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I think this is possibly the longest blogging break I've ever taken. Not through choice; I've barely been able to get near a computer for the past few weeks.

It started with half term. Just me and the little one doing our thing. Walking, playing, reading, potato printing and all the rest of it. And I'm not looking for sympathy here but there isn't really an option of anyone taking him off my hands at the moment.

This wouldn't present too much of a problem in normal circumstances, but I had a big handmade and vintage fair coming up. Lots of stock to make and frame. A stall layout to plan. Props, lighting, signage, pricing. Plenty of loose change and notes to collect from the bank. Public liability insurance to arrange (Jay did this one).

Not easy with Joe around.

So I adopted that rather over-used term: 'It is what it is'. We had fun together during the day and I worked in the evenings.

Somehow, everything got done.

On Saturday morning I was up very early and drove to Hoghton Tower with a car full of boxes, a couple of tree branches and craft fair essentials: scissors, cable ties, batteries, fabric, a folding chair and so on.

I found my stall (in an old barn) and emptied the car. It took several journeys. The barn - open at both ends - was bitterly cold. 

But the whole thing was in beautiful surroundings. There's something quite special about approaching a historical house on a misty morning. Bits of the buildings are falling down in a state of romantic decay. All a bit Wuthering Heights, no?

In the barn, I had a florist on one side (selling lovely old pots and tins planted with bulbs, daffodils, herbs and primroses) and a lady selling vintage clothes, fabric and buttons on the other.

All the stallholders were so friendly and helpful, I really did make some good contacts and more importantly, friends.

I also made a respectable profit. This despite treating myself to cups of tea and gluten-free flapjacks. Honey and cinnamon, if you're interested. Baked in muffin tins so they were very substantial. Perfect for after my (packed) lunch of healthy tuna and bean salad.

My stepdad came along early on to help me set up, bringing yet more tea. And Jay brought Joe too. Although Joe + glassware and antiquities = a disaster in waiting. So they didn't hang around for too long. We managed a little wander into the grounds to admire the banks of snowdrops though.

And Joe was adamant I buy the red Welsh blanket on the next stall. So I did. Total bargain, having consulted eBay on such matters. It's now on the end of our bed and it's keeping us extremely warm. I'll put a picture on a post soon, but in the meantime there's something very similar here (although these lovely specimens are new).

By the end of the day the traders were all frozen solid. A quick phone call meant there was a hot bath waiting for me when I got home.

And the next day I did it all again.

I've also finished a commission recently and am now planning my next fair (in April). I came away having learned a lot and I'm bursting with ideas. But I'm not buying yet another notebook. I'll utilise one from my vast collection.

So hopefully this explains my having gone AWOL lately. And why I didn't do this month's Colour Collaborative post. I'd like to thank my fellow Collaborators for being so understanding.

Joe's got World Book Day at preschool today. I spent a good chunk of last night making him polystyrene antennae and this morning we painted his face green. He's an alien (his favourite book being The Great Space Race). Said book belongs to the local library. I'm really hoping he doesn't lose it somewhere.

I also hope March has been kind to you so far. The frosty view in the third photo was taken from Joe's bedroom window. We've had a cold snap and I'm getting a bit impatient with the sheep in the back field. I need lambs to coo over!

February observations

To those of you who celebrate it: Happy Valentine's Day. To those of you who don't: Happy Sunday.

A few little observations from the weekend. Firstly: I'm glad that several of you are embracing your Highly Sensitive selves. I think there's nothing wrong with being content with who you are; we're not all raving extroverts and it's perfectly fine preferring a quiet night in to being out on the town socialising.

The same goes for all those HSP traits: celebrate them. We notice things and know our comfort levels. We appreciate art and music; we pick up on subtleties and we empathise. And we have vivid, crazy dreams most nights because we're also Highly Imaginative. Hurrah for that.

Which leads me neatly on to another observation: yesterday I met up with Jen in Hebden Bridge, to discuss a little collaboration and to just - well, meet up. It was lovely to be away for a few hours with just another grown up for company. We had an amble by the canal, we mooched around the shops and ate a hearty lunch.

Driving there and back over the moors (there was a flurry of snow too) I realised I don't listen to the radio whilst driving alone. No music, no discussion. Because quiet is so very underrated. Just me and my thoughts - it doesn't happen very often and when it does, I enjoy every second.

