Echoes of a Dream

Two years - can you believe it.

I was going to sit down this morning and whitter on about all sorts of random things when I noticed on Typepad that I've been blogging for two years now. Yes, two years. I started on March 5th 2006 and I can't believe that I'm still going.

In that time I've turned into a hoarder magnifique, tried lots of new crafts, improved my knitting, discovered Japanese craft books and started and loved plant dyeing. It's been an amazing two years in which I've gained masses of self confidence in my crafting so much so that I started selling on Etsy and Ebay. The blog also gave me something that I did for myself where I wasn't Amber's Mum or Tom's wife I was ME. But more than that it's given me lots of new friends all over the world and the most amazing holiday ever to America last year (where we stayed with complete strangers, now friends that I knew through my blog).

I love being a stay-at-home Mum but I do find it very lonely. Maybe it's my upbringing but for me the nuclear family sucks. I was brought up in an extended family environment and there were always other adults and children around. I'm at my best when surrounded by family, when my house is full and I prefer going on holiday with my sister and her children. The more the merrier. So blogging has in some ways filled that hole in my life. It's given me a community that I grew up in but don't have anymore.

I have 'met' some amazing women online who've become dear friends. I've also loved the interaction, the sharing, the advice giving, the support and friendship that goes on in blogs. It's made me realise that even though we've all had such different upbringings we're essentially the same underneath. We all want to be good mums/wives/daughters/citizens whilst struggling for some sort of creative life for ourselves.

So I want to thank all of you who have ever left me a comment. Thank you for reading my ramblings and admiring the stuff I make. Thank you for encouraging and supporting me. Thank you for all the advice you've ever given. Thank you for sympathising when I've needed it. But most of all Thank You for just being there and dropping by. In my turn I hope I've given something back to you - maybe a bit of encouragement to try something new, a laugh or just another view point ......................

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I've noticed in these two years that people change their banners with alarming frequency. I've had the William Morris picture at the top of my blog for the whole duration. I wonder if it's time to have a change myself - a makeover as it were. Trouble is, the picture seems to go so well with the name Echoes of A Dream. Maybe it's new home, new life, new banner time.

Coming up for air.

Well, here we are six days later. We've just managed to resurface and as I look around me I can't believe that this is now home. It feels as if we've just stepped into someone else's life and it's - strange.

The move went very, very well. We had a great company that did all the packing and all we had to do last Monday was to clean the house (and boy was it dirty once we'd moved the furniture out). Arrived here last Tuesday and the removals had dumped most of our stuff by tea time and then we spent the next few days unpacking. We both realised that although we're only in our mid forties we're certainly not as sprightly as we were were seven years ago because we were knackered. By Thursday morning the children's rooms were done and they were packed off to school so we could get on with the rest.

School was good even though Rohan burst into tears as soon as he walked though the door. "I don't like it. It's too big. I don't like the house either because it's not countryside" he wailed. Poor lad. The house is lovely (the landlady had given it a thorough clean by the way) but he's right we're not surrounded by fields and it's on the blind bend of a busy-ish road. But we're only renting I told him and after Tom took him into the woods at the bottom of the garden and showed him where the fields were he was fine.

I guess you'll want to see what the house is like. It's been extended quite a lot over the years so has a lot of rooms downstairs that lead into each other. At one end there is a large sitting room:

that leads back to the front door through this room:

that leads to this room:

that leads to the conservatory:

that leads to the (tiny) kitchen:

There are three loos and two tiny bathrooms and four bedrooms upstairs. Then at the other side of the sitting room there is a separate granny flat/annexe with a bedroom, sitting room/kitchen and bathroom. You have to go out of the main house and along to the front door to get in. At the moment all my craft stuff is there in boxes:

The house is lovely and sunny and has a sloping garden with a wood at the end:

We have been told that the wood is out of bounds but when you're used to roaming the countryside and you have that staring at you all day it's hard to keep away from it really.

As I said I haven't unpacked any of my craft stuff yet and I don't know whether I should. I don't want to work in the annexe as it's a bit dark (and cut off) and the two downstairs rooms are too small for a table and all my stuff. I was thinking about that last night and I wondered if not crafting would stop me blogging too. If I don't make anything what would I write about - how many more 'moving house' stories can you take?

