A link with the past

Like many families we have a few family heirlooms.  Nothing spectacular, but they provide a link to the past.  Most of them fall into the category of jewellery which I imagine is the same for many families.

One, however, is a little different.  A silver thimble which once belonged to my great grandmother, Sarah.  It passed to my grandmother, and then my mother who has now decided the time is right to pass it onto me.

It might not be the most ornate or financially valuable (in fact I’m fairly sure it’s not worth much at all), but it’s now one of my most prized possessions.

We know it is pre 1910 and we believe it was given to Sarah when she worked at Blacketts in Sunderland as a seamstress.  It’s always been referred to by the family as ‘the silver thimble’ although I believe it probably has a steel core and then silver outside.  It’s certainly quite heavy.

This tiny little thing makes me feel very strange inside when I hold it.  It’s a direct link back through time to my forebears.  It’s not a fact, or a date, but a tangible object which has been used and loved.

I remember my grand mother using it when I was a child.  Even to my young mind I could tell there was something special about it for her.  Later as I grew I realised she treasured it because of the link to her mother.

Now it has passed to me and I find it’s stirring all sorts of emotions, the strongest of which is wonder.  I wonder at the ability of such a small, mundane, inanimate object to affect me.  It triggers a desire to know more about it’s history and also my own.  Did Sarah have any idea when she received this tiny bit of metal that one day her great granddaughter would look at it and wonder about her life.  Was it something she was happy to be given as part of a sparkly new job, or did she not really want the job at all.  Of course I’ll never know the answers but it doesn’t stop me wondering about it.

Here it is with a much smaller, lighter thimble which my mother used when she still sewed.  ‘The silver thimble’ is all well and good but was simply to big for her finger.  I must have inherited her hands as I have the same problem when I try to use it.

The Antiques Road show is due to go to Layer Marney Tower in May where my friend Maytheweed works.  I wonder if it would be possible to take it along and see if I could find out more about this little piece of metal which has touched my heart so deeply.  Then again, does it really matter?  Whatever they say won’t change the link if forms with my past, and that’s the magic this thimble holds over me.

Oh and Fire the cat seemed to enjoy watching me take these photos from his bed next to me.  I simply couldn’t resist taking a photo of him as well.

Pyrite Ammonite

Remember I mentioned a fossil from the Bead Fair?  We I finally got round to photographing.  It’s a pyrite (fools gold) fossil of an ammonite and I’ll admit I had never heard of pyrite fossils before.  In fact I initially thought it was a con!  However after a little bit of digging (mobile phones with internet are so wonderful for this) it appears to be genuine.

The blurb says it’s from Michaelov in northern Russia near Finland and formed in sediment which was rich in quartz, magnesium calcite, aragonite, marl and chabazite.  I’m taking that all on face value as I really don’t know.  The man I bought it from said it was 160 million years old and that seems to tally with the info I’ve found for these fossils online.

Regardless it is very pretty and will probably end up hanging on my wall as a decorative piece rather than being worn as jewellery.

Musings on a modern world

Earlier in the week my phone line went down.  It started with the voice line turning into cracklesville and I couldn’t get a dial tone.  This was quickly followed by the internet becoming more twitchy than a fluffy cat sat in the middle of a dog pound that had run out of food.

The result is no voice calls and the internet has become so intermittent its not really worth the bother.  At first – being a thoroughly modern girl – I fiddled with the connectors and, after assuring myself it wasn’t something I or the beasties had done, called the phone company.  One hour, two companies and six operators later they decided an engineer needed to come out because ‘I had a fault on the line.’  Funnily enough I seem to remember that being my opening comment to all 6 people I spoke to.  Still I suppose they’re just doing their job.

So you’d imagine faced with 4 days or so without modern communications (my mobile signal is terrible at home as well) I’d simply reach for my knitting and think nothing of the passage of time.  But not so.  Even if you discount the internet for work (yes I often work at home on an evening) I found myself all twitchy.  No Ravelry, No blogs, No Mysewingcircle…… NO INTERNET SHOPPING!

