Vivien's Birthday

No, it's not Vivien's birthday now or any time in the next six months; her birthday is long past so "don't worry about it" (to quote her). I just found some photos I'd taken at the time I was preparing her presents and thought I would share them because it was fun at the time. I always wrap her gifts at the same time as I do her and Steve's Christmas gifts (there's hint for you). It makes a nice change to do a birthday theme instead of the umpteenth red / green / gold / silver thing.

I don't remember what all I got her this time, only that I enjoyed putting it together. I had no birthday wrapping paper that suited, so she got fabric wraps decorated with buttons and ribbons. 

I remember having to tell her to take the plant out of the bag, as I feared it wouldn't do well without light. 

I got the bulbs, the ivy at the garden guy at Tynemouth flea market. And the vase from a new housewares shop that lasted about a month, sadly. It was a newly renovated building tucked away between two others and I was looking forward to exploring it further, as the top floor had a lantern roof, like a conservatory. It's now a boring office place. I'm quite disappointed about this but perhaps her prices really were too good to be true.

Gosh, did I put a baby spider plant in there, too?

I remember the day also because we got an early-ish phone call from one of Bill's children about an impromptu visit that very day. I was rather grumpy about the short notice and then decided I simply wouldn't change my plans. There wasn't enough time to get ready for Vivien's birthday before our next meet up and I still didn't know what I might get her other that what small thing I already had on hand. As it happened the timing was perfect: they were at the door just as I was going out. They had kindly brought us a poinsettia and a very large bag of bacon flavoured crisps. I didn't feel I had the skills to revive this sad poinsettia and so it later went into the compost bin. I donated the crisps (not that they wouldn't have been incredible, I just didn't need the calories) to a nearby food bank. They were gone by the time I'd circled Tynemouth village several times, running into an old friend from work as well. (Must get in touch with Hilary.) 

Was all that terrible of me? Perhaps. I have to say it felt like setting boundaries and taking care of myself. And Bill got to enjoy their visit all the same.

I'm thinking this must have been on sale...or free...

Anyhow, when I got home I had fun wrapping the presents and putting together the plant. It amused me to use sea glass in the bottom for drainage, then potting compost. I inserted the bulbs and surrounded them with the ivy plants. I remembered a magazine article from long ago that described the components for a good potted arrangement: you need a thriller (something that sticks up), a spiller (something that hangs down) and a filler (to fill the gaps). I hoped that the ivy would serve as both spiller and filler (I'm a real fan of draping plants like ferns, ivy, willow trees, etc. I think they are terribly romantic; how soppy is that?).

I am sure I ironed this before wrapping the gift; why didn't I iron it before taking the photo??

The bulbs turned out to be even more "thrilling" than I expected, they shot up well before her birthday. She kindly sent me a photo and said they were using it as their Christmas centrepiece. 

Rudolph's Cousin

I was going to tell you about a wire bird I made but then when trying explain why on earth I would bother I realised I never told you about Rupert (apologies to Vivien's brother). The WI Federation offered a class in making a willow reindeer back in November and for some reason I bit. I think because of willow being a natural material I didn't feel so bad about using it to craft something useless. Obviously such noble reasoning went out the window concerning the bird, but that's another post.

I took a series of pictures thinking I would remember how to do all this and maybe make some more. That's not going to happen and I'll tell you why later. 

First you have a heavy board with holes at the corners to pack in a bunch of willow sticks. We had to really pack these in so they wouldn't have room to spring back out. The 'ankles' were then secured with plastic cable ties (so much for natural materials).

We were given the technical names for parts of said sticks (but it wasn't called a stick). I remember the thick end is the 'butt' and the skinny end is the 'tip' and there is a name for the bendy bit in the middle, but it's escaped me. That's what comes of writing four months late. It has a natural bend that you have to work with, I remember that much. Also that it has to be kept damp so that it remains flexible.

Then you pull some strands across to form the beginnings of a body. And then make some circles or rings, wrapping the tip around the circle to secure it. Those circles go inside the frame of the body.

Then you make some smaller circles that are put together in such a way as to make a sphere. That forms the basis of the face.