I guess I just need time to settle, to get to know the area without the pressures of crafting and blogging hanging over me. I must admit that not having the computer on for the whole of the last week was liberating. It was wonderful. It meant that I spent more time with the children (which is very important at the moment) and I even started another book. But I don't want to stop blogging though because I love it. I love the community it creates. I love the interaction and even more I love all the new friends I've found all over the world.

So I suppose I'll just take it easy over the coming weeks. Tom goes back to work tomorrow and it will stop feeling like we're on holiday. I will start a new routine, do some more unpacking and suddenly it will all fall into place ....................

It's moving day

Well, it's nearly 11pm and I'm surrounded by boxes ans I still haven't packed an overnight bag for any of us yet. The packers/removals people came on Friday and packed a whole load of stuff that we didn't need over the weekend and they're back in the morning to finish off and load up.

We should be out of here by tea time or as long as it takes to clean the house. I've enlisted the help of an older friend who I'm paying to help us speed up the process. Tomorrow night we're staying at my sister's before we drive over to the new (rented) house. And that is it. Today was the last normal day in the house and we're off to start our new lives. I've had a succession of visitors over the week saying goodbye and although it's really sad leaving good friends, a beautiful house and a great village I know it's time to move on. Time to start the next chapter in our lives as I keep telling the children.

I guess it'll take all week to unpack but I'm going to try and have the computer up and running by the weekend so I'll take my leave from you all for a few days whilst I help my family to settle and get the children ready for their new school on Thursday. Poor Rohan keeps asking me "what if I don't make any friends?"

Thanks for all your words of encouragement and support concerning our move and thanks too for allowing me to get personal on this here blog. The comments and emails that I got were greatly treasured and helped me a lot. It's funny but a friend pointed out an article in The Times at the weekend about a book written by a Sikh man about his traditional upbringing in the Midlands. The article is here and you can bet that I've pre-ordered it on Amazon. How timely. (Do take a look at his book as he's a brilliant writer.) Another book if anyone is interested in the history of Asians and West Indians in this country is Black British, White British by Dilip Hiro. I read it years ago and it really helped me to understand my parents and more importantly about the expectations that West Indians had when they came to this country and why they were so disappointed. A great book for race relations - I wish everyone would read it.

Anyway, I'm getting all preachy now - must have got second wind. Cross your fingers for a painless departure from here and the children not getting too upset ...............

I'll leave you with some random pics of the beautiful village that I'm leaving:

and my lovely kitchen:

and how will I survive without my Aga:

Gotta drag myself away now ladies ............................

Oh shoot - it's my turn now ..............

Thanks so much for your lovely comments and emails to my last post. I was initially hesitant about getting too personal here on my blog and I don't know about you but I love hearing about people's lives. I know these are craft blogs but I like a bit of background about a person and oftentimes you get to realise that we've all had similar experiences which is strangely comforting.

So, where shall I start then? Looking at me now it's hard to believe that I had a very traditional Indian upbringing (my friends tease me about being so British). My parents and extended family spoke no English whatsoever and I vividly remember my first day at school because I couldn't communicate with anyone. My childhood was probably pretty exotic compared to most what with the delicious food we ate, the Indian weddings we went to, the clothes we wore, the festivals we celebrated but we weren't terribly well off and we never went on holiday. In fact we didn't get birthday presents either and I only got christmas presents from Dad's factory. I still remember my last present which was a compendium of games before my twelfth birthday when they deemed I was too old to get presents anymore. I was heartbroken.

In 1971 my little brother was born and my big sister had an arranged marriage. I took over looking after the baby when I was just ten. I also looked after my sisters as my parents worked odd hours. Years later I resented losing my childhood and having all that responsibility.

Life was fine until I reached puberty because the gates came down with a crash - now there were a hundred rules. You can't talk to boys, or go out with them, can't shave your legs, cut your hair, pluck your eyebrows, wear skirts outside school, go out socially and much more. And of course I just became angry at all this injustice. I found that by day (at school) I was English and at night I was Indian and it was sooo difficult. I became more and more angry as I got older and most of my teens were spent arguing with my parents, reading Jackie and dreaming of another life. Look how miserable I look in the next pic:

I did well at school and got eleven O levels but I lost the plot thereafter. Once in the sixth form I asked my Mum if I could go to parties but she said No (Indian girls didn't do that). So I decided that I would just do it all behind her back. I even had a boyfriend in the upper sixth in 'secret'. Sadly, I could not wait to leave home and I think I was depressed during those years. I flunked my A levels and just scraped into Poly and spent the first year doing all those things that I couldn't do before. Then I met Jim and his parents became surrogate parents to me and I think I would have gone off the rails if it hadn't been for them. My parents never knew about him even when we went to Japan together. I seem to have spent most of my life in secret from them.

