rag rugs, a new craft

I try to get along to my local "craft and chat" every Wednesday, and we got back together again after the summer break a couple of weeks ago.

I set off with my longstitch embroidery in hand, but it didn't get taken out of its bag!  No, it was thrust aside because one of the girls had taken along some squares of hessian and some rags.  Yes, you heard it right, some rags.

Specifically, she had boiled, yes, boiled, up some old woollen jumpers that she'd picked up at a charity shop to shrink and matt the fibres, then cut them up into strips about 1" x 4".  She'd done the same with old cotton t-shirts.

Some of the hessian was stretched on frames, but I remember making these rag rugs with my mother when I was very small, and we didn't use frames.  I'd been thinking about these rag rugs recently, which is why my embroidery stayed in my bag, and I was happy to join in the experimenting with the rug-making.

Here you can see on the left some of the rags, then the scissors with which to poke the rags through the hessian, and on the right is the reverse of some of the rags already prodded through.

This is the "right" side, the pile of the rug, lovely and thick, and colourful in a muted way - most of the sweaters she'd been able to obtain were mens, so the colours reflect that!

To make the rug, you poke one end of a rag strip into a hole in the hessian with either a pencil, crochet hook, or, in my case, the blunt ends of the scissors.  The other end of the strip is poked up just two or three threads away.  The next rag strip is pushed into the same hole as the first one emerged from, so that for the whole of the rug, except the edge rows, each hole is shared by two strips of rag, as I hope you can see with the red and green in the close up above, and of the reverse, below.

It's not a fantastically neat piece of work, but you get the idea.

If you try it for yourself, I'd suggest washing the hessian before you begin, otherwise you'll end up like me, covered in coarse beige scratchy fibres!!!!  Whe I was young I seem to remember the hessian originally being old potato sacks, which I'm sure my mother washed before we used it.

It certainly brought back memories for me.  Apparently, way back in the mists of time, when peg rugs were first around, they started out as bed coverings.  They would have been very heavy and warm.  When a new one was completed, the original moved down to the floor at the side of the bed.  It moved from there to the kitchen, and from thence to become a fireside rug at the end of its day, fit only to catch the embers from the fires as they tumbled out.

Fascinating stuff, history:-)

Denim jeans bag - I made it!

I mentioned a few weeks ago that I planned to make a “jeans bag”, and, after hunting in several charity (thrift) shops and at car boot sales, I finally found a pair of children’s jeans that I bought for the healthy sum of 30p – talk about frugality – I was really pleased. Recycling and creating an individual, useful “designer” product, how much better can it get?

I decided on a child’s pair of jeans because I wanted a middling size bag that I can take out shopping with me. It will hold my handbag initially, then, assuming I buy anything, the bag will come out and the shopping will go in.

I like the decorative pockets on these shorts, and cute tie through the belt loops. The pockets themselves are useful additions to any bag, and the tie becomes the bag's strap. I’m not going to give detailed instructions for creating the bag – others have already produced lovely video clips – but I will point out some aspects of my creation.

Above you can see that I've used a seam ripper to remove the stitching down the centre front and back seams and opened the fabric out.

The new centre seam sewn down.  There were existing "jewel" studs, so, to hold down the loose pocket linings, I used my "BedazzleIt" machine to insert a few studs, which do the job nicely.

This shot shows what a mess they look when you turn them inside out!!!  See how uneven the hem edges are?  don't worry, they get chopped and straightened out.

Once I'd levelled the edges, I sewed a French seam, which means all the rough edges are enclosed, so no messy threads to catch and pull when the bag's in use - cunning, I thought:-)

As you can see above, I used the age old trick of simply sewing across the corners to create some depth to the sides of the bag - much easier than inserting a panel in the base - I don't need a massive bag, so this is quick and ideal for me. I caught the points of the corners down inside the bag so that they are flush with the base.  I sewed the French seam down along the base to add a touch of extra strength and make it neater, too.

Remember the cute tie?  Here is it next to some upholsterer's webbing which I sewed on to one side to give it some body - I hate shoulder straps which are insubstantial, don't you?  they tend to end up digging into my shoulder and are uncomfortable.

I sewed in a D ring at each end of the strap, as I thought it would be quite effective, and, I admit it, lazy of me, to use the existing belt loops to suspend the straps from.

I simply ran a few rows of stitches at the top of the belt loop to stope the strap from being to loose and free.

The bag, slung over my shoulder - neat eh?

Make a Jeans Handbag: clear instructions

I've seen blogs where clever folks have made handbags out of an old pair of jeans, and thought "I'll do that one day", as you do! Today, however, I decided to locate some instructions, and here is a link to Karen Weisman's fantastically clear set of videos to take you through the process step by slow and careful step:-)

So, find out an old pair of jeans, or buy a cheap second hand pair at a car boot sale or charity shop, grab your heavy duty scissors, your sewing machine, some strong thread and needles designed for denim or thick fabrics, and away you go! You can recycle an old skirt or dress to make the lining, or leave it unlines if it's just a general tote bag for shopping. I'd line it and put the zip in if you're going to use it as a handbag though.

You'll see that Karen has utilised extra pockets from the jeans and sewn them inside one of the bags, which is fine, but I think I'd rather use some of the dress/skirt fabric, as it's lighter in weight. You can measure your mobile phone and make a pocket to fit it - I'd make a simple flap to come down over it, too, fastened with a small piece of velcro. The number of times I've had to hunt at the bottom of my bag because my phone's slipped out of the pocket when I've put my bag down doesn't bear thinking about, so, if I'm making a bag, it's going to be practical!

