Well what do you know. After all this time I can post on here again.

Computer technology beets me. I got locked out for an absolute age, started a new blog, got settled in and sorted then all of a sudden I can access this blog again. Now I have to make up my mind what I am going to use each blog for. Watch this space. Thinking time ahead. I will get back to you all.

Thanks Spangle. Just tried that and it hasn't worked. Bah. Getting really fed up with this.

Can't post comments on the following Blogs.

I still can't post comments on the following sites, Krazy Krafts, Handmade by Picto and Crafty Bear. I am sorry folk, I have tried to leave you a comment several times and Blogger just seems to go around in circles. I have been on to Blogger to try and find out why but no response up to yet.

A walk down to the brook

Last winters picture but it gives you an idea.

I selfishly don't want them to grow up. We have so much fun. It must be true that when you reach a certain age you enter your second childhood.

We're trekking through the Rain Forrest,
Two five year olds and me.
Armed with walking sticks and boots,
We've climbed up every tree

We've stumbled over exposed roots,
Slashed all the nettles back.
Have been waylaid so many times,
Completely lost the track.

Broken through to blue, blue skies,
And green and grassy sloopes
That roll down to the Amazon
To throw Pooh Sticks for boats.

Needs must. We wade through rappids,
To reach the stepping stone.
Our Wellies filled with water,
How will we all get home.

Handmade Monday

I sat sewing outside my back gate this morning. I have a handy tree stump which is often used by dog walkers passing by. Most of them know I keep a supply of poo bags beneath it and that they are welcome to use them.
It was so quiet I could have heard a pin drop. I have tried to describe the peace I felt.

Summer Sunday
Not a breath of air,
Nor rustle of leaf
Make a sound from the trees
Above my seat.

The occasional flutter
From the wing of a bird
Or scamper of feet
From the squirrel can be heard.

All is well
With the world today
As we peacefully watch
Natures array.

The pile of sewing is where I sit.
Oh yes. I almost forgot. That is my latest quilt I am working on. Doing it the old fashioned way, all hand sewing. So both the ditty and the quilt are my contribution to Handmade Monday if I can find out how to join in. lol.

I have recently read something that made me want to qualify the existence of children and this is what I came up with.

Brats

A derogative term for a gift from God
They hide under many disguises.
And have so many collective names
Are always full of surprises.

They’re the backbone of humanity,
The present and the past.
Our successful handling of them
Ensures the future lasts.

These small beings must be treasured
Values to be instilled,
Our very existence depends
On all of them being fulfilled.

Crafting is not as lucrative as it used to be.

Todays Market

Old customs now are dying away,
Is mass production here to stay?
A lovely crafted, handmade gift
Wouldn’t receive much more than a sniff.

There’s a million others on the shelf
And the lonely one I made myself.
Is twice the price of a Sweatshop one.
I can’t compete, I’ve been outdone.

Made with so much love and care,
Would be a credit anywhere.
Buyers no longer circumspect
Pay for rubbish. That’s what they get.

New Kitchen?

I have no kitchen now it seems
The promise is, one of my dreams,
Nightmares prevail as we speak.
I’m mashing tea out in the street.

It’s brick dust sandwiches today
Yet again I hear you say.
Got TV in Greenhouse now
Can’t compete with all the row.

I am assured that when its done
Cooking will become such fun.
Make a change from being a chore
After all these years slaving for four.

Blogger Comments not working.

May I apologise to all those whom I follow for not appearing to comment on your blogs. Blogger won't let me do it at the moment. I understand that this is being corrected.

I have recently been asking myself

some soul searching questions.The only thing I have learned is that there are no 'over night' solutions. In my case, time is the hiccup. It all takes too much of it. I have an impatient nature. I need immediate response or I worry and too much of that means less sleep and we all know the knock-on of that problem. Last night was such an occasion when my brain was racing at 100 knots the same lines over and over. Eventually I sat up and wrote them down. Finally got up at the crack of dawn and came down stairs clutching the piece of scribble, this is more or less what I wrote.

Three little letters one small word,
Makes the loudest noise ever heard.
Dropped gently into a silent place,
Will create ripples far out in space.

Politically, in excessive use,
By Opposition, as an excuse.
Educators when lecturing,
Preventing brain cells stagnating.

In legal Inns it’s a defence,
Sometimes nothing else makes sense.
The first thing a child says
To everything in early days

Is “Why”.

What price good health.

A very recent occurance at home has made me take stock of a few things that we all take for granted. In fact, some of us can go through our lives without thinking too deeply about the whys and wherefores of our day to day existance. Me for one.
I think my philosophy is probably "What you don't know won't worry you". How many times I have wished I hadn't been privvy to some snippet of information? Usually from the offspring who will share their problems working on the old adage "A problem shared is a problem halved"
I digress. I am also about to follow that old adage and dump my thoughts on you now.

What price good health

We walk, we run,
We feel, we see.
We dream of things
That ought to be.

We take for granted
That we speak
And that we’re strong,
And yet we’re meek.