Then in 1987 it was time to face the music and tell them that I did not ever want an arranged marriage. My parents were shocked, upset, tried emotional blackmail but then surprisingly gave up. Then my sister married a Kiwi and I decided to go for it too and told them about Tom. They were very disappointed but came to the wedding and have been amazing ever since. Now they think Tom is the bees knees and they love their grandchildren.

But there is a huge amount of sadness too. My Dad came here to improve his life and he ended up losing his family. Indians live for their families - especially that generation. My Mum expected us to marry and live in the same town or nearby. She would have looked after our children and it would have given her a new lease of life. Instead my parents feel worthless and lonely. They live in an Indian community where everyone has their extended family around them so it's in their faces all the time.

They seem to have a huge expectations of us like the arranged marriage thing - we were indoctrinated with the 'we brought you up, so you do this for us' line. It took a huge amount of strength to live our lives as we wanted to and we still feel guilty to this day. Indians also expect their family to look after them in their old age especially the oldest son but in our family he's buggered off to Canada.

Which brings me to why we're all so fed up. We're sick to death of parenting our parents. Ever since I could read I've been filling in their forms, translating their letters, going to my little brother's parents evenings (how uncool was that aged seventeen). I even filled in my own grant form. Basically anything that needs to be done in English is done by us (mind you it's been useful when translating a bad school report!)  They still expect to be looked after - after all they looked after us! I used to hate this notion but it's just part of their culture really.

We also feel that we've let them down. By marrying an Indian I would have joined an extended family that would have included my parents in their circle. Somewhere along the line they would have been looked after and felt valued. But the three of us have married English families who were neving going to adopt them the Indian way. The two that did have arranged marriages live abroad.

I don't want you to think badly of them. I hated them when I was growing up but after therapy when I had post natal depression I realise that they were just doing their best for us. That's all. I'm over the anger, the blame, the wish for 'normal parents' whatever that is, the wish for a Mother that I could talk to about my life. I can appreciate that I'm who I am because of my upbringing. And they are both amazing people - they came to this country, worked their socks off and produced wonderful kids. Look how they've taken Tom and the children into their lives even when the community at large was frowning at us and them.

The problem is that they're extremely lonely and dwell on their illnesses far too much. When I'm there with the children they're different people - and bar moving in with them nothing's going to change. I feel bad that I can't make my parents happy by being around all the time and I'm just fed up of my Mum's constant moaning and lonliness. She's had a very tough life but I wish she wouldn't always tell me about it - it just makes me cry.

And this week I had enough of their dependency on all of us - physical and emotional. I spent most of my time telling her not to be so pathetic. In reality, I think I probably just need to drop the baggage and get practical about helping two old people.

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Once again I'm sorry if this is dis-jointed. It took me ages to write and I wrote far too much that I then had to cut out. Forgive me for repeating myself too. I don't have the energy to re-read this for the nth time so I'm just going to go for it and press Save!

My Dad's Story

I've just come back from my parent's and I think I have to off load a bit - well quite a bit actually because they drove me mad. Or rather my Mum did but they both did too because of their situation. My Dad just sat there being nearly eighty nine and dozed a lot. But no matter - I'm pissed off with both of them.

Where the heck shall I start and anyway do any of you want to hear it (after all this is supposed to be a craft blog)? I do have my sisters to talk to but I find that because we're all pissed off we keep each other in the same place so I need neutrality. Before I tell you what's up though you need to know something about the mater and pater. I did write my Mum's story here back in March last year so here's Dad's now (he's on the left in the next pic):

My Dad was born in 1919 in India, the eldest of eight or nine and they were self sufficient, peasant farmers who had no education for want of a better description! In 1929 his father mortgaged their land to buy a ticket to sail to America to try his fortune. Sounds like he was a bit of a simple man and when he eventually got to Calcutta he saw the sea and took fright and promptly headed home again. All very amusing until you consider that my father being the eldest son then spent most of his life trying to buy back the land so that the family wouldn't starve.

