Skip to main content

Spring flowers





These are a couple of my flowers in bloom now. I have been trying to weed out the winter weeds to bring my gardens back to shape. My window of opportunity to do this is closing fast. The rain is impeding my progress. And pain. I have an appointment with the surgeon on Wednesday to see about having a hip replacement.


These are another two rugs I have been crocheting to go to charities. I am working on a round one and have been building different patterned squares to fit together when I have enough made. I have to go to replenish my stock of wool before I have to go to hospital. I will be unable to drive for a few weeks.

                  Nails. Not needles.

Craft work. Today. Has changed since I was a child.

More ways to do the same work. To work with a few stitches in another manner.

Many types of cotton. Or Wool.

Sizes in hooks. And needles.

Every item you need is available in the shops.

My mother used knitting needles. I was never allowed to touch them.

“You’ll break them,” I was told. “Needles are too dear to replace.”

Wool was also “too dear” to waste.

Eventually. I was given a few scraps of wool. Wool no longer of used to my mother.

No needles. I might injure myself.

Where there is a strong will. To achieve what you want. There will be a way to do what you want.

 You just have to be inventive. Search for a replacement tool.

I needed a strait object with a point on the end. Oh. Wait. I need two. 

Knitting needs two needles.

I kept my bits of wool in the doll’s pram.

If my mother wasn’t going to give me a set of her precious needles. I’d find my own.I walked out of

 the caravan. Disappointed. I smiled. To hide a plan I had. Maybe dad would provide what I needed.

No. He wasn’t about to ask. I crept past the car to dad.s work bench. In one of the tins I found

 treasure. Better still. My treasures. A full jam tin full of shiny six inch nails. The oily coating didn’t

 put me off. I grabbed a few pairs of nails. I used a clean rag to clean each nail. I hid them beneath the

 mattress in the doll’s pram.

I had what I needed. I could practice to do the stitches I’d watched mother do.

I took the doll from the pram to discard on the bed in the annex. Naked.

The dress, bonnet and booties, I put on Ginger, my tabby ginger cat. I then placed him in the pram to 

wheel him around to the other side of the caravan, where a swing from the branch of the tree. Lilac

 flowers carpeted the ground, I sat on the swing while I rocked the pram. Once Ginger was asleep I be

gan to practice to knit. I finger castered a few stitches on one nail. I knitted until the small came to an 

end, slipped the stitches from the nail. Pulled out the work to roll into a ball to start over again.

“Those nail I bought have all rusted. They must have given me a cheaper brand,” complained Dad.

Years later, dad found out why his nails. Rusted. I had used then replaced the nails once the wool

 didn’t slip without being snagged.

Once I had mastered the knit stitches, I began to crochet. I had begun to do sewing at school. I

 graduated from samplers to duchess set once I knew all the stitches. I did the sewing in what spare

 time I had. Work came first. Each set I finished I had to crochet an edge around the.

One lady came to be shown how to crochet. Mother refused on the bases the woman was left handed. 

I practiced to go in the opposite direction with my left hand. I showed the lady the stitches. 

What I learned way back when, I used to male rugs which are given to those in need. I have enough

 crocheting I had completed over the years. Many stuffed toys I knitted. But I only do the crocheting

 in between times I’m not writing. Doing my work. Gardening. Or times I am forced to take time out 

from the pain. I know when to take a break. Not continue way past my pain threshold.

So I went out to buy a few nails to prove I could still knit with nails.

Craft work is another of the hats I wear. This hat keeps the mind from vegetating. And gives me 

thinking time. Besides going for a catnap. To sort out any problem I have with my writing.

I am trying to discard a few of my hats to concentrate on the few I want to have more time for.

The above story is something else I do when I have spare time. Or I do while crocheting. I find I do more writing when crocheting because most of the time I don't have to concentrate, or count the stitches, which frees the mind to wander over what story I'm working on.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Finished

I have finished the blue Poncho for the lady who ordered one to be made is different shades of blue. I don't want to do another for awhile. This pattern I had to concentrate to keep the right amount of stitches on each peak. I was still counting them in my sleep. Now. I can go back to making boring squares with the left over bits of wool. I am doing some today to have a spell from work. Once the plumber has been to do his job, I will have to get back to finish my cleaning. And weeding of the garden.





The Magpies have brought their young home to be fed. They are so entertaining. Can be noisy at times when begging to be fed. The young squabble like any family for attention. Fight to get their own way. Yesterday. One of the young wanted to be fed first. The father went to put food in its mouth. The other one ran at it to push it over the side of the steps. Both fell to the grass fighting. The father left holding the meat. He look at me like he was disgusted with their behavior. I sto…

Vision

This was taken when we went on a bus trip.

The animals moved around the shopping center. There were a few different shaped ones. Kept the children busy while the parents shopped.

Vision.
A few days after I had hip surgery, I had this surreal vision. May have been from the effects of the anesthetic. Or the tablets I were given.

I had been a sleep. I seemed to be in a different place to the ward I was in. The room had shrunk to a two bed size. There was a person in the bed next to mine. I could hear breathing but no movement on the bed.

A doorway led to a single bed room. There lay a female of aboriginal descent. The room was mostly in darkness but for a small amount of light from the street outside the hospital.

I could hear cars. Slamming of doors. Then came knocking on the outer door to the hospital. The opening and closing of the door. Footsteps thundering up the stairs. A shadowy figure passed through the doorway to my room then disappeared into the other room. The person stretche…