The Whisper of the Stars
Hello to you on this chilly January afternoon. We’re being threatened by snow and it seems no idle threat. The sky looks very grey and low-hanging. I think Mrs God has given the feather duvet a good shake out and skittered feathers all over the place.
I have invested in a pair of those strap on doodahs – the shoe gripping, walk-on-ice oojimaflipflops. Actually, I bought them nearly three years ago but haven’t had an opportunity to try them out so am quite excited to see if I’ll be able to make it to the end of the drive without performing the Bolero. Obviously, not performing a dancing-on-ice routine will disappoint the neighbours, disperse the crowds and make BBC film crews redundant, but tough grit.
Just pulling your leg but getting injured with ice is no joking matter. Really. There were 2040 accidents recorded in the UK as a result of frozen food interaction – ranging from losing part of a lip (getting a lip stuck on a glass of frozen liquid) to cases of concussion and being knocked unconscious by frozen lasagne! Means forays into the new (most wonderful and venerable freezer) is now a high-risk activity and maybe best left to some future time when I’ll have had appropriate training and been to Milletts to collect all the safety equipment and clothing to keep myself safe. I have the shoe grips – that’s a start! Am I over-reacting? Not at all. If all my fingers dropped off with frost bite how would I be able to operate a pneumatic drill and JCB to dig the foundations for a new septic tank, for example? You see the dilemma.
And did you know that in Siberia, and other geographical locations where temperatures regularly drop below minus 55, breath turns to ice crystals in the air and fall to the group with a whooshing sound? The Yakut call this sound ‘the whisper of the stars’ . Doesn’t it lend new meaning to ‘my words hung in the air’? And we moan about a bit of snow!
Was listening to ‘The Unbelievable Truth’ and loved the assertions that ice is made from the tears of snowmen and all ice cream is cold because it’s haunted. Obviously lies when we all know that ice really comes from snowmen’s testicles. Snowballs.
And as for signing one’s name in the snow – more of a male thing for obvious reasons – did you know the Germans have a brilliant word, albeit derogatory, for men who sit down to pee? The word is Sitzpinkler which is a squinch away from Sitsprinkler which is so wonderfully self-explanatory. I must learn German, I love the language.
I’ve been sewing a bundle and using up lots more scraps. Remember the houses I put together with some machine embroidery and some stitch-like-nobody-is-watching free-motion? I’ve used one to make a sewing case and it’s very handy. I should have made one sooner instead of the legions of pin cushions that litter the house like colonies of porcupine love children.
The middle is a rectangle of batting decorated with rows of machine stitches. Very preety.
Owl lavender sachet
More lavender sachets – another owl but this pattern easily transforms with quick tweaks into a cat. Look into the eyes – not around the eyes – and you will see… … ) the mesmer process helps the visualisation).
These stuffies look very sweet on coat hangers and keep the wardrobe smelling beautiful. It reminds me of Kate Bush in the Babooshka video – where she throws back her cape. Can you see it too? You can? What are you on?
I ran up another chef’s hat (oh, the exertion). The flower was made from more scraps. Two petal shapes stitched right sides together, turned out, gathered with a running stitch and secured with a big button. You can get the petal template from the Wildflower Pincushion template (Google for the pattern).
Jess and the song of the teddy head
Here’s my lovely Jess, relaxed and half-asleep. It’s a hard life, eh?
And with her beautiful eyes open just checking out what I was up to:
She has a little teddy head that she picks up and carries about and croons, trills, yowls and ‘sings’ as she does so. After a short while, she puts it down, generally somewhere near me. I haven’t a clue what I’m supposed to do but I pick it up, give it a quick kiss and praise it and her for being lovely and clever and thank her profusely for the ‘gift’. She doesn’t want to play with it or do anything more with it at the time. Anyone give me a clue what I should do or am I doing ok?
Anyway, time to get my skates on and fly out the door. My metaphors are mixed but you know what I mean. Bye for now.