There are stories of Dad being a bandit in rural India, of stealing, of working his socks off, of landing in jail for six months. Dad's too old to ask about all this now but this is what I gleaned growing up. Mum says he was a selfish git who never should have married but he had an arranged marriage in 1952 - meeting my Mum for the first time on their wedding day. I think he used to drink and beat her and luckily for her he came to England in 1955 to earn some money.

Once here he made his way to the Midlands and for five years he lived in a room above a cafe. He used to tell stories about how there six beds and twelve men and they would rotate with the men on night shifts. It was very hard. He doesn't moan about the English but he says they weren't tolerated. Of his meagre wages he'd send most back to India to support the wider family and for the dreaded mortgage.

In 1960 my Mum came over with my older brother and over the next ten years another four children were added to the brood. My Dad had a very basic education in India and to this day he still can't speak English. He had very menial and physical jobs here and always worked with other Indians so never did manage to learn the language which always frustrated him. For twenty odd years he worked in an iron foundary shovelling tons of sand day in day out. So I can see why he was always angry and frustrated. He retired due to ill health (unsurprisingly) in the late seventies and from then on he refused to lift one finger as he felt he'd done his lot. So my Mum took cleaning jobs to make ends meet and always resented it.

None of us had a relationship with Dad. We were too scared of him. He was very strict, drank a lot at weekends, shouted even more. He and my Mum seemed to tolerate each other and sometimes we felt that they could neither live with each other nor without each other.

For about the last fifteen years he has mellowed and I have had lovely conversations with him in my limited Punjabi. Our children love him despite the fact that he can't say anything to them in English. He in turn loves them and Tom and four years ago we went to India with both of them which was very healing for me.

These days I do really sympathise with both of their plights. My poor father has had such a hard life of drudgery (there must be so many regrets there). He's worked his socks off for both families - his own and his paternal one and on top of that he's been stabbed in the back by his siblings when it's come to inheriting that very land that he bought back (sounds like great stuff for a film doesn't it). Like my Mum he's been through so much and I really do admire him in many ways.

Gosh I should stop now. I'm sorry I've gone on for soooooooo long but it's been very cathartic. Sadly, the floodgates opened as soon as I started typing! Next time I'm going to tell you a little bit about our upbringing which will explain why I/we feel as we do today ............ bear with me?

PS I have actually deleted bits here and there so forgive me if the sentences don't flow.

The last goodbye

For once I'm really lost for words ladies. I cannot tell you what you a lovely weekend we've all had. On Saturday night we had a crazy time with our friend Abbi who'd come back from Uni to see us off. We played silly games, tricks and you should have seen us playing the chocolate game. Do you know that one? It's the one where you have a bar of chocolate on a tray and then you roll a dice. When you get a six you have to don a hat, a scarf and gloves and then cut up the chocolate with a knife and fork and then try to eat it. Meanwhile the others are still rolling the dice and soon as someone rolls a six they practically tear the hat etc off the other to have a go themselves. We decided that it was a bit hard for Raj with gloves so we missed that bit out which meant that the game went much quicker. It was such fun though and I haven't been so hysterical for ages. Gosh I do surprise myself with my childishness sometimes.

On Sunday I did start to worry that I was being far too laid back about our party but a friend assured me that that was fine. So we just had a nice relaxing normal sort of day.

Then the hour finally came and we went off to the hall which had been transformed by a couple of friends - the main one being Lucy who has such great ideas. She'd stood up branches in christmas tree stands and draped fairy lights over them and put bunting over the ceiling. Night lights everywhere and posters biding us farewell too. It was so lovely. Sadly I didn't take many photos but I'll show you the few I have:

People arrived pretty promptly and brought food with them. The children stood behind the bar and happily served soft drinks whilst the adults helped themselves to wine. It was great. I had friends from school, the village, old friends from London and an ex-boyfriend and his parents. Only person that wasn't there was my sister sadly.

Then the caller started and we were off. Boy some of those dances were tiring and one or too a tad complicated but everyone managed them. They did one specially for us named after the county we're going to live in and it was a hard one and we all laughed about it and said perhaps we should move. The children were fantastic - all of them. They danced and managed to hold their own - there must have been about 40 of them. The caller said we were the best group he's had in thirty years for all joining in. I do wish I'd managed to record a snippet of music to show you how lovely and folksy it was.