Then you deal with the back end and the chest, just generally filling them in.

I think it was about here that the woman in front of me declared that her hands were swelling and she was having an allergic reaction to the willow. She'd told me earlier she was a bit concerned whether this might happen, as she is allergic to Christmas trees. I was thinking about all the work during the holidays she was able to avoid, unless of course the family agreed to a fake tree; but then one could simply develop an allergy to that. And on this day the instructor kindly came over and finished her reindeer for her. I was rather tired by then and quite envious of this woman's allergy. I was thinking I must remember to get one of those myself. Now, I'm not saying I don't believe people have allergies to things, only that she didn't seem to display any of the usual symptoms and my hands were equally as red as hers.

I can't tell you which end this is - they look remarkably similar so I've not shared the other photo.

Make some triangular shapes for the ears and tail. The left over bits not used for the face or chest become antlers (of a sort - I think you have to use your imagination there).

The most perverse part, I thought, was that you get all this work done and then you have to clip away the front bit of the face (talk about nervous!) in order to stick in a red pine cone for the nose. And of course add the red bow.

The most interesting part of the class, other than the revelation of the construction techniques, was when the instructor was chatting and telling that they had a farm where they grew their own willow - and sheep. It sounded rather idyllic until the reality of all that work dawned on me.

So, Rupert took about four hours to make. He'll not be getting any siblings because this is terrifically hard on the hands, not to mention you can't do this sitting in a comfortable chair. I felt as though the skin had been stripped off, though I had no real injuries to speak of. I did give myself a few stinging slaps in the face with the tips of willow and that wasn't very pleasant either.

He went on display in the front garden as part of the Christmas decorations. We tried to place him so that he was seen by occupants of the house but not necessarily by every passer-by. I expect I was flattering myself about the risk of theft. I wouldn't so much have grieved the loss of Rupert, poor guy, so much as the hard work (and £60) that went into making him. I must remember to 'paint' him with a mixture of linseed oil and turpentine before he goes outside again. 

So, Rupert will have to be an only child. After all, it hasn't done me any harm.

Post-Christmas Post

I think Bill's kids might 'getting' my Christmas tree.  Years ago Sarah brought back a large, heavy bauble of cracked glass from a school trip she took to Victoria, Canada. 

This year Simon made these wooden and glitter shapes himself. I wasn't altogether certain at the time what all the shapes were but now I've taken down the tree and put them together for their photo, I figured out most of them. I think they are quite pretty. I wrote his initials and '2018' on each one so that in future they will 'know their place' in the tree's history. I may replace the threads with some sturdier string or ribbon to keep them from getting tangled on the tree.

Holly, robin, fox, reindeer, Christmas bow/bauble and a ?

Six-year-old Charlotte gave me my present from her, explaining she had 'made it especially' for me. Helen confirmed this, saying they'd had to stay up the night before so she could finish it in time. I thanked Charlotte profusely but I must have had a perplexed expression. Helen suggested I could use it perhaps as a coaster, but I had another idea. I pulled an icicle thread off the three, laced it through the holes and hung it on the tree. Martin apparently was moved by this, saying it was awfully thoughtful of me. 

When I took the tree down the icicle snapped, no great surprise. I threaded a red ribbon in its place after testing that I could write on the ribbon: Charlotte 2018. 

My tree feels even more 'complete' to me now and I know I will enjoy putting on those decorations next Christmas.

Christmas Card

Feel free to laugh at the poor execution of my crafted Christmas card, it makes me giggle as well. Still, I like my idea and will pursue it in future.

My craft group at Linskill decided that rather than write out a dozen-plus paper cards, we would each make a card and then trade. I had an idea that went something like this:

Years ago, Lucy gave me a basket of odd items and a book wrapped in some sort of red gauzy fabric. It was a book about a dozen uses of stuff like cat litter and aluminium foil (a couple of the odd items). I wanted to stitch a message on the red sheer stuff and have a white (A4/letter size folded in half) paper insert on which to hand write my message. It would be tied together at the fold with a ribbon. 

