4.1.21
Sounds all around
25.11.20
The soup of life
Another early start for me at 7am and while I am shovelling down my first coffee of the day, I thought I’d take advantage of the dark morning to write to my friends and readers here. The last few weeks have been what seems like an insurmountable challenge to get my depleted Etsy shop updated and restocked - lots of things that I have made over the last couple of years and not listed for sale, lots of new work. My anxiety has previously tied me up in knots over how to put work for sale out there without imposing upon people. This is something I’ve always struggled with, but it had become worse over the last few years. Funnily enough, now that I have my life to myself again, I find that much of my anxiety (despite my circumstances) has dissipated. So I’ve been sorting out pieces that I made and never shown, all of which needed photographing, such as these little rocking horses that I made in Spring 2019. And to my surprise, things are selling.
I have twenty patterns to shoot and make samples for, as well as all the writing and supporting photographs, with an April deadline. My problem is juggling all the things I have to do and make to earn enough to survive every month, with the enormous amount of work involved in putting a book together. (There are only so many hours in the day, no matter how early I start).
It won’t be published until later in 2021, and then it should be a huge boost to my career. I hope to be able to get enough new custom from the publicity to keep the cottage going. That’s the plan. My problem - and what is tying me in panicked knots - is whether I can manage to get to that point before I have to sell up. So if you are reading this and have bought anything from me, whether it be craft materials, art, prints, cards, needle felt work, kits, Patreon support, Zoom workshops - everything large or small - thank you. You are literally helping me to keep the roof over my head, because I’ve just about managed to make the mortgage for the last three months, without Joe’s help. And I feel quietly proud about that.
2.11.20
My Aunty Dora
Now, bear with me, while I explain. I had (as some of you may have) several ‘aunties’, all of a certain age, some of whom were bonafide aunts, some who were a kind of cousin or just friends of my mother’s. I had an Aunty Dora, who lived in Yeovil, Somerset and she was a proper aunty. We didn’t have holidays as such, but usually once a year mum and I would go to stay with Dora for a while. I loved her and always looked forward to our visits. Apart from the novelty of being in a more modern, comfortable household than ours, with a television, proper wall to wall carpeting and a dining table, she was very kind and fun to be with. She always had a little gift for me; just simple things, but I was easily pleased and when she gave me a small plastic box full of brightly coloured map pins (the kind with fatter ends, which I’d never seen before) I was thrilled; she’d brought them back from her job at the Milk Marketing Board, I think. Once when we arrived, she gave me a empty blue glass perfume flagon which still smelled fragrant and every time I sniffed it afterwards it reminded me of our stay with her. And a matchbox sized green plastic television which had a blank grey screen, but when you looked in the peephole in the back, it showed a photo of picture of Spain or France or somewhere exotic, and when you clicked the button on the top, the picture changed.
30.10.20
Sundown
So many learning curves...I have restructured my Zoom classes now, so that they can be easily bought from my Etsy shop in one purchase - the kit and the one-to-one session, with date and time of choice, meaning that I can work around time zones, and I am offering free kit postage in the U.K. Each kit contains plenty enough wool for the project, which means that once someone has made their first toadstool with me, they can make more in their own time. So far I have only toadstool workshops available, but next week should see one or two seasonal projects added.
15.10.20
A scenic U-turn
I have been busy juggling various things and have been amazed that my new Patreon page has gained twelve lovely subscribers since I launched it last week. It’s been good to have a safe place, where I can post freely and chat more easily with people. With the benefit of subscriptions, I’m able to take the time to craft longer, photo rich posts, and update more regularly here. I’ve also added three extra tiers, which allow people to save towards a small piece of my work over six months.
7.10.20
A new path winding
This is the field which is situated right under my bedroom window. When I first moved here, eight years ago, it was populated with a small herd of milking cows, who often slept directly under my window so that on summer nights, when I had the window open, I could hear the moist huffle of their warm breath and low grunting as they shifted their bodies to a more comfortable position. It was a friendly, reassuring accompaniment as I fell asleep.
My life too has undergone some radical changes since moving here, as many of you know. I am on a new and uncertain journey, with no idea of where I will end up. The young farmer has cut a new path in the field recently, for field access. It winds gently and has a sinuous grace of its own. I rather like this new addition to my view and if I were of a mind to take it as a sign, I would see it as a good one.
After much agonising, I have started a Patreon page. I have previously balked at paid-for content, preferring my blog to be ad-free and available to everyone, which I have done for over fifteen years. Now I am pulling all my resources together, as I am at real risk of losing the roof over my head and I have to make every hour count for something. So for a small monthly contribution, I have set up a ‘plus’ version of this blog, where I will post every week. I realise it won’t be for everyone, however it will enable me to share a more private side of my life here; what the inside of this shabby cottage looks like, how I’m feeling and with the extra freedom, be able to get out more and share the surrounding countryside with you. As I settle down, I will be offering more tiers with extra benefits.
