Pleasant wonder is no loss of time

I'm not generally very good with change.

I like what I know, I like routine, I like the safety.

 But sometimes, a big old shake up is just the thing. 

 Before I moved, Nina asked both Simon and I whether we would be sad or lonely on the days when she, Claudia and Owen were at the other parent's house. We both replied with an amused but emphatic no!

I can't vouch for Simon, but for me, those days have a strangely unreal quality to them. Time opens up in front of me, space to be filled in any manner of my choosing. Of course work commitments continue, and all the usual chores still require attention, but there have been times when I have a day off, no particular plans, and I wake up without an alarm and lie for a minute in the dark, excited by the prospect of suiting myself, from start to finish of the day. I can't quite find the words to articulate how it feels - it's liberating, but slightly overwhelming, so much choice almost makes me anxious until I remind myself I don't have to cram a million things in, I'll have days like this on a regular basis now. 

It's... a bit trippy. 

1970s dress and cardigan - charity shopped 

Something I did on one such day was go for a walk in our local park and visit Meersbrook Hall, an 18th Century Grade II listed house. Since the 1950s, the hall has been home to council offices, but the Parks and Countryside department has now relocated and this year, the keys to the building were handed over to the Friends of Meersbrook Hall and local charity Heeley Development Trust. They plan to refurbish the house and develop it as a thriving community resource, remaining in public ownership. 

It was the first time I have ever set foot inside the Hall.

Nina's year group at school had an art exhibition on display, inspired by the work of John Ruskin.

Nina's picture. 

Walking home in the dimming light of late afternoon, the low cloud looked like mountains in the distance.
 

But as much as I am relishing some solitude, I am making the most of my social opportunities too...

 
well, it would have been rude to ignore this talented young man, don't you think?

My shop's Christmas do was a night out at a burlesque show. 

My feathers weren't quite as impressive - love those fans!

1950s cocktail dress - gift from Wayne at Mooch

Feather fascinator, bracelet and 1950s crystal necklace - charity shopped

With Heather, Mel and Jo - the most glamorous charity shop team ever!

And while we're on the subject of leggy birds in feathers - look at this beauty, spotted on the River Sheaf the other day. Watching him take off was a joy. 

Ruskin had it right - pleasant wonder is no loss of time.

Linking - for the first time in ages - to Patti's Visible Monday.

xxx

Remaking

Hi.

Anyone there?

Look, it's me.

Finally.

I've moved house, and have braved my first photo session in my new garden.

 

The neighbours will soon get used to the curious sight of me flouncing about and posing in ridiculous frocks...

1970s Betty Barclay dress - Mooch vintage shop

Vintage Bally boots and 1960s pendant - my shop 

So what can I tell you about life at the moment?

It's good.

 

The period leading up to the move was difficult. I am not usually much of a crier, and have been known to despise those who weep at the drop of a hat (their hat, anyone's hat). But good lord, I have cried more than I thought was humanly possible in the last 6 months or so. There were points when emotional distress manifested itself so physically, I was simply floored by it. 

 

When I cleared out the Cupboard of Doom, that repository of a lifetime's clutter and so many memories, I had to keep stopping to sob and try and catch my breath. The jacket, full price and extravagant at the time, to which I treated myself after a relationship break-up; the Chinese parasol I had up in my room all through my university years and beyond, yellowed with cigarette smoke and a little ragged around the edges; the rug made by my dad as therapy when he recovered from a bout of rheumatic fever in his youth; the dress I bought when I visited my dearest friend Deborah in America 20 years ago.

 

Three tiny sleepsuits, the first items worn by Claudia, Owen and Nina when they were born.  

The Sex Shoes. 

Oh don't ask...

 

Dismantling a life; it's really fucking hard.

 

 

I packed it all away, and moved.

And now I am in the process of remaking.

I know things are only things... But they hold associations and memories, and I like to have them around me, displayed and cherished. 

 Your comments on my last post also triggered many tears. You can't know how much your kindness, concern and encouragement meant to me, thank you very, very much. 

 

The support of my friends has been both overwhelming and essential during this time of great change.

 

 

 

 So I am settling into a new rhythm. And finding I like it. 

The house is lovely, I feel comfortable, and the kids like it too.

I'm hoping that I'll get myself back into a blogging routine again, now that the sturm und drang of the last few months have abated. I've missed it, missed all of you.

And thanks again for your patience and support. You're fab!

xxxx

All work and no play

I'm painfully aware that I am being a dreadful blogger at the moment.

 

After all, bloggers, by definition, actually get their arses in gear and blog, no? 

Me, I lurk in the shadows feeling overwhelmed by the number of posts I have failed to comment on, and wondering when the hell I can take some photos for a post of my own.

Going dotty? I just might be...

 

 

1970s dress - gift from Tania

1960s Admyra jacket - charity shopped

Boots - retail (sale) 

 

 

1970s Miss Mary of Sweden dress and denim jacket - charity shopped

 

So that's what I've been wearing for a couple of days at least. 

