trimmingthesails

Time for Tea? (March 2014)

Oh, you did have time! Great to see you - please, do come through. Wasn't that last hail shower a little sharp? Some of our newly emerged daffodils are distinctly frayed, rather than frilly. Though, truth be known, I feel a little like that myself these days!

Shall we sit in the living room? The stove is roaring, so we'll be able to toast our toes as we have a hot drink and A Little Something. Sorry about the capitals - after a couple of days with our wonderful Littlies and Biggies, and a lots of squashed-together-on-the-sofa time with The House At Pooh Corner, Himself and I seem to have mentally brought the entire cast back home with us! Yes, isn't he growing fast? Beach, kites and throwing stones into the sea never fails to raise all our spirits. Goodness knows when all the photos will get scrapped though - I keep telling myself there is no such thing as 'behind' in our hobby, but secretly I don't feel that way at all. What about you? I'd be really glad of another perspective! Yes, of course, there's more in the pot - another piece of lemon cake?

Oh, 'scuse the mumbling through the crumbs, but there's always so much I'd like to ask you. Such as, how do you manage to keep up with blog reading? I feel as if I am running to catch up most of the time - so much so that the small amounts of time I have for actually creating things just ebbs away. Do tell me how you manage to stay in contact with everyone. I know I could just Mark All As Read, but it seems so ... I don't know ... difficult to do somehow! Especially when so many of us are coping with illness, poorly people in our own families, ailing neighbors who need support, bereavements, broken sleep as we care for the very young and the very old ... If multiverse theory is true, I guess I could console myself with the thought that somewhere else, another version of me did respond to every post!

Are you planning on taking any classes this Spring? Anything taking your fancy? I'm very tempted by the Sketchbook Skool. There's something about fine black lines and white space and splotches of colour that sings to my soul. It must be wonderful to need nothing more than a pack of pencils or pens and a piece of paper to create something lovely. I say this with some feeling - see that pile of bags and boxes and sundry papers over there by the door? I have the glorious chance to head off to a crafting weekend (with very grateful thanks to Himself who thinks I need to get out more and is holding the fort) and am so looking forward to seeing Sandie and Ruth - but find myself in a state of total paralysis about what to take. Wouldn't it be lovely to be able to stroll in with a lightweight portable kit?

Yes, I think it's cleared up now - probably a good moment to make a dash for it. Your toes are probably nice and dry now, but those clouds beyond the tree tops in the wood look heavy. Thank-you so much for our quick cuppa today, and I will be delighted to pop over and see you very soon! Yes, it's such a lovely meme of Abi's, isn't it? I always look forward to her lovely writing, and the little shared glimpses into lives across the world ... Take care, and see you again soon?

 

 

Time for tea? (Jan 2014)

 "Oh, gosh, do come in out of that snow ...". That's probably how we'd begin, if you called in for a little cup of something with me today. "It's just a shower - one of the very few we've had this winter" I'd tell you, and we'd probably roll our eyes and smile at each other as you shook the drops from your coat and told me how miserable you found the weather here, or what's it like where you live.

We'd walk through into the kitchen and I'd see you glance at the table, bestrewn with foliage and seed packets. "Clearing out", I'd say apologetically. "Trying to shorten the chains on the hanging basket. The seed potatoes?". And then, as I flicked the switch on the kettle, I'd explain ...

... how we had a day away last weekend when my brother came to be with Dad, and had been inspired by a National Trust kitchen garden to think how we might - in the absence of the allotment - try growing more at home. Himself loved this unusual variety we had several years ago, though our record on prolific potato culture is not a good one. (Remind me to tell you of The Great Shrinking Potato Disaster sometime).

You'd notice my slight lack of conviction, and I'd tell you I'm thinking more of lots of quick-growing varieties of lettuce and green stuff. By now you'd be wondering if I was ever going to make that drink, and I'd offer you a tea, or a coffee or my home-made version of a glorious Hot Spiced Apple Juice I tried on Saturday in a café full of penny farthing bicycles ...