I'd also sew on a smal horizontal strip of fabric which I'd catch down every inch or so, then there's somewhere to slip a couple of pens safely, too. If you make the strip out of elastic, you could use it to hold down a lipstick or two as well - there's no end to the clever things you could do.

I'm definitely going to give this a try - I'll show you the results when it's done, but, meanwhile, why not have a look at these short clips - you might feel inspired:-)

Make a Jeans Handbag: eHow.com

short story, dead man in the loft

When the builder told me he had to move a dead man in the loft, I was taken aback, to say the least. I'd been in the loft several times, and nary a corpse had I seen!

Once he'd explained to me what he meant, I decided that therein lay a story for children, and since one of the modules I'm taking this semester at uni is Writing for Children, this was serendipity, indeed.

This is the first draft of the story that evolved from this chance phrase, I hope you'll enjoy the idea, and bear in mind that it is only a first draft!

There’s a Dead Man in Our Loft


The builders arrived yesterday. Two of them, wearing clothes so scruffy Mum wouldn’t let us be seen dead in them! Tufts of grey wire sprout out of the back bit of Frank’s baseball cap. Paul’s bald. I always thought that your hair turned grey then fell out, but Paul’s much younger than Frank. Maybe he’s had chemo-therapy; Dad’s friend Eric’s hair fell out after he’d had chemo, and he was only 30.

Mum’s going to have a baby, and our house is already full! There’s me, I’m Amy, my sister Brenda, and my brother, Chris. And there’s Mum and Dad too. We’ve got three bedrooms, but one’s only tiny. Chris has that one, and I share a bigger one with Brenda. There’s no room for the new baby. He’s a boy, so the scan says, so we’re having the loft converted into a “Master Suite” for Mum and Dad. Chris and baby Danny will have Mum’s old room, when it’s been decorated, of course. They won’t want a room with roses all over the walls!

* * * * * * *


I was deep into my Nancy Drew mystery, when I heard Frank, the builder, asking Mum if he could have a word with her. He was speaking very quietly, and for some reason, whenever I hear people speaking softly, my ears have this habit of trying extra hard to hear what’s being said.

I wish I hadn’t heard what Frank said to Mum, though! I don’t know what to do about it.

‘Mrs Jenkins, could I have a quick word with you? We’ve uncovered a bit of a problem.’

‘Oh dear! What sort of problem? It isn’t going to hold up the building work, is it? The baby’s due in four months, and I really need to have the bedrooms sorted out before he arrives.’

‘It’s nothing we can’t handle, don’t worry. We’ve come across this problem before. There’s a dead man at the far end of the loft needs moving.’

‘What?’ Mum’s voice went quite high, then she sort of laughed, nervously. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. There isn’t a dead man in my loft!’

I heard them walk upstairs, so couldn’t hear what they were saying any more. I felt like somebody was squeezing my tummy muscles, and I found I was holding my breath. How could there be a dead man in the loft? Was it like when they found the Princes in the Tower? Had a body been shut up to die in the loft space years ago, when the house was new? Or had a burglar broken in and died up there, starving to death with a broken leg, unable to climb back up the chimney?

My mind played all sorts of little film clips really quickly, trying to make sense of it, but couldn’t. What did it mean? Who could I ask? Should I tell someone, or not? Does it count as a secret? Should I phone the police? I decided I’d tell my best friend, Zoë, about it, and see what she thought. I bet she hasn’t got a corpse in her loft!

* * * * * * *

I was sitting, reading, when somebody else’s hand turned the page for me! It was a hairy, withered-looking hand, with long, yellow nails. My own scream woke me up. The thudding in my chest was so loud I though the house would wake up, but nobody moved. I wish they had woken up, my skin was all goosey, and I was scared. I pulled the duvet over my head, and closed my eyes tightly. I must have gone back to sleep, eventually, because next thing I knew Brenda was opening drawers and cupboards with her usual clatter.


‘Zoë, come over here, I want a quick word with you.’ I stopped, I was speaking like Frank! ‘Zo, quick, I need to talk to you before we go in. Let’s go over there for a minute.’

‘Hi, Amy. What’s up? You look a bit flushed! There’s no need to pull me, I’m coming!’

‘There’s a dead man in our loft! I don’t know what to do.’

‘Don’t be silly, Amy, there can’t be a dead man in the loft. Your whole house would be stinking and full of flies. I’ve seen films where they find bodies, and there’s always big bluebottles, and they use the larvae to see how long the body’s been dead.’

‘But I heard Frank tell Mum. He said they had uncovered a problem, there was a dead man and they had to move it.’

‘You must have misheard him. There can’t be a dead man in your loft. There just can’t. How would he have got there?’

‘Maybe he was burgling the house, fell and broke his neck, and just died. Nobody would look for him in our house, because nobody would have known he was there, would they?’

‘Noooo, no, I suppose that’s possible.’

‘Or maybe he was entombed, like the Pharaoh’s slaves were.’

‘That’s not very likely, is it? Though sometimes when old houses were built they used to put a small animal, or child, in the walls for good luck. But that was in really old houses, and yours is only about 200 years old. And I don’t think they did it with grown men, only children.’

‘The thing is, Zo, what do I do? Should I phone the police? Or will that get Mum and Dad into trouble? Even if I make an anonymous call, I’d have to tell them the address. Then when they come to the house they’ll hear my voice and know it was me sneaking on my parents. So that’s no good.’

‘I don’t think you should do anything yet, the bell’s about to go. Let’s go and line up, we can think about it in class, it’s art first lesson.’

