Crafty little sew-and-sew

"Catching all passions in her craft..." - Shakespeare, "A Lover's Complaint"

Inspiration often comes from the most usual sources. For our joint birthdays this year, the DEB and I decided to take our adorable little camper van for a week-long getaway in Snowdonia (North Wales). In preparation for this trip, we visited a local caravan shop near Coughton Court, as we needed a bit of cabling to connect our awning to the railing on top of the camper van. The actual cabling unit he needed was unavailable, but the shop had the materials needed to create one, the two strips just needed to be stitched together.

Possessing the heart of a would-be-crafter, I stepped forward to save the day by offering to stitch the strips together -- by hand. Upon returning home, I was struck by the heft of the task that lie before me. I weighed the situation, and thought the better of it, it would take me ages to do by hand. The DEB suggested I contact one my WI chums, and make use of their sewing prowess - and a sewing machine. 

A great suggestion, but one that left me troubled. I could be a Sewing Goddess too, if I had the right kit! Then, it occurred to me, why don't I have the right kit? Why have I never ever bothered to acquire a sewing machine? I blame the US feminist movement of the late 1980s! There. I've said it. 

In those heady university days, at least where I found myself, one kept ones crafty "tendencies" -- we certainly wouldn't have dared to called them "ambitions" -- quietly to oneself. Even before that, I remember how, when I was I high school -- I attended a prestigious girl's prep school academy -- my friends who attended other schools used to joke that St. Mary's was just a "finishing school for future society spouses", and laughed at the way we "Belles" were "forced" to take regular classes on Home Economics and Home Management. However, our school took 'real life' issues as seriously as Latin or Physics. I wasn't thankful at the time, but I am very thankful today.

And now, whaddya know, the whole world is hooked on bake, make and re-make! Everyone's clambering to be crafty! Me, included. 


My quest to solve a problem and release my inner sewing diva had begun! After a bit of online research, I went along to the Leamington Spa Sewing Machines Shop, Royal Leamington Spa's own sewing centre. There, inside the lovely bubbly-gum pink storefront, I met Sue Smith, who graciously gave me an afternoon of her time introducing me to wonders of the modern sewing machine. I was petrified, as I panic at very the thought of measurements, measuring, numbers and the like, but Sue was very reassuring, reminding me that I can read. And, if you can read, you can sew!

Sue was staggered by my revelation that my most 'recent' quilting project took me all of five years to complete by hand. (!) "You will be amazed," she said, "at how liberated you will be with a machine." Technology. I felt like a cave dweller, knuckles firmly dragging the ground, being encouraged to come forth into the light...

And the light, at the end of the tunnel, was a JANOME 2200 XT. A very sexy piece of kit, 100% luscious girl gadget (with 22 stitch functions!), perfect for the nervous, sewing machine novice. I rushed home to play with my new toy and instantly fell in love!

By the time the DEB arrived home from work, the awning cable was done and ready to be tested! "Wow!" said the DEB. "Wow!" said the very happy me.

Of course, the awning cable was ridiculously easy to do -- even though it was fiddly and awkward material to work with -- and only took me the best part of 15-20 minutes. By hand, it would have taken me hours. I felt like Hermione Granger with her infinity bag of goodies, what could I not achieve with this machine? I ran up the stairs and tipped out the contents of my sewing basket -- my hoarded stash of beautiful fabrics -- mostly William Morris designs -- that I have collected over the years, with the intention of creating something 'one day'. Maybe now, I'd actually do something! And, of course, the non-existent "wedding quilt" still waiting, after two years, to see the light of day. Maybe now, that too would actually get done.

It's funny, I do know some real quilting purists would never ever use a machine, and see quilting by hand as the only true form of that art. Sorry, sisters, I gotta move on! 

Nerd that I am, I felt I needed to arm myself with some knowledge. So, while I was in Oxford recently -- had to go to an Open Day at Magdalen College to meet up with my new chums from BADA (British American Drama Academy, more on them soon!) -- I treated myself to a visit to my favourite Waterstone's bookshop in Oxford's High Street. 

The Craft section of this Waterstone's is amazing. I was spoilt for choice, but one title literally jumped off the shelf  at me: The Busy Girl's Guide to Sewing: Unlock your inner sewing goddess - projects, advice and inspiration for a creative lifestyle by Carrie Maclennan. Perfect. (I also treated myself to a tiny paperback of The Designs of William Morris *SIGH*)

Carrie Maclennan's book is a godsend! So inspiring. I read it from cover to cover while we were on holiday in Wales, and just couldn't put it down! Surprisingly, Carrie's a novice seamtress, though she's been in the craft industry for years. So her book is written from the refreshing perspective of a novice, who is learning as she goes along, as opposed to that of a smarty-pants know-it-all. 

