slow skirt

Way back when the winter was still lingering, I took an old sheet, a borrowed pattern and started sewing a skirt.

It was almost finished before I came back to England. After two days travelling in my suitcase, I pulled it out, creased and crumpled, to show it proudly to my Mum.

"Look Ma, look at that waistband and invisible zip!", I proclaimed proudly.  "Box pleats, gathers AND French seams." 

She cast her critical eye over it, as I knew she would. And of course, she spied the botched job I had made of the zip, the uneven gathers et al. 

"Did you pin and tack before you machined it?" she enquired, knowingly. I didn't even need to reply.

And so my first rainy Sunday afternoon in Dorset, out came the seam ripper off came my beautiful French seam...hem...waistband, and that unruly zip.

One step forward, two steps back. 

Out came the pins and the tacking thread.

One step forward, two steps back. 

In and out went the needle as I tacked it all back together. And in went (an almost) perfect zip, under Mum's watchful eye.

This skirt was the perfect place to start dressmaking. Whilst probably a little on the ambitious side, it's my perfect style of skirt (hippy 1950's librarian!): billowing pieces of fabric gathered and pleated at a waistband, closing with an invisible (ahem!) zip on the side.

Tackling it under the patient eye of my dear sewing friend Jessie, I've learnt a heck of a lot of processes with this skirt: sewing side seams, waistbands and hems. Creating gathers and pleats and French seams. How to put in zips (ahem).

But perhaps the biggest lesson of all was the importance of proper preparation; it's better to go slow in the early stages, rather than rushing forward, to ensure that you don't end up having to go back and fix your mistakes...

Pattern: Mcalls 5631 , made here by Tilly (apparently she found it a bit tricky too!)

Location: Mudeford Quay (Dorset). Fish and chips (gluten-free!) at a favourite spot with my Ma and Pa was the perfect occasion to wear my skirt for the first time...

making lace

It's been years since I properly made some lace. The last time would have been sometime in 2006, just before packing my bags and heading off to University. There was barely room in my broom-cupboard sized study bedroom for my knitting needles and yarn. Needless to say, my bulky lace-making equipment was packed away for another day.

In between the rain showers this week-end, I snatched some time out in my parent's garden to get out my pillow again and throw some bobbins around. 

Traditional bobbin lace uses fine threads wound around wooden bobbins and much repetitive labour to produce fabric of great intricacy.

Lace-making is truly a labour of love. To craft even the most simple length of trimming requires great doses of patience and concentration.

Progress is slow, sometimes less than a quarter of an inch per hour, depending on the intricacy of the design, the fineness of the threads. 

From the pricking to the winding of the bobbins and finally to actually making the lace, seeing a design slowly unfold on the pillow is always a source of great joy. Thread by thread, pin by pin, the beauty of the lace reveals itself little by little. 

On-going studies at the Harvard Medical Institute for Mind and Body Medecine indicate that repetitive activities such as lace-making elicit the "relaxation response" which alleviates stress and allows the brain to set aside intrusive thoughts.
 

In the same way knitting and spinning seem to magically calm me, I felt the beneficial effects as soon as I picked up my bobbins again. Working at my pillow, I could feel weeks and months of stresses and strains fall away as soon as I methodically worked through the design.

I do hope that this time, I'll be able to find space for my bobbins and pillow when I head back to France in a while...

going slowly

Today marks the start of International ME/CFS and Fibromyalgia Awareness week. I've decided to share a few thoughts on the subject of "going slowly" during the next week...interwoven with craft of course!

Before this blog, I've kept other blogs. And in those spaces, I never talked directly about it. Partly because I was embarrassed and partly because I think, well why would anyone want to read about this? But now I realise that being open about it is vital for self-acceptance. Because although I've lived with this condition for now more than 15 years, coming to terms with the fact that I'm still ill has been proving really difficult just recently...

When I was eleven years old, I first fell ill. It has been quite a journey since then.

For many years, my life was at a standstill, passing me by as I watched on helplessly.

For many years, I wore nothing but pyjamas.
 

Somehow, against all the odds we soldiered on. There were times when the illness was all-consuming. But also brief periods of better health, when I was able to do things like my peers, all be it at a much slower pace: Study a French BA part-time at the University of Bristol. Spend 18 months abroad doing work experience as a part-time language teacher. Complete a language teacher training course. Meet and fall in love with a wonderful French man. Move back to France to live permanently.


In 2012, aged 25, I graduated from university with First Class Honours. The euphoria of that day, where I seemed to have overcome my difficulties and conquer my own personal Everest made me believe that anything was possible. That somehow, the mere fact that I had "done my time" with the illness and still managed to get a degree would mean that now was the time I would finally "grow out of it" as everyone had always expected me to...

Now at the age of 27, life seems to have ground once again to a standstill. The past six months in particular has been very tough, as increasingly poor health has forced me to stop working as a self-employed linguist for the time being.

This time two years ago, I was preparing to take my finals, graduate from University and then move permanently abroad, with no specific job prospects or family nearby. Emerging into adulthood is frightening enough at the best of times. But it's been even harder trying to do it in a foreign country with a chronic illness that no one seems to understand.

There are no longer my parents to buffer the unhelpful comments and incomprehension of people. I've had to learn to stand on my own two feet. And sometimes that takes a lot of my precious energy.

The worst of it, is once again having to re-adjust my horizons, learn to accept my limits.