‘You don’t think Dad could have killed anybody, do you? He does get very cross sometimes.’

‘Don’t be daft. Your dad wouldn’t kill anyone. Everyone gets angry sometimes, but we don’t go around killing people!’

The whistle silenced us, but my thoughts were still whirling round like Sher Khan’s eyes in the Jungle Book, making me feel dizzy. We muttered to each other while we painted, but Zoë didn’t know what to do, either. I decided that I would look in the loft when I got home, and see what I could discover before I did anything else.

* * * * * * *

Once I got home, I told Mum I had some homework to do, and went upstairs to my room. I could see Brenda and Chris out in the garden, Mum was in the kitchen, so it was all clear. I crept up the new staircase into the loft on tip-toe. I felt like a crime scene investigator, looking for evidence – I love all the CSI series. The afternoon sun through the new roof window made the loft space look golden, not like a crime scene. I sniffed the air deeply, but couldn’t smell anything rotten. Nor could I see any bluebottles, or any other sort of fly. I couldn’t see any little white maggots wriggling around, either, though I was quite glad about that. I can’t look at the TV screen when they show the maggots, and have to wait until Mum or Dad tells me it’s OK to watch again.

There weren’t any cupboards that might have hidden a body, and the chimney was quite narrow up in the loft, so nobody could have got in there. Where could this dead man have been found? Unless he’d hung himself, but I couldn’t see any hooks in the rafters above my head, just a few dusty spider’s webs, long since abandoned. And Frank said he’d uncovered a problem, but Daddy would have found a man just hanging there when he put the Christmas decorations away each year.

* * * * * * *

‘How’re the builders getting on with the loft, Mum?’ I asked when we were having our pizza, later.

‘Don’t talk with your mouth full, sweetheart, you know it’s rude. They’re getting on alright. They’ll be taking up the old boards and laying the new floor joists tomorrow.’

‘It’s odd having another staircase. The new banisters look really pale, like the ghosts of the other ones. Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to mention ghosts.’

‘Why on earth shouldn’t you mention ghosts? You know there’s no such thing, really.’

‘Well, yes, but after this morning …..’

‘After what, this morning? Did someone say something to you about ghosts at school?’

‘No. Sorry, I heard what Frank said to you. I wasn’t listening, I just heard him.’

‘Heard what, sweetheart? You’re not making much sense.’

‘I heard him tell you about the dead man, Mum. Then you went upstairs, and I didn’t hear any more. Was it a very old man? I’ve been thinking about it all day. Where did they find him? Where is he now? Will there be a post-mortem? Are we in trouble?’

‘Whoa, hold on!’ I couldn’t believe my eyes, Mum was laughing! ‘There isn’t a body in the loft, love, it’s not a real dead man.’

‘But Frank said …’

‘I know, I was confused too! Oh, you poor girl, worrying about dead bodies in the loft all day. Oh dear!’

‘Stop laughing, Mum, stop it!’ I was all mixed up. I was angry because Mum was laughing at me, relieved because there was no dead man, and embarrassed because I’d got something wrong, and, what was worse, told Zoe about it. I could feel my cheeks glowing, and my vision blurred. I sniffed, and stood up quickly to leave the room before anyone noticed.

Mum followed me out.

‘I’m sorry, sweetheart, I wasn’t laughing at you.’

‘Seems like it to me.’

‘No, I was laughing because I’d thought exactly the same as you! Who was he, what was he doing in our loft, how did he die?’

‘Well, it’s not funny.’

‘No, it’s not. Except that it is when you know what Frank was talking about.’

‘Why? What did he mean if he didn’t mean a real dead man, what other sort is there? A live dead man?’

‘No, come up to the loft with me and I’ll show you the dead man.’

‘I’ve been up there. There isn’t one.’

‘Oh, yes there is, come on.’ She took me by the hand and squeezed it. ‘Come on.’

At the top of the stairs Mum pointed to the other side. I couldn’t see anything except a couple of dirty cups next to a pile of bricks.

‘What?’ I asked, still a bit cross.

‘Do you see the bricks over there, like a little wall, under the long piece of wood?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, that’s what builders call a dead man. A pile of bricks that isn’t actually a wall, it just supports the beam. And the beam supports the roof.’

‘But he said it was a problem.’

‘Yes, it is. He has to take down the bricks and replace them with a huge chunk of wood so that we can have a nice, neat wall across that end, otherwise it would have to have a kink in it. That’s what he meant. Frank had to bring me up to show me, just like I’m showing you, because I’d never heard of it either. So we’ve both learned something new. Now, let’s go and finish that pizza, shall we?’

* * * * * * *

I’m going to have to think very carefully about what I’m going to say to Zoe. Maybe I could pretend I knew all along, and was just teasing her.

boasting, my words were chosen, creative writing sites

It never fails to give me a thrill when my words are chosen on one of the site, much better than a box of chocolates or a bouquet of flowers. This was on One Minute Writer. Thank you C. Beth :)



Here is my small offering on "Connection"



One-Minute Writing of the Day:Writer: christine



Her nose was a tinge purplish.

Her hair dark and spiky.

Skin slightly ochre tinged, but oh, so soft.

Lips puckered gently, but soundless.

Her eyes opened wide and found me.

I was lost in their depths from that moment.

"Well, Mum, here I am, let's get on with our lives."