As a result, the whole time we were in Wales I was chomping at the bit to get crafting! Thankfully, North Wales is treasure trove for crafters. While we were in Harlech, I discovered a fantastic little fabric shop called Cae Du Designs. I caught the owner, Dee, just as she was about to close for the day on sunny (yes, sunny!) afternoon after a long-day at the beach. We started chatting, and before we knew it were wading through all her gorgeous fabrics!

I was keen to find material for the languishing wedding quilt. And Dee did not disappoint! After a few hopefuls, Dee struck pure gold. She unearthed the most beautiful silk/cotton fabric called "Bay Trees", which was absolutely perfect in colours of cream, taupe, lavender and sage. *SIGH*

Before the the arrival of the sewing machine, I was dreading the prospect of facing (yet another) hand-sewing project. For me and hand-sewing, simplicity rules: keep it simple with just two different fabrics in a (boring) square block formation. 


Well, now that I am all "tooled up", I can be much more adventurous! I went mad and bought as much of the fabric Dee suggested as I could carry! (£18.00 per metre - naughty!) More than I will ever need, but, it was oh, so gorgeous, I will hoard it forever!

While is Wales I also starting building my basic sewing tool box, as recommended by Carrie Maclennan in her book. That's been fun, too. Ebay is an incredible and inexpensive source for wonderfully crafty things like embroidery scissors, tape measures, pins, fabric markers, etc & etc. Now, I just need to time and space to craft...

Isn't strange? Now that my professional life here in the UK is (finally, finally) starting to 'heat up'; I am discovering a completely engaging and all-consuming past time?

   

A time of firsts

This week has seen the commemoration of quite a few significant firsts: the first man in space (Yuri Gagarin, 12 April 1961), and the adoption of the Union Jack as the official British flag (1801).

On a far more personal level, it has been a period of significant firsts for me, too. This past weekend, Team DEB completed our massive 15K charity swim. It was amazing. We were utterly exhausted after a week of hard-core swimming, but the finish was positively exhilarating!

We had balloons in the pool, and we popped a cork and had champers after we crossed the finish line. And, it was a team finish, as we swam the last lap in tandem. Marvelous, and a truly incredible experience.

From this awesome experience, I have learned that I am much stronger and braver than I realize; and that people are far more generous than you might expect. Same time next year? Absolutely!

My other “big first” was assisting The Vicar in his School Ministry pre-Easter assembly programmes. Another amazing experience. Very early mornings, working with adorably well-behaved schoolchildren, leading them in acting out the stories of Palm Sunday, Holy Thursday and Good Friday.

The request came as a bit of a surprise, but then, not really. First of all, with my theatre background, I should hardly ever be surprised when anyone asks me to do anything!

And secondly – a rather big confession coming here – a few weeks ago, I met with The Vicar to have “the talk”. The “vocations” talk, the “I-think-I-might-be-being-called-to-do-something” talk.

For many, many years, in fact, I have toyed with the idea of pursuing holy orders and becoming a Deacon. At my old parish in NYC, there was something in the air it seemed. Every week someone else was signing up for Holy Orders and joining the Deaconate! It really was that sort of zealous, joyous place. I never did then. Only because I wanted to be sure that my “call” was mine, and not just a case of collective exuberance!

I now feel, more than ever, that my calling, is, well,…calling. I love my tiny, English parish, and I do wish to serve it in any ways I can. I’m currently a member of the Parish Council, a part of the Morning Prayers group, and recently became a church “key holder” (My father would be so proud. He was a long-life Church Warden.)  

My dear friend, Paul, recently became ordained, and we met for coffee a few weeks ago in Stratford-upon-Avon to discuss “the journey”. Paul’s situation is really interesting. His chosen position is that of “Ordained in Secular Employment”, which basically means he is ordained, but maintains his regular job, and once a week he wears his clerical collar to work. Very interesting, to reveal and live out ones faith in such a way.

I like the choice that Paul has made, and I really appreciate that the Church of England has so many unique paths to follow for those wish to serve. Of course, it is still very, very early days for me. This is a path that will take years and years to come to fruition, if it does at all.

