The Great Big Stitched Postcard Swap

I’ve just signed up for the Great Big Stitched Postcard Swap!

The GBSPS (work it out) is run by my friend, Beth, over at Do What You Love.  This is its third incarnation and this time around the theme is LOVE. 

If you’re at all handy with a needle and thread or paper and paints (with just a stitch or two added) then there’s still time to join in.  Get your name and address to Beth by Monday 28th February and she’ll e-mail you the address of your swap partner by 1st March.  Then you’ll have a week to whip up some lovely stitched goodness that will make someone’s day.

All the details can be found here on Beth‘s website.

Painting Plates

I took an afternoon off today to go to Cobbles and Clay, our lovely, local pottery painting café.

My splodging companion was Megan - one of my very favourite people.  She’s exactly one third my age…and we get along famously.  Have done ever since I began teaching her piano when she just eight years old.

Of all the people I’ve ever met, Megan’s taste in matters artistic is most similar to my own.  Which makes us perfect crafting companions.  We trust each other’s judgement in those moments when we’re ‘stuck’.

Incidentally, Cobbles and Clay is one of the places we’ll be hanging out during The Magic of the Moors retreat.  And speaking of the retreat, Susannah Conway has been blogging about it today.  Go check out her post here.

The Nature Table: February

I always say that the landscape is constantly changing….but this month the changes have been few and reluctant.  The land seems to be holding its breath….waiting….refusing to emerge from hibernation until spring shows up with sunshine.

There’ve been one or two fine days, but mostly February has been dank and grey.  And now the snow’s back.  Accompanied by freezing fog.  No wonder those green shoots would rather skulk wherever it is they come from.

So this month’s nature table would show slim pickings if it weren’t for the spring flowers that are appearing in abundance in the shops right now, and which brighten every room in the house. 

1 and 6.  The first primulas blooming in the garden.
2.  Hyacinths filling the house with their fabulous scent.
3.  The mock orange on the edge of the moor - the only bush that seems oblivious of the weather.
4.  Daffodils….I’ve got them everywhere.
5.  The snowdrops in the lane are almost open.
7.  The daffs aren’t far behind.
8.  If anyone can identify these beauties, I should love to know.  I bought them as bulbs in a tiny pot and they’ve been stunning.  Delicate and alpine-like.  (And I should have read the label before I tossed it!)

Addicted

I know it’s only a couple of weeks since I was last banging on about the wonders of Instagram but, truly, I’m smitten.

Thing is, I’m a big fan of Twitter.  But it has its limitations.  Chief of which is that you can only communicate with people who speak your language.

But with Instagram, there are no such constraints.  Because its language is visual (you just post photos), I can follow the daily lives of people in South America or Japan whose language I don’t share.  I can tell them I like their photos by hitting a simple heart icon.  No words needed.

To be part of such an international community is hugely enriching.  To communicate wordlessly is very powerful.

The internet is breaking down boundaries of all kinds all the time.  Levelling the playing field.  Making the world smaller.  Helping people find common ground.

Instagram does all those things.  And does it with gorgeous images.  How can I help but be addicted?

The Tale of the Parrot

One or two folk have asked about the singing Spanish parrot (see last post), so here’s the story.

Last Friday afternoon, we called at a small store selling pottery and furniture.  Tucked among the shelves of plates and bowls was a cage, home to a fine green parrot.  Amal told me an old man used to work in the store; and he would offer the bird a peanut; and, in return, the bird would then sing its way - note perfectly - through the theme tune from Bridge On The River Kwai.  The old man, however, didn’t seem to have been around much lately; and no-one else seemed able to elicit this extraordinary performance from the bird.

The following afternoon, we stopped at the shop again.  I didn’t have a peanut, but I figured that if I sang the tune myself, maybe the bird would be tempted to join in.  So I approached the cage, pursed my lips and started to whistle my way across the River Kwai.

The parrot, who had been asleep, untucked his head from beneath his wing and began to display huge curiosity.  He cocked his head on one side, hung upside down from his trapeze, and stuck his head through the bars of the cage repeatedly in an attempt to reach me.

Amal’s husband, Anis, was at my side.  ‘Look!  He remembers!  You’re stirring his memory!  Carry on!’

So on I warbled.  I came to the end of the tune and began again.  A couple of times, the parrot let out a tentative squawk as if about to join in, but each time he bottled out.

On I went.  Whistling my way across the river a third time.  Anis was beside himself with excitement.  ‘You’ve made him remember the old man!  See - he looks sad!’

I felt very guilty about making the parrot sad but was determined, having come this far, to persuade him to sing.  So on I went, whistle, whistle, whistle.

After a fourth rendition of the tune, I decided to quit.  The owners of the shop might, after all, object to me standing there, crooning, all afternoon.  Reluctantly, I pulled myself away from the cage. 

On the way out, we stopped at the cash desk and asked after the old man.  We were told he’d died ten years previously.  As had the parrot soon afterwards.  This was a different parrot.