I got around to chatting with most folk and only got tearful twice. A lot of people went around nine and the hardcore were still there at ten thirty. And all too soon there were a handful of us left tidying up which only took and hour as friends had been washing up/clearing up all evening.

Came home stayed up till one with Abbi reminiscing. It's funny we've known this girl since fourteen and she's now nearly twenty one and she's been on holiday with us, in and out of our house, stayed the night, been so comfortable with us that she's even shared her moods and strops with us and I guess I underestimated how much we mean to her. I guess it's cos she's so English and doesn't readily show her feelings. But I was touched that she came all the way back from Uni and she gave us the loveliest card where she must have written at least a hundred things that she'd done with us over the years. So it was sad saying goodbye - sad for her because we won't be here when she comes back for her hols. But she's promised to come and stay at Easter.

So what happens after a great evening? You wake up in the morning and think what a crazy thing to do. To get all your close friends together and have a party just to show yourself what you're going to miss. Might have been easier just to slope off!

Seriously though, wobbles over, I'm OK now. I will miss all my friends but I do have to hold on to why we're going. Did I say this before - that I'm finding moving a lot harder this time around because the children are older and I have to hold them and deal with their emotions too. Every other day Rohan tells me he's not leaving and that he loves it here. Then there's the fact that we haven't sold our house yet ..........

Oh well, I'll just keep thinking those positive thoughts. Meanwhile I'm off to Mum and Dad's for a couple of days.

PS There's some interesting stuff about Ceilidhs here.

Happy Birthday Raj

Today is Raj's eighth birthday and for him it's been a long time coming. Having an older brother means that he has grown up very quickly and of course he wants to be just like Rohan and the same age too.

Rather annoyingly for Rohan he has the same interests but he is a very different character. All my children are bright and bubbly but Raj seems to have taken it one stage further and is a very charismatic little fellow. Ever since he moved here he has charmed everyone with his smile and friendliness. I've been into shops and they greet him, people who walk past the gate stop to say hello to him and everyone in the school knows him. In fact when he started Kindy the teacher had to ask the older children (mostly sixteen year old boys) to stop coming over to say hello to him because it wasn't fair on the other children. Wherever we go everyone warms to him - it's amazing.

So I guess I shouldn't have been too surprised as I waited outside his classroom yesterday and about four girls came out sobbing. "What's up with them" I asked Raj. He looked embarrassed and shrugged his shoulders. "They're crying cos Raj is leaving" said another boy with a disdainful look on his face. In fact Raj looked pretty disdainful too cos he doesn't like girls these days especially soppy ones. It is rather funny that he's so popular because I'm sure he doesn't bother with any of the girls in class. I have heard that he makes 'em laugh though. We gave a classmate of Amber's a lift home later and he said "I bet Raj must love it, all those girls crying over him". I guess at fifteen he was rather envious!

This afternoon he had his birthday/leaving party and although I don't usually invite more than about five children we made and exception as he was leaving (and ended up with twelve). It was fun during the games but mayhem during lunch. We just about managed to squeeze them all around the table:

They then all disappeared around the village for a treasure hunt with Tom trailing behind which gave Amber and I time to clear the mess. Then it was back for birthday cake:

and opening of presents and it was all over:

I must say a big Thank You to Ambi who made two birthday cakes, two pizzas and all the food. To Rohan and Abbi as well who did the games. Despite having all that help I was still exhausted! I tell you what made my day though (apart from Raj having a thoroughly good party) was the look on the little girls face as she won the prize in Pass the Parcel. It was one of my lambs and the look of surprise on her face and then the beaming smile really touched all of us. "I nearly cried when I saw her face" said Amber.

Tonight our young friend Abbi is staying the night - she came back specially from Uni to see us off. The children are planning more treats (groan) and then tomorrow night it's our leaving party at 6 o'clock. Wish you could come .......................

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Dear Raj, I will try and prize your present off Dad soon:

Yet another obsession of mine

Can you believe that I've got a rotten, stinking cold? I never get ill. The children get the odd cold and I never catch it off them but this time ..... I'm sneezing like mad and my nose is sore and runny and my head weighs a ton.

