San Francisco

Another location, fairly familiar, but later in the year and thus colder than we are used to. Cable carred down to the Wharf, followed by a our clam chowder in a bread bun, a first for son, even tho he has lived here for 12 years, I guess you don't do the touristy things when you work every day in a place.My objective, not achieved last time, was to see the pelicans.

Pottered onto quay 9 and there they were, stalking high above on the fishery buildings waiting for the trolleys of fish to be maneuvered and to drop some tasty cargo, obviously we have timed things wrong, before.

First time I was here was in 1969 I guess, -with Him Who Shall not be Named, now consigned to the devil, hopefully not literally, but I hope he singed his conscience on the way through at least. For reasons best known to twenty year olds we had hitched across America in a matching pair of deeply fringed leather jackets and too little impulse control, but then that is befitting our age. Little would get achieved unless young [even older] people did daft things at times.

It was daft and dangerous, but we survived and stayed in SF for about a month, a bit late for the whole Haight Ashbury experience, didn't even get into a Grateful Dead concert. That might have changed our lives - instead after too much speed we decided to change our plans not take up the offer of a place at Albuquerque University,but to Greyhound back to New York, but return to Europe and an archaeology degree at Durham. Quite a contrast.

SF hasn't changed that much, they were putting in the ground work for the Subway then I think, and I swore never to descend into the depths, but of course one does in the course of a life time, several times.

Now each time we visit I am amazed by the sudden eruption [not the earthquake] of new, exotically shaped buildings, emerging shiny and purposeful defying any thought that life could ever have been fulfilled without them.

In contrast the numbers of crazy people muttering the streets seems to proliferate, it makes for uncomfortable tourism, counter intuitive to ignore the urgent, if private ranting of intense, and mostly, black faces.

mum,uncle and star of the show

Today we drove up to the mountains to visit with friends of daughter. L and L bought 40 acres way up in the sage brush and lived in a caravan there for about 3 years till they had built the house of their dreams.
When we last saw them they were feet deep in snow, with a leaky old fire and a mad cat [he was very opinionated, L had to throw paper balls up the far end of the trailer for him to chase, so she could scramble out of the door without being attacked, he didn’t like to be left alone I guess].
Now they have this wonderful adobe style building full of light and comfort, and wonderful views. Around the house hop blue jays, chipmunks, rabbits and ?grouse. L feeds then every morning so it is like a Disney cartoon with them scurrying around.
The two bathrooms [and sauna] are wondrous for English eyes to behold, the living room has floor to ceiling windows crystals hang reflecting the clear mountain light, bet that cat wishes he had shown better manners, they regretfully had to have him put down when the paper balls stopped working.
Second visit was to dinner in Reno with other friends, and their offspring and relative’s [one mother and g’mother] offspring comprising four babies under 3 plus our own wonder babe of one week. Very chaotic and convivial, guess this is what only children miss out on.

Travis cooked us stuffed chicken breasts........stuffed with what he called pineapple sausages, wrapped in bacon with a slice of pineapple, and salad, excellent.

The living room and kitchen were joined around the fireplace, if you see what I mean, so the kids and our young father could run in screaming demented circuits, until the kids gave in and collapsed in happy heaps. Some older people expected tears before bedtime, but young father kept his end up OK.

This is now Saturday our last full day, "onesies" [what I call babygrows] have been painted for posterity to enliven Baby's days in the future, the fairies have been finished on the nursery wall and a BBQ is being prepared.

Tomorrow we drive to San Francisco with son.

sand dance

The desert casino theme is becoming a habit, last time we visited daughter we first stayed for a couple of days in Las Vegas - in the Luxor glass Pyramid. An amazing edifice which shut even our sceptical mouths, or rather let them drop open.

No dollar had been spared to cover the joint, even the lifts, with Egyptian slant eyed maidens offering food to the gods. Only by stroking them [when safely lone in the elevator] could one tell it was a stained/coloured fibre glass? copy.
Sphinxes and huge enigmatic cats abounded on the floors, Ramses strode thru the halls of one armed bandits. Unfortunately, for some unknown reason, the endless corridors smelled of something like formaldehyde but I am not sure that was intentional.