Back to Valentine's Day then. We're not big on it in this house. A card, maybe a small treat. Jay bought me some herbal tea and some raw chocolate. It's dairy free, organic and has no refined sugar. I was a bit dubious. 

I was wrong to be. It's rich and buttery - a square or two is enough and it tastes divine. So, observation number three: don't judge a bar of chocolate by its lack of the usual suspects. This stuff could become a new obsession.

And finally... A few stems of something unusual, bought from a florist, can easily surpass anything from the supermarket. It doesn't cost much at all and here I deliberately went for things which would dry out and look interesting for a long time. Eucalyptus, white sea holly and whatever that exotic-looking thing is in the centre. I bought them from The Willow Garden in Hebden, a flower shop of great beauty complete with spiral staircase and galleried upstairs. Sigh.

The sun's out again. We've had another Slow Sunday and it's not over yet. And I'm writing this because next week's half term so I won't have any time off parenting duties. It's now time to go offline again and savour what's left of the weekend.

Have a great half term week - fingers crossed for more sunshine.

Hibernation and contemplation

I know that January and February are usually (for me, at least) the months of the year where we just have to somehow 'get through'. And having read other blogs it would seem many others feel the same too. But then I read a post which made me think - why wish time away? Why not embrace it for what it is (in this case cold, dark, wet and windy)?

Without wishing to sound too preachy there are people who are really suffering. Yes, the gloom has a negative effect on mood. Yes, it would be great to get out into the garden if the rain ever stops.

But really - there's nothing you can do to make the sun appear or the clouds disappear. Better to go with the flow than try to swim against it.

Yesterday, after weeks (months?) of saying we must adopt the whole Slow Sundays way of doing things, we actually did it. I put my phone in my bag and stuffed it behind the sofa. We lounged around and had a late breakfast then layered up and went for a walk. The sun did appear once or twice, and how wonderful it was to sit on a bench and soak up those fleeting rays. Yes, we had to take shelter in the church doorway during a passing hail shower. But we also saw hellebores and tulip leaves thrusting through the earth, snowdrops and steam trains. 

Refreshed and invigorated (and plastered in mud) we returned home to spend the afternoon keeping warm and eating good food.

I noticed something: the weekend doesn't fly by as quickly when you slow things down and do a bit less. Slow Sundays will now be every Sunday. It may take a little while to establish that but I'm determined to do it.

I'm currently reading 'The Victorian House' by Judith Flanders. It's fascinating; social history, particularly that of a domestic nature, is something I really enjoy learning about. A good book on a wet day is something that can't be beaten.

And speaking of learning: I recently came across an article about Highly Sensitive People (H.S.P's). It resonated with me. I'm not really one for psychobabble or the leaping onto the latest affliction/condition bandwagon. But it just rang a bell or three. Maybe everyone feels this way but there are many traits - listed on this site - which are just me. Things like being accused of being overly sensitive, my inability to cope with loud noise, of feeling easily overwhelmed. Of feeling rattled when I have lots to do at once, of being highly aware of other people's moods, of being ridiculously sensitive to caffeine.

The list goes on. It's really interesting and has been a bit of a revelation to be honest. I think I was also a Highly Sensitive Child and that could explain why certain events had such a marked effect on me emotionally.

Non of this stuff means I need therapy or indeed, want it. Sometimes it's just good to identify with something. And maybe there is a bit of a trend at the moment. I've heard about this book too. Maybe we introverts, those of us who spend more time thinking and listening than talking, are about to have our day!

So there we have it. A bit of enlightenment in these dark months. Amazing how good reading, slowing things down, savouring the weekend and spending time indoors with family can make the gloom shift. Even if it's just metaphorical. I'll take it.

Winter scrapbook

Well, it seems like I was never going to write this post. Joe's been off preschool with some vomiting bug or other, which I've picked up but it's (thankfully) only a mild version. He's fine again now and the famously voracious appetite has returned.

Of course, a picture-heavy post means I always go a bit lighter on the words. Probably because I try to write the kind of blog I myself like reading. So lots of photos and a few little updates. I'm planning a wordier post for later in the week. Or perhaps the weekend.