‘Birds in the roof and toadstools inside’
4.10.20
Heading onwards with toadstools
What a month it has been. So many thanks for the supportive comments, advice, emails and messages - who knew there was so much love in the world? I’ve been a little taken aback at how much there is, but profoundly grateful, as it has been an immense help.
I’ve had my self indulgent week of beating my breast and wailing - it was inevitable, but it’s over now and I feel cleansed and strangely calm, under the circumstances. I have spent the last week organising and planning - some plans that I was already putting in motion before things went wrong, and some new. My brain can be a slow moving animal, but with the aid of numerous lists, I am making progress and dealing with as much as possible.
26.9.20
Trying to look up, not down.
Thank you to everyone for the kind comments and private messages, which helped so much. A month on and the first few weeks of being in numb shock have worn off; try as I might, I cannot find any fighting spirit. I had my first proper cry the other day, just as my ‘work horse’ computer permanently died, as if it, too, was tired of me.
My eyes seem to be permanently leaking - whether from the cold, tiredness or from the all encompassing, aching sadness which fills me, even when I am immersed in work. And work I must, despite the urge to bury myself and howl for a lost future. So I pick up my brave face and attach it as firmly as I can. I try not to think about the rapidly approaching winter; how chilly and dark the cottage becomes. I spend my mornings in my studio, well wrapped up and then take my work to bed for the rest of the day, when hopefully some sun will come through the window. I force myself to eat twice a day, even though I have no appetite. I try (unsuccessfully) not to torture myself by wondering what on earth happened and how did it come to this - the lack of any firm facts has left me in a state of horrible limbo, yet somehow I have no anger, nor need for retribution. It is what it is, and despite myself, I cannot help worrying about him and whether he is feeling wretched too.
And so it goes. The only thing I have is work and trying to prepare for an uncertain future. Beyond that, I cannot see. But I am strengthened by the sympathetic wishes left; I am not the first person this has happened to (it is as old as history) and sadly I won’t be the last. So I am trying hard to shake off this unattractive self pity and to keep on looking up, not down, as a wise friend advised. Because down is very scary indeed and I’ve never been good with heights.
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16.9.20
Alone on a new path
The past several weeks have been difficult. This is an awkward post to write, considering that I am a very private person and not given to spilling my emotions publicly. So the fact is, Joe does not live here any more. He left, three weeks ago, with what he could fit into a few bags, offering no credible reason and departed without even bothering to say goodbye (or sorry). And while I’d sensed (with some confusion) the night before, that he could barely stand to be in the same room as me, I had not expected this. We never argued and as far as I was aware, had a good relationship. But it seems he’d planned it all for at least three weeks and even had a room in town pre-arranged. So I had been living in a fool’s paradise. Had I not confronted him that morning, he would have stayed for a bit longer, until it suited him.
I kept my dignity and retired to my studio to let him pack. After all, what can you say? Since then, I’ve joined a few dots up and it’s left rather a nasty taste in my mouth. But thank goodness for my dear friends - my ‘sisters of the heart’ - who have been my constant support throughout.
When he left, I was cold with physical shock. But as the days went on, I realised that this is not the worst thing that’s ever happened to me. Once the numbness had worn off, I tried to hit the ground running, sort out what finances I could and began working ten hour days in my studio, in an attempt to earn enough to keep the roof over my head. I’m bruised, but not broken. As someone once said, ‘people have died, but not for love’ and I find I am enjoying my new found freedom and the space to do whatever I like. The old ‘me’ is returning - I’ve missed her.
Here’s the thing - long time readers of this blog will know that three months after moving into this cottage, in 2013, my darling partner Andy decided to leave this world, and took his life. Nothing can even come close to the pain I suffered then.
When you’ve stayed up all night because the love of your life has gone missing on a bleak, snowy winters night. When you’ve seen the sniffer dog following his scent across the fields and heard the rescue helicopter thumping overhead, doing a search and sweep. When a kind faced police woman tells you that a body has been found and you sink to your knees, wailing, wishing that a hole in the ground would swallow you up. When you survive the months of misery and loneliness afterwards - when you have been through all that and can still find joy in life. When all that happens, it seems that being lied to, deceived and manipulated are really, by comparison, quite small hurts. Although they are, of course, hurtful.
The last five and a half years just seem like a terrible and sad waste of time.
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22.8.20
The last drops of summer
Summer is quietly slipping into autumn and there is a hint of exquisite melancholy to these last golden days. We remember things; things that we said we would do in the early, hopeful days of Spring. Things we still might do, if we are allowed a few more precious days of benevolent weather. And underlying it all, a lurking fear of winters approaching with cold, dark creeping fingers.
And while the gold and the green will all too soon be replaced with turgid grey skies and bleak, bare naked earth, we will embrace this final little ‘inbetween’ season and tell ourselves, like children repeating a protective rhyme, that it is not too late.
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