TGISD (Part 2)

As I sat drinking my tea, I had a light blub moment. Oh fantastic, maybe I will get to rev the Red Devil up for an afternoon of happy crafting! I have another pattern, a skirt pattern, this pattern:

I am liking 'Love Sewing', it seems to have replaced 'Mollie Makes' in my magazine heart. I'm not totally sure why, it seems more inspirational somehow instead of aspirational. Look at that lovely dress in issue 4, and aimed at the adventurous beginner. Why, I am sure that is me.

Out comes the sewing machine again, this time I brew up an espresso to assist concentration.
I read over the instructions - thankfully this pattern is in my size and this time a gratifying size 12 - and carefully cut around the correct lines. I repair to the living room and begin to experiment with the lay-out of the fabric. Hmmm, what does this mean?

What width is my fabric? 21 inches. Fold, what fold? Ok, now I see that the pattern pieces are designed to be placed on the folded material and when the section is cut out, a piece that is doubled in size is produced. Oh-Oh, I don't think I have enough material for this skirt. How on earth did that happen!

Not too worry, I spotted a retro duvet cover also in the charity shop, that will have enough material for the pencil skirt.

Annoying though, I really want to make the A-line which presents a dilemma. You know when you get something so entrenched in your mind that it stews away until it must be completed. However, I have resolved to boycott Amazon after reading of the bitter dispute waging between this mammoth organisation and Hachette the large French publishing house. You can read more about this here, if you like. Also we are lucky enough to have a Waterstones in our town and I really want to support our local bookseller much more actively this year. So, if I order the McCall's pattern, it makes the postage costs so much more reasonable if I include my set history book for this years OU course...and I really need that spare part for my Bialetti...

I buy the duvet cover because it has trees on it. Unfortunately, it has taken three washes to remove the fusty musty smell. Groan. Also, in the cold light of my garden I'm not sure about that greeny pattern. Would I really wear that? Oops, don't they always say on the Sewing Bee that pattern is very hard to sew with, to match for beginners?  Once again, the poor wee sewing machine is back in the box. Am I totally over-thinking this task? Is it time for a glass of wine?

TGISD (The Great Irish Sewing Disaster Part 1.)

So some of you may have noticed that despite a proud display of a 'sew along with Daisy Jones' button on the blog there has been precious little sewing happening here in Oriel. What with OU study, house renovations, crochet addictions, child rearing, dog walking and the occasional chat with Mr S, I simply ran out of time to complete the project as it unfolded (!) on Daisy's blog.

I did however order the pattern, McCall's 3341, a nice simple A-line skirt. When I arrived my first instinct was to run down to the fabric shop and choose some gorgeous material but I was very good and supressed this urge and set off instead to the charity shop to purchase some cheap and potentially scrap-able fabric. After much bickering and arm twisting, the kids persuaded me to treat them to some of those blooming Rainbow Magic fairy books (E) and a dinky fork-lift (O). I don't know how such a modern mother as myself can end up with two such gender stereo-typical children! Anyhow, I digress- I was finally allowed to purchase for myself a large box-pleated skirt with lots of lovely material to play with.

I spent some of the lovely summer evenings of our holiday, drinking wine, watching the aeronautical display of swallows and un-picking and deconstructing the skirt. Then came the reclamation of our home and after days of cleaning and organising; after the welcome departure of the jolly electricians and the puerile plasterers and the incompetent plumbers, finally out came the sewing machine and my pattern. My first heart-breaking moment was when I realised that at just a smidgen under 30inches my waist was measuring in at a size 16! No, how on earth had that happened!

I composed myself. Off to Daisy's blog for advice, she says that 'the skirt comes up slightly bigger in reality' and 'why not try making it with scrap fabric first', now I am feeling smug. Sure it is only a number! Tentatively, I open the envelope, scissors and freshly brewed cup of coffee at the ready. I study the lines to make sure I am cutting the correct size, 4, 6, 8, 10...Erm where is 16?!
No, how on earth has that happened! I have ordered the wrong size, so instead of the correct 3341 DD  (12-14-16-18) I have the erroneous 3341 AAX (4-6-8-10)

Disappointed, I fold up the pattern. Marvelling as I fold at the teeny tiny waist that is a size 4. Do grown women exist that are actually this size? Briefly consider a starvation diet before good sense prevails. A good part of this learning to sew malarkey was to have nice flattering clothes that fit me .
Closer inspection of the pattern reveals that these sizes are 'Miss' sizes, right so I can keep the pattern for E. Although, how to persuade her that what she needs is a lovely wee A-line skirt and not a pirate princess skirt is another challenge for another day. I pack away the sewing machine and drink my tea.

Stories from the Sea.

It is time to get back to celebrating the lovely things that life brings. So, I am stealing my title today from the peerless P.J. Harvey and her gorgeous album of 2000 'Stories from the City, Stories from the Sea'.

We went to the sea and we brought back some treasure.

 

 A mermaid's comb.

 

 

A dinosaurs tooth.

 

A paperweight.

 

Emeralds and Pearls.

A restorative day.



As if.

 

(Bridget Riley 'Fall')

Thank-you so much for all the kind messages, they mean so much. I thought I would give you an update of the story so far.

A twenty-six year old woman has been charged with the arson attack on my neighbours home.
Three men who were with her at the time have been released without charge.
Anecdotal reports on social media suggest that this woman has a young child.
Some newspapers have reported that the Gardaí believe that this was a random act of violence.
Many cars have been driving down our street very slowly to have a good look at the damaged house.

My neighbour remains in a serious condition in hospital. The man who rescued her sustained serious burns that may require skin grafts.

What if?

My blog name was chosen to reflect subtly my own personal interests, taste and sense of place. The 'linnet' part was taken from a character in one of my favourite children's book series, Linnet Oldknowe. Linnet in 'The Children of Green Knowe (by L.M. Boston) is both the Great-Grandmother, a woman full of vitality despite or perhaps because of her age and little mischievous Linnet, the ghostly child that plays with and teases Tolly, the great-grandson that comes to live in his ancient magical ancestral home.

Linnet also refers back to the line 'she sang each note like an Irish linnet' in the  traditional Irish song 'The Galway Shawl'. This song has followed me around most of my adult life and has an association with wonderful memories of listening to Irish music in my Grandmothers house in Co Antrim; also in the beautiful Tomney's bar in  Moy Co Tyrone where my Grandfather hailed from and also from when myself and Mr S took our first real holiday together traveling around Co Galway.

The Oriel part originated from a tribute I wanted to pay to my adopted county and a place where I have been content to lay my hat and bring up my children. I had many posts planned, bringing to you the gorgeous scenery, the charming people of and the amazing history of the 'wee' county, Co Louth. My adopted town, Drogheda was founded originally as two separate towns 'Drogheda-in-Meath'  on the south bank of the river Boyne (charter granted in 1194) and 'Drogheda-in-Oriel' (charter granted in 1229) on the northern Louth side of the river.

Last Friday however brought events to my own front door that have been profoundly shocking and laid bare our vulnerability. Here can be seen the raw violence of strangers and the darkness of humanity that lingers in every place, at the periphery of life ready to engulf and shatter ordinary lives without regard for all that is precious. Yet it has to be recorded that even here, we experience the brave heroism and little acts of kindness that imprint life with joy and hope. However, last Friday night, some one attacked my neighbours home and maliciously set fire to the house in which a wheelchair dependant woman was asleep alone.

Cosy and warