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– 2018/187 – crochet … something…

Monica Dunkley

November 13, 2018

One of my favourite craft magazines is Koel… the photography is incredible, the styling impeccable… it makes me feel calm and peaceful… and makes me wants to be surrounded by handmade objects and live slow.

Which is something totally ironic if you just knew the pace of this family. It ain’t gonna happen. BUT, one can hope and slowly begin..

Back to the magazine and crafting. My kitchen tea-towel/napkins/potholder situation is a mess. Too many colours and patterns and it gives me a headache, but equally I’m not going to throw things away just because I don’t like them anymore. (Am I the only one who struggles with the whole ‘let’s declutter and get rid of everything and feel smug about it? I mean, what’s going to happen to all the stuff we’re supposed to get rid of? Shouldn’t we keep it and slowly use it up? – let’s face it, no point getting rid of ten mugs and only have six in the cupboard only to having to buy some when these break… no? just me?. End or rant). Anyway, I feel the need to simplify so I’ve ordered some dark blue/indigo dye and my napkins are going in for a treatment in the morning. Wait and see.

Could be tragic. Might end up being one of my greatest ideas.

Back to Koel, following their suggestion I crocheted a new table mat/pot holder… whatever in wool. Using waffle stitch which now is (incidentally, autocorrect keeps wanting to change ‘which is’ for ‘chichis’… is that a joke?) my favourite stitch ever…

I used a lonely skein of Brooklyn Tweed, Shelter.

Because of the thickness the stitch creates it’s perfect under a hot plate or a teapot. and it is so tactile and visually pleasing I now would like to waffle stitch everything. Pillows and mats and scarves…

Somebody stop me.

– 2018/186 – poetry Monday

Monica Dunkley

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November 12, 2018

Non-combatants (by Evelyn Underhill)

Never of us be said
That we reluctant stood
As sullen children, and refused to dance
To the keen pipe that sounds across the fields of France.
Though shrill the note and wild,
Though hard the steps and slow,
The dancing floor defiled,
The measure full of woe,
And dread
The solemn figure that the dancers tread,
We faltered not. Of us, this word shall not be said.
Never of us be said
We had no war to wage,
Because our womanhood,
Because the weight of age,
Held us in servitude.
None sees us fight,
Yet we in the long night
Battle to give release
To all whom we must send to seek and die for peace.
When they have gone, we in a twilit place
Meet Terror face to face,
And strive
With him, that we may save our fortitude alive.
Theirs be the hard, but ours the lonely bed.
Nought were we spared—of us, this word shall not be said.
Never of us be said
We failed to give Godspeed to our adventurous dead.
Not in self-pitying mood
We saw them go,
When they set forth on those spread wings of pain:
So glad, so young,
As birds whose fairest lays are yet unsung
Dart to the height
And thence pour down their passion of delight,
Their passing into melody was turned.
So were our hearts uplifted from the low,
Our griefs to rapture burned;
And, mounting with the music of that throng,
Cutting a path athwart infinity,
Our puzzled eyes
Achieved the healing skies
To find again
Each wingèd spirit as a speck of song
Embosomed in Thy deep eternity.
Though from our homely fields that feathered joy has fled
We murmur not. Of us, this word shall not be said.

– 2018/185 – random Thursday

Monica Dunkley

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November 8, 2018

Today I have been exceedingly productive.

Go me, pat on the back, give me a cookie productive.

I started off the day by putting on working out gear with the good intention of going for a good hard walk. Then the sky opened and I’m not the walk in the rain type so I decided not to waste the outfit and do stuff around the house instead. Give that fitbit pace counter a ran for its money.

Rest assured nobody will notice how wonderful I’ve been. Nobody will notice my awesomeness because it was all along the lines of ‘descaling the coffee machine’… not…paint the walls a different colours (although… would teenagers notice that much? debatable).

So I descaled the coffee machine. I think that is commendable and will give me huge satisfaction to finally shut up that little voice in my head every morning when I go to make coffee “this machine needs descaling, it’s been months, maybe years”. Incidentally our Nespresso maching is soooo old the people in Customer Service hadn’t heard of it. They certainly don’t make it anymore and so the ‘descaling’ had to be kind of … guessed… from the instructions on other machines. Fingers crossed.

I planted the three amaryllis I bought from Aldi last week; this meant digging the under the sink cupboard for three planting pots and compost. Then I noticed the cupboard was a mess so took everything out of there, cleaned it, threw away few random things I forgot I had which meant I don’t need them and put it all back together neatly.

Then I moved to the cupboard next to it because I was already sitting on the floor .What a mess. I found two new pairs of rubber gloves and three new sponges underneath seven rolls of paper towels.

Then i moved to the boot room. The little room with the purpose built cupboard meant to hold the boys coats and shoes but that doesn’t because apparently the shoes need to be upstairs because otherwise how can they possibly decide which shoes to wear with what… I’d like to take a moment to remind you my children are all boys… but we we’re breaking down the traditional gender stereotyping around here.