At end of eve
Another day
The morrow comes
Without our say.

These wonders Are.
We never ask.
We just assume
They’re here to last.

Are they? Will they?
We ask away.
And do we wonder
Whom we pay?

I.'m maudling today

It must be my age.I went to do my volunteering work and one of my lovely elderly ladies has deteriorated rather quickly. Her memory is now so short she has no sooner said the words than she has forgotten them. She has had a great life, done so many wonderful things but, sadly, no longer has any recollection of them. Very soon we won't be able to take her as we don't have the right facilities to cope with her. I feel so sorry for this much loved lady and her family.

Getting old ungracefully

I regularly deal with
Problems due to age
Altziemers and Dementia,
In every difficult stage.

So sad for the sufferer,
Who has no peace of mind.
Frustrating for the family,
Struggling to be kind.

Some people reach the stage,
When no longer safe at home.
They’ve either become violent
Or always on the roam.

It finally comes, that dreadful choice
Decisions must be made
Heartbreak for the family,
Consequences weighted

Guilt is the biggest factor
Families suffer from.
How can we convince them
The best has now been done.

Where my original crafting inspirations come from

My crafting knowledge and inspiration has been passed down through the female line of my family. I still hear from an aged aunt today the story of how my Grandmother hand sewed little dresses for her, she is now 86. These were hand sewn from silk shirts which Jewish tailor Great Uncle Harry passed on when he had finished with them. And how, twelve at a time, they could be seen fluttering in the breeze on the washing line much to the chagrin of the neighbours. We are talking about late 1920’s when silk was a fabric for the wealthy.
Another tale of the parachute silk of WW2 and the dance this same aunt attended wearing it, in a slightly different form of course. My Grandmother was, apparently, an amazing seamstress and nothing was beyond her capabilities where needle and cotton was concerned. I never knew her, she died long before I was born but, strangely, I am told I resemble her in appearance as well as ways. I do wonder if she knows that I am trying to keep her work going.
These stories and others like them have become my family folklore.
Apart from two very elderly Aunts, one of whom still sews and stitches tapestry at 91, there is only myself and one other girl cousin left and she is not into crafts so I am desperately trying to pass these gifts on to my Grandchildren and only one of these is a girl . She will do crafts…..

Link back to Folksy
http://blog.folksy.com/2011/05/12/inspiring-craft-blogs

A protective covering for my new sideboard.

I am hoping that this is a successful way of 'Grandchildproofing' for my new dining furniture. It should have two functions. 1, Protection and 2, Nag free environment. I am sure you all understand me. lol.

Bad pic. It is the same width all the way down, not tapering as looks on the photo. Honest, Would I lie to you?

Hair today Gone tomorrow.

My lovely ancient aunt decided, when her hairdresser of 50 years long (I think she is now 70) finally retired that she needed a wig.
For my sins I shuddered thinking all sorts of mean thoughts like "It will look awful". "She will put it on crooked", "She will have her own whispy hair sticking out at the sides". "It'll look like a wig" etc.,
Well, the wig lady came and tried several on her in the bedroom and she settled on one for a very reasonable sum, I was surprised how little it cost.
When she finally emerged for a family parade I was astounded It had knocked ten years off her 86 and looked absolutely lovely. She had chosen well, it was grey with darker grey at the back, quite short and bouncy. I am now wondering if the same thing will knock ten years off me!!!!!!

Wild Life in the garden.

For years we have had cats, a cert for deterring birds from the garden. The last cat, Tom, died a year ago and it was then we decided no more pets as it hurts too much when you loose them. We still have Rosie but she is fourteen this year.
I have been trying to encourage the small birds back, Pigeons are always here. I thought it would be an easy task but it seems they have long memories. lol.
I have finally managed to tempt some on a regular basis and there is one Starling in particular that tests me on a daily basis.

A New Pal?

A little bird sits on my fence,
He stares at me, quiet, intense.
We have a fair regard you see,
I’m careful of him, he’s wary of me.

That beady black eye never leaves my face,
Whilst nuts and fruit on his table I place.
I slowly retire well out of his sight,
Allowing him plenty of space for flight.

He settled down to breakfast in style,
Which is what he was waiting for all that while.
We play the same game nearly every day
If I can keep the pigeons at bay.

Carbooting.

I know someone who has been trying to make up their mind whether to experience car booting first hand so I am offering her this piece of advice.

Car Boot Experience

We arrived at the crack of dawn
Wishing we’d stayed in bed that morn.
Muffled in coats and scarves
Nagging our other halves
First job, spot the tea van
Second, spy the toilet pan
Must get down and unload
Glad they got the field mowed
Watch out for the professional scrounger
And the strange stall lounger
Who buys nothing but hangs about
Hoping to get something for nowt
We’re finally ready to face crowds
Whilst the sky fills with black clouds
Am I the only one standing in the rain?
I’m certainly not coming here again.