[Sadly this is the nearest we have been to the real thing, our previous Nile Cruise was spendiferous but only visited the wonderul palaces; having not read the literature I expected pyramids, next time maybe.]
The casinos in Reno are less culturally aspirational, there is no re-creation of Venice [including gondolas] or Paris and the Eiffel Tower; the Sands was the nest for Frank Sinatra and his acolytes, built in 1947 it has two towers these days and claims to have 18 floors, but there is no 8 -11 and of course no 13th floor.
We explored the Eldorado and Circus, Circus……..pretty boring, just lines and lines of one armed bandits, endless variations on the theme of how to lose your dollar. Small enclaves of black jack, craps, poker.
The Silver Legacy was perhaps the most enjoyable with a beautiful art deco glass ceiling and a huge pseudo mining tower stretching up into the cloud painted dome.
Casinos in Nevada are exempt from the no smoking laws so they stink in a way we had almost forgotten, but they feel totally safe for all ages, sexes ages, even cosy. Not in the least exciting, but then I don‘t gamble. Maybe not all classes however, I would suspect only blue collar at the tables and machines here
Son arrived yesterday and stayed up till 3.30am giving the “house” his hard earned cash, tho hopefully not too much of it, and seemed quite happy at the outcome.
He got his first ever full house or whatever on his machine, [took a photo to prove it] so won $75 for his quarter, but soon ploughed it back playing twenty one.
When he went out this morning at 11am an Alaskan woman and her mother he was playing with, were still at the table. They come here once a year and this is what they do.

Sleep can sometimes be a difficult trick to pull. What seems so easy to achieve in the morning can be nigh on impossible at night with thoughts spinning on a loop, obsessively burrowing and exploding at arbitrary times.

The casino has perfected quiet rooms, in spite of piling floor onto floor but the concept of a soft bed is beyond them. Maybe it is all part of the campaign to get guests out of their room and down onto the machines.

The rooms are seemingly hermetically sealed, which is appropriate for it's desert theme, I have not as yet been inside a pyramid, but the TV does suggest a sarcophagus. They are heated by blowing hot or cold air machine according to the Pharaohs' own appreciation of the situation, so at 2am you can wake up freezing, and then at 4am sweating.

I have always hated giving in to sleep, I regard it as resented hard work and am relieved to scramble out of bed at 7.30am. Strangely I started waking at this time here, regardless of the altered time frame, but lately the total slippage of routine into what Baby [and daughter] needs has completed confusion.

Today I was awake at 4.30am, drinking tea and reading the spurious Memoirs of Jane Austin, but then I closed my eyes and it was nearly 10. Breakfast at the coffee shop, lunch disappears into a biscuit, and today we are promised Tofu burgers. This is a meat eating household, often personally dispatched by the New Father, but the fridge is full and has to be mollified.

Last night we ate in the Diner again, hotdog and banana milk shake, almost as good as the peanutbutter milkshake I had on a previous trip.

Why do hotel mirrors have that strip light above them which turns every face into a Plague victim?

I am suffering doubly, as many many photos of the new baby are being taken - some include his granny. Comparisons between his beautiful skin and my aged body cover cannot be avoided.

Our diet is somewhat out of our control, sometimes we cook, but mostly daughter and son-in-law make the decisions.

Last night we had authentic burritos from a Mexican joint that only seemed to serve other Mexicans, so we were interested in widening our culinary experience.

Hmmmmmm - mine contained a grey mass that might have gone neigh, if it could get itself back together. The very large rectangle reminded me of the suet pudding [with jam] we used to be served at school, and dubbed "dead baby in a blanket". I didn't think it was appropriate to mention my wander down memory lane at the time.

I guess it was the equivalent of a Cornish pasty, but this one at least was not as tasty.

I bought some fruit to up our vitamin C, this included the biggest sweetest Granny Smith apples I have ever seen. The Supermarkets have so much and such varied food we stand in awe. Much of it seems to include corn syrup however, it is difficult to find anything "plain".

Last night we took daughter to Target, a huge store where they have everything, if only you could find it. hours of wandering aisles later she had collected pile of baby necessities and I got some moisturiser. The weather is still lovely, but the air is very dry, or maybe I am just drying up.

the kraken wakes

Reading the news from home I see that there is snow and sleet, which feels very strange, as here we sit, higher than Ben Nevis, yet bathed in sunshine. I do have on several layers so i suppose it isn't exactly sunbathing time.
Around four o'clock the temperature plummets as they say, but the snow on Rose's Face [Mount Rose, - she has a fine female profile viewed from Reno] has yet to reach the other mountains that enclose us.
Baby decided to become a monster last night and screamed with enthusiasm most of the time he wasn't feeding it seems, so new parents took him for his first checkup to make sure he wasn't a werewolf or similar.
Nope - he is a fine specimen of humanity, doing what he should.
When he has tanked up now we will rock him while they have a sleep, then we all go shopping, joy! I shall get some moisturiser, this mountain air is dry.
Saw 3 eagle like birds this morning wheeling above the pigeons, above the river, some guy told us the were Umac birds, which is a bad joke I half remembered so we didn't get too badly caught.

warning - bears in the woods

Baby and parents have survived the night and are moving towards the stage of familiarity, I already feel redundant, which I suppose is good.

