Saturday 5th November - Not at all cross with cross stitch...

 My parcel arrived from 'The Works' yesterday; among other bits and pieces I had ordered this cross stitch kits;

For three pounds you can't go wrong, can you? (Hollow laugh). Two dozen cut-to-size pieces of 14-count Aida fabric (I really do sound as though I know what I am talking about - but don't be fooled), little brown labels, threads, needles and complete instructions.

Everything is there, just as it says, but, the instructions are 'Follow the cross stitch patterns below'.

The patterns, and the diagrams at the top of the sheet (which measures slightly less than A5) are miniscule!

Technology to the rescue; after some technological wizardly (thank you, you know who you are!) the mini sheet was exploded to several times larger - you can see 'before' and 'after' in the picture below.

  I thought I would start with the snowflake design, as it is all one colour, and looks very like a knitting chart to me. That's as far as I got this morning. I have chucked the needle - it was far too big and too blunt to go through the holes cleanly, and I'm using one with a bit of a point. Progress improved once I got my brain in gear and paid closer attention to the counting.

I thought this would make a nice little warm-up project before embarking upon the kit that Ang sent me in the last postcard swap.

The last time I did any cross stitching was making a laundry bag from red-and-white quarter-inch checked gingham at the convent prep school I went to. We had an afternoon of needlework every week (groan). At first it was all relatively harmless tray cloths from Binka fabric and cotton perle. The laundry bag was a terrible shock; I remember it bag with loathing. We did all the main sewing by hand, using the gingham as a guide, and decorating it with a band of cross stitch, and then made a felt 'head and shoulders' with plaited wool hair and embroidered face to go in the neck of the bag. I can honestly say that blood, sweat and tears all played their part in the construction of this horror, which was only just completed in time to be hidden right at the back of the annual needlework display to parents at the end of term.

Was that the year we had to knit a dishcloth as well?

My heart goes out to poor Sister Patricia (may she rest in peace, after all this was nearly sixty years ago so I would guess she would be over 100 by now) who had the thankless task of teaching me. 

Now look at me - sewing and embroidering and knitting with enjoyment, for relaxation and for pleasure! Oh Sister, what would you say if you could see me now?

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Sometimes I wonder about the people in the factories assembling these kits and packages, measuring out the different coloured threads and winding them into hanks, picking out a needle and sealing it into a little cellophane packet... How on earth can it be economically viable to make up these kits and sell them on the other side of the world for so little money? Am I complicit in exploitation, or providing them with a source of income?

   

Friday 4th November - Two Caravans by Marina Lewycka

 Warning - a political rant about the immigration crisis from the comfort of my heated house, after having had a hot bath and plenty of breakfast. I add that because I KNOW I am letting off steam from my position of economic security.

Just skip this post if you don't want to be bothered with all this immigration stuff.

I re-read this recently. t was first published in 2007, fifteen years ago. The Ukraine that the main characters come from is a very different place to the Ukraine that we hear about today. 

The important recent dates are, I suppose, 1991, when it became independent from the fast dissolving Russian bloc, and then 2014 when Russia annexed Crimea. The setting, in time, of the book, is squarely between the two, allowing for the several years it probably to write it and get it published. Andriy is from the industrial, mining region in the East, and still has clear sympathies with Russia, whereas Irina from Kyiv in the West and is rejoicing in Independence, although this only becomes clear as the story progresses. Other characters are from China, somewhere in Africa, and Poland if I remember rightly.

They have all come to England to earn money - and we discover, in the book, a (fictionalised) account of how they all get on. How they work! How they graft for every meal, in horrible, horrible conditions, always prey to unscrupulous exploitation by people traffickers of every description.

When I read it the first time, I absorbed just the uplifting story of people who are trying to survive while remaining essentially good people.

Doesn't it make sense that if economic survival in your own country has become impossible, or you are at risk because you are not heterosexual, or follow the wrong religion, or a member of a minority ethnic group, you would do anything to leave? I don't think that these 'young single men', like Emmanuel and the others in the story, are just here 'for a better life'. I think they have come here to have a chance to live.

The stories in the paper about how this country is dealing, or failing to deal with the needs of the people arriving on our shores are shameful. I don't know how we have got ourselves into this mess, but I pray with all my heart that we can find a humane and civilised way through, to sort out the paperwork (I will NOT call it 'processing') and integrate these people into our population in a generous and timely fashion.

Not forgetting the appalling problems that people already living in this country also experience with housing, poverty, health services... to tackle the immigration issues without also addressing the needs of long established citizens is really going to do nothing except stir up more trouble.

Rant over.

And breathe.     

I've finished with the book now, if you would like to read it, let me know in the comments (I won't print your address) and I will post it to you. 