Not much else has been happening apart from work.

There is plenty of colour on the rails at the shop...

and party frocks from the 1970s or 80s, take your pick.

Dressing the mannequins is like playing with life-sized Barbies (and Ken).

 

 

We've got some great sewing patterns...

funky homewares...

and something for the kids too.

But you know, as much as I love the shop and passionately want it to be successful, I have decided I don't want to work full-time. 

 

I want my life back. I miss my family, my friends, my blog. I want to sleep through the night, go to charity shops which aren't mine, cook better meals, I even want to clean the house. I want to sew, take photos, and get out in the garden.

 

 

There is colour going on out there too, and I hadn't even noticed.

 

 

So, as soon as the charity can recruit a shop manager, I will revert back to my role as deputy and part-time hours. Until then, blogging may be patchy, but I'm looking forward to a time when I have something other than work to write about!

Linking to Patti's Visible Monday, despite feeling decidedly invisible at present.

Hope all is well with all of you.

xxxx

Half Term History

Half term has been restful and relaxing, which was just what we all needed. And waking up naturally without the warning shriek of an alarm was the biggest treat of all.

We went to Eyam on Thursday, a lovely little village in Derbyshire (pronounced Eem, by the way) made famous by the villagers' actions in 1665. 

The bubonic plague arrived, carried by fleas in a bolt of cloth sent from London. The villagers, led by the Reverend William Mompesson, agreed to a self-imposed quarantine to prevent the spread of the disease to other areas, and in the ensuing year, over 260 people died. 

(Tania visited the village last year and wrote this post about it.)

The church dates back to the 13th century, although the late Saxon font and Celtic cross in the graveyard suggest an earlier church existed on the same site. 

The wall paintings are from the 18th century. 

The modern stained glass window tells the story of the plague in Eyam. William's wife Catherine is the only plague victim to be buried in the churchyard; others were buried quickly and without ceremony in gardens and on nearby farmland.

The cross is 8th Century, and the sundial on the side of the church is dated 1775.

The village is pretty, with plenty of stone cottages, a village green complete with stocks, and a late 17th century hall.

They enjoyed it, honestly - take no notice of the face-pulling... 

Before we left, we took a walk out of the village to the so-called Riley graves. The land was owned by a farmer named Riley, but the people buried here are John Hancock and 6 of his children. They all died within a week of each other in August 1666, and it fell to John's wife Elizabeth to bury them. 

It's a beautiful spot, but such a sad story.

Some colour was needed to counteract the gloom;

1970s dress - Ebay

Vintage scarf, cardigan and bangles - charity shopped

Boots - retail, sale. 

I'll join Patti and co for Visible Monday, and catch up with your posts before I launch myself into a busy week at work in my new shop - wish me luck!

xxxx

A tale of two skirts

If my blogging form of late were to be graded, it would probably score a poor D- (and that would be generous). The dog didn't eat my homework, I've just found it hard to summon up time, energy or inclination. 

Must Do Better, and I intend to try.

I'm in a skirt phase at the moment, and these two have been on high rotation, especially for work.

1950s wool jacket, Hobbs wool skirt, jumper and scarf - charity shopped

Boots - retail (sale)

1950s brooch - flea market

 1970-80s St Michael skirt, top, cardigan and scarf - charity shopped 

Boots - retail (sale)

Vintage Windsmoor faux fur coat - vintage fair

Despite the fact that tartan isn't my favourite print, I do like the colours and the different shapes of these two skirts. 

 I've worked some extra hours lately, covering at other shops and doing some sorting and pricing of stock for the vintage shop. It opens on February 15th, but I have next week off for half term, so yesterday was my final day at my old shop. 

Doors close, doors open.

We've had plenty of rain and howling winds, but the sun does occasionally shines; Owen and I took advantage of a break in the clouds to head to town. He needed a haircut as badly as I do.

 And because I like nothing better than a busman's holiday, I've managed to find time to peruse the charity shops and nab myself some vintage treasures.

1960-70s enamel pan

1970s maxi dress

1960s vinyl bag

1960s sewing pattern

1950-60s Franpear lurex sweater

1960s Petite Francaise silk duster coat

That last one was the real bargain of the bunch - an immaculate vintage slub silk coat for £2.50? Now that's why I go scouring the rails of charity shops on my days off. 

The ever-useful Vintage Fashion Guild's label resource informs me that Petite Francaise was probably a British label, started in the mid-1960s, producing beautifully tailored dresses and matching jackets.

My old tan boots have started to let the rain in, so I was pleased to find these Hush Puppies at half price as a replacement. The old boots will still be fine when the weather allows. 

I'll link to the lovely Patti and her Visible Monday gathering, and I'll be round to see what everyone has been up to as well. 

It's been a sad week. George's funeral was a highly emotional occasion for everyone, but a warm, personal and beautifully thoughtful tribute to a lovely young man. And I'm sorry to be leaving my little team of staff and volunteers at Nether Edge.

Onwards, upwards...

xxxx