Congratulations on another win, Christine! This was a beautiful description of such a miraculous moment.
Posted by C. Beth at 5:00 AM



I was saddened to see that Pictures, Poetry and Prose has been (temporarily, I hope), suspended due to unfortunate home circumstances of the site producer, Laura Beth. I wish her all the very best in her search for a suitable position, and hope that her wonderful site will soon be up and running again. It has inspired me so much, along with C. Beth's One Minute Writer site.

As an embrionic writers I count myself lucky to have discovered these sites, both of which I appreciate as a method of sharing my writing with others, and enjoying theirs in return.

creative writing, short story

Today, in the creative writing seminar, I read out the first draft of a short story which I'd come up with in the holidays.

It was so quiet you could hear a pin drop, the usual chuntering had stopped. Everyone enjoyed it, appreciating the way it grew darker as it progressed. I felt like a real writer :)

Yes, there are flaws; an anachronistic glitch was pointed out to me, I need to upgrade video to dvd! But they genuinely liked it - yay!!!!

Here it is, so you can share it too - let me know what you think .......

Box of Secrets

My box of secrets lies under my bed. It is huge and heavy. It’s a travelling trunk that belonged to my Grandfather in the 1920s. He used to travel around the world for his newspaper column, so it’s a little tatty, but I’ve had it since I was two, and I can’t imagine ever not having it. The big, brass lock is engraved with his initials; CAD, Charles Arthur Dobson. My name is Charlie Dobson, I was named after Granddad. The big, brass key is heavy. I keep it hidden behind my Biggles books on the top shelf of my bookcase in the corner of my room.

It was given to me to keep my Duplo, then Lego, in when I was small, to stop my bedroom floor being covered in small plastic pieces. I grew out of Lego long ago, but the chest has stayed. Now I keep my secrets in it. We all have secrets, don’t we? Things we’d rather other people didn’t know. I’ll tell you a few of mine. I know you won’t divulge them to anyone else. You’d better not.

When I was eight I was run over by a car. I was in hospital for six weeks with my leg pinned together. No football for me that summer. Once I came out of hospital people noticed that I wasn’t acting the same as I had before I’d been knocked down. I was snappy, and would fly off at the slightest thing. I even hit my mum one day; she’d said ‘No.’ when I asked to watch a video.

‘But why, Mum? There’s nothing on TV.’

‘I think you should go in the garden for a while and get some fresh air, love. You might not be able to play football, but there’s a lot of other things to do.’

‘Like what?’

‘Well, there’s the hoop-la in the shed. There’s the darts board on the back of the garage door, you’ve always loved playing darts. You could try your bike. The doctor said you could do most things now, as long as you don’t overdo it at first.’

‘But I want to watch the video, Mum. I don’t want to go outside.’

‘I said “no”, Charlie. That’s the end of the matter. Please go outside and get some fresh air. If you don’t want to play, then take a book outside. I’m going to vacuum the house, and I don’t want to be vaccing around you. Off you go, please.’

Next thing I knew, Mum was on the floor, a red river gushing from her nose.

‘Mum, are you ok? I’m sorry, Mum, I’m sorry. Mum, Mum? Wake up, Mum!’ I grabbed the tea-towel and held it to her nose. I felt awful. I could see drops of water on her t-shirt; that’s when I realised I was crying.

I was so relieved when she started to move, and her eyes opened. ‘Oh, Mum, thank goodness you’re alright. I’m so sorry, Mum. I don’t know what happened. Your nose is bleeding. Are you ok? I’m sorry, Mum, I’m sorry.’

‘It’s ok, Charlie. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.’ She said, but she didn’t look it.

Her face was so white you could see all the freckles that normally are hidden by her tan. And the blood! I felt sick, now, there was so much of it. I just stayed crouching there, until she started to get up. Then I leapt up, and helped her. She was a bit unsteady, and I pulled one of the stools from under the breakfast bar for her to sit on.

‘What shall I do, Mum? Shall I make you a cup of tea?’ That’s what adults always do, isn’t it, when something’s gone wrong? Make a cup of tea.

‘Yes, please, love. That would be nice.’ She said. ‘Come here, though, first.’

I turned back to her, and walked over. She pulled me to her and gave me a hug. ‘Don’t worry, son, you didn’t mean it. I know that. Make me a cuppa, and get yourself a glass of orange. I’ve been meaning to talk to you, so we’ll have a little chat and a drink. Okay?’

I nodded, and went to switch the kettle on. I put a tea bag in a mug for Mum, then opened the fridge to get some juice. By the time the switch clicked off I’d poured it out, and got the milk ready. I made it quite strong, just how she likes it, and took it into the lounge, where Mum was sitting. She’d been and changed her t-shirt, and washed her face, so she didn’t look as bad, but her nose was swollen and bruised. I sat down next to her, I felt like a little child.

‘Charlie, love, since you came out of hospital you’ve been finding it really difficult to control your temper, haven’t you?’

I nodded. I didn’t trust myself to speak, I felt like crying again, and boys don’t cry.

‘Well, I spoke to Dr. James yesterday, and he’s arranged for you to see someone who’s going to talk to you, and explain how to manage better. Then you won’t hit out at people, or be so cross when little things go wrong.’ She smiled at me to show that she wasn’t angry with me. ‘You know how sometimes, when soldiers come back from the war zones, like in Afghanistan, they suffer from Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome? Well, the accident has affected you in the same way. The counsellor will explain it better than I can, but apparently, after an accident that wasn’t your fault, it’s quite common to feel like you do. I’m taking you to see her tomorrow morning. Her name is Angela. Okay, honey?’

‘Yes, okay. I’m really sorry, Mum, I didn’t mean to hit you.’