It’s not until we have something like this taken away that you start to comprehend how much it has infiltrated our lives.  Isn’t it silly that I feel aggrieved I can't shop online for stuff at 3 in the morning.  These photos are all images of some fabric I bought recently on a late night shopping trawl of the internet from Gone to Earth.

They’re designed by Tanya Whelan and I’ve not seen them in the local fabric shops.  Years ago I either wouldn’t have been able to buy these, or would have needed to do it mail order, possibly via a catalogue.

The plan is to make them into a quilt for my garden hammock.  I love my hammock.  It’s wonderful and I could rave about it for pages on end.  Yet, for reasons I won’t go into, I couldn’t really to use it last year.  However I’m hoping a nice new quilt to throw over it will allow me to bask in the summer sun once more with a nice cold drink.

So it was I decided (flushed with the success of my quilted cushions) to add a garden hammock quilt to my list of things to make.  The hunt for the fabric was on…

I’ve chosen these patterns as I want something floral but with a slightly vintage feel.  In my minds eye I see the primary colours as blue and white with just a little bit of another colour for accent.  While I was looking around I worried that many of the fabrics would be to bright, or the pattern too busy.  I want the quilt to be beautiful but not compete with the real plants and flowers close by.  Thanks to the modern world of communications when I found these beautiful fabrics I was able to order and pay for them at silly o’clock.  Within a few days they were delivered and now they are tucked neatly away in my blanket box waiting to be turned into my new garden quilt. 

It amazes me how much we come to accept and expect the convenience of technology.  How it has so quickly become the norm, and how much I miss it when it’s gone.  I really hope that engineer turns up soon and put’s me out of my misery…

The Trouble with Tribbles…

Anyone remember Tribbles?  Those furry little things that do nothing but eat, reproduce and trill when stroked from Star Trek.  Well recently I decided to make a furry doorstop for my bedroom.  I’ve been using one of my beautiful old stone hot water bottles for the job but I’d much rather have it in the bed with me warming my toes.

It was something I’d been thinking about for a while but I simply wasn’t sure what to fill it with.  I mean the obvious thing would be sand but that seemed as if it would be very messy.  Besides I worried that sand might seep through the seams.  Then I came across a posting on the Flossie Teacakes Blog where she mentions using rice for the job. Rice! And so I dug out the white fur fabric that I used to make my furry pillow cases and got cutting.  I decided upon a pyramid design and added a tab of white satin ribbon neat the top to make it easier to pick up.

Thing is it’s so cute I’ve now decided that I want one for the bathroom and I’m imagining eyes on the front.  Maybe I really have produced a Tribble and soon my home will be over run with them.

The cats and dogs are very intrigued by it.  Although as yet the dogs haven’t decided exactly what it is.  It’s been sniffed and snuffled at, and even used as a head rest, but the best bit is that it’s performing it’s door duties admirably and freeing the hot water bottle to fulfil it’s design purpose as well.

 

 

What do you read? – Dear Friend and Gardener

What sort of books do you read?  Do you have favourite authors and if so are you faithful only to them?  Perhaps you dot around from one genre to another?

Some bloggers I follow occasionally talk about what they’re reading.  This is usually (but not always) restricted to books related to the main focus of their blog.  Given how I enjoy reading these posts, and have even discovered some new authors this way, I thought perhaps I should do the same.

So here is the first up.

It’s called ‘Dear Friend and Gardener’ by Beth Chatto and Christopher Lloyd. 

I am fortunate enough to live quite close to Beth Chatto and visiting her nursery and garden is something I do perhaps four or five times a year.  It has nothing to do with their excellent cheese scones, honest!  Now in her late 80’s she has written many books on gardening and won numerous Gold Medals at the Chelsea Flower Show.  When you sit in the nursery tea shop it is difficult to not be impressed by those Medal Certificates displayed on the walls.

The garden is beautiful and once you realise that it has all been created from scratch it’s even more inspirational.

The book is a series of letters between Beth and another famous gardener Christopher Lloyd of Great Dixter.  So far I’ve not managed to visit that garden but believe me, if I ever find myself in the vicinity I’ll be there like a shot.