New father is fashioning a beard from an abandoned Halloween party costume, so he can take a photo of baby thus enhanced, as all his friends were convinced his offspring would emerge as hirsute as his father.

Baby's auntie came today, with her just out of Boot-Camp-Marine-son. He is on a short visit before flying off to confront the men with serious beards. He looks almost as young as Baby, and has even less hair, as he is shaved to the brain. A very sweet agreeable young man, but I guess if he can get thru Boot Camp he is sterner than he looks.

We don't really know the news here, television is almost unwatchable with adverts so often. We caught a glimpse of the bombings in India, it did make the front pages of most newspapers, even saw a small titbit about Gordon Brown and his pre tax budget, but on the whole we are floating in a bubble.

My sleep pattern got awry last night so i read a whole noisy murder book, thus a trip to barnes and noble [i am now holding baby and so cannot do capitals,] where i loaded up with a mrs gaskell to give the gore a rest, plus 3 other paper backs - excellent store.

Fire eater

Baby having finally put in an appearance this morning, I can at last use the time honoured phrase "we are a grandmother".
He was only five days late and only put his ma thru seven hours of torture, contractions coming on too quick and strong for the promised epidural, so daughter ploughed on womanfully and produced "au natural" which as a g'ma I could smile smugly and say "by far the best way dearie".
The midwife was very sweet and supportive, daughter had to request I exhort less loudly so she could also hear what the midwife was advising.
Now we have 10 days to pass on the lessons of a lifetime before leaving the little family to fend for itself.
It is a gloriously sunny day today, after a couple of cloudy rainy ones, the blue skies twinkle in my celebratory star earrings
Having fended off 3 sweet looking ??Jehovah's Witnesses, or maybe another variety, I didn't really give them time to get into their stride, I will blog on.
I have the house to myself, as all are engaged elsewhere at the mo, except for 2 dogs and ?4cats. I am sitting on the verandah/porch and the birds are making their usual din as they settle for the night in the garden trees.
If it wasn't so cold it would be idyllic, but it is November, which makes baby a Sagittarius, I don't know many of those.
Daughter, Man Who Works and I are all water signs, new father is a Virgo like my son, an earth sign, but new babe is a Fire sign, hmmmmmmmm just as well I don't believe any of it, except MWW and I always live and holiday by water, well almost always, g'mas are allowed to be a bit addled in their logic I expect.
We will go back and see the fiery little chap in a while, hopefully he will have latched on by then, which is all he needs to achieve for a while.
The ancient inherited family cot/crib sprung a crack this week when stuffed with a new mattress, so we have splinted it for now.
When we went to BabesRus or whatever the huge emporium was called I was flabbergasted at the amount and expense of doodahs one can buy for a new person these days. Awesome as they say, repeatedly, over here.
Young father was keen to spend up all the vouchers, given at the baby shower, before the shops went bankrupt in these uncertain times, but I suspect babies will keep appearing, and the habit of bedding them down in a drawer and handing down clothes seems to have been abandoned.
So i guess the remaining vouchers will still be bankable in a few weeks time, when daughter needs a bit of a pick you up. Altho daughter has been given piles of Onesies, as they call baby grows over here. by young mothers who swear they will never need them again.

waiting game

Here I am in Reno, a surprisingly pretty "biggest little city in the world", one day when i have the technology I will post some pics to prove it.
At the mo I am using my daughter's Mac laptop, which she insists is easy! but they do things differently around here.
The journey in all ways was straight forward. Virgin were their usual chirpy selves, I was allowed my stitching paraphernalia without fuss, but as I watched 3 movies and read one book I didn't get much done.

Pause while daughter's computer died, husband's Dell expired on flight over, so he impulse bought a Eee, whatever that is.

Small is what it is, but mighty.

Daughter is still awaiting birth, as is half of Reno to judge by today, many friendly grins and questions as we make our rotund way around.

We took Ishtar to a dog park which none of us enjoyed much. A bleak field, no trees [imperative for doggies on would have thought] and lots of woofers, little, large and larger careering around.

Ishtar [a beautiful but elderly chow] did not appreciate the variety of noses shoved up her bum in an enquiring manner, so we did not stay long.

Another day [who knows what day it is] we took a walk with Ishtar along the Truckee river right in the centre of the city, lovely golden trees in the autumn sun, ducks and geese and "strange fruit"

moving on

To be stupid, selfish, and have good health are three requirements for happiness, though if stupidity is lacking, all is lost. - Gustave Flaubert

Maybe that is why I am a bit miserable at the mo, I am not stupid enough.

Here I am about to be a grandma and all I can do is whitter and slither, and wish I could stay here and watch "I'm Celebrity get Me out of Here". Excitement and risk from a safe distance.