 And as we wandered up the half-flight of stairs to the living-room with a tray of cake, Lebkuchen (amost finished, alas) and some little oranges, we'd chat about our favourite cafés and tea-rooms and what makes a really good one: the quality of the drinks? the attentiveness of the staff? the quirkiness of the décor? Pulling our chairs up to the fire, you'd tell me all about your favourite one. I'd share with you, as we warmed our toes at the multi-fuel stove and I opened the door to pop another log in, how we'd bought our stove in a second-hand bookshop-cum-stove shop. What a great three-floored cosy sanctuary, complete with rocking chairs and rugs! Himself was surprised I ever agreed to leave and come home with him.

And from there I suspect we'd meander through bookshops and crafts shops, and arrive at creativity and what we're each doing this year. I'd love to hear if you've set off in a new direction, or whether you've following through something you've already started? And if you asked me, I'd  tell you that my One Little Word this year is Wild ...

 

... and that I am already enjoying the way it is helping me, when I can sometimes feel a little confined, to roam and rove in all kinds of ways, and how my word seems to keep jumping out at me wherever I look - does that happen to you? As if antennae are sensitised and things which would usually slip past unnoticed are standing up and waving furiously for attention. And as I offered you the last of the Christmas cake, we might ponder how many of us are engaged in de-cluttering and simplifying body, mind and home and, a little embarrassed, I'd have to admit I'd never heard of a Fitbit till this week! I'd ask if you had one and whether you thought it was worth it ...

Glancing out of the window, we'd notice the snow had stopped and it seems a good moment for you to make a dash for it before the next cloudbank rolls in ominously over the hills. As we step out into the chilly air and walk up the path, I'd steer you past the mossy patch (note to self - get this sorted!) and you'd pull your scarf around your face. Then - with a quick hug or squeeze of the hand - we'd promise to catch up again soon and keep in touch in the meantime. I'd wave you off, so glad you'd come and hoping you'd want to pop in again ... :)
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This lovely meme is hosted by the talented Abi, over at Creating Paper Dreams; if you haven't already called in, do get a mug of something nice and settle down for a clutch of wonderful reads :).

Time for a nice cup of tea ...

... and a sit down? Do come in out of that wind ... Just lovely to see you! Did you get caught in that shower? If we were meeting for a quick catch-up, inspired by the lovely and talented Abi, I'd be popping your coat over the radiator to dry off, and showing you this photo I took on my phone in a new vintage-y tea-shop last week. I just couldn't resist ...

As we went through to the kitchen, I'd be asking you whether you are an Indian or herbal tea person or a coffee-lover. I'd tell you that my new favourite is Apple Loves Mint; I'm trying to cut down on the number of cups of tea I usually consume though I suspect, between you and me, that since half of them are left sitting around the house in states varying between luke-warm and stone cold, I may not take in as much as I think I do! And as we laugh and I make our beverages, your attention might be caught by the view through to the back garden ...

Yes, it's lovely, I might say, though not as brilliant in colour as last October, alas - we've had a rather dank and soggy month. And as I checked with you whether you'd like a biscuit or one of my little gluten-free cakelets, I'd be asking what it has been like where you are - is it different from year to year? I am always fascinated, I'd explain, by how things change: how the pattern of seasons is similar but each, in itself, is different. If your eye fell on the apples, I'd assure you that you were quite right - with those irregular markings, they are not a supermarket purchase but windfalls from a lovely friend ...

And if you were interested, I'd lift out from underneath the wooden bowl my thirty-year old faded copy of Farmhouse Cookery, and show you how I had just been browsing The Puddings Hot and Cold section and marvelling at how so many recipes are linked to a place. We'd roll them off our tongues like a travelogue: Nottingham Pudding, Dorset Apple Cake, Malvern Apple Pudding ... I'd be wanting to know if there are recipes with place-names in your home area too? Then I'd carry the tray up the half-flight of stairs to the living room, and you might comment on our funny internal architecture. Inbetween the showers we might be lucky, as we sat on the sofa, to see the sun breaking through. This time of year, it's low in the sky and spills across parts of the house which don't normally catch the light. I do love it, I'd tell you...