It's bright here today. At last. The seemingly endless grey skies and rain can make you wonder if this is possibly the most depressing winter ever. Looking back through the camera though, I can recapture a little of the frost and snow-induced cheeriness.

The Flying Scotsman has now left these parts, but we saw it plenty.

It's still flipping cold. Not as much as a few weeks ago, but my fingers are a bit numb typing this.

I've booked in to do the Crafty Vintage handmade markets for 2016, held here and here. So I've been busy Making Art. Still much to do. And an eye-catching stand to design and build.

I just finished reading 'The Remains of the Day'. I loved it - it has now become one of my favourite novels ever. Jay treated me to the DVD so that's Saturday night sorted. I suspect I might cry.

Speaking of Jay (and I know he reads this): he's been baking a lot recently. Experimental stuff. Last weekend we had rhubarb and custard muffins and very tasty they were too. I also know he goes and bakes to escape to the kitchen when Joe is being a nuisance. I know this because I do it too.

I'm longing to get out into the garden. We need to do some heavy stuff first; a big pile of earth has to be moved to make way for a shed. Maybe a bit of poking and pottering first, just to ease us in. We have snowdrops and miniature daffs and hellebores. 

At the risk of sounding a bit odd, I really want to scrub the trunk on the birch tree.

Joe and I have joined another local library. I found a great book on printmaking, and we borrowed lots of train books for him. We did a story session ('I don't want to join in' - him, 'I'll give you a YoYo if you do' - me, 'Alright then' - him). The craft bit afterwards was more of a success. 

He's really enjoying the new preschool and sings as we walk there. But it's still a little bit heartbreaking to see his old one up for sale and all the little tables and climbing frames and things being sold on Facebook.

We did a walk on a very frosty day last month. Thick ice everywhere. But still evidence of the Boxing Day floods - even dry stone walls are scattered across the fields in some places.

The snow was short-lived but we made the most of it. Two snowmen, a snow bear and a three-year-old who refused to wear gloves. 

It was great to let Joe loose in the field behind the house and watch him run around. Much better than the ice - he insists on slithering across frozen puddles and I wait for him to slip and crack his head. Hence the woolly hat.

We've had a trip or two out - in late January we went to Cumbria and saw Furness Abbey and visited the South Lakes Zoo.

 A cockatoo fell in love with Jay. 

And although there were acrobatic monkeys making car-alarm noises, and wolves and tigers, and a kangaroo with a baby in its pouch, we all agreed on our favourite bits: the bird enclosure with parrots flying overhead, and the cafe with a woodburning stove. Because it was a bitterly, bitterly cold day.

We managed to get to the beach too. 

And although it looks like he's having a wonderful time in the pictures here, Joe's absolute favourite part of it: doing a wee outdoors for the first time ever. Standing up. Apparently that's what a three-year-old really enjoys about a day out.

I'll leave you with that delightful thought. Sorry.

I hope you're finding some brightness in these gloomy months. Speaking of which, I'm really thinking of repainting the downstairs of the house in white. Low ceilings and beams and small windows make cottages cute and cosy but also very dark in winter. I know Jay wants nothing to do with it, having just decorated. I totally understand. But come spring I'm happy to chip away at it myself. You know, with all the free time I have ;)

Have a good rest-of-the-week.

P.S. I've also discovered Aldi chocolate. Dark, with hazelnuts in. It's actually rather posh-looking and tasting. No this isn't a sponsored post - just passing on a tip to help keep the cold out.

The Colour Collaborative: January: Warm

When I first thought about this month's CC post, I wasn't sure which angle to take. What signifies 'Warm' for me when considering colour? The reds and oranges of a crackling fire? Snowy sheepskins, grey wool blankets? The little cottage whose window I sometimes glance through on a winter's afternoon, with its deep raspberry pink walls and rich framed tapestries?

And then I remembered. My  - what? Snood? Muffler? Scarf-with-no-ends? Whatever, it's the one thing I always grab when heading out the door on a cold day.

Some of you may recognise it from a long-distant post. I'm no knitter, trust me, but a few years ago I saw the wool and had to buy it. 

(Incidentally, for all you colour lovers out there: a wander around a well-stocked wool shop is a delight like no other. It's always interesting to see which hues attract you and draw you in).