I am stupid.

Proved by gleefully watching such rubbish.

But not stupid enough - to get onto that plane and sit comfortably miles above the jungles without a care. I don't want to get into that tin can, I don't want to leave the ground.

Flying is the safest way to travel, even driving to the next village to the mobile library van just now, was probably more risky but I chatted cheerfully all the way, blissfully [stupidly] at ease.

And when i get there........at least the new generation will look at me slightly out of focus and not judge me, yet.

What will my two make of their aging p? Will I be calm and steady, rock like in my support through post natal depression, chef like in dishing up eatable meals to all and sundry.

It is universally acknowledged packing is a pain, and I haven't started yet. What to take, what to leave. Against all instincts there is a huge book shop in Reno, and a small second hand book shop within walking distance. But I can't make up my mind which books I Need, to make sure I have with me, and should I keep them safe in hand luggage or risk them in the hold.

Grand-baby has a rather large new shawl I have crocheted, that must travel with me; auntie [grand-auntie?] Cinders' teddy bear can just busk it in the hold; I guess my mothers knitted bootees and helmets should go with shawl................decisions.

M newly back from Bogota puts me to shame, all cheery and bright from her colourful experiences, she has given me a security blanket to lull my nerves. Doesn't double as a parachute however, so it won't.

Shoes!!! how many? Daughter has battalions, roughly my size, but all have high heels which my feet will no longer sustain.

Oh dear.

destination nevada

I had a Mrs Bean of a morning.

Started by stopping by the bins awaiting collection, to add one more thing. Car door swung further than I expected, bumped into our bin which in turn toppled neighbours bin. Garbage all over driveway.

At docs I tried to avoid garrulous acquaintance and failed when she inadvertently managed to ignore all other chairs and sit next to me. Newspaper did not provide sufficient cover, and it is the Guardian too. Failed in this case.

Doc gave me some ointment for sore eye, and doggy and I cavorted off for walkies, avoiding bins, till screeching to a halt, having remembered I hadn't picked up the Working man's pills from pharmacy.

Return to docs with disappointed dog.

No Money.

Scuttle to Post Office and have to queue for centuries behind jovial mad man depositing his life savings in small change plus as many merry quips as he could dredge up.

Finally collected pills and arrived at river bank where a change into wellies at last achieved our dream.

Back home in the afternoon i argued with mother to keep us both in trim and became Disgusted Customer when the two jumpers I ordered have not turned up, man on phone said he wasn't allowed to reveal possible delivery date....................helpful.

We are somewhat nervy this week, contemplating what to pack for the trek ahead, not two new jumpers obviously.

M advises taking full luggage allowance, then when a big dirty pile of worn clothing has been compiled, post it back home and buy lots of lovely new clothes to pack in the space made available for return flight.

Probably not, with the state of the £ v $ at the mo.

We have had to upgrade the hire car to a 4x4 when we remembered we have to drive over mountains up to 8000' to get to daughter, that's an extra £300. Not that they ever give you the same car they promised.

Poor Working Man has to remember how to drive an automatic on the wrong side of the road and get us safely out of San Francisco at the same time.

Daughter says she is 1cm dilated, but head isn't engaged, much the same here.

conference

There has been a mighty Forum formed, mostly of ladies of a certain age and freedom. To give ourselves the confidence and status of how things are done we have conferences.

The last one recently was "How to make money from your work", fairly basic one would have thought, but us ladies aren't that sure we actually want to soil our hands with trade, no that's not true, more likely we haven't the confidence to put our creations to the test.

Or maybe we just want to continue to be creative in our later years and the garden is cold in the winter and the grand children really are very tiring at times. Stitching is such an adaptable activity, can be put down at any time when any one elses priorities intervene..........had a big argument with a member who denied my fears that the cost of membership and fees might be too much for some women.

She insisted we/they must get their priorities right, with which as a demanding female myself I concur. But I can remember when i had kids, and later was a single parent and all the other permutations women have to deal with.

I insisted we could keep our costs down to ensure we were accessible to stitchers who may not be able to place our work at the top of their list.

Funnily enough there aren't any men in the Forum! I also notice that more men are using textiles in contemporary art, or at least they are the ones we hear about, obviously they are able to sort out their priorities. Hunter gatherer syndrome I suspect.

The winner of Business woman of the Year gave us a lecture about presenting ourselves and our work with panache.

We spotlight two members, one produced some of her quilted pieces, totally home grown never had a lesson in her life.

This one was inspired by a friend getting mugged, and he heard Chief mugger shout the vertical line in black. "There had better not be blood on my trainers"

The other Spotlight was based in stitching on dissolvable, where Carol had taken the design key from Tudor lace, and produced crowns, tiaras and 8ft long columns of metallic "lace".