So why is this one of my favourite books?  Well, that’s difficult to explain.  I like different types of books at different times, dependant upon my mood.  There are times when I want something that will rivet, thrill and engross me, at others I want something to make me laugh.  Sometimes however, I want something safe and comfortable I can read without fear of upset.  The literary equivalent of that cosy armchair and blanket which you can snuggle into with a steaming mug of hot chocolate on a cold winters evening.  This book gives me that feeling.

There is a warmth between the correspondents which draws you in along with their obvious love of plants.  The idea of writing letters to a friend seems slightly old fashioned in this modern world of texts, emails, facebook and twitter.  Yet whenever I read this book I really do wonder if our reliance on these near instantaneous forms of communication has somehow taken something away from us.  A level of joy and eloquence in communication which seems to have been lost.  Perhaps quality really is more important then quantity.

 

I’m finally tweeting…

Up until now I’ve resisted twitter.  It’s always appeared rather confusing compared to the likes of Facebook and every time I’ve looked at it I’ve decided to close down the computer and put on the kettle.

However this time I was determined to be brave and persevere.  So far I’ve made it farther into the world of tweeting than ever before.  Of course this only means that I’ve managed to set up an account and make my first tweet, so it’s not as impressive as it sounds.

Unfortunately Mara is taken, as is Mara72, ditto for Fantasia and so I’ve gone for fantasiayarns and I believe it’s common to put an @ sign before to show it’s a user name.  So if I’ve got this right I’m now @fantasiayarns

Unfortunately the gadget that places the ‘follow me on twitter’ little button on the side of your blog doesn’t seem to be working, boo hiss… So I’ll just say that I’ll add it when it’s fixed but in the meantime if you’re a twitter user let me know!

Assumption is the mother of all…..

(I’ll warn you now this is a serious rant on my part)

Recently I saw a documentary on Caster Semenya, the South African runner who was subjected to a media storm in 2009 over her ‘gender’ and suspended from competing.  I sat in amazement, staring at the screen while expert after expert babbled on and on about how there is no scientific test for gender!  It seemed fairly obvious to me, if she was born with girlie bits and no boy bits, she’s a girl.  At no point was it ever suggested that she had knowingly tried to deceive.  The authorities kept going on about hormone levels and medical disorders potentially giving her an unfair advantage.  ‘Unfair genetic advantage’ was a term used a lot.  I found it interesting that all these ‘authorities’ were men.  Has anyone suggested that some of the really tall basket ball players shouldn’t be allowed to play because they have a genetic advantage (being tall), or Michael Phelps the swimmer should be disqualified for having large feet?  Yup, got it in one….  no-one is suggesting that at all.

Caster Semenya (photo taken from the Guardian Website – hope they don’t mind)

So what exactly was the problem?  Well as far as I could tell, some people consider her a little butch in appearance.  Now I’m sorry if I’m up on my soap box about this, but that really gets my goat.  Who is to say what a woman should look like? 

The media? They’d have us all skinny with boob implants.  Take a look at how women are represented on the tv or in magazines.  If you’re attractive, you’re thin in their world.  I work with teenagers and I know how many of the girls suffer from incredibly low self esteem simply because they don’t look like Kiera Knightley.

Hmmm so what about the Sports organisations?  Well Caster Semenya was 18 at the time and I remember all to well how I felt at that age.  Constantly worried about my appearance and desperately trying to conform to the ideals of how I was supposed to look.  The slightest comment could knock my confidence out the street, round the corner and then propelled it far out to sea where it was set adrift on a small rickety raft and left to die.

Thing is throughout the documentary I just kept wondering how those officials would feel if someone questioned their gender.  We all know how sensitive your average man is about his manliness.  In her mind this young woman is female,  she’s always been a female, and yet here were a bunch of people saying she wasn’t because she could run fast and didn’t look like their idea of a girl.  I just saw a teenager in a pink girlie top.

Anyway I shall stop ranting now and if you’re still reading I’ll just say thanks for letting me get that off my chest (a chest I might add that has not been and never will be surgically enhanced).