It started yesterday morning and I spent most of the evening on the sofa in front of the fire trying to get into The Time Traveller's Wife (which I am finding a bit hard going ladies?!). It's times like this that you wish you had a telly. So instead I decided to do some timely darning on one of my favourite jumpers.

It all looked pretty awful but I managed to save this:

with this:

and then there was a big hole on the back:

which I had to do a bit of knitting for:

In the bad light I went for the most similar colour but this morning I see that it's actually more pink than red! Never mind. I just need to find some black now to sort out that animal shape.

I guess this is my opportunity to confess my addiction to Amano hand knits. If you don't know already the company import knitwear from Bolivia and it's big, loud and colourful. I bought my first jumper about ten years ago and I remember being alarmed at the cost (nearly ninety quid if I remember rightly). At that sort of price I've tended to wear them all the time to get my money's worth I guess and then I discovered the Amano shop near Camden Market which often had a sale and the addiction started. Over the years I've had about ...... oh my gosh - about ten of them (not all priced that highly I hasten to add). A few I've worn through and a couple I sold on eBay. These days I have six (I hope Tom's not reading this as he's been heard to say many times "how many jumpers does a woman need?").

My all time fave is this one. I just love the combination of green and blue (I have to confess that it's my second one in this colorway - the first one fell apart):

Probably joint fave is the red one (I used to have it in cream many years ago):

next up is this one - love the oranges and greens. This one always attracts a few comments when I wear it:

Then I like this cotton one which looks great with jeans:

My next fave is this one which is not Amano actually but Pachamama. I just had to include it though cos it's so nice and eye catching although I do feel a bit disloyal having it:

I just love the detail:

I think someone gave me this blue one:

and I bought the red version of the green one but I don't wear it much and maybe I should put it up on eBay:

Looking at the Amano website last night I noticed that my collection is their earlier stuff which tended to be more chunky. The newer stuff is more floaty and feminine. Maybe I should get rid of the last two and buy two of the newer ones, though Tom is right "how many Amano jumpers does a woman need?".

I think a little paring down of jumpers is in order don't you?

Well, I'm off for a lie down and to wallow a bit before I have to pull myself together for end of term and goodbyes tomorrow, Raj's birthday party on Saturday and the Ceilidh on Sunday. Ooh, I'm coming over all faint ..........

WIP's and abandoned projects

Wow - thank you all for those helpful, and dare I say supportive comments about hoarding supplies. As you can imagine from this comment left by Tom it's a sore point around here:

Go on girls (and you all are, it just might be a factor here) GET RID OF IT ALL. Someone once said to me: "you know I was really happy when I could pack my whole life into a Ford Escort and just go". Just an idea, back from London, wondering how we're ever going to get all this stuff from one side of the country to the other.......

I woke up to that on Friday morning (and enjoyed telling the children that some loon had left a really unhelpful comment to my last post). He assures me that he was just being provocative!

So stuff is a bone of contention. Tom reckons he's a minimalist but he's forgetting that when I first met him in 1989 he still had all his Lloyds Bank chequebook stubbs which he carted around the country. And then there was .......... No, I won't try and score points (for once) but we'll just leave it there shall we dear!

Anyway, I did manage to go through my stuff and on the advice of many of you I chucked out the tatty, never-going-to-use-that-ever stuff and it does look a lot more manageable. It also means that I have less stuff which I'm more likely to use. I think I need to have a few 'use what you have' months in the near future.

It was inevitable that in my clearing up I would find a quite a few WIP's that were carefully hidden away so that I could forget about them. What did I find?

Well, there is a jumper for Raj (in Debbie Bliss Merino) that I will never finish because a) it will now be too small for him and b) he won't wear hand knits anymore:

a hand towel in a gorgeous green but I ran out of the cotton:

a baby's bib (who on earth was I knitting that for?):

boot socks from a few posts back with Briggs and Little 2 ply:

ordinary socks with Regia:

Rohan's jumper with Colinette dk that I bought last August. I've done both sides and am now on sleeve one:

a scarf with some leftover Noro Silk garden:

and finally one side of a bag made with felted jumpers:

Aghhhhhhh - I hate WIP's especially abandoned ones. I just can't seem to capture the enthusiasm of a once desirable project after I leave it for a while. I know that I am never going to finish that purple jersey for Raj or the hand towel unless someone gets me the yarn from America and sends it to me. The boot socks - can I be bothered? The scarf - I wear my lovely green curlicue one all the time so I'm never going to wear this and everyone in our house seems to have at least two/three scarves each. Must, must, must finish the turquoise jersey for Rohan (but when). Ditto the Regia socks and the bag.