‘I know, sweetie, I know. It’s okay. Dr. James says Angela knows all sort of tricks you’ll be able to use to help get back to normal. Let’s enjoy our drinks, shall we? Then I think we’ll both sit and watch a video together. How’s that?’

‘Yes, great. Can I have a biscuit?’

Mum nodded, and I ran off to get the biscuit tin.

Angela, my counsellor, explained all about “traumatic shock”, and said that what I was going through was common. It was more like an illness, not me being naughty. But she also explained that it was up to me to conquer it. Nobody else could do it, but she would work with me, until we’d found the best way for me. She called it ‘Anger Management’, and I saw Angela twice a week for the first month, then once a month for a while, then again after six months, and she said I was fine.

The best way we found for me to stop exploding when things went wrong was to write down whatever it was that had annoyed me; fold the paper up into a tiny ball, then bury it in the garden when I got home. Once it was buried, I had to recognise that it had gone, and was over with. I had to forget it and move on. Mum gave me a section of garden where I could bury my notes, and that’s what I did. At first. After a while, I was just burying pieces of blank paper; my real notes I locked away in my trunk. I also locked away my log of the retribution I’d taken against anyone who annoyed me.

Take Brian, for instance. He kicked a muddy football at me one rainy day in September. He kicked it at me, not to me, and my new coat was filthy. I asked to be excused during the afternoon lesson, and took his new jacket and stuffed it into one of the cisterns in the girl’s toilets. It wasn’t discovered for ages, not until someone complained about the toilet not flushing very well.

Then there was Arshid. He knocked over my Coke©, then laughed. That pissed me off, so later, when nobody was about, I peed into his glass of orange juice. I could hardly keep from laughing when he drank it later! Keeping my “Retribution Record”, as I called it, really helped. I never lash out at people now, no matter how mad I feel at the time. I heard somewhere that “revenge is a dish best eaten cold”. I know what it means now. Sometimes it takes weeks for me to find the perfect opportunity to take revenge, but that’s fine, it’s all the sweeter for the waiting.

If I can, I take something to remind me of my revenge; like a souvenir you’d bring back from a holiday. It might be a button, like the one off Brian’s coat, the lace from a football boot, taken so that Bobby couldn’t play in the school match final. They’re all locked away with my log book. I got that idea from an episode of one of the CSI series, where the murderer kept souvenirs of all his victims. Sometimes there’s nothing I can take to remind me, so I make a more detailed entry in my Retribution Record; I can relive it better, then, when I want to sit and gloat.

So, now you know my secret hiding place and some of my secrets. You’d better remember my name; and if we meet, be careful not to upset me. I always take retribution. Be warned!

boasting, my words were chosen

The Path
Photo by Jim Pankey "WildSpirit"
Jim's Photography can be found at Picasa and Fotothing
~
Suggested prompt...
~
Offer your creativity in any way you are inspired today by this delightful photograph.

I wrote the following simple words for this photo post:

We all follow a path. Old, young, rich, poor, black, white, whole or damaged.

.

Whichever path we take is the right path for us, there is no other.

.

Sometimes we walk in brightness and light and all goes well. Sometimes we walk in shadow, and things seem hard.

.

In the dark times remember the light, it's still there - we need light to cause shadows.

.

Walk onward to find the light ahead, draw strength from the light you left behind.

.

Whe your path runs in the light, store some up for the dark times you hit, then you'll never run out.

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This path is your path, make it a good one :)

boasting

This is more boasting - just another story with a twist in the tale!

Saturday, August 29, 2009

Street Food
Photo by Kane HsiehVisit his blog - Crimson-G-B~Suggested prompt...~Write a poem or story that has a street vendor in it.
_________________________

Monday to Friday he gathers his stock. Saturday he sets up his stall in the "Epicurean World" Street Market.

Monday to Friday he visits flats in slums. Dirt-filled parvements, cracked and unkempt beneath his boots. Landlords who take cash from their tenants, but give little in return.

He answers the desperate pleas of the slum dwellers 'This place is crawling with roaches. Please come and get rid of them.'

Like a magician in reverse, he magics away their problem. Leaving with a bulging, wriggling sack.

At home, he lights the gas under the pot of oil every night. As the smoke begins to rise he tips in the contents of the sack. The hiss, and bubbling soon subsides. He fishes out the contents, and sprinkles them with seasoned salt. Soon, his cotton-lined baskets are full.

Saturday morning, bright and early, he sets out his stall. He has an awning to protect his wares. He whisks the covers off his baskets, and awaits the eager buyers.

Freshly fried cockroaches. One man's problem, another man's delicacy.

christine

boasting, my words were chosen

This is the photo and suggested prompt on the Pictures, Poetry and Prose site on Sept. 4th, followed by my little effort, which was chosen (admittedly from a small selection) - we take crumbs where we may! :)

Photo by Jim Pankey "WildSpirit"Jim's Photography can be found at Picasa and Fotothing~Suggested prompt...~
Offer your writing at the beach today.
A story set at the beach, a memoir about a trip as a child to the beach,
a poem for a cute lifeguard, anything your like, do get creative.________________________

OK kids, are you listening? Today I want you to find the colour red. Do you remember what it looks like? Remember the coral we saw this morning? With the anenomes all over? Yes, of course you do. Well, they were red.

Now, spread out, no getting in each other's way, there's no need for that. I don't want any squabbling about who did, or didn't manage it. I'll be above you, watching.

The one who gets most hits gets first choice of the fish shpper, later. OK, ready to go? Remember, extra points if you get front and back of the same person, and you lose points if you don't hit the red.