I envisioned this new style of card where the recipient would untie it, replace the paper insert with a new message and either return the card next year or pass it on to someone else. A slightly more personal touch, save a few trees, less glitter, more recycling. (I'm guilty of glitter selection, liking a bit of glitz at the holidays; I've vowed to do better).

However, I do recognise that one of the central themes of modern Christmas traditions is Conspicuous Consumption and this is so contrary to that principle it will never fly. Still, I enjoyed trying to make this card.

Only I couldn't find the red stuff. It's here somewhere, but in a very 'Safe Place'. So I picked up a bag Meriel had given me. Someone had sewn a bunch of large sheer bags and filled them with contributions of knitted items to our knitting group. Meriel handed out the bags to several of us.

It met the sheer criteria, it already had a seam, and I happened to have two sheets of red paper in my drawer. So that was plan 2.

I made a mock up of triangles and lettering on the computer and pinned that to the inside of the bag. I cut fabric triangles to size and pinned them to the sheer fabric to align with the template underneath. So far so good.

The fabric was very slippery and shiny and in spite of being pinned the triangles shifted a bit, which is why the tree is a bit wonky. So it looks homemade.

That is as far as I got for quite a while. We learned that Bill was going to have a pacemaker (it's a week past the surgery and he's fine - downstairs Hoovering at this very moment), the washing machine broke and had to be replaced, the car broke down and wasn't worth enough to fix, my good friend was in hospital with stomach problems (if they keep in you hospital here it has to be serious), my WI needed attention, we had to do our Christmas shopping...all the usual, and then some.

The day of the craft group meeting, I saw Meriel at the knitting group that morning and told her this card might or might not happen. I also needed to do the quiz I'd promised so the ladies could experience taking a citizenship test (I should write about that some time, eh?).

When I left there (my first excursion in the new-to-us car!) I ran into another friend (and another drove past) and so was delayed getting home - not that I minded.

I figured my silver star was a dog's breakfast because the thread caught on everything. I worked on it until I decided I couldn't make it any better (and certainly not any worse) and then moved on to the words. I would come back and see what else I might do with the star if time allowed (it didn't).

I set out to stitch the lettering with embroidery thread. My initial plan was to do chain stitch with yarn, but that seemed too unwieldy. Turns out it was all unmanageable. The fabric was so sheer as to be invisble, which made placing stitches tricky. I couldn't find anything that would write on this plastic stuff. The best outcome was to lick a white dressmaking pencil (v. hygienic and I don't want to know what is in the pencil), but even then the letters were only visible with a dark backing and if you looked at it sideways to avoid the sheen which was astonishingly blinding. One can't possibly refer to the letters as embroidered - it is more that I scribbled on the fabric using thread.

I moved away from the window to sit underneath a bright lamp, hence the glare. Then I decided I just couldn't see well enough with contacts and reading glasses. My nearly blind eyesight is still the sharpest at a distance of 2 inches, even if it does put me at risk of stabbing myself in the nose. It wasn't possible to keep the background pinned to the fabric and have adequate control of the needle so at that point it all became a bit free-hand, which is why the Merry looks like it had several Christmas sherry's. 

I replaced and removed my contacts several times, I can't remember exactly why - but nothing to do with sherry or any other alcohol. I think alcohol is nearly as incompatible with crafting as it is with driving; I just don't go there.

And the reason there are tension lines that cause the fabric to drape like the skin on an old woman's thighs is because I didn't use an embroidery hoop. And perhaps because I myself was a bit tense, trying to get it done in time. 

So, it got presented in an empty Christmas card box and no doubt the recipient, a member of the Embroiderer's Guild, will be in awe of this creation. I can see Leslie shaking her head with wonder that I would dare put this forward. (Actually she's a really lovely lady and she would just smile, show me her most recent breath-taking project, offer to teach me to make beautiful things and bring me another bag of her scraps).

For all its short comings, I'm happy with my first attempt at an eco-friendly (er) Christmas card. It's no worse than my kindergarten level efforts on Paint.

Happy Christmas everyone - and Best Wishes for 2019!

Maverick

I don't know about you, but when I think about the character Maverick I think of James Garner. I think it must have been a TV series for a while when I was a kid. Do you remember it?