Sigh.

I discovered three old cricket bats, 4 tennis rackets, 1 squash racket, three tubes, all half empty, of tennis balls, 2 squash balls, 1 cricket ball and one hockey ball. And four rugby balls of course. Plus a huge amount of mismatched gloves and tiny woolly hats that I’ll make them try on for size… but really is just for my entertainment and their annoyance, because it’s obvious they’re way too small. I take enjoyment when I can find it, don’t judge me.

Oh and eventually I did finished planting the amaryllis.

So on the outside, bulbs in pots aside… nothing is changed. But it’s the inside that counts, right? A place for everything and everything in its place, right?

Doesn’t it feel good to have tidy cupboards?

And now, because I’m super woman (if only for a day) I’m going to wrap up Mr M’s advent calendar..

Yours truly smug,

And nobody will notice.

– 2018/184 – Silene Cardigan

Monica Dunkley

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November 6, 2018

‘Silene’ by Pam Allen

The pattern for this really useful cardigan is to be found in this book: Loop’s 10.

I didn’t use the suggested yarn, but opted for De Rerum Natura, Gilliatt, which I absolutely loved. Stitch definition is great, it’s soft but feels … natural… if you know what I mean. I don’t like when wool feels over processed. And it’s good value for money. And warm. Very very wam.

The pattern has a clever construction and a swingy fit. I might have missed the odd increase here and there but it all worked out in the end. I get distracted by the tv you see, evenings are the only time I knit and it can get messy if I’m watching something interesting…

The instructions are good although I ended up with copious scribbles and notes to remember all the increases and decreases and row counts. Row counters don’t work for me… I need to write things down.

Taking pictures by yourself is not always easy…

As much as I love the elegance of bracelet sleeves, I’m soooo glad these are nice and long. The over stated cuffs are a nice touch too.

It was a relatively quick knit, 5mm needles helped! and I’m super pleased with it. It’s really warm and because it’s not too long it’s perfect over dresses and tunic, it doesn’t swamp you like some cardigans do.

The knitting mojo is definitively back.

Prepare for more grey…

– 2018/183 – poetry Monday

Monica Dunkley

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November 5, 2018

To know the dark (by Wendell Berry)

To go in the dark with a light is to know the light.

To know the dark, go dark. Go without sight,

and find that the dark, too, blooms and sings,

and is traveled by dark feet and dark wings.

– 2018/182 – Oscar the cat

Monica Dunkley

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November 4, 2018

I’m not a cat person. I spent all my life being allergic to cats, sneezing in their presence, itchy face and runny eyes. Then my parents decided to get one. Don’t know the reasons why, and I tried really hard not to get a little annoyed at having to take antihistamines every ime I went home, tried really hard not to be dismayed at the liberties this animal took. Let’s face it… cats do what they want to do. End of. You can’t train a cat, it trains you. Case in point: my dad is a retired general. Yeah. Scary stuff. You don’t want a general for a parent when you’re a teenager, trust me, and yet… it’s completely subjugated by this fat red-haired monster that lives in their house.

This weekend they were away and I was in charge of checking up on him in the morning and evening, feeding, change the water (always fresh water, every time he asks for it?… yeah I know, I rolled my eyes too)… paying him some attention. To a cat?? Do I need to chat to a cat?

Whatever. Old people and cats.

So I decided to do this week College reading at their house … ‘to spend time with the cat’. Eye roll no 2.

And then this happened:

He wouldn’t NOT leave me alone. I’m sure he knew he was being annoying… Cat KNOW exactly what they’re doing, because when I was about to fling him off the table… he went all cute on me…

Yeah… I’m onto you….

ps. he’s very very very very soft.

– 2018/181 – more macrame

Monica Dunkley

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November 1, 2018

You know the saying… When it rains, it pours?

Yeah.. that… for months I wondered aimlessly trying to get things started and not really knowing what to do and then when I decided to go back to college (albeit part time) bang!! I get asked for commission quilts and macrame hangers and friends want to start book clubs together and life goes crazy. And I love my studying… really love it.

I’m not complaining at all, don’t take this as a complaining post… it’s just… well, life is unpredictable right? And it’s good, I like it like that. Even if at times my brain feels like it’s about to explode.

Incidentally, do you know where that expression comes from? From a ‘salt’ ad back in 1911. The Morton Salt Company had developed a new technology that stopped salt from caking during humid conditions… (they reduced the grain size and added magnesium carbonate for you geeks out there), and it’s gives a positive spin on the old saying ‘it never rains but it pours’ which has a negative connotation. Anyway, end of your lesson for today, I hoped you took notes.

Back to macrame plant hangers… Folia Planting a gorgeous and stylish new shop opened in town and Louisa has asked me for a repeat order of these..

Don’t you just love these colours together?