I think I must be depressed

I have had a slightly upsetting day on the computer which has lead me to put my feelings down as follows:-

Misconception

I’ve suffered the frustrations and heartaches
Caused by bloody minded folk
I fail to understand their reasons
Or are they just going for broke.

There is a strong lack of tolerance
A need to win at all cost
The spite they spit out stuns me
Truth and dignity lost.

Why can’t I rise above it,
Or see through the venom and hate
Are they so strong and powerfull,
Is it their inherent traite.

I will turn my back upon it
And take some steps to the rear.
I’ll imagine myself in some beautiful place
Where there’s no such thing as fear.

A new experience for the youngsters????

The Grandchildren came over for the night and it co-incided with Grandads rare 'night out with the boys' so great excitement because they were going to give Grandad a lift to his Diners Club, and to start his evening have a quick lemonade and bag of crisps with him.
OH doesnt drink so two pints and he is out for the count, and never gets agressive, only silly and sleepy.

Grandad

Grandad doesn't drink much beer,
Or gin or whisky either.
It goes straight to his head I fear
And then he starts to mither.

Grandma says he has one pint,
And then he's anybody's.
The only problem is, we find,
He wants to have more toddies.

It makes him very happy,
He giggles quite a lot.
He's usually such a quiet chappy.
til he's drunk a tot.

This is cheating, just slightly.

I promised myself (and others) to write a ditty each week but this weeks ditty has already been aired on The Craft Forum. Nevertheless, I am posting it here. It came about as a result of a conversation involving most of the members of 'a certain age' about wearing a purple hat. Ultimately the subject evolved and deteriorated to red hats and patent shoes. This was my offering.

The Lady In The Red Hat.

“Will the lady in the red hat please….”
The voice faltered and got lost on the breeze.
It cracked and continued with a wheeze
“Leave the men alone and not tease”.

She was young enough to be pert with them
She was old enough to be curt them.
Mature enough not to hurt them
Wise enough not to flirt with them.

Summer on its way, hooray.

Butterflies, butterflies, flutter by,
Your wings spread out to dry
In silhouette against the sky
Your beauty makes my heart sigh.

With your companion, the Cabbage White,
Creating such a summer sight
With gold’s and oranges so bright
Shimmering in the noon sunlight.

In and out the Buddleia bush
So many of you in such a rush
You settle on the flowers so lush,
And in that time a peaceful hush.

Referring back to my previous post my DIL also sent me this card with a letter on it. Her friend had hand painted these cards, one was butterflies and the other was dragonflies. They were so lovely, eco friendly too from recycled stuff. I have taken a pic of one for you to see. Sadly you can't see the real detail as I am a very middling photographer.
If you want to know any more details, just ask me.

Trinity Yard School, Ghana

Anna, my daughter-in-law has just spent two weeks as a volunteer at Trinity Yard School in Ghana. Her visit created such a lasting impression that she is already saving to take the family with her next time.
Knowing I am a crafter and have a love of fabrics she brought some sample pieces of their native cloth back.
It is called Kente and its origins lie with the Akan people of Ghana and go back some three thousand years. Kente is a visual representation of history, philosophy, ethics, oral literature, religious belief, social values and political thought. Originally, its use was reserved for their royalty and limited to special social and sacred functions.
I wish you could see and feel this silken fabric, it is amazing as is the folklore behind it.

I have a few more pictures of this fabric on Flickr. http://www.flickr.com/photos/carol789/?saved=1

If anyone is interested and want to learn more about this cloth here is the link.
http://kente.midwesttradegroup.com/history.html
I am also the proud possessor of a DVD with hundreds of photographs on but am unable to download them at the moment. I will make them available to you all when I can find someone to help with the techno bit. (Being the technophobic person that I am)

More ditties.

We have just finished an attic conversion. It has seemed to take for ages but does give us space to sleep the Grandchildren and Auntie from time to time.
Last night was our first time sleeping there. Strange. Very quiet as it opens up to the back of the house so no traffic noise, and the floor creeked and groaned. It was hot too, we are not used to that, plus the dog refused to go up stairs and went into panic mode. She is nearly 14 now and has fogotten that we used to have stairs.
My Daughter, tongue in cheek, said we would end up carrying her up them. I'll shoot the first person that tells her we did. lol.
As I couldn't sleep I came up with this ditty.

The attic was once a mysterious place,
Dark corners and cobwebs, a big empty space.
Slowly as the years rolled on
The empty feeling up there was gone.

Corners still dark filled up with tat
The mice and spiders had fun with that.
Came the time for a loft conversion,
So cleaning it out was such an exertion.

Followed by rubble, brick dust and noise,
As on the brink of a bedroom we poise.
The ensuite is “cute” with one six foot wall,
The suite you would use if you’re only small.

After much fall outs, frustrations and tears,
The beds went through windows and not up the stairs.
A beautiful, costly carpet I bought,
But when it arrived it was one stair too short.

Finally friends I can now reveal,
The view from the window was the only appeal.
They start the kitchen in a weeks time,
I must be bonkers, or out of my mind.