Tuesday, 26 June 2012

A gypsy caravan....

As a little girl, I always wanted to own a gypsy caravan.
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I could just imagine myself sat, barefoot on the front of one with a little white pony pulling us along the sweet smelling country lanes of middle England.  And at night I would snuggle up and read books by gaslight.
My reality?  I lived in coronation street land - concrete and bricks.  I yearned for my own little caravan so badly that it almost hurt.  Actually scratch that last sentence... It did hurt.  It did.  Mainly because I knew that it would never happen.

Skip thirty years forward to our first few weeks in this new house... Our newly inherited shed was in a sorry state.  The woodstain had all but weathered away and most of the roof felt had perished.
It was still a good shed though and would cost a small fortune to replace completely.  So I set about purchasing roofing felt and adhesive and I repaired the roof (Admittedly in a rather amateurish and lopsided way) But it saw the shed through another two winters and I made a mental note to repaint it.

I didnt want to simply restain it though - I wanted something more.  I had seen this beautiful shed on Junkaholique's dreamy blog.  And I wanted a little garden refuge.  Perhaps a little craft room of my own.  I could put my sewing machine down there... Its a treadle machine and so doesn't require electricity.  Perhaps I could paint the shed in pastel shades.  Maybe a little beach hut - I wasn't sure but I kept the idea in the back of my mind, retrieving it every once in a while and turning it over, re-examining it, re-evaluating.  But never coming up with anything concrete - until a couple of months ago...

I'd picked up a book on decorative painting and had done a couple of little projects using ceramic paints to decorate some old plates.  My thoughts turned to some of the old plant pots I had and I thought that I'd quite like to paint them in a folk art/ Canal boat style.  As I set to searching the internet for inspiration - I happened across some photos of Gypsy Caravans and as I admired their brightly painted designs - I once again found myself wishing that I had one.  If only a stationery caravan at the bottom of the garden... You can see where I'm going with this, right?  I had my eureka moment.  Only problem... I have a number of other projects queuing up to be started/finished/maintained... And a husband who is growing rapidly sick and tired of the way our house is increasingly resembling a junk shop...Soooo I have some previous projects to nail first and some time management miracles to work so that I can fit in what is bound to be the biggest project I have undertaken so far.... Watch this space.  Its coming.  It might take a while to complete and itll most certainly be a labour of love.  But lookit:
She shall be mine and I will call her 'Buttercup'..

wouldnt you like one of these at the bottom of your garden??
Bye for now

Saturday, 2 June 2012

In My Life

29 years ago today my dad died.  I hadnt properly thought about him in a little while but for some reason a Beatles tune popped into my head while I was cooking tea.  This particular tune reminded me of him - though I dont know if he liked the Beatles - I was only eight when he passed away so we hadnt gotten to the 'sharing musical tastes' phase that a lot of parents and their children are privileged enough to experience. 

I cried some happy tears (brought on by both the tune and the loving memories that it had evoked) and I phoned my mum. 

We talked about how the pain of loss never really goes away yet the way you react to it changes over time.  She told me that she can now enjoy the memories she has of dad though for a long time she found it too upsetting to go over - even the pleasant things. 

I know that for a long time, as a younger adult, the loss of him made me incredibly angry.  And - as a person who can usually think of a way around pretty much any obstacles I encounter - I would get terribly frustrated when I realised that nothing I could ever say, do or achieve could ever bring him back.

Dad has now been gone for more than three times as long as he was in my life so my memories are mostly sketchy or hazy.  I cant really remember his face or what his voice sounded like but I can still feel the love that I have for him as fresh as if I just spoke to him this morning. 
What a remarkable thing love is - it is inexhaustible and indefatigable.

"There are places I remember all my life 
though some have changed
Some forever not for better
Some have gone and some remain
All these places have their moments 
with lovers and friends I still can recall
Some are dead and some are living
In my life Ive loved them all"

Thanks for indulging me with this one peeps
Goodnight all xx