I need a crochet scarf in these colours… or a big blanket…

I find macrame a really calm and meditative activity… I don’t listen to music, or podcasts… just silence (a rare commodity around in a house full of teenagers with different music tastes) and knots…

And very tactile too. Don’t ever underestimate the ‘mental’ value of making things by hand.

On a different subject… I’ve had a delicious bowl of porridge with bananas and pecans for breakfast, the boys have finally gone back to school, dinner is in the slow cooker and I’m about to see a friend I haven’t seen for ages.

Go me.

– 2018/180 – 48 years of books (1977)

Monica Dunkley

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October 31, 2018

The Passion of New Eve by Angela Carter.

After what I said about the other book by Angela Carter I read a few weeks back, you might be surprised to see another one here.. this latest one was part of my college course reading list and seeing that my ‘quest’ has been partly derailed by all the extra work I’m doing I thought I’d include it anyway. A book is a book is a book.

Is Angela Carter my favourite author? No, I wouldn’t say that… but her books are different and open up all sorts of discussions and pose questions and kind of stay with you for a long time and that can only be a sign that a book is worth your while. Chewing gum for the brain, it ain’t.

So what about this one…. gosh, where to start…

The plot is bonkers. End of. Immature and chauvinist Englishman Evelyn goes to New York, the city is full or riots/violence. Makes girlfriend pregnant, leaves her, gets stranded in the desert where gets kidnapped by a group of women ran by monstrous and mythical ‘Mother’ who physically turned him into a woman, Eve… rans away, gets taken in by a cult ran by one eye, one legged pseudo poet, Zero who talks in grunts and who’s convinced he’s been made infertile by Tristesse, this beautiful perfect woman/actress who lives in isolation in the desert in a crystal tower. Then Zero made Eve (now a woman) marry Tristesse (who turns out to be a man) and Eve gets pregnant and….

it’s too much. Seriously. Head spinning, circus meets Mad Max.

Except. Everything has a meaning, no imagery is left to chance, the language is rich and luscious and lurid and beautifully crafted. It manages to be funny in a dark dark way.. It’s a postmodern view of what’s like to be a woman, a victim, a vengeful being, an object, a warrior. The whole of society is turned upside down, there is no order anywhere…

I could go on and on.

Frankly I found it quite exhausting to read. I had to take breaks to digest it all, but like I said at the beginning it kind of sticks with you and it forces you to open your eyes to different issues. It’s more than a book, in a sense, almost a pamphlet, an allegory for what it’s like to be a woman at the time (it was written in 1977… I was young, really into Anne of Green Gables… so not aware of all the 2nd wave feminism going on around me) but also a warning about not going too far the other way…

… but it is totally bonkers.

– 2018/179 – a quilted gift

Monica Dunkley

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October 30, 2018

M’s story is not mine to tell… but it’s a little sad… and whilst I’ve never met her personally I know of her and Mr M and his friends from way back then are all helping her out

I wanted to do something too so I made her a quilt. It’s what I know to do.

A simple quilt, from fabric I had in my stash. A quilt made quickly because it’s getting cold and nobody should be cold in winter.

Warm browns and soft blues and flowers because I know she loves flowers.

Mr M said she liked it.

I hope it reminds her that she’s not alone.

– 2018/178 – Poetry Monday

Monica Dunkley

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October 29, 2018

This is how my week began:

Mr M, has a rash on his leg. Nothing serious, probably an allergic reaction to something or other and has been to the doctor and it’s all fine. BUT when the thing starts to itch he can only find relief by putting ice over it. So… do you know what he used during last night, unbeknown to me, instead of ice, in bed? A pack of frozen blueberries. BLUEBERRIES!!! and it leaked. On white sheets. Need I say more?
I thought I’d be nice and leave the boys asleep and put all the recycling out for collection myself. And then the gate lock was frozen. And I could hear the rubbish track at the top of the road… and I had to frantically heat the key with matches so that I could open the gate in time. (No time to boil water you smarty pants, you). I made it just in time.
I Put my breakfast egg in the boiling water and it must have been cracked because it simply exploded in the water… egg white everywhere. I was left with a hardboiled yoke.
I broke a glass whilst clearing the sink.
Had to skip my college trip because No 3 is poorly and my mother is poorly too so there was nobody there to look after him and his brothers.

I really should have gone back to bed, don’t you think?

Let’s have some poetry and enjoy the sunshine instead. Another from one of the Dymock poets, in honour of the trip to Dymock I didn’t attend.

Easter Monday (by Eleanor Farjeon)

In the last letter that I had from France
You thanked me for the silver Easter egg
Which I had hidden in the box of apples
You like to munch beyond all other fruit.
You found the egg the Monday before Easter,
And said. ‘I will praise Easter Monday now –
It was such a lovely morning’. Then you spoke
Of the coming battle and said, ‘This is the eve.
‘Good-bye. And may I have a letter soon’.

That Easter Monday was a day for praise,
It was such a lovely morning. In our garden
We sowed our earliest seeds, and in the orchard
The apple-bud was ripe. It was the eve,
There are three letters that you will not get.