Is it just me or do I have the patience of a gnat (is that the phrase?). How come I can abandon so many things half way and go on to other things? I also have a doll's head waiting for a body, a lamb without ears, half finished scotty, a couple of brooches. Flipping heck - wish I could just chuck 'em all out and resolve to not start anything in the future unless I'm really passionate about it and am going to finish it in one go. Maybe that's unrealistic - maybe it's just what we crafters do - have lots of things on the go at one time. (I'm not sure that is actually the case with me and these WIP's. I've certainly abandoned a few those projects above.)

What do you reckon? Have you got lots of hidden away, half-finished projects? Do you feel guilty about them? Are you ever going to finish them and if not why not? And what do you do if you're really not going to go back to something? You can't just chuck things out when you've invested time and money in them?Shame we can't have a 'swap my never-going-to-finish' thing for yours .....................

 

Stuff - baskets of it everywhere

As you can imagine I'm trying to spend some time each day sorting through things AND trying to throw stuff away. You cannot believe how much stuff I have. Today I started wondering when exactly I became a hoarder. I clearly remember leaving home at eighteen to go to College with one suitcase full of stuff. After that I had a bit more stuff when I moved into my first house share but a few years later I managed to go to Japan with not much more than a suitcase.

When Tom and I moved into our first flat back in 1989 we didn't have much more than clothes, books and a bit of furniture. Even when we moved out of London in 1998 and had two children there still wasn't that much stuff. I think I started on this orgy of collecting when I started crafting in a big way and that must have been about seven years ago when I moved here. In my last house I had a bit of knitting wool and some needles and thread. Then I came here and got into felting, doll making, sewing, knitting, plant dyeing and with that came accumulating raw materials for each hobby. Maybe that's why I have so much stuff because I do so many things.

I have baskets groaning with felted jumpers:

baskets full of fabric:

thick knitting wool:

sock wool:

doll making materials:

shelves full of craft books:

plant dyed blanket and silks:

and this is only some of the stuff in my workroom. I haven't shown you the under stairs cupboard yet OR the shed in the garage.

You know what - all this stuff makes me feel sick sometimes. I feel so tied down by it. I feel as if every basket has tentacles that wrap around me and I just can't seem to get them off. And I can't bear to throw any of it away because I might need it. Since I've been teaching handwork at school and crafting at home I've just collected and collected stuff that I might want to use. These days I can't seem to go past a charity shop without coming back with a bit of fabric, a couple of books, wool or blankets. I've noticed that I love having a piece of nice fabric or that pink felted jumper. I just like having it and owning it and sometimes I can't bear to cut into it.

It's an addiction isn't it. It has to be. I make excuses that I need stuff for my work but somewhere in my mind it must make me feel better having it. Of course it does initially and then I feel sick looking at it all crammed everywhere. I'm finding this hoarding thing fascinating at the moment and it's akin to my other fascination with comfort eating which I can bore you with another day.

I'm seriously debating chucking it all away but I can't. If I do that what will I have left. What will define me. Who will I be without all my stuff. But STOP - it isn't just nameless good-for-nothing stuff is it. It's raw materials that enable me to craft which is what I do. It's my job as well as mum, wife, daughter etc. Dare I say it I'm an artist and the stuff is my tools and materials. IT IS DEFINITELY NOT JUNK OR STUFF.

I guess I just need to change my relationship with it that's all. Mind you I can pare it down a lot too (that's the job for this morning then, going through the room again).

So what's your view on collecting or hoarding stuff? Do you have baskets full? Do you find it oppressive or do you know when to stop? Do you buy things because they're beautiful and then can't bear to use them? I'd love to hear.

I don't really think I'm a crazy hoarder but I do recognise that I have those tendencies. I collect children's books too and I'm sure I do that because we didn't have any books in the house when I was growing up despite the fact that I loved reading).

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PS Just listed some lovely fabric here for you to add to your stash - ha ha.