early morning sounds

 

A rumble of distant thunder. The pitter patter of rain on the rooftop. The coffee pot gurgling on the stove. The snip snip snip of my scissors. The whirring of the sewing machine as it wakes up after it's long hibernation.

a hand-sewn wedding

Une mariée si belle dans sa robe de dentelle Chantilly cousue-main (les fleurs du joli bouquet aussi), un mari tout heureux, une témoin-interprète qui avait un peu le trac pendant la cérémonie...

Puis...avec un "oui" bref, ils deviennent époux et s'appartiennent désormais.  

Vive l'amour bilingue! 

※※※※※

The bride was just stunning in her hand-sewn gown, with exquisite Chantilly lace and hand crafted bouquet. 

The groom was glowing with joy, grinning from ear to ear like a Cheshire cat.

The witness-interpreter was more than a little nervous during the ceremony.

And then...with a simple "I do", they became man and wife, belonging to one another from this day forth. 

Hip hip hooray for love in two languages!

busy hands

We're now back in our valley home, after a few weeks away. Lately, fatigue has been becoming more and more a heavy weight around my neck. Not the everyday tiredness that comes from leading a hectic life. Nor the Sunday morning sluggishness and lethargy be-known to students brought on by one too many sugary cups of coffee, frequent late nights or not enough fresh vegetables. Rather an exhaustion that greets you when you wake in the morning, that a good night sleep won't lift. A tiredness so consuming it seeps into your bones, that could drain away all happiness if you let it do so.

Just a few short months ago, I was a teacher and translator. Working for myself from home. Weaving together words and untangling muddled syntax. It feels like another life ago. I've been off work since March, too ill to work. And as this current rough seems to be showing no sign of abating, looks like I'll be taking the rest of the summer off too.

As we try to navigate our way back to that path of wellness, my days have been stripped back to the essential. Eating wholesome food. Fresh air. Long sleeps. Deep breaths.

Foraging in the woods helps. Picnics in the sunshine helps. Spending time with friends helps. And above all, keeping my hands busy helps.

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...

mending pile

For as long as I can remember, my Mum has altered and mended our clothes. Sometimes, she may be darning a hole in my Pa's work trousers, replacing a lost button or turning up a new hem on a raggedy pair of jeans. 

The same old biscuit tin turned sewing box still lives beside her Bernina sewing machine in the spare bedroom. Inside, a smaller tin houses dressmaking pins, numerous tape measures and thimbles, all nestling in a wreath of cottons. There are always odd buttons, safety pins of all shapes and sizes and lengths of sheering elastic. The same old pair of dressmaking scissors I was forbidden to touch as a child, "Only for cutting fabric...". And next to a married life time's full of dressmaking accoutrements, sits the mending pile. 

 

On my first Sunday back home, the April rain is pouring steadily down the window pane. We make a pot of tea and settle ourselves into a corner of the conservatory. Mum threads her needle, I observe. The pitter patter of April showers on the rooftop overhead. Today, her quiet labour breathes life back into my favourite, worn corduroy skirt. She darns the wear and tear around the zip, making it good as new. Mending appears at times a tedious task. But it is a sort of magic, a trick that she has performed for as long as I can remember.

In a while, she will take me back up to the spare bedroom to perform another magic trick: under her watchful eye, she'll help me finally finish my skirt. But for now, as the rain steadily fals outside, I am engrossed as I observe this quiet domestic task. Now it is my turn to turn up, pin and then tack the hem of a new (to me) pair of charity shop linen trousers, just a little too long in the leg. With her calming patience and this gentle industry, she is teaching me to mend and make do. It is re-using and recycling, making do and mending at it's most simple, and most meaningful. 

snowing and sewing

It snowed all day. We sewed all day, side by side.
The next morning, there was half a centimetre of fresh snow on the rooftops. And I have a half-finished skirt (with pleats and gathers!)

stashing

Going for a rummage at the recyclerie naturally means I come back with a heap of useless junk treasures that need sorting and laundering and organising. 

Coming home with a crate of old sheets, curtains, bedspreads and pillowcases naturally means that I'm aching to get started on a heap of new projects right away. 

I started by doing the laundry....

hello, sunshine

The past few days have been just glorious. Warm breezes, cloudless skies, sunshine on our faces. Trees, flowers and hedgerows bursting into bloom. White blossoms against swathes of blue sky. Delighted cries of "It feels like spring summer!" when bare legs and bare toes get their first outing of the year.

We're halfway through the new month and I've decided to take a break from work. I need a bit of breathing space. To slow down. To gather my thoughts. To listen to the rythms of my body. To find a place for healing.  

It's not been an easy decision to make, and we certainly haven't taken it lightly. Right now, I'm a little afraid of what this is actually gonna mean for me, for us. But as the anxiety and tension gradually melt away, I'll gradually be able to appreciate the decision. This slower life is exactly what I need right now. Knowing that I have nothing to do but to listen to my body, to pace myself, to finally find balance. I'll have time for siestas. Time to slowly walk around the village, leaning heavily on Nico's arm. I'll have time. Time to sit out in the warming sun and do....absoloutly nothing.

As we step into this newness, as we slow down, I say with a joyful heart: "Hello, sunshine. You are so very welcome."

scissors to cloth

The other day, I remembered an article of clothing, something I wore long ago when days were warmer. I have a few of them folded neatly on my bottom shelves, relics of another time. But for some time now, I have also had one in my imagination, wondering when it will be sewn into a reality...

There was only one way to find out. I spent the afternoon over at my sewing friend's house. I took an old pair of blue curtains, pins and a pattern. As snow fell in great swirls outside, I put pins to the pattern and scissors to cloth, getting started on my very first skirt...

hedgehog

The holidays are late this year. Like the first signs of spring, they took their time coming. But today is the start of the holidays, so the fortnight of lesson-free days has begun.

And I'm overwhelmed with a strong urge to get to know my sewing machine. Yesterday, I went to Pau with my sewing buddy in search of fabric for her wedding dress. I ended up coming back with a few metres of fabric myself. All I needed was a pin cushion.

...

I took a few oddments of yarn.
Followed this super easy pattern.

Stuffed it well with some carded wool.
Et voilà...a new pin-cushion knitted up in less than two hours.

sewing machine

I was really spoiled this year. Father Christmas my mother-in-law kindly gave me a magnificent Singer sewing machine. To be more precise, she very kindly entrusted into my care her first ever sewing machine. I'm so excited! I can hardly contain my enthusiasm to get a project properly on the go, to thread up the machine and get to know one another.