Weekend

It's been a weekend of contrasts. On Friday evening I went out for a nice civilised meal with a couple of my friends (Joe was staying overnight with his grandparents). The civilised meal somehow ended up in staying out dancing until 4am. And the hangover from hell on Saturday.

Cue the whole 'Never again' thing.

Yesterday I headed across country to the Yorkshire coast. Staithes (those of you with little ones may be familiar with it if you watch Old Jack's Boat with the wonderful Bernard Cribbins).

I was actually there to do a printmaking session with Stef Mitchell of Staithes Studios Gallery. Her blog, Field and Hedgerow, is one I came across via Pinterest and I knew I wanted to learn how she produces such beautiful work.

So, a very early start and a two-and-a-half hour journey. We arrived in good time and had a mid-morning snack and cup of tea before I went off, apron in hand, to find Stef. 

She was actually in her studio which is situated up a little walkway. You can see rooftops and hear seagulls. There are big work surfaces and an etching press, whitewashed walls and timber. A far cry from my humble dining table set-up. 

Without going too much into the process... Stef was a great teacher and I really enjoyed learning about monoprinting with plants. I also realised I have everything I need at home to do it - well, apart from that press - but hopefully one day I'll acquire one (plus the studio space to house it).

I came away with some prints to frame at home, lots of little hand-pressed ones and a notebook with plenty of scribbled-down ideas and tips. I'm now desperate to get out and find some things to work with. Maybe a few snowdrops before they finally give up for this year.

Staithes itself was a great place for a visit. Despite the gloomy skies we had a wander up and down the little streets and footpaths, admiring the higgeldy-piggeldy cottages and houses which all seem to be built on top of one another.

I took an inordinate amount of photographs and have actually been quite restrained about putting them on here. I'm thinking maybe a look back at March with some more pictures. Trust me, there are many. Many.

One thing that struck me about Staithes: it isn't all pretty-pretty. There's grit and decay too - shabby old buildings and neglected, wild bits here and there. Lots of tastefully-painted doors and neatly-planted gardens but plenty of faded, flaking old facades too.

There were so many little details hidden away up those winding, narrow streets. It could well be a good place to visit as part of a long weekend in the Dales.

Thank you for your lovely comments on my previous post. I'll go back and reply this evening but right now it's time to go and collect Joe from preschool. 

Have a great week.

March miscellany

I'm using a bit of Joe's preschool time to post here. Despite the repeated resolutions to slow down, do less etc I'm still chasing my tail. Which means the usual: a weekly dose of photographs with a few observations thrown in.

But I do like to keep this blog, at the very least, to document our comings and goings. And this past week that includes a ride on the train. Which broke down on the return journey, so Joe got the added thrill of his first ever ride on the top deck of a bus.

The days are getting longer. And, occasionally, sunnier. Which means light creeping in here and there. The late afternoon and evening are particularly golden; our bedroom gets much of it which is good because the small windows and vaulted ceiling mean it's often quite a cavernous, shadowy space.

The hills behind the house are illuminated on sunny afternoons too. Which always looks spectacular against a dark grey sky.

The lambs are still not here. But the sheep look weary and weighted down. I keep peering out to see if there's any progress.

On the home front, I'm currently collecting vintage things to add to my artwork for the vintage and handmade markets. Mainly items which fall within a general theme of nature/collecting/outdoors. So I'll be hitting the flea markets and car boot sales over the coming weeks.

My own things are strictly that. Not for sale. Like these silks I found in my mum's old sewing box at the weekend. The packaging is rather appealing, isn't it? No shrink-wrapped plastic back then.

On Mother's Day we went and put daffodils on my mum's grave. It's the second year we've done that and again, the sun shone brightly. We went for a walk afterwards, to Astley Hall and Park. I know my mum would have liked the idea of us getting out and enjoying time as a family.

My favourite part is the walled garden. Raised beds, rhubarb forcers and neat gravel paths. And this year there's a Gruffalo trail.

It was a cold day but lovely to get out and look at the emerging shoots and leaves. Although I do need to go back in a week or two as they have a huge magnolia tree and I've only ever seen it in bud...

I'm a little bit in love with these urns.

We actually went inside Astley Hall for the first time. It's free for visitors and was very impressive. The ceilings were incredible.

And I'm a fan of stained, wavy glass too.

And gilding.

And look at that view - I doubt I'd get much work done if that was my desk. Although it would be very inspiring. Imagine watching the changing seasons through those huge windows...

Oliver Cromwell once stayed at the Hall. It was rumoured he left his boots there but it turns out they weren't his.

I was rather taken with the tapestries on the beds, but if ever a place felt haunted... I don't think I could spend a night there. It's all sealed-off doorways and strange little staircases, and there are tiny cell-like rooms with no windows.

Outside again we had a wander around the grounds and admired the fountains and snowdrops (the ground was carpeted with them).

My mum always used to tell me about the snowdrops in Astley Park. I wish she'd have been able to join us. Sometimes it's comforting to visit places she enjoyed. Other times it's very difficult. But this time it was nice, walking in the sun and watching spring slowly emerge.

This coming weekend we're hoping to get out in the garden. We - horror of horrors - don't yet have a washing line (or the posts to hold one). We also want to plant some seeds, and tidy up the 'beds'. Or at least, what will become the beds. Last week I scrubbed the trunk of the birch tree a bit but I was using a scouring sponge and the fibres kept catching and it was annoying. So I'll have to get a scrubbing brush.

Maybe a visit to the hardware shop. We have a great one in Ramsbottom. Joe loves going there.

Anyway, thank you for continuing to visit. And I really appreciate all your lovely comments, even if I can't get around to replying. They all get read.

Wishing you a happy end-of-week and weekend.

Return

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.