Spread those wings. Ready, steady, fly!

christine

I wanted to write something unexpected, and taking a bird's eye view, and playing with their thoughts was what popped into my mind. I hope it raised a smile :)

creating a bereavement card, what to say

There are some cards that are not easy to make, and sympathy cards must be at the top of the list. After all, the card you send will intrude into another person's life at a sad time.

I've just made this one for an older lady whose husband died after a long illness. He'd not been home for 9 months, but went from hospital to nursing home.

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I know that she has strong religious beliefs, whereas I do not. This makes the wording inside tricky: I have no wish to ignore her beliefs, nor to offend by anything I say. I decided that to offer sympathy for her loss, whilst being glad that he no longer suffered would be appropriate.

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I found a card blank with a neutral, leafy background which has a lace effect border in sombre shades down the opening edge. I backed the aperture with a piece of black embossed paper. I centralised a clear gel "blessing" sticker on the paper, and found a couple of simple white lily embellishments which I placed at opposite corners.

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I cut a length of black grosgrain ribbon and stuck it down the left hand side with two pieices of double sided foam adhesive, leaving a small gap near the top. I threaded a smaller piece of ribbon through the gap in the foam tape, and knotted it on top, as you can see in the detail photo. Somehow this is less fussy and twee than a bow, and more appropriate for a sympathy card, I think.

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Inside I stuck a piece of plain white paper over the back of the front to hide the trimmings. I then created a white paper inner, and put an adhesive "corner" on the outer two corners, just to tie in with the floral adhesives on the front, in black and creams.

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It's simple, and I know she will appreciate the thought. By the way, sorry the photos are slightly bluish - believe it or not, the wall behind the card is off white,, and not blue, and the card base is white. The camera was clearly "off colour" (sorry, that was cringe-making, wasn't it?).

new short story,

I've just been on the Pictures, Poetry and Prose site, and I wrote this short story to accompany a photo of a long, lonely road. You can log onto the site from the icon on the right, if you are interested in seeing more of mine, and other people's writings:)
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The Hitch-hiker

I'd been ambling along for an hour down this arid road before I flagged down the car. Many had passed by, they always do, but they’re not all right for me.

This one is right. A young girl. Not too pretty, not too young. Just right. Vulnerable. Open to being waved down by a good-looking hunk like me. No point in being modest, I am a handsome devil.

We chat about this and that. She hasn't been down this road before. For me it's a road well-travelled. I describe the beauty of the area. She relaxes.

I tell her I'll treat her to an ice-cream at the next lay-by, which is just ahead, round the next corner. The van belongs to my cousin, I tell her. It’s where I was walking when she stopped to pick me up, as I do every weekend. I didn’t tell her that, though. I told her I was aiming for the next town, 10 miles on.

We'll draw up, he'll hand over two cones. One will contain a little something extra, along with the chocolate flake. She'll be asleep before she knows it, and I'll be a hundred dollars richer.

She'll come round, trussed up in the back of his truck. I'll be on my way in her car to have a little fun.

My cousin will have his fun later. I've never asked just what he does with them. I really don't want to know. No, really, I don't.

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I'd love to know what you think!

Best laid plans, decoupage card

Well, the best laid plans of mice and men, as they say, gang oft astray, and so it was with my neighbour's birthday party.

In the end I decided on hand and body cream as a present - aged skin can be quite dry, and I thought it would be something useful, yet feminine.

I created a floral birthdy card, with a little decoupage for depth. I made a slit in the side of the card about an inch up from the bottom edge, and threaded a length of grosgrain ribbon through, stuck it down, then stuck a bow over the join, at the left-hand side.

I hunted out the numeral 9 and 8 from my chipboard stock in toning colours, and stuck those to the ribbon at the bottom right.

I stuck a chunky foam "F" at the top left of the card, and in a matching felt tip pen wrote the rest of her name from that. I know she'll appreciate the fact that her name and age are on the card.

Unfortunately I wasn't able to attend the party after all. I popped round with gift and card, said a quick hello, then left. She was very tired with all the visitors.

Balloons had been filled and tied to some shrubs down the path to give a festive air to the occasion. They are still there, and I'm sure still giving her pleasure as she looks out of her window.
The cards will stay up for a while, too, reminding her of the people who love her, and care about her.

Another year marked, and gone. I wonder how quickly time seems to go for her. I find it whizzes by faster and faster as I grow older, but she's nearly twice my age, is it but a moment between birthday, Christmas, Easter, birthday? Maybe one day I'll discover for myself what it's like to be truly old, only capricious time will tell.

hand-crafted cut-out anniversary card

I was rather pleased with this card I made for my daughter's wedding anniversary. I had never attempted this style of card before, but wanted to produce something special for this lovely occasion.

I used 2 sheets of cream A4 cardstock, half an A4 sheet of yellow backing paper printed with daisy type flowers, a strip of matching velum, a small piece of mirror board, about 9" of lemon organza ribbon, a daisy punch, a scrap of toning yellow paper for punching daisies, some gold heart stickers, and a yellow anniversary greeting peel-off sticker.

First score one A4 sheet of card down the centre to make a regular A5 card. This is the outer card.

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The inner card is created by scoring the second A4 card into 4 equal sections across its width. I used an embossing board for ease, scoring on the gatefold and centre lines.Fold this inner card along the centre fold and cut out half a heart shape in the centre, so when you open up the card again, you have a perfect symmetrical heart, as you can see in the photo. Mine is about 5" long.