The period of “discernment” both for the potential candidate, and for the powers that be is quite lengthy and arduous. Then, if one is even successful to make it through those phases, there are years and years of training to follow. (More school?) So, at the moment I am just taking my time, seeking and thinking about it.

First things, first.

From the sublime, to the ridiculous: my last big first is…packing. The DEB and I are off for three days in Ghent. The DEB is attending a training session for work, while I get to play “The Corporate Wife” at long last!!

Of course, I had to buy a new travel case that looks appropriately “Corporate Wife” enough. I opted for stylish and small. The DEB stunned when he saw the case. He thought it was a new handbag.  “You’ll never get all your clothes in that,” he laughed heartily. I am determined to prove him wrong! I can pack light.

And, that will truly be a first.  

Vacation, all I ever wanted...

Why is returning to life after being on holiday so difficult? Or, perhaps a better question is Why can't we just be on holiday all the time?

At any rate, we're back after an incredible week in Wales, update to follow!

Brief update and holiday notice

Rough week.

In bed with nasty cold for seven, long, hard, weary days.

Finally seeing light at the end of the tunnel.

Much to tell, promise to do so soon.

Leaving today for MUCH, MUCH needed holiday. 

Away to the Welsh coast with the beloved D.E.B.,  and beloved pup and cat.

Back in a week....

Holiday, celebrate

Excellent day at Coughton Court yesterday! Even ended up as a "Live Spot" on BBC1 "Midlands Today".

Full details upon my return!

Off with the D.E.B. for a week's holiday in the Lake District until 28 September.

Until soon...

On Holiday in the Lake District

Away until Sunday, 4 January 2009.

Happy New Year!

Northern soul

Warwickshire, the English county that I live in, is often referred to as: “England’s England.” 

To be sure, Warwickshire it is a truly remarkable and enchanting place.  A place I feel proud and very lucky to call my home. But, if Warwickshire is as it describes itself, “England’s England,” I have decided that Cumbria must be “the England of our dreams.”

The Cumbrian landscape is dotted with quintessentially English-sounding place names, names that make American ears tingle with glee: Greenodd, Arrad Foot, Cartmel, Hard Crag, Castlerigg, Hawkshead, Buttermere, Haverthwaite, Bassenthwaite, Windermere, Barrow-in-Furness, Low Brow Edge, Loopergarth Clappersgate, Ambleside, Cross-a-Moor, and so on… 

This is the England we Americans imagine in our most nostalgic, Anglophilic fantasies. Fantasies nurtured and nourished by a steady diet of “Upstairs, Downstairs”, “Fawlty Towers”, “Miss Marple,” “Masterpiece Theatre,” “Mystery!” and countless other British imports presented in heavy rotation on PBS (Public Broadcasting Service). 

For me, Cumbria and the Lake District – the land of Beatrix Potter and Wordsworth – is a magical landscape that fulfills every one of my romantic English imaginings.

We drove up from Warwickshire on Wednesday night. Got stuck in bottleneck traffic on the M6 out of Birmingham, for what felt like hours – eager as we were to get to Backbarrow. It was nice, however, it to have the D.E.B. all to myself, and we laughed and talked all the way. Once out of Birmingham, it was smooth sailing “up t’North.” It just started to drizzle as we entered the enchanted land of Cumbria.

Even with leaving Warwickshire at 6PM, we didn’t get to Backbarrow until around 10PM-ish. We had hoped to make last orders at the pub, but opted to find a “chippy” (Fish n’ chips - my fave!!) in Ulverston, the nearest big town. 

We found a Chinese take-away that specialized in “Chinese Meals and Fish n’Chips” – what more could you need in life, anyway? 

A really sweet, young Asian woman – sporting a New York Yankees hat no less!--served up absolutely dee-lish fish and chips, and offered me my first sampling of the lovely, local Lancashire accent.

It is in these moments that I’m reminded how in the States we are often misled to believe that are only two native English accents: “posh” and “not posh,” a.k.a., “Cockney” (Thank you, Mary Poppins.) When in fact the English phonetic landscape is so very diverse, surely as equally varied (more so?) as  American accents are—which are themselves more varied than most English people have been led to believe, a vicious cycle it seems. But, I digress. 

Our first night in Cumbria…It was too dark to see anything. I was so eager for daylight I almost found it hard to sleep, like a kid waiting for Christmas. I say almost, because, truth be told, I slept like a baby. We’d rented a lovely cottage called “Abbot’s Vue” from the D.E.B’s friend, Richard. 

