisted
Your rhyming is poor.
You’re stranded, adrift and alone
Trying to find that elusive new poem.

Do you want my advice?
Make a bold if strange choice
Accept your clear fate and
Give up, it’s no Wasteland
Admit you can’t hack it
However you stack it
And write about your unique voice.

I did. You like?
I do and I might
Have said more than if I’d writ a tome
But now it is late
And whatever the state
Of this poem
It’s time to go home.

A good friends birthday today. Here is a close up off the car just made for her. I’m using scraps from my digital doodles from a couple of weeks ago. Let’s hope she likes her present.

Herding cats

Is there a well of anger
A source that bubbles up dark and strong
Forcing its way through our emotional fissures
Coming out when things turn out a shade wrong

Some people can dam and harvest it
Divert their outrage and Force down barriers unjust
They Make a difference
Their Fury forcing change

Some don’t even try to own it
Deny their role as their venom burns all that they touch
Again and again
Say ‘you should have put your galoshes on’
And sidestep the responsibility and rain

Anger is universal
Rage runs through Man’s veins
But where is the source, the start
And why does it hurt my heart?.

And here are some pictures taken at the beach in a fit of artyness and then messed around with.

I am increasingly interested in pattern and printing – must have a play with Lino next.

Holes were today’s theme. One appeared in our hall floor this morning. How kind of it to drop in. Other Half soon saw it off with the help of some plywood and a hammer.

The other hole is less tangible but harder to mend. Elders best friend moved to a new school today. Best friend since Reception. Blood brothers. And BFs mum is one of my best friends. Another hole to darn. Darn it.

I am sure we’ll all stay together but the tight little unit we had will change. Yes, maybe for the better but it wasn’t broken before.

So, at the moment I’m staring at a hole. Someday it will become a space, space to grow and develop and change. But today, dear reader, it’s a deep, dark hole. Roll on tomorrow.