But her most evocative pieces where made after she heard a story about a 19th century husband who decided his wife had been replaced by an evil spirit because she was not being as agreeable as usual.

The cure for this was to torture the "fairy" out of her body which after 14 days resulted in his wife's death. Carol noted the words the poor woman said as she was protesting her innocence and again on dissolvable stitched the words into a long pillar of white.

We saw it through our tears. I will add a pic if I can get one as it was also truly and terribly beautiful,

Barry, Gordon and Sarah go adventuring

Stayed up to hear Ohio, then slept till 5 am when I woke in serendipity to hear Barry's speech, lying in bed tears leaking down my face.
That poor man sure does have a weight on his shoulders, I saw him with some of his new proposed colleagues next day and suddenly had a flash of a defeat. Can anyone achieve what he must?
Here our great leader had a rain-check on his ignominious surrender as he won the Scottish seat we all assumed he would lose. I guess his status has swelled as we see him striding thru the financial morass where he feels comfortable and capable.
Maybe he will develop the confidence and transfer some of that good judgement to not introducing things like the 10% tax debacle or the future fiasco of trying to introduce identity cards.
Meanwhile what of Sarah Palin, a welcome target for misogynists and her own lack of............education? Who knows, she could find a home in Fox News I suppose, become a shock jock or maybe just read a few books, or even newspapers before she tries again in 4 years.

Had a good birthday few days in Walberswick.

A November sea, glistening with sunshine, it didn't rain, us Scorpios have to take what we can get.

Doggy enjoyed it greatly, which is obviously the main thing.

Bought a fitted indigo quilted jacket from Blue Willi [Scandinavian they can't help it] and a "boiled wool" capey coat from Oska - also foreign and all the better for it when you look at what is in the High street these days, mutter!

That's more or less the end of the birthday money, tho i may squeeze out a pair of boots.

Followed up with yet another Textile exhibition. We SLAPPERS [Stitchers, Lacemakers And Patchworkers Practice Embroidery in Suffolk] motored over to Braintree and saw Zero3, which was interesting. This person's was my fave , she paints and prints with bleach. With this one sh had just "marked" the cloth with a felt tip, felt a bit guilty there was no stitching and machined some lines. Always a dilemma for a textile artist oh dear, I have not done any sewing, is paper fabric? etc. The last was done in layers and prints from very old children's' clothes pattern packets, if you see what i mean.

radio news

I am still suffering [well it is tender] from my pneumonia jab. Is it because the needle did go in as efficiently as the painless flu jab, or is the pneumonia a bigger bug? Who knows.
It is a funny jab to have, as i guess it is to guard against me getting debilitated in my old age with a survivable illness, and then popping off with the pneumonics instead.
I would guess some old persons are quite relieved for the quiet escape it affords, if they have been in a terminal position. I shall just have to bang my head on the wall instead.
There is a woman on the wireless today trying to get the Law Lords to clarify the Suicide Law, in that if someone helps you to achieve it they could go to prison, at least the suicidee is no longer a criminal in the afterlife.
She has progressive MS and says she either has to do away with herself while she is still able, or cling on till she finally can't stand it and have her partner escort her to Switzerland where she can be assisted to die, but then Mr Plod would come to call.
Although i guess a Catholic might still wag fingers, and what do Muslims, Hindus and Buddhists etc. say........................it all makes total sense to me, except it is the old "slippery slope" argument.
Maybe she has to do-it-herself earlier than she would wish rather than open the opportunity for the old or weak to be bumped off early by others.
This news item seems to be rated of less relevance to our ears by the BBC [Big British Castle] than a huge furore about 2 comics who said something salacious on a late night radio show. They did go too far, leaving messages on another actors answer phone during their programme saying one had screwed his grand daughter [she does sing in the Satanic Sluts, but her g'father does not!].
Not nice, bullying, should never have been broadcast [it was pre recorded and could have been edited] but now there are 10,000 complaints [only 2 from those listening at the time] and the country is in uproar, and the 2 stupid blokes have been suspended [not by their goolies - yet]- whoops - I hear the tumbrels being oiled.

on show

The Credit crunch doesn't seem to have reached Suffolk yet. Local artisans gathered under the high eau de nil ceilings [embossed with intricate blindingly white plasterwork from an earlier era] of the nearby posh school to show our work this weekend. For some unknown reason persons flocked in and we took a record amount of boodle, nigh on £3000.

My earnings were a small percentage it is true but still it was a warm feeling to be swished by the waves of approbation, increasingly swirled by the sharp elbowed under current of bargain hunting .