Anyhow, this is about Halloween costumes for my step-son, so we'll be talking about the 1990s, not the 1950s/60s. It would seem Mel Gibson made a film using this character. I don't recall that I ever saw it, but looking over ideas for Halloween costumes and what I could produce easily and with little cost, Johnny was enthusiastic about Maverick.

As I recall, he had some slightly dressy trousers, an old cowboy hat and some boots. I think I found a white shirt and a cordouroy jacket at the thrift shop. I remember the brown vest belonged to me, Mom made it for me years before. I came up with some brown ribbon for a tie of sorts. I think his favourite part was getting to carry cards around all day. Also that the costume was comfortable.

This Year's Stack

So, it's a different picture this year as I decided to boycott Amazon for 

a) selling Trump family products 
b) having a reputation as a miserable place to work
c) threatening small businesses worldwide 
d) changing the culture with 24-hour delivery 

I was torn, as the owner of Amazon also owns the Washington Post but at the end of the day, I decided

e) I don't need to help Jeff Bezos get any richer. 

I've been doing business with Wordery. I did use Book Depository but stopped when I learned it was owned by Amazon. Since finding that out I check before I buy.  If you know of other book sources, I'd love to hear about them.

So, I gave Bill and each of the step-kids a wishlist with links to alternative sources. I didn't include books as I'm still having a book clear out. Also, I know at least two of them have an umbilical cord attached to Prime and are assimilated into the cult of instant gratification. I hasten to add I'm still fond of them and am not aware either are struggling with debt. I just love book shops and want to see them survive.

As it happens Sarah was super organised and had her shopping completed before the first of December. It was around then that I made my Amazon wishlist private and sent the wish list around. 

Better Than Before, Gretchen Rubin:
I had already read this book from the library but wanted a copy to mark up, annotate, etc. It has a lot of useful information I'm planning to use. Funny enough, our WI book group read one of her other books, Happier at Home, and pretty much all the Brits really hated it. Self-help stuff is not part of British culture, as one lady I really like said, "Why doesn't she stop saying 'Be Gretchen' and just get on with it?" I loved that remark as so essentially British and yet I still like Gretchen Ruben's books even though I'm not sure I would like her as a person. The Brits saw her as incredibly self-indulgent, even though she is combining her personal wish for growth with a very lucrative writing career. 

I sort of see what they mean, but I think she is very much a 'reader's writer' in that her books are full of quotes, research and references. I never read one of her books without finding out there are several other books she mentions that I want to get hold of. 

If you can bear the idea of improving yourself (and in this case, forming better habits that make your life easier) then I really do recommend this book.

Legendary Authors and The Clothes They Wore, Terry Newman:
I read this through quickly on Christmas Day, as Bill was in bed with a cold (we opened presents on Boxing Day). Can't say I knew of all the authors, so there may be something to learn from this. Otherwise, it was generally underwhelming. I was hoping for something more than it delivered somehow. It's reminded me to copy my Amazon wishlist and visit the library first. Still, I will probably re-read it to see if I overlooked the bits that might have provided more satisfaction. I remember reading 20th Century Characters, by Duncan Fallowell and commenting here that it was rather boring. It turned out that when I re-read it a couple of years later I found it quite fascinating, mainly because I knew more about who those characters were and how they fitted into my mental puzzle of the inter-war years. So I'm prepared to give Newman's book another go. 

Instead of books this year I got some perfume (Chanel No. 5), some bath and skin products, a couple of magazine subscriptions (No Serial Number and Reclaim), some peacock feathers, all on my list; also some surprises: chocolate, wine and sloe gin.

Did you get a stack of books for Christmas?

Black-Eyed Peas!

I have a whole raft* of ideas for traditions, old and new, in 2018. The first is to honour my Southern roots in the US by eating black-eyed peas on New Years Day to bring good luck in the coming year. I hated them as a child and negotiated with Mom down to three: she thought eating three black-eyed peas might just be enough to save me. 