With our hands curled round our cups, I'd be longing to hear how things are with you. What are you enjoying creating? Is there anything you feel you are letting go of? Is there anything you're wrestling with? I might share how I often find autumn and winter a time for paring things down ... though what with getting out the woolly cardigans recently, I'm piling on the layers rather than taking them off! Ah, layers, now there's a subject we could talk about for hours :). And we might smile and talk a little about the parallels between life and scrapbooking. And if you asked me how things are with me creatively, I'd tell you I am stuck; mired in a kind of dilemma about paper/journalling/bits and pieces scrapbooking, versus digital photobooks. I can't decide what to do, or what to do where, and am now so fed up with myself that I can't even bear the not-deciding! We might roll our eyes and giggle a bit at how over-dramatic that all sounds. And I'd ask if you'd been following Julie's most enjoyable Going Postal series, and I'd pop into your hands my first ever delivery of washi-tape and ask you which was your favourite ...

I might wonder aloud whether you had felt a kind of waning energy in the scrapbook world, and if perhaps I am imagining it - have you noticed anything, I'd ask? We might quietly speculate whether the (hugely successful) Project Life phenomenon has decreased the interest in or need for designing, exploring, experimenting - or whether I am way off beam! What's your own sense, I'd been keen to know? I do love to hear others' views ... Can I refill your cup for you? I'd tell you how much I have been admiring all the quilting, crocheting, knitting and sewing I see on my blog visits - and asking if you find yourself branching out into other areas? My Mum was a wonderful needlewoman, I muse, and we might leaf through her inspiration books together. I'd tell you how much I still miss her, and alternately berate myself for not having learnt more from her while there was still time with wondering whether it's not too late to start ...

And before we knew it, it would be time. I'd fetch your coat, nicely warmed through and dry by now and I'd stand watching you gather your things together, feeling so glad you'd come and a little sad that you are going. We'd remember all the things we had meant to ask each other and promise "Next time!". I'd warn you about the piles of slippery sycamore leaves underfoot at the top of slope and to take care. And I'd wave till you were out of sight, hoping you had enjoyed our time together and that at some point you'd reach into your pocket, and your fingers would find the little roll of washi tape you liked ...

 

Time for Tea? (July 13)

 Hello and lovely to see you! If you were popping in today, I'd be glad. "I've got the kettle on already!", I'd tell you.You'd probably smile and we'd laugh at how here in Britain we drink tea whatever the weather. And I'd add that as it is still so nice today, despite the recent sharp rain, I wondered if you might like to sit outside? There's a little bit of a soft breeze but we should be sheltered on the little veranda of the summer house - and we'd walk down the side path and into the back garden. I'd gently pull the leafy branches of the head-high maple to one side as we threaded our way through to the bottom of the garden and you'd settle comfortably on one of the old and slightly creaky wicker chairs ...

When I returned with the tray and some fruity nibbles, you might be looking into the wood, listening to the raucous squawk of the pheasants down by the stream, or smiling at the young squirrels chasing each other up and down the bark of the willows. Or you might be turning round and peeping through the window behind you. "Would you like to see inside?", I'd ask. "I'd love to show you! It's one of my most favourite places". As you reach for the old Bakelite handle of the left-hand door, I'd have to explain that, counter-intuitively, the right-hand one will open - one of Himself's little quirks, I would say, and we'd smile :). Then we'd go in ...

If you wanted to know, I'd tell you a bit about how it has changed down the years: from a simple wooden hut with a platform at the end where our children and their friends played and had sleepovers, to the insulated and pine-lined space it is now. I'd point out Himself's latest addition: the double-glazed panel (saved from an old back door when we had the renovations) inserted with hard graft and love into the roof above the desk in order to give me more light for crafting in the summer. I might teasingly explain it has leaked once or twice in the recent heavy downpours, but you would hear in my voice how truly grateful I am to him and how much he means to me, as we celebrate our thirty-fourth wedding anniversary this weekend. As we wander further in, you might wonder about the prints on the wall, and I'd tell you how they were originally illustrated pages from an old book which my librarian Mum rescued from a pile tossed onto a skip ...