Our strict Baptist farmer always benefits from these predatory urges to find a classy Xmas present that looks classy and costs so much less than if you were shopping in London. He turns wood, and produces remarkably beautiful bowls and vases, excellent to send as unbreakable gifts all over the country. Monkey puzzle trees are his current prey.

This bowl is "spalted" [elm or sycamore maybe] which means, I learnt, that the tree dies and a fungus sets in amongst the grain. It has to be killed as the spores can be carcinogenic [as is so much it seems] and then when the wood is turned you end up with these impressive markings.

Recently villagers have complained about his wood pile, as mixed with other farm detrius it was accused of bringing the neighbourhood down, so he had to sort and display it in a more refined manner. Didn't stop them coming and snapping up his bowls of course.

His Baptist life style means he can't steward on a Sunday, but I notice that as his bowls play an increasing part of his income he now bowls in on the Sunday evening to pack the remainder up and totter home. On Saturday he wore scarlet cordroy trousers, black shirt and scarlet patterned bow tie, that's new too.

The potter here is a German lady, Usch, who throws these wonderful jugs and then glazes them in startling colours. I couldn't resist taking the photo with Maggie's quilt behind, stunning.

Maggie sold the quilt to her plumber when he came to do a job at her house, not sure which way the money went in the end. Mags usually flies to Houston for the quilt fair around now with empty suitcases and comes back with them full of fabrics and one or two cheap tracksuits from the A&P that clothed her while she was there.

melt down

I am exceeding Monday morningish today, threatening migraine and achey limbs. Could be because I spent most of Sunday melting plastic.
Embroiderer's Guild ran a workshop on recycling - in a creative way - via an iron, some parchment paper[is that what you call it, not greaseproof, but used for baking i think, don't know as i don't do any]and plassy bags.
Recycling is a hindrance to our gig actually as the bags with built in recycling don't melt and meld as successfully; now one has to increasingly buy the shiny, stronger bags for life, xmas tinsel, shower curtains, even plastic table cloths and doileys, great fun.
The tutor is a patchworker, which frightens the bejabbers out of me as I am so un-neat and am genetically unable to plan my work ahead.
However she was very encouraging, and we soon started chopping up with abandon and melting the bits together in what we hoped would be an interesting manner. I have done a bit of this before, but the key to more flexible creating was to use a cheese grater to shower slivers of wax crayons on the surface which would then melt into painterly shapes and squiggles.
Then stitch.
The key it seems is not to plan too much ahead but to see what happens, so i was fairly happy, if still nervous.
These situations are just endemically competitive, 16 self effacing and generous minded women of age and experience, put them all in the same room where they have to each follow the same instructions and produce a piece, the mental claws come out.
I try very hard to be laid back, absorb the info, play a bit and do it later at home if interested, but before I know it I am head down beavering away.
Now I am climbing over the additional clutter to get into my room and looking for the napalm.
The last 2 workshops have been excellent, but there is also that discipline of working and developing in the sacred "Series", and as i get older I wonder just how many side streets of different Series I can go down.
I no longer want to achieve"art" signified by the fact that it sells [in London] for thousands, but I do want to sell some so i can still get Into my room. I do want/have to keep making stuff. I find if I just piddle about making one thing here, another there it starts to feel so unfocused and meaningless.
So ......................dunno. meld all the experiences/techniques together into a series of pieces that will knock peoples socks off, or at least keep me making.

connections

Tottered off to Sutton Hoo on Saturday, not to visit the Anglo-Saxon ship burial, not even the slightly effeminate golden mask [not that they are there any more, whisked off to British Museum years ago, only copies left behind] but to see yet another textile show. patchwork ladies gave us their all, and quite impressive it was. Dispiriting really for poor wanna-bes like moi.

This for instance is pretty good. And this is clever.

Personally I like using fabric and thread as if it is paint, so i admire the foxgloves more.

These standing stones from the Outer? Hebrides reflected the clear light so effectively I wanted to get on the night train there and then, and I will one day.

Going to too many of these shows will make me hang up my needle for good soon, in an enormous sulk. No positive or encouraging murmurs please. lets just admit the ladies are good

These bathing beauties are probably more my style but i think i would have made them bigger and bolder.

The Salix uses "breakdown" screen printing which I have yet to define. The colours certainly are joyous.

Have just googled and it seems to be a mixture of dyes paints and discharging. Obviously I need the book. Also found an arty blog describing it to add to my favourites. Connections, connections, life is all about making connections.

This one of my favourites too, as I like the layering and merging of form - and stuff

These daisies are stylish, pretty without being cloying. Reminds me of that line in PG Woodhouse when one of Bertie's fiancee's describes stars - as god's daisy chain the sky.................

Allison, made the thin blue line. It is a bit like her - precise yet complex. The title was a theme for the Birmingham quilt show which she entered. Most of it is computer printing, intriguing how the very old tradition of quilting now twins with computer based art.