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Use the heart that you cut out as a template to cut out a piece of mirror board for the front of the card. Put this to one side for later.

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Glue half the sheet of backing paper across the centre of the inside of the outer card, so that when the inner and outer cards are stuck together, the paper shows through the heart aperture. See photo.

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Punch several small daisies in yellow paper. Stick a few on to the backing sheet to highlight the inside of the aperture. Stick the rest around the mirror board heart to give a neat finish, see photos.

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On the two plain sections of the inner card, score a heart pattern border, see photo. This isn't vital, of course, you could leave them plain, or decorate them in some other way. I stuck a daisy flower at the top of one border, and a double heart peel-off on the other.

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Assemble the card by laying the inner card on the table, blank side uppermost, so no stickers are visible, just the reverse of your embossing, if you did any. Use your favourite method of gluing card together, either sticky glue, or double sided tape for this. I used tape. Put your glue/tape on the two outer quarters - these are where you will fasten the inner and outer cards together. Lay the inside of your outer card over your now partially sticky inner card, so that you can see the plain front and back of the card (the backing paper side faces down, fitting across the heart aperture).

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When it is stuck you will have your aperture card, but the outside of the card is pretty boring! So, now take the remaining backing sheet, and stick it to the front of the card. Offset the matching velum by about half an inch, just to give a nice effect, at the left side of the front. Punch a hole at centre top and bottom through the velum, backing sheet and card. Cut the ribbon in half and thread one piece through each hole to hold the velum in place.

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Mount the mirror board heart in the centre of the card using some foam fixers for a little depth. Stick your peel-off greeting in the lower right hand side of the card. I stuck a gold heart peel-off at the top right for a little balance.

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I think it's lovely, but I'm biased, I know. The only thing that went wrong, (and invariably, something goes awry, doesnt' it?), was that I embossed my heart border upside down, so had to scrap my first inner card.

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But, being a crafter, I haven't thrown it away. I'll use the borders on another card, and the heart aperture, and the heart I cut out (yes, of course I'd done that before the embossing, that's how it was upside down!!) will be used somewhere else, perhaps in my scrapbook I'm starting soon.

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Enjoy your crafting, and remember, there's no such thing as a mistake, it's just a learning opportunity :)

greetings card making, pop-up cards

I thought I'd discuss some card stock I bought ages ago, to create some Christmas cards. Don't throw up your hands in horror like that! It's less than six months away, and if you're making your cards, you really should be thinking about it now - really!

I made some pop-up cards from some kits that I'd bought, which I thought you might enjoy seeing. The actual principle is very simple, but until I had the kit in front of me, I didn't realise just how simple to replicate they would be.

Once you've folded your basic card shape, to the size you need to fit your envelope, then the fun begins. To get the effect of these cards, all that you need to do is to get your craft knife, or scissors, and make four cuts in the folded edge of your card. I usually take a piece of scrap paper from the recycling box to try out my ideas, rather than risk wasting my good card!!! That way I can play about with my ideas, and use the successful ones as templates.

Decide how far in to the card you want your first pop-out to be, then make two cuts, about an inch apart, it's really not necessary to be precise. Then repeat from the other side at the point you want your next pop-out to be. Open up the card, and pull the small projections you've just created to the inside of the card. You attach your topper to the front of these, and when the card is folded, they lay flat inside.

Alternatively, you might decide to have just one, single pop-out, or three - it's your card, you decide. You could have one central "statement" decoration, or off-set it and place a greeting tag to the side.

You might decide to have a small forest of Christmas trees, so make a few small projections for them to stand on, but make differing depths to your pairs of cuts, so that when the projections are in the card, they are at different positions, to give more perspective to the card.

If you have a large topper to support, you might find it useful to make a projection that is a couple of inches wide, or place it over two of the smaller projections, just to help it to stand, rather than flop!

Obviously, you can use the technique for cards at other times of the year, I'm just starting to think about Christmas!!

On the outside of the card, the cuts will be obvious to the recipeint of the greeting, and this would spoil the effect. To hide the cuts, simply cut some suitable backing paper deep enough to cover the incisions, both on the front and the back of the card, and stick it down. Then use a matching topper to the insert that you've made, to decorate the front of the card.

Voila - a miniature work of art to delight a friend or family member :-)

Elna, sewing machine, restored, mains electicity power cable, insurance

Well, my Elna is now restored to the bosom of its family, ie me :) It has a new lightbulb so I can see what I'm sewing, and will hopefully last me another 30 years! I've a lot of work to do now!

I was thinking about electricity, as you do, and remembered the day when I was sitting at my desk at school when my secretary answered the phone, put her hand over the receiver and said to me, 'It's David, he sounds a bit funny, will you talk to him?'

Of course I said "yes", and she put him through:

'I've got some bad news and some good news, which would you like first?'
'The bad, then it can only get better.'
'I was digging up the conifer at the top of the drive, as we'd discussed, and got the electric saw out to cut the roots.'
'Yes? Nothing new there!'
'Suddenly there was an almighty bang, flash of blue, and I ran like the devil was after me back towards the house.'
'What????? Are you alright??'
'Yes, I'm fine. I was a bit scared though, I can tell you.'
'I bet you were.'
'The bad news is there's now no electricity to the house, and the electric saw blade has a section melted out of it.'
'Wow, goodness. Sounds like you're very lucky. What on earth happened?'
'The mains power cable was entwined with the roots, but it was quite invisible in all the soil, and the saw just caught it.'
'What's the good news?'
'I'm still alive - at least til you get back and kill me!'
'Oh, good. What have you done about it?'
'Phoned you. You'll have to phone the electric company and get them out.'
'Right, I'll do that. Stay away from it.'
'OK. See you later.'