I still have some of it left. This scarf-thing has had previous lives: a cushion cover, a longer scarf (complete with ends). It's been unravelled and re-knitted. The buttons were found in the local antiques place where they sell little haberdashery odds and ends for a pound or two. It's done in a stretchy rib, one of the few stitches I have in my repertoire. 

The thing is: I love mustard yellow. It catches my eye, makes me want to paint things in it. I also love murky greens and sludgy versions of brighter colours. I'm not really one for pastels either (although the hat in the above picture is another cold weather go-to. My mum bought us one each in a sale and it's fleece lined and comfy: the hat that fits like a glove).

So, 'Warm'. My mustard yellow, re-used, recycled wool scarf thing. 

Don't forget to visit the other Colour Collaborative blogs for more of this month's posts, just click on the links below.

Annie Cholewa

Gillian at Tales from a Happy House

CJ at Above the River

Jennifer at Thistlebear

What is The Colour Collaborative?

All creative bloggers make stuff, gather stuff, shape stuff, and share stuff. Mostly they work on their own, but what happens when a group of them work together? Is a creative collaboration greater than the sum of its parts? We think so and we hope you will too. We'll each be offering our own monthly take on a colour related theme, and hoping that in combination our ideas will encourage us, and perhaps you, to think about colour in new ways.

Inspiration, upheaval and a sprinkling of snow

It's been an interesting week. Last Wednesday I went to collect Joe from preschool and they told me they were closing down. A combination of flooding, a bad Ofsted report and staff resignations meant the owner had decided to call it a day. They'd been going for 26 years and despite Ofsted branding them 'Unsatisfactory' (mainly due to issues with administration) I'd always been perfectly happy with Joe attending.

I managed to get him a place, that evening, at another preschool in an even smaller village but just as close to home. It has a great reputation and he started there on Monday. He's taken to it like a duck to water.

We won't go into the amount of crying I did on his last day at 'Janice's'. It's the end of a chapter and the staff were so lovely. 

There are children joining the new preschool from the old one, so he'll have some of his little friends with him. I'm currently collecting lots of splashy paintings at the end of the day. He's definitely inspired by the upheaval.

Speaking of which, I've been making the most of my fifteen hours per week of child-free time. Drawing, painting, attempting to build a new website (although I'm going to have to bite the bullet on that one and phone the Squarespace support team).

I'm also looking into the craft fair calendar for 2016 and am on the brink of signing up to some. Quite a few, actually. Selling direct means I don't have to lose as much in commission. Plus, I get to meet my customers face to face and to speak to other makers.

So right now it's all about jotting down ideas, planning displays and getting lots of stock together.

I'm still thinking about the house. Pictures are slowly making their way onto walls. Rooms are gradually getting a bit of personality. And I've discovered a new aesthetic. 

Anyone who's seen my Pinterest account will know I love all things Nature. And things with a story to tell. Recently I came across this board though - and I'm suddenly into pattern and eclecticism. I've always been a fan of early to mid-20th Century literature and design, but the thought of a truly individual home filled with creativity and books and art holds huge appeal for me.

Joe had a 'settling in' session at his new preschool on Monday. I stayed for a few hours but they then suggested I go off for a few more while he had lunch and played outside. So I did. 

A cream scone, a hot chocolate and a chat with a lovely lady in the tearoom of the local antiques centre was the perfect escape. I had a browse around all the lovely things and admired the William Morris wallpaper, the old fireplaces and the tiny wooden mice carved into the door frames. There's something very relaxing and reassuring about slipping back into the past for a little while. Probably explains my love of Marple and Poirot. Nostalgia fiend.

I then returned to an excitable boy and we went for a walk. All you can hear is water at the moment: the river, the drains, new springs and streams trickling away down the hills and through the trees.

You know I only like to use pretty pictures on the blog, but I thought I'd show you why we can't take one of our usual routes. It's really awful to see things like this at the moment: collapsed bridges, rubbish washed up everywhere, houses with sandbags outside and ruined furniture awaiting collection.

You also know I like to end things on a positive note. It's cooled right down here and last night we had a dusting of snow. The snowdrops are making an appearance in the garden. There's pussy willow on the table and vases of daffodils all over the place. And - gasp - we have a weekend approaching with a forecast of bright sunshine. No plans, no visitors - just us three. I can't wait.

I hope yours is dry (or snowy, whatever you prefer) and cold outdoors, warm within.