At the Knit and Stitch there was an exhibit of crochet which explains the hyperbolic maths theory. And then there was that novel about a patchworker who had worked out another geometric theory via her stitching long before the mathematicians got round to it.

tripping again

I am sitting in the sun, which is a small miracle in itself in October, admittedly I am behind double glazing but there are still flowers within and without, the doggy is stretched out with a contented sigh at my feet and if I hadn't just knocked over and broken my cup of tea, it would be perfect. Which would be frightening, so just as well I am clumsy.

The wireless is spewing out financial disaster, not much I can do about that except keep my fingers crossed that the pension funds hold out.

Daughter in America is expecting her first, her husband is on a 4 day week now so they are nervous. Hopefully the Bailouts and interest rate cuts will help steady the ship.

Son, also in the States, is part of a Messenger Co-operative, so he needs businesses to keep growing and communicating so his bicycle wheels can keep going round.

So, yesterday, in an effort to graduate into the Age of Irresponsibility I betook myself, and mother, up to the Big Bad City, ignored the steam rising above the Stock Exchange, or was that smoke, and joined my peers [and commoners] entering Alexander Palace to see the annual Knit and Stitch exhibition.

Actually Ally Pally is a bit like this conservatory, only a bit taller - and with a Palm Court. The textiles are shown in two huge halls - or maybe more, ma and I are rather dyslexic re. direction, and usually have no idea where we are, or how to get there, thank goodness for mobile phones. One hall has a large and colourful Rose window, so we can tell when we are in that hall, and we Know that in one of the corners there is a cafe, just not which one.

We had a potter round the individual and group shows, plus the graduate shows. Each ridiculously young woman has an alcove decorated with the fruits of their years of study, usually highly decorative and accomplished [graduate and work]. I have just realised i should have taken some pics of the ubiquitous knitting for Heide, I will ask Allison. The latter is so dedicated she is going up tomorrow and staying overnight B&B so she can spend two days indulging herself in fabric and colour.

I took some pics for the lacemakers of my acquaintance

and this

For myself i liked these dancers [life size].

My ma liked this quilt [below], with the Diver appliqued. Instinctively I take the opposite view partly because we have unresolved issues [which she is much too old to have any interest in resolving, [the new bus time table etc demands much more attention from her and needs angry emails to whoever] and also because I think the black -what do you call it, silhouette is too .........easy.

The stalls seemed to be arranged more by theme this year, so I was able to dive into an orgy of thread buying, without getting distracted by gadgets, and a wonderful dyed and combed Finnish fleece which I am convinced I can turn into a Mistresspiece or two.

I took a pic of a patchwork piece to remind me to be more adventurous. obviously i have a room full of half finished bits and pieces and I would love to think this would inspire me to combine them in a contemporary manner. Equally obviously no-one would then be interested in taking them off my hands as "contemporary" is not a style that goes over big outside the Big Bad City.

This is really when i miss the presence of my daughter whom instinctively goes for the jugular - in design and all other matters.

five go adventuring

Two textile exhibitions [Two!! count them] in one day. Five ladies [how old, count them - over 300 years between them!!] motored out of Suffolk into the depths of Essex, for my foreign readers this has vast class significance, which rankles with me as I am originally an Essex girl, and I can get defensive.

The conversation, all crammed into one car [for my foreign readers British cars are small, as are the roads] got a bit interminably WI [foreign readers look it up as i may incriminate myself, and the WI has been proven to have some firepower in unexpected places].

Two young persons had flown the family home only days before to fledge at University, so there was much chat and competition about angst and food parcels involved. I become insensitive and irritable after the first five rounds of repetition and reassurance, it is all bonding i know, but these young peeps are off on quite a well upholstered ride, even in these days of huge loans that will cripple graduates in future lives. And I got mine for free, oh dear I am old and guilty, and worse still envious.

anyway back to us older peoples break for creative freedom [not financial success, not if you are a textile artist mate].

The first to be seen was this Dress of Memories, it stood at the entrance, next to a window so the light shone coldly through [it is ruddy cold this week] next to it's sister dress that has crumpled fragments of paper stitched into it.

It was rather beautiful and romantic, sad, ethereal all those words. The sister piece that I didn't like so much has been bought by the Museum in which it is presently it is exhibited for £300, so much for my moans of textiles not being dignified by oodles of monetary recognition.In times of Financial Crunch too.

Janette has been doing some years of research at the Foundlings Institution of largely Victorian times and probably too long afterwards, where women had to leave their babies to enable them to have some food and warmth and thus a future. Not University Students then, which of course is good progress.

The women left little tokens and messages to be kept for when their children grew up, to remember them by. Each little pillow, nestling in the basket records a message. Say no more.