I love them now. We had a large ham over Christmas and I saved the fat from it to flavour my beans. We buy dried beans -  some of every kind they have at the Asian grocery in Brighton Grove - and a large bag of polenta (corn meal) about every 2-3 years. It takes that long for us to finish them off. The beans soak for about 24 hours and cook in the crock pot for a few hours on high. I generally cook about three cups of dried beans at a time and freeze the cooked beans in smaller portions. Nothing suits beans and ham like some hot buttered cornbread. That was Mom's comfort food and it has become mine as well.



Here in Britain black-eyed peas are sometimes known as cow-peas, which is perhaps too close in my mind to 'cow patty' to sound attractive, but I can see why one might think they bear markings similar to a cow, mmm perhaps a British White?

...there is nothing so easy to create as a tradition.

                                                     Sir Walter Scott

*How is it we use the word 'raft' to refer to a large collection of things when it is clearly a flat wooden thing for floating on water? Turns out that went from the North part of Britain over to the US:

 Do you have a tradition you observe for the New Year?

Season's Greetings

Cousins of Some Fame

Do you have any film-related Christmas traditions? We have faithfully watched Hogfather every Christmas for about a decade. Or rather Bill has, it tends to put me to sleep for some reason. Anyhow, I fought back by obtaining White Christmas.  (Also, I finally got him to watch Love Actually and he Actually decided he Loved it, which was a nice surprise.)

Anyhow, I thought I spotted the name Robert Altman in the White Christmas credits. As Hogfather (part I) began I grabbed my laptop and tried to find out how Robert Altman (of M.A.S.H. and Gosford Park fame) was involved with White Christmas.  Turned out he wasn't, the name was in fact Alton, not Altman, and I lost interest.

But then I Googled Vera Ellen, given that Mom was always a major fan and it sort of rubbed off on me. I was electrified to read that the first husband of Vera Ellen was named Robert Hightower. It was also moderately interesting that her second husband was Victor Rothschild of the Jewish Banking Family Rothschild. Only moderately because I'm not related to the Rothschild's, so far as I know, chance would be a fine thing... I am, however, a Hightower, or rather my great-grandmother was. 

It is generally agreed amongst Hightower genealogists that all the Hightowers in the US descend from a Joshua Hightower who left England for the Virginia colony in the mid-1600's. I looked at people who were DNA matches for me and/or four other maternal cousins who are Hightowers. There were 300-some DNA matches who had the name Hightower in their family tree. I could trace - in a rough & ready sort of way using other people's family trees - them all back to Joshua. So I'm ready to claim any Hightower as a cousin (even if it is 11th Cousin or something silly). 

So who was this Robert Hightower who was married to Vera Ellen? I can show you a photo of him on his second marriage (to yet another dancer).  I'm still researching what I can document about his life and there are some rather sad stories (I've never claimed to have a 'normal' family). However, it seems that he also had a brother and a sister who were successful dancers, though not on the scale of Vera Ellen.  More about them later.

And then, looking for one Hightower dancer, I found yet another, one I should have known about as she was from Oklahoma. If you wish, you can watch Rosella Hightower dancing. I think she is absolute magic!

Thanksgiving at Dent

As Bill's three children (all fully-growed now) acquire partners and make babies, finding suitable sleeping quarters in my house is an increasing challenge. 




The last time we had all three kids and families, Bill pulled the motor home up outside the house and ran an extension cord up over the sidewalk. 



Sarah and Gareth said they enjoyed that experience, though the party people on their way to and from the pub were a bit loud and scary. I never notice them anymore, but I remember when I did.





So, just for fun, last year I rented a holiday house in Dent, which we judged was fairly central to the three coming from the NE (Edinburgh) and  SW (Chester). 





As it turned out Sarah and Gareth didn't make it but I knew enough in advance that I only got a three bed house. 





It was an end-terrace house square in the middle of Dent, along a narrow cobbled road. The terrace ended at the pedestrian entry into the church yard, which was the view from all the north facing windows. 

Oddly, the grass of the cemetery came up to the level of the window sills, providing a rather unique perspective. In the front, just across the narrow road was the George and Dragon pub. I had the feeling that folks leaning out of the windows there could just about touch anyone leaning out of ours. 