I'd probably joke about my annoyance on noticing that I hadn't ensured the top of the pictures were perfectly aligned before your visit and we'd giggle about how our character traits tend to show up in our creative endeavours too. And if you asked whether we ever use the sofa bed, I'd tell you, yes! When my brother is able to come and share being with Dad for a weekend, we can hand over the intercom at night and sleep looking up at the stars. Our dearest daughter likes to be down here sometimes when she visits, revelling in telling her office colleagues that she sleeps "in the shed at the bottom of the garden"! We might sit for a while, you and I, as we sip our drinks, looking across the lawn - and I'd ask you where you like to scrapbook or journal or do your artwork. Always in the same place? In different places according to the seasons? Or the time or day? And I'd share with you how much I marvel at the wonderful skills I see in my blog-visiting, how crap I am at card-making, and how thrilled I was to have been sent these from Becky (Becky's Scrapbook Burblings) and Yvonne (Do More with Less) ...

Your eye might fall on the window ledge, and your hand gently pick up the tiny little wooden boat as you ask me about it. I'd explain how special it is, for its recent voyage has taken it halfway around the world. It has belonged to Deb (over at Paper Turtle) for a quarter of a century and, on finding it recently again, she thought it might enjoy sailing with me :).

As we go back out and sit on the vernada in the warm sunshine again, I'd be keen to know if you were doing any online classes, and whether you take them to consolidate skills and explore more of what you have, or to try something unfamilar and new. And if you seem interested, I'd share with you how I find myself longing to be able to draw - just simple things to add into my scrapbooks, and to include more of my own handwriting. You'd probably laugh when I told you I was practising different styles, just like I did on scrappy pieces of paper when I was thirteen! And I'd love to know if you have any hang-ups about your handwriting, or whether you are quite at ease with it ... Before long, we'd probably hear the Town Hall clock striking and you'd be exclaiming about the time. We'd shake the fruity crumbs off our laps onto the (weed-filled) lawn for the birds, and wend our way back along the paving stones and past my bike ...

As we rounded the corner, I'd be telling you how I am determined to get back to riding it regularly but am ashamed of having to get off half-way up the hill and push - and at the moment it's either that or burst a lung. I'd be hoping you'd either reassure me that you're not incredibly fit either or, if you are, give me words of advice and encouragement :). By then we'd be ducking under the hanging baskets in the porch and perhaps stopping to look at the wall-pot of gerberas by the front door ...

Then we'd be saying goodbye. I'd be telling you how much I'd enjoyed our time together, thanking you for coming all this way, and wishing you a safe journey. I know that inside that I'd be hoping very much you'd like to come again, already looking forward to seeing you again even as you turned to wave ...
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With many grateful thanks to the lovely Abi, who is hosting this wonderful meme over at Creating Paper Dreams. If you are still thirsty, or you find yourself just needing a cup over the next few days, do pop over and see her. There are also lots of delightful places to go from there!

Just lovely to see you! Do you have time for ...?

... a cup of tea with me? That's what I'd say if you knocked on my door, delighted that you'd taken me up on my invitation. I'd take your wet coat and offer to hang it over the radiator for you, so it was warm and dry when you were ready to go, for our winds are still very cool. I'd ask if you'd mind sitting at the table in the corner of the kitchen - Himself is deep in the middle of a work teleconference on the half-landing with his headphones on and for some reason it makes him speak louder, I'd teasingly say. And I'd explain that my Dad has a carer with him right now for an hour so we might not see him, but that if the district nurse calls to visit him, I'd have to leave you for a few moments. And then we'd go through ...