The past year or so, I've really struggled to accept the fact that I've got this illness for life. Without realising it, I was convinced that once I had a University degree under my belt, this illness would somehow magically disappear and I'd finally be free from it's shadow to get on with the rest of my life. No such luck... 

For months and months I've been feeling particularly under par and that seems to have plummeted me into a rather blue frame of mind. 

But coming away from the valley for a few weeks rest and recuperation with my family is offering me a fresh perspective on things.

The thing that has been getting me so very down these past months is that I felt I was being dealt a raw deal from the Universe by having no choice in whether I was ill or healthy. Now I can see that I do have a choice where before there seemed to be none. If this illness is indeed to be long-term, I can choose the way that I deal with that information.

Either I can go with the perspective that it is utterly limiting to have to live so slowly.

Or I can embrace this slower pace as an opportunity to live a simpler, more sustainable and more deliberate life, one which offers infinite wonderful possibilities, rather than a whole heap of limitations.

I haven’t quite made my mind up yet.

bear # 6

I cast on this little chap on the ferry back to England and finished him off this week. He has a long body and short arms and legs, similar to bears made in the 1940s and 50s.

Pattern: Bertie and Bruce by Sandra Polley from The Knitted Bear.

Needles: 2.75mm

Yarn: approx 50g DK weight (unknown) thrifted yarn
Stuffing: washable, safety stuffing

drop spindle

Over the weekend, my Papa kindly made me a new drop spindle to replace my own crude attempt.  

My spindle is made from odds and ends found around the house: an old wooden knitting needle and the offcuts from my brother's work top. It's low whorl, weighs about 50g and is imperfectly balanced and a little clunky. But oh how I love my new tool! And what fun I had spinning as I walked along the shore, looking for treasures amongst the flotsam and jetsom and trying not to drop my spindle into the water when the waves rushed up to the shore.     

spin, span, spun

So here are my first samples of hand spun! The learning curve on this has been steep, in the space of two months I've been teaching myself the crafts of spinning (with both wheel and drop spindle), plying and natural dyeing (not to mention the various stages of fibre preparation which precede the actual spinning...).
 

Oh I know these yarns are lumpy and bumpy, horrendously uneven and far from perfect. I made countless mistakes here and there. But even to my novice's eye, I feel I can see progress as I examine the samples from left to right.

As a teacher and learner of languages, I've always been an advocate for experiential learning - the type of learning process where you jump straight in at the deep end (even if you don't know how to swim!). I certainly have learnt a great deal by doing with this very first batch of yarns.

The best part is that I made these skeins of yarn. Actually made them with my own hands - transforming dirty, smelly fleeces into skeins of knobbly, bobbly yarn. I love them so very much.

I can't wait to get something cast on with these balls - all 123g of it! I wonder what I shall make first?

stan the dinosaur

My nephew was six earlier in the year. I couldn't resist knitting up this friendly little fellow as a belated birthday present. Stan the dino was a dream to knit up and I particularly enjoyed making the moss stitch spines which were knit in a long strip from the head to the tail. At times, the pattern was a little tricky to follow, so although simple, this is probably not a suitable project for a beginner. 

Although my nephew would probably have preferred me to knit him something from Star Wars, he still seemed rather delighted with his new friend, playing with him all afternoon!

pattern: roaring dinosaur by Zoë Mellor (Knitted Toys, Hamlyn)
needles: 3.25mm
yarn: thrifted acrylic mix (approx 100g); washable stuffing

between swims

Dunking ourselves in the channel, despite the chill. Feeling the tide's pull. It's been far too long between swims. It' s been far too long since I last saw my big sis.

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birthday bear

A month ago, it was my birthday. In the morning, my chéri baked me a cake, first mixing salty butter with the sugar, eggs, dark chocolate and orange juice. He buttered the pan and then he buttered himself too. He licked his fingers a lot and let me lick out the bowl once the mix was in the oven.

 

Throughout my childhood and adolescence, there was always an afternoon tea to celebrate my birthday. Always a home-made cake to share. And always a little china teddy bear sat amongst the candles.

I had knitted a little ted to sit on top of the cake once it had cooled. We finished it off with some cowslips, one of our favourite edible spring flowers.

pattern: Molly, Toby and Jack by Sandra Polley from The Knitted Teddy Bear
yarn: 2 ply, wool yarn (fingering weight)
needles: 2mm

another year

 

A month ago today, I turned 27.

Waking to yet another poorly day, I'm struggling to find any hint of improvement; my body is still aching, I am still exhausted. The calendar tells me that I am another year older. The warm breeze through the open window confirms the seasons have changed. And yet I am still sick. The urge to kick off the bedsheets once and for all is great.

I'm back to square one at the moment, large stretches of the day spent alternating between our bed and the sofa. Yet all around me, friends are spreading their wings. On the horizon for them: babies, weddings, more rungs on the career ladder, adventures in sunnier climbs. If I think about it when I'm tired, I'll only let the green eyed monster of jealousy into my heart and that won't do me any good at all.

So it's best to focus on other things, closer to home. From here in my bed, my mind sets sail on an adventure. Wild garlic down by the river. Picnics in the woods. New woolly projects on my needles and wheel. With a conscious effort, I can let happy thoughts flood my daydreams. Longer days are imminent and I look forward to sunny ones pottering around on our balcony. There is much to mourn. But there is even more to be thankful for.