That was one of the downsides, the noise from the pub.  I'm all for people enjoying themselves, but pub closing time is past my bedtime. Also, there was no parking place outside the house, not that this bothered the tradesmen doing improvements next door or unloading goods for the pub. They parked so close to the front door it was hard not to take it personally. Then again, that was because (I think) they assumed the place was vacant. One of our entertainments was watching drivers edge past each other or inch around the corner (we were at the top of a t-junction), particularly the lorries doing deliveries. Online shopping was clearly the main resource for the villagers.




The ground floor of this house was just a large kitchen and a sitting room with a wood-burning stove. 

One of the oddest roof lines I've seen, or is it a roof within a wall?

The first floor (what would be the 2nd in the US) had our en suite bedroom, another double bedroom (for Simon) and a full sized bathroom squeezed into an odd place under the eaves. 

I've lived with double glazing so long that single panes in sash windows
(as in houses where I grew up) are unusual now.

The 2nd/3rd floor was probably an attic at some point. It had a large room with a telly and a child's bed which opened into a very large bedroom (for Helen, Martin & Charlotte). The views over the hills were lovely from up there.  

I loved the funny little niches in the wall, with stone 'sills'.

In addition to having a cemetery straight out the window, there was a cat flap that opened onto a stone shelf next to the sink. Thinking of food hygiene and resident dog, Daisy, I made sure it was locked. The kitchen was reasonably well appointed with an American-sized fridge, but I just managed to squeeze the turkey into the oven, located strangely at floor level.









I learned about the hazards of south-facing windows, which was a good thing to know. I sometimes envy the neighbours who face north/south but the glare from the sun isn't always a welcome thing. Never mind taking photos, I sometimes couldn't actually see what I was doing. 





There isn't a lot to see or do in Dent if you're not into walking (and when they say 'walking' in Britain they mean as in with boots, in all weathers, more like what you might call 'hiking' in the States). We did enjoy a visit to the museum and tearoom. That said, I had to get back to supervise the turkey so didn't see much of the museum on this trip. Helen surprised me at Christmas with a video about the 'terrible knitters of Dent'.  

Dent is a place Bill goes regularly and I've been a couple of times. The village needed funds to pay for a teacher and so they organised a race, the Dentdale, a 14 miler up and down hills. It's a tough one that Bill did regularly with running buddies he's known 40 years. I've even done it a couple of times. I remember the first year he introduced me to Wensleydale cheese, definitely one of life's greatest pleasures. Bill's the only one of his gang still running, but they meet up every year around that weekend. 

But I've digressed. When you read 'terrible' knitters you should be thinking 'awesome'. The people - men as well as women - knitted as a livelihood and they turned out quality products quickly. It wasn't unusual for people to knit as they walked to the next village, go to a friend's house and knit with them, to knit well into the night. It can't have been an easy way to make a living. 

As with up here in the North East, knitting sheaths (called pricks in Yorkshire) were common. This device tucked into the knitter's belt and held a needle so that the hands were free to manipulate the other three or four (socks being knitted 'in the round'). A wooden sheath was often made by a man as a betrothal gift and they could be quite ornate. The one I remember had a notch, sort of a hook, to keep it from sliding down into the belt. Clever stuff, being able to carve and knit with such skill.

If you Google 'terrible knitters of Dent' you'll find all sorts of stories/videos.



We also visited the historical church and found it attractive. I love the 'box stalls' - I'm sure that's not what they are called - made of wood. I gather there would have been a thermal advantage to gathering all your family into this enclosure, a desirable thing sitting in an unheated stone building.









The food turned out alright and there was plenty of it. As I figured, it was easier to cook in a strange kitchen than to cook at home and clean house from top to bottom in preparation for guests. We stayed up past Charlotte's bedtime playing various games. It was a good weekend as I recall, well worth the rent I paid. 

Sadly, I couldn't get a firm commitment from everyone in time to rent a house this year, so Thanksgiving will be here. The cleaning schedule is on the fridge, next to the shopping and cooking lists. {sigh} Perhaps I should have just grabbed a 4 bedroom house earlier on?

Have you ever gone away for a change of scenery (and to avoid housework?)