Margaret has done some pieces focusing on the sea shore, i really took to this one as it reminded me of the time I was on a boat going up? the Thames to Hampton Court Palace and we stopped in Teddington Lock. It was so peaceful, a sunny day, peace and quiet with just the trickle of water as the lock filled and we could pass through back to the City. probably an experience that will not be repeated. But this perfectly recalls it when ever I look at it. Not the art works itself, just the pic as i rarely spend money on textile art either................

This last piece [detail]appealed to me because I thought I could use the framing textured edge round my next doggy walk stitching, and reduce the actual walk to about this scale. I'm afraid I was too excited by my ah ha experience to note what the piece is actually about, or by whom, but it is obviously rural - and accomplished.

Mine was more primitive.

As it happens second show will have to take place after this "short break" as I have to take said doggy for a walk she tells me, and as she is an older lady one must not delay these things.

mellow bellow

The Boiler man cometh today, with Henry his hoover, Henry certainly gets around as I see him in lots of places.
Bman also cleaned up the tube that shows us how much is left in the depths of the oil tank, I had perched a plastic mask of Tony Blair on top of the tube [once I had finished with it as the face in a village scarecrow competition, he didn't win] and stuffed it with straw to hold it on.
Somehow earth and insects and all manner of detritus curled up in the warm space and then plunged down the tube.
So I have been expecting the heating to belch and blow up at any moment.
Fortunately we are now sparkly clean and TB is in the bin, where he belongs.
The day started cold and grey but warmed up and the sun shone, the river sparkled and doggy and I had a good tramp thru the bright green grass; we met two very lively greyhounds and Hatters would have loved a race, but she has to make do with a few excited circles now she is an older lady.
The runner beans are still flowering and we are still eating the results, so the rotation of sun and showers is doing some good, likewise the corn on the cob is finally swelling and becoming delicious.................I just keep forgetting to harvest it. G'dad in law had his posthumous birthday posy of Michaelmas daisies on his grave, it all feels very autumnal.
Tomorrow I am hoping to get to a couple of textile exhibitions and next week it is the Amazing Snit and Bitch show at Ally Pally [knit and stitch] so I am buoyed up with anticipation. Hopefully lots of luscious threads.
At my stitching group meeting yesterday I promised to do a Sketch Book workshop next month, I am mad, why do I do these things, I will only get obsessed and desperate.
I guess it is the Only Childitus again, rearranging my dolls. Twit.

soapbox

I am always ready to respond to an invitation to "say more" except for my brain which refuses to co-operate.
I went to my Stitching group monthly meeting this morning, it was our AGM.........oh dear.
First i had to find the way, only having been to our new venue once before. Obviously i got lost then, as I am crap at following maps, or any instructions. This time I went wrong in a different place, perhaps when I have exhausted the possibilities of whizzing by muddy fields and startled cows I will eventually settle down to a route.
They claimed on the wireless today that dyslexia can be genetic; mother has no sense of direction, even tho she has been practising for 87 years and my daughter is a spelling disaster zone.
Fortunately she is expecting a boy, so maybe he will be able to guide us around in our old age.
Unfortunately ADD seems to run thru the boys in his father's side, so we may have to tie a string to him first, so we can keep up.
His dad had Ritalin, and now so do his 2 little cousins, I am hoping that a good dose of distracted creative mother and g'ma will encourage him to realise his existence probably depends on him shaping up for his self survival.
Back at the Stitchers jamboree I had to read out the Minutes in a serious voice, but 20 women soon find something to say, so we plunged out in various unexpected directions ourselves.
We plan to use Bridging the Gap as our theme for next years exhibition, as we show our work in an ancient Maltings which is rapidly turning into expensive apartments, thus we hope to muse on past and future.
Also we have also pledged to each create a "vessel" - that strange objet d'art, beloved of textile artists. As I usually have a Female bias i think mine might show a pregnant women with a hinged tummy....................back to daughter again.
The Tory Boy Toff is on the wireless at the moment pledging to run the country to all our advantage, I doubt it, but the Labour Bother Boys are doing no better, thus my agreement with JG of the Grateful Dead.
Last night i watched a programme on the gog about Jack Kerouac and On The Road, apparently we hippies got it all wrong, it shouldn't have been flowers, drugs and rocknroll........we missed out on the Spiritual Revolution.
Probably did, tho I do remember trying tramping round London on a few marches. But then I had babies and concentrated on the Feminist Revolution, don't know if we won there either.
Now I just sit on my hill. maybe when I become a grand-mother I will resurrect the need to fight -for personal freedom+ personal responsibility.....................or maybe I will just pray the babe grows up and lives a life that he chooses, with a granny flat of course.