The DEB’s wonderful rellies/relatives (I absolutely adore them!) Auntie Dorothy and Uncle Colin had offered us to stay with them on Walney Island. And we would have, but we had Lucy, the Princess Collie, along with us and Dorothy and Colin have cats that hate dogs. 

It would have been nice to stay with them, but staying in Backbarrow did put us more inland, and closer to the Lakes. Abbot’s Vue is a lovely cottage, with all the “mod cons” as folks round here would say. Wood burning stove, spacious kitchen, comfy beds with feather-filled pillows and comforters—it felt like sleeping inside a croissant! 

Abbot’s Vue is in a perfect location for exploring the Lakes, with lots of nice restaurants and pubs nearby. Previously, Richard only intended to rent/let his place to friends and family, but I think he is considering broaden his scope. I’d recommend his place to anyone! We loved staying there.

Waking in Cumbria the next morning was magic. I whipped open the bedroom curtains to discover soft grey and pinkish light beaming behind thick white clouds that hung low atop steep, rocky hills. The warm, red brick of Warwickshire had given way to ashen stone and pebble-dash houses with slate roofs the colour of charcoal. 

I hope that I can get away with saying this, I do mean it with utmost love and respect, but to me it felt like being inside that old  "Hovis" bread commerical. Okay, I do realize there are a number of problems with my using the famous Hovis ad as a reference: a.) The ad is meant to be depicting Yorkshire, not Cumbria; but I’m just going to claim American ignorance of the difference between the two and let it go.  And, b.) I also realize that the Hovis ad, though supposedly depicting Yorkshire, was actually filmed in Dorset…the mind boggles…So, given its own complex history, I think I can use this ad as I wish!

I threw open my window, wanting to breathe in beautiful Cumbria all at once. The DEB drew me back down next to him, and whispered in my ear: “I want to make you this happy for the rest of your life.”  (…SIGH…)

After breakfast, we did a big walk up the steep hill around Brow Edge and Low Brow Edge. We drove along the coastal road toward Barrow-in-Furness, stopping at picturesque beauty spots along the way to take pictures, and allow the Princess Puppy to chase seabirds on the rocky beaches. 

As we passed through Morecambe Bay, the DEB remembered a little bayside village called Rampside that he’d visited with his family as a child. 

We drove there, and the old hotel that he and his family had stayed in was still there! I insisted we stop and go in.

The DEB’s mum (Elsie, sister to Auntie Dorothy) was born and raised in Barrow-in-Furness, and was proud of her Northern roots. The DEB’s family always spent their summer holidays in Cumbria and the Lakes. 

Once, on a summer visit, the DEB’s Aunt and Uncle were having work done on their house, so the DEB and his family had to stay elsewhere. They stayed at Clarke’s Hotel. There is a blissful twinkle in the DEB’s eyes as he recalls those bygone family times, and I am elated as he shares them with me. He was just a little lad then, and so excited to be spending a holiday in this swanky seaside hotel. (I can just imagine a little DEB, in his little schoolboy shorts and summer woolen jumper/sweater! Too cute for words!!!!)

I was just as excited to see it now, as he might have been seeing it for the first time all those years ago. And Clarke’s did not disappoint. It, too, played right into my nostalgic, Anglophile fantasy. 

The manager, Mr. Thomas Twigge, a tall, thin, reed of a man, with cute sticky-out ears, greeted us from behind the bar with a big, broad smile. As he pulled us a pint and a half (I’m dieting) of the local ale, I had a look around. 

The Clarke has an old-fashioned charm, and has retained its understated Victorian glamour. It’s all ‘dark wood, roaring fireplace, over stuffed chairs, and a view of the sea’. The feeling is one of warmth, coziness and comfort. 

The bar’s sitting room is like being in your Granny’s parlour – well, that is, if your Granny had been a late Victorian woman of some means, perhaps a former high-society Madame, who’d landed on her feet as the mistress of a wealthy industrialist. 

The Clarke's Hotel is a study in contrasts: elegant, yet humble. Needless to say, I fell in love it. We stayed for lunch (huge portions), and a few more pints. (The diet had already been blown by huge honking portions of hot roast beef sandwiches and chips, so why not?)

After lunch we waddled back to car and headed for Walney Island to see Auntie Dorothy and Uncle Colin. After a cup of tea, Dorothy and Colin showed us a few of the highlights of Barrow-in-Furness, such as Furness Abbey and Biggar Bay Beach. 