 

Thursday 3th November - 'Unexpected item in the water bowl'

This happened on Tuesday morning, but I had forgotten until now...

After the storm on Monday night, when we were walking around outside to look and see which garden items had been randomly redistributed, I checked the two Emma Bridgewater pasta bowls in the garden that the cat likes to drink out of. They were both nicely filled up with rainwater (saving a job, and rainwater is what the cat prefers to drink anyway). But in the bowl by the back door was a small toad, unable to get a grip on the shiny china rim in order to get out.

Where had he been living? Among the pots of herbs on the back door step? It was the work of a moment to relocate the toad, water and all, into a nearby flowerbed. I suppose I should really add little ramps to the bowls. 

'Emma Bridgewater pasta bowls for the cat to drink from? Whatever next?' I hear you cry. Ah, yes, but the glaze has completely crazed all around and around, and there are hairline cracks developing. I thought it was better to banish the bowls to the garden BEFORE they suddenly unloaded hot soup or pasta all over everywhere. Like what the others a few months ago.

I had a bit of the 'thing' for buying Emma Bridgewater cups and bowls and mugs, but, hey, I am so fickle.

I've always admired the 'dinner service' at a friend's house - a collection of mis-matched blue and white china. No worries about replacing a broken item with the same pattern, then.   

Wednesday 2nd November - Rebellion against the Chia Seeds

 I finally said it out loud - "I've come to the conclusion I don't want to eat chia seeds on my breakfast".

"Neither do I," he said.

They might be good for me and have a hundred and one beneficial effects on all sorts of parts of my body, but they are, to my mind, gritty, tasteless and spoil a perfectly good bowl of muesli and get stuck between my teeth.

We've been trying them for a few weeks. We gave them a good trial. We're done with chia seeds.

I need to order more tea lights.

I have sorted out eight sets of 24 tealights for Advent so far; I have given two away to friends, and put a set ready for myself, and here are five more already earmarked for people.

8 sets x 24 tealights = jolly nearly 200, I reckon, which would explain why there are only a few left in the candle drawer.

I'm hoping the candles remain purely symbolic through December, although with the threat of power cuts they might even turn out to be useful as well.

November is, according to my son, National Blog Promotion Month. The challenge is to write a post every day in November. I'm doing pretty well so far...

If you missed the last blog post, I have put up the November 'print and post' Newsletter. It is one of the pages on the sidebar if you view this blog in the web version. Follow the link for more details. 

The November Newsletter is here

 I've put the November Newsletter up in the pages to the right of this post; you will be able to see it if you are looking at the blog using the web version.

It is in case you have friends who would like to be part of the blog community, but don't have internet access; please feel free to print it out and post it/deliver it/take it round to someone.

I love getting things through the post which are not

• Bills
• Catalogues (although I am a bit of a catalogue junkie at this time of year!)
• Charity Appeals

 and I am sure I m not the only one! So if you want an excuse to pop a small something in the post - here you are.

If you have suggestions for improvement (or spot any typos or errors!) please let me know.

Tuesday 1st November - The flying greenhouse

 Yesterday my parcel of goodies from hobbycraft arrived. 

 I had managed to restrain myself to some wooden trays to help with organising my new work area which has a shallow but deep shelf under the work surface. Anything you put into this hidey hole tend to slide right to the back, out of sight, until it drops through the open back and lands on your toes. The trays are there to prevent this irritating even, or at the vary least, reduce the frequency at which it occurs.

And I like the way some households, mainly in the USA, hang a decorative wreath outside which changes with the seasons. At last I have decided to act upon this thought, and included with the trays a wreath, a pale coloured garland and a packet of gold 'rose leaves'.

I was going to take a picture yesterday, but my mobile is getting on in years and the battery will quite abruptly run out of power. 

I was kept awake last night by the wind and the rain, which was really rather over the top ("keep the noise down, can't you? Some people are trying to get to sleep here!"). I wondered if the wreath would survive with the wind hurling in from that direction. All seems to be OK.

  

There should have been about 12 golden petals; I noticed that they were not brilliantly attached to their wires (you get what you pay for, and I didn't pay very much) when I made up the wreath, and this morning there seem to be only half a dozen left. I might add something or other to the bottom when the weather has calmed down. A gold bow, perhaps.

One of the two plastic greenhouse did not manage so well; the old one, where the plastic has all perished and only the netting is left was fine, with its sunflower seedlings, and the broad bean seeds (several are through), cauliflowers (likewise) and peas (nothing happening there yet). The newer one lifted off and flew down the side of the house and halfway down the back garden, leaving an upturned table, the bottom shelf and all the bricks that were weighting it down scattered about the drive way. Luckily I hadn't put anything in it yet!

Here's The Flying Dutchman... Wagner...