She wants to be flowers, but you make her owls

 

In Welsh mythology, there is a legend about Blodeuwedd, a woman created out of flowers.

 

I always think of this as my Blodeuwedd dress; I feel as though I am growing out of the ground.

Fanciful today, no?

 

I only know about this myth through one of my favourite children's books, The Owl Service, by Alan Garner. It's a sparsely-written, haunting book, published in 1967, seething with class prejudice, tensions between the Welsh and the English, a disturbing atmosphere, and a background of mythical sexual rivalry.

 

 

 

I'm not sure I got all that when I read it as a kid, but revisiting it as an adult was an eye-opener. 

 

(There's a great review here, if you are interested.)

 

Sadly, I have searched the house for my copy and cannot find it anywhere; now where on earth could it be?

 

Blodeuwedd is later turned into an owl as a punishment for betraying her husband...

 

 and look what we have here!

 

The owl on the right was a gorgeous handmade gift to Nina from our dear friend Kylie; Nina wanted to make one, so the one on the left is her version. She did most of the sewing herself (I helped with the buttons and stitching up the gap at the end.)

The Kylie owl is called Owlie. Hmm, I know; very poor.

I suggested Athena for the new owl, but Nina rejected that in favour of Archimedes. Guess who has reached the Ancient Greeks on the school curriculum?

So Archimedes he is.

 

More flowers, but cats instead of owls, and perhaps that's Mellors, come to call on Lady Chatterley.

 

This groovy 1970s tin tray was a charity shop find last week. The ladies in the hospice shop laughed at me for buying it, but I think it's beautiful. It cost 50p.

I'm easily pleased.

 

 

 

1970s maxi dress - Ebay (99p)

Bangles, sandals, belt, and sunglasses - charity shopped 

1960s bracelet - local vintage shop

1960-70s steel pendant - flea market

So what else have I been up to?

We watched Saving Private Ryan, since it was the 70th anniversary of the D-Day landings. I hadn't seen it before, and didn't realise it would be quite so harrowing. Poor Owen sobbed right from the start, but he made it through, and we have had some really interesting conversations about the reality of violence and war, and how it affects people afterwards. And with a bit of luck, it's put him off ever joining the army.

I took my big girl for her first bra fitting. She'll be mortified that I've told you, so keep it quiet, OK?

My mum never took me to be measured, she just guessed a size, and I didn't have a proper fitting till I was in my twenties. Needless to say, it was a revelation and I had been wearing the wrong size.

Don't worry, I'm not going to flash my cleavage again, I'm reining myself in.

 

But I will tease you with a sneaky peak at this;

 

 

 

 

such a quintessentially 1970s fabric could only ever be made into a pair of flares, right?

I'll show you the finished article next time, I just need some hooks and eyes for the waistband.

 

And such is my new-found sewist status that my friend Sue asked me to come and chat to her daughter, who wants to start making her own clothes. We pinned and cut out a pattern for a skirt on Friday night (thankfully before I drank too much wine...) 

 

We're all getting the sewing bug, isn't it exciting?

 

 

 

 And that's been my weekend.

 

I am woefully behind on commenting on your wonderful blogs, so I will rectify that as soon as possible. 

Hope everyone is well!

xxx