I was shocked, to say the least, and very relieved that David was unhurt, apart from the shock, of course. He's taken out many, many conifers from around the garden. The previous owned, a very strange lady, had planted Leylandii all around the perimeter to give privacy, and it was one of the aspects of the property that I had loved, when viewing. However, when I'd moved in I realised that the garden recieved very little sunshine, despite having a South facing garden, as the untrimmed trees blocked it very effectively. So, they had to go. I wanted to grow vegetables, and they need the sunlight!

This was the only potentially fatal accident he had. He did fall out of a tree one day, but the branches broke only his fall, not his bones.

I called out the emergency repair service, as I didn't know how many people were without electricity due to the cut, and they were pretty prompt in their arrival. they patched it together, coverd the hole with a board, and promised to come back the next day to effect a "proper" repair. I was then billed for nearly £500, despite the fact that the mains cable was far too close to the surface, only about a foot deep. Fortuunately, the house insurance covered most of it, and I just had the excess to pay. Still an expensive tree removal!!!

Sewing machines, Elna, Good value, faithful friend

I can't remember not having a sewing machine. I remember one called Little Betty, which sewed a chain stitch when I was very small. The trouble with that was that it easily unravelled as it wasn't a lock stitch.

Then, when I was about seven, I was bought a full-size treadle sewing machine, which did "real" lock stitch. I think Dad picked it up at an auction. It had a wooden cover, which, when removed ready to sew, made a stool for me to sit on. I don't remember when that was sold.

Mum had a hand operated Singer when I was young, on which she made most of our clothes. She'd been a dressmaker and cutter before she married Dad, so it was second-nature to her, and we were cheap to clothe because of this, and always nicely turned out.

I remember being allowed to use her machine when mine had gone. Later, hers had a motor added, wow, no more turning of the hand-wheel! Yerars down the line, when my brother and I were older, Mum took a job in a sewing machine shop, becoming the manageress. She bought a Bernina, which she still has, nearly 40 years on. She always said that you get what you pay for, and Swiss machines were the Rolls Royces of the sewing machine world.

After I was married I sold my green enamelled machine and treated myself to my Elna SU. A Swiss model on a par with the Bernina that Mum had, but this was pneumatic!! It has little cogs to change around to enable fancy stitches, but I have to admit I haven't used many of them.

That machine helped me to furnish our house with all its curtains. I made fitted sheets, pillow cases and duvet covers. Thick winter dressing gowns for both of us - we didn't have central heating initially, so we needed them!!

I made many of my clothes, and trousers and even a tailored jacket for my husband. I sported a beautiful long cape in the 1970s, and maxi skirts galore. When I discovered I was pregnant I'd made three maternity dresses over a weekend. I made tiny vests and nightshirts ready for the baby, and all the bedding for the crib.

I'd say I made about 90% of Rachel's clothes when she was small, including romper suits with poppered legs. I carried her around in a sort of papoose that I made from a Vogue pattern in beige cord fabric, lined with a delicate rusty patterned fabric. When she moved to a full-sized cot, all her bedding went through the Elna.

I got the Elna out the other day to shorten some curtains from the last house to fit the ones in my new bungalow. I started to sew and was appalled at the racket emanating from my faithful old friend.

I took her in for an estimate to see what was the matter with her. The mechanic rang me on Friday. All she needed was a service, whew! She's been on the go for over thirty years, and never let me down. You really do get what you pay for, don't you? She was expensive, but has been worth every penny. And the service is only costing about £50, then I'm hoping she'll last another thirty years.

It's good to have a friend - no flesh and blood with this one, but treasured nonetheless :-)

writing, wasp nest, photo

So there I was, writing my new short story, when a voice calls 'Get your shoes on and come and see what I've found!'


Obediently, I set down the keyboard, and head for the kitchen. David stands at the patio doors, looking dishevelled. Unsprprisingly, really, as he's busy moving several huge boxes from the garage to the shed at the bottom of the garden ready for the cavity wall insulation team to arrive on Wednesday. (They'd arrived yesterday, but the surveyor had failed to inspect the garage, and therefore I hadn't been informed that the wall between the house and garage needed to be cleared ready for injection!)





As he had stacked some blue plastic baskets in the shed, he'd heard a buzzing. After glancing up, he fled the shed and came to call me.



I walked down with him, he wouldn't tell me what it was, I was guessing rats, mice, squirrels, he just wouldn't tell me. I soon saw for myself, and headed back to the house for my camera:)

You can see the blue boxes, and just behind them adjacent to the single shed door, (which we don't use, as you can tell from the ivy creeping in through it), is the wasp's nest.

If you look closely you can see a few wasps walking around quite nonchalantly.

They are fascinating objects, wasp's nests. When David was helping me clear out the loft about 3 years ago, we found a huge one under the eaves. It wasn't it use, so we dismantled it, and I took it into the junior school where I worked, for the children to see. The science teacher adopted it, and for all I know it could still be used as a resource! It was beautiful. All the different shades where different trees had been used by the wasps to form the paper thin walls made fantastic patterns in swirls.



It was incredibly lightweight, despite its size, and remarkably strong, though each layer was very delicate. Mother Nature has some wonderful things in her store cupboard. So many of us go through life with our eyes blinkered to what's around us. Yet miraculous things occur all the time, unapprciated for the most part. Like the humble wasp's nest. Truly beautiful, but hidden away by its makers. A remarkable feat of collaborative work.