Places to find some peace and (relative) quiet

Turtle spotting in Central Park.

A trip on the tramway (actually a cable car) 

over the East River to Roosevelt Island.

Very little to do there

but a stroll to the Four Freedoms Park

was pleasant enough and completely deserted.

The outright winner for tranquility was the Met Cloisters.

Monarch butterflies in the Conservatory Garden.

Purl Soho. A pilgrimage to see the knitting shop of online fame.

It was certainly quiet in there. Somnolent even.

I had to ask someone to help me 

because nothing is labelled for brand, composition or price.

After a short discussion and vague hand waving at the shelves,

 the young woman turned away, as I thought, 

to show me a pattern but to my consternation

fell into another assistant's arms for a prolonged embrace, 

much back stroking and murmurs of consolation.

I stood behind her wondering what I had done to trigger this collapse.

Eventually she straightened and wandered over to the rack. 

I came away empty-handed.

One thing and another

My headmistress had no suggestions to offer me for my future 

apart from occupational therapy.

I looked it up in the dusty Careers Room and saw that it meant basket making.

This may be why it has taken me 47 years 

to get around to making a basket.

I went on a one day course at Charleston Farmhouse

and came out with a willow  basket that now has pride of place

on the table, but I don't think I'll be making another one.

A visit to Eastbourne, 

the first place in the country to have an average age of over 70,

has persuaded me to buck up my ideas about the rest of my future.

Meanwhile gardens continue to delight.

My day lilies

and Sissinghurst's - 

only a tower and a flagpole missing from mine.

Seeking shade I lingered between high yew hedges

and sheltered in the gazebo,

away from those pesky strolling tourists.

I leave you with this three year old's depiction

of a sad fox howling at the moon.

Time to get the crayons out again I think.

Faux Fair Isle Fail

I was very taken by the idea that I could use a wool

that would knit Fair Isle all by itself,

according to the lady in the shop.

I have attempted the real thing and it's time consuming, fiddly

and rather too warm with the double layer of loops at the back of the work.

I needed a quick project that would be off the needles before

grand-daughter went away on her holiday.

Planes can be chilly even though her destination isn't.

So I embarked on a hooded jumper with pom poms

excited to see how this would work.

Hmm. Nice stripes with the merest suggestion of alternate stitch colour change

but Fair Isle it ain't.

For the real thing you could do no better than to visit this clever person.

Luckily grand-daughter likes it a lot

and wore it with the hood up on quite a warm day

until we both agreed that she was getting a bit too hot.

Busy bee

Having a three year old around

is good fun.

We cooked up some pancakes

when I might not have bothered otherwise

and did an experiment with bicarbonate of soda and 

vinegar mixed with food colouring.

The internet is full of good ideas for things to do with children

(all I had recourse to when mine were young was Child Education Magazine

and a book called Something to Do)

and the means to carry them out is available at the click of a button.

If anyone needs a plastic pipette or 20 litres of white vinegar

I'm your woman.

Something went a little awry with my order.

My phone was requisitioned for these rather arty shots.

Take one cardboard box

and a roll of sticky back plastic.

The sticky back plastic was a lucky find -
ready made ballerinas.

Fablon has come a long way since my Blue Peter days
when plain colours or gingham effect in yellow or blue was considered 
the dernier cri for freshening up those pantry shelves (see here) 
or covering matchboxes to make a chest of drawers for the dolls' house.

I made the dancers from wooden spoons (50p each),
off cuts of Fablon and a hot glue gun.

Back stage during the interval.

Kondo to the max

Looking for an antidote to Kondo-mania?
This stretches the spark of joy test to the limit.

Meet a man, Charles Paget Wade, who in the early 20th century 

assigned a whole house, Snowshill Manor, to his 22,000 piece collection of 

toys, furniture, bicycles, spinning wheels, suits of Samurai armour, 

chests, model boats - you name it and if he thought it exemplified 

good design or craftsmanship,

then he had to have it.

Crucially, for him, good workmanship that might be lost to posterity sparked joy.

Nothing shall perish

was his family motto.

The collection is so vast and varied that it is not catalogued or labelled.

One visitor, I was told, likes to bring and place a new object each time he comes

to perplex the curators and present custodians, The National Trust.

I would argue with his assertion that each room has a restful atmosphere.

I found it overwhelming and was repeatedly drawn to the windows

for respite from the Stuff.

But Snowshill Manor House was a home to things not people.

It is a vast cabinet of curiosities, 

a giant version of the one that his strict granny used to let him open 

on a Sunday if he had been good all week.

He lived in the tiny dark Priest's House in the garden.

When he eventually married aged 63, his wife was not keen to

make it the marital home -

this is the bathroom

and there was no electricity or heating

so you rather sympathise.

Luckily they were able to decamp to the family's

sugar plantation in St Kitts.

And like the doves from his dovecot

I was glad to escape into the warm Cotswold sun.