On the way past, we'd stop so I could introduce you to Gladys, just on your left. You might have glimpsed her before on my blog, but you might not have seen her in all her, ermm, fullness :). You might ask me where she came from, and while we are pulling out the chairs to sit down, I'd explain about seeing her at a Flower Show ten or more years ago, and being smitten by her lovely wide-eyed expression. I'd tell you what a wonderful therapist she is: that I can just sit and tell her all about my day, and she'll unfailingly supply all the "Well, I never(s)!", or "He said what(s)?" that are needed. We might laugh together, you and me, and - being the creative people we are - come up with a string of ideas for other things she might say, especially if we'd just had a crafting disaster at the table beside her ...

And while I was lifting things off the tray for us, I'd explain how, in my part of the world, we were all trained to lay a tray for visitors with a proper linen cloth from as soon as we were big enough to carry a cup, and that this was one of my Mum's quick-crocheted-edge ones. While filling the teapot and bringing it over, I'd be hoping you'd tell me a bit about your childhood: who sewed or embroidered, glued or painted in your family, where your own crafting inspiration comes from ...

There'd be the offer of biscuits, of course, and some gluten-free ones too, nestling inside the lovely tin sent to us by our German family-in-law in December, full of wonderful traditional Advent lebkuchen, a cross between delicately spiced biscuits and gingerbread. There's still a little box left, especially for favoured visitors like you :). And as you nibbled one, we'd comment on how appropriate for a scrapbooker this tin was, and ponder the serendipity of English title, for they don't know about my scrapbooking ...

We'd turn it round and round, oohing and ahhing at its vintage feel and thinking of uses for it when the edibles are all gone. Fill it with mini-books? Make a thick journal for it? Photograph the sides and make digital cards? And I'd enjoy hearing your thoughts and ideas ...

We might keep talking about scrapping and what we each like and enjoy about memory-keeping. I'd explain how I wasn't really a digital scrapbooker: I just like to use what the computer offers to produce something I can hold and touch, and turn the pages of. I'd rest my elbows on the table and cradle my cup in my hands and would be keen to know what is exciting you in the scrapbook world right now or what leaves you cold, and how you manage to weave your creative pursuits into your days ... As we paused companionably to look out of the window at the rain, I'd tell you how glad I am to see the budding leaves on the little maple, and how anxious I have been that in the long and searing cold it would not survive. And how that speaks to me ...


And as we poured some more tea, I might - if I knew you were following along with Ali Edwards' One Little Word - ask you how you were finding it, what it was meaning for you. And I might, in turn, tell you a little about how mine, 'Sail', is helping me navigate my own life. I might even share with you how much I am enjoying my 'log-book', with its pockets and flaps, fold-out pages and hidden bits, receipts, tickets, photos of texts, copies of emails, and slivers of doodles, drawing and painting. And what a surprise it has been to find myself at this point, for the injunction from my primary school days of never starting a sentence with "I" still rings loud in my ears. I (!) might say something about my iPad and how it is enriching the way I work, but there'd be a hesitancy in my voice and a tentativeness in my observing in case it really wasn't your thing. And I'd wonder aloud: if I popped into your home, what I might see on your own work desk? Would it be like mine, or very different? Do tell me more ...


Suddenly we might catch a glimpse of the clock on the wall and realise you needed to go. There'd be a flurry of coat-putting-on and bag-and-phone finding. I would tell you how pleased I am that you came, how much being able to connect like this has meant to me, and we'd smile and hope to arrange to meet up again as we stepped over the threshold onto the paving stones outside the front door. Your eye might catch the box of daffodils and yes, I'd say, they're the ones I found a few weeks ago in the lean-to and planted out, and aren't they lasting well?

We'd wave goodbye out on the road, as you set off again in the damp sunshine. I'd turn again to look, just as you went, and raise my hand and smile, full of gladness that we'd met and been together for a little while ...

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With many grateful thanks to Abi, at Creating Paper Dreams, for her lovely invitation to share a cup of tea with her once a month, and for her own delicious writing and sharing. Do pop in and see her if you'd like another cup!