On a clear day you can see the Isle of Man. The DEB and I took the Pup to play and watch the sun set on the Irish Sea, while Dorothy cooked us a huge meal for dinner: Steak and Mushroom Pie, with mash (mashed potatoes) and peas (green peas). I LOVE Northern food! Good solid, stick to your bones fare. After all that, all we could do was collapse.

The next day, Friday, we spent the day on Lake Windermere – England's largest lake, and an extra treat for me, Oscar Wilde fan that I am! (One of his plays is Lady Windermere’s Fan, though I don’t think it actually has anything to do with the Lake…)

It was a glorious day, even if it was a bit brisk. The town, Bowness-on-Windermere is a little touristy, but I’m a tourist, so I loved it! This place – and the Lakeland area generally—is Beatrix Potter mad. I love Beatrix Potter, too, so I was in heaven. 

They don’t seem to make as much of a fuss over the fact that this is also “Wordsworth Country”, though. Wordsworth’s house, “Dove Cottage,” is really quite splendid. Goes without saying that the Lakes are a walkers/hikers paradise. There is just too much to see and do in one little visit, so I have demanded that we go back as often as possible. I love that DEB’s family had a tradition of going there every year, at least whilst the DEB and his brother were little boys. It is my goal to resurrect that tradition!

We ambled through Ambleside, saw Wray Castle from a boat on Windermere, and at the end of the day the DEB drove us to Grasmere. 

Grasmere was one of the DEB’s parents’ favorite places. They spent their honeymoon at an old inn (The Wordsworth Hotel) in Grasmere.  (So romantic.) And while there, they fell in love with the works of the Lakeland painter W.H. Heaton Cooper. 

So, we visited the Heaton Cooper Studio, which was still open after 5PM on a late autumn night, surprisingly. Another nostalgic moment for the DEB: after their honeymoon, the DEB’s parents started collecting works by W. H. Heaton Cooper. Sadly, both the DEB’s parents have passed away, god rest them, and the paintings they collected have been passed around, ultimately ending up (equally sadly) in the hands of the DEB’s ex’s brother. Apparently, “The Ex” did not like them, which, of course, is/was her prerogative. But, I have to say: Where’s your sense of romance and family tradition, girl?!?

Here is where a dreamy (in the sense of “head full of dreams”), nostalgic, Anglophile American damsel comes in handy! We LOVE stuff like this! I mean, just think about the scores of little side-of-the-road Antique shops (I use that term lightly…) on American highways and byways offering to sell you “Instant Ancestors” – I’m not the only person who has seen these! 

Basically, they are old, black and white photographs – of strangers. These strangers become your “Invent-a-Story” relatives. I realize I have now given away a huge State Secret here, but there it is. I’m not saying it’s bad thing. If purchasing a photo album full of “Invent-a-relative” pictures makes you happy, and feel better about yourself, more power to you!

The bottom line is that Americans LOVE history. We LOVE tradition. Americans love history and tradition so much, that if we don’t like our own, we will gladly latch on and co-opt someone else’s! 

I also think this goes a long way to explain why WE are the nation that invented the ridiculous classification: “First Annual…” (insert any appropriate phase here, i.e., “Chili Cook Off,” “Pumpkin Festival,” & etc.). This grammatically challenged bit of phrasing is one of the most apt signs of the American love of, nay, need for history and tradition, it says: “We’ve always done this!” So, unlike “the Ex,” I’m genetically programmed to be enamored of such things. Besides, the look on his face as we surveyed the paintings in the studio…who wouldn’t want to support that, have a share in that? 

The rest of our holiday was much, much more of the wonderful same: ambling along footpaths, walking—in my case twirling—on beaches, cozy fires, countless pints, spending time with family, and scenery to die for.

On our last day in Cumbria we went to Coniston Lake and saw the peak called: “Old Man”. The DEB climbed this peak as a boy. It seemed like Everest to him then. Our last stop was Tarn Hows, a mountain lake where the little boy DEB fell into the water from a broken bower. 

He’d been goofing around with his older brother, and fell in fully clothed. His parents were furious. The DEB and I both laughed until we cried at the thought of it, as we stood where it’d happened. Amazing memories.       

Memories of his past that prompted us to have a conversation about our future, and our future (hoped for) children. Of course, I’d want them to cherish their American roots and ancestors, but I want them to have little Northern souls, and magical childhoods like the D.E.B.’s, full of Lakeland walks, Cumbrian food and seaside memories.