A small project this time.
A cheap blue hooded sweater
Larra Batik blue yarn from Scheepjeswol
Chrochethook
Needle
Ductape
It speaks for itself really. I bought a cheap sweater, and crocheted over the Kangaroo-pouch.
Well maybe the ductape isn’t quite clear…
It’s used to prevent T. from calling me a Treehugger everytime I walk into the room.
Just in time for christmas! A great idea my mam found somewhere. And I was really quick to imitate it..
You need:
balloon
sand
flower
green
ribbon
plastic tube to put your flower in
Fill the ballon with sand. Every time it fills up thump it on the table. Push and mold it with your hands so the balloon expands. Fill it ’till it has a nice size. Fill the little plastic container with a flower, make a little bush from the greens and tie it to the balloon with a nice ribbon.
Easy!
You can’t break it.
Stands anywhere.
Made in less than half an hour.
Brushing up on my skills…
#hardandfast #easypeasy
Sometimes you make something you like to keep for yourself.
This is my first clay object, and so happy with how it turned out!
Combining a an idea from Pinterest and my mom’s step-by-step plan on how to go about it to make what I saw before my minds eye.. Here it is:
It’s a small house, an anniversery gift for my husband (3 years ago yesterday we got married in Edinburgh Castle), so luckily this little house will stay in my life.
Formed, stamped with my dad’s childhood letterbox, baked. Then painted and voila.
I’m sitting on a bench outside the pharmacy. T. is getting my pills and I’m waiting here in the sun. Nice and quiet.
Then a blue rinse pensioner sits down next to me.
I don’t look at her and don’t move. I am not one for spontaneous gossip.
But she does not need encouragement. She takes off, in a shrill whiny weary tone.
“My shoulder is sore”
“I couldn’t sleep”
“My feet hurt”
“Aging is a horrible thing”
“There is never anything fun to do ‘
“Never anything nice on TV ‘
I sit still and watch the sky from behind my dark sunglasses. I think about whether I will respond, but I know nothing decent to tell her.
The woman is not done yet.
“You youngsters have it easy”
“I always used to have to work so hard”
“My children never come and visit me”
“My grandchildren are always too busy for me”
“No, getting old is no fun at all. But you’ll find out about that yourself…”
It burns on my lips. To tell her that on her 80th she can still do more than I can at 38.
I get up and walk away without saying anything, into the far too busy pharmacy.
Phew, I almost hit a pensioner …
Do you remember I bought a nice old sewing box?
Well, after two weeks of tinkering, it’s ready! I still have to lather the outside in Woodbutter, but that has to wait a few more days ’till I’m back in my own house by the end of the week.
The inside I dressed with felt. Feels softer, looks nice and clean, and not insignificantly, it mutes the sound.
There’s no sewing stuff in it, but my felt and embroidery items have found a good place.
I’m completely happy with the result. (especially the old-fashioned clothespins I have used to wrap my ribbons. They look so colourful and neatly stored.
Whoopee!
Some people love it. A haircut. By default, every six weeks.
I myself have never liked going to a hairdresser. I always found it difficult to adjust to a new head. Especially when I courageously let her cut it super short cut. For months I got a fright when looking in the mirror.
Nowadays, when it costs me so much energy, and with an empty cartidge in our moneyprinter, I find it an even bigger step to make.
I rarely go anywhere, and if I do go somewhere I wear a hat. I wonder if I’m it’s worth it. And the answer usually is: Never Mind.
Until I am with my parents. Mama never pushes, but encourages. And then, then I make an appointment. With a sweet hairdresser who after a few visits, knows me. Without me explaining anything she knows exactly what I want, won’t use a noisy blowdryer, or smelly things, and turns off the radio.
And then, I’m quite happy. I look a lot better and feel a bit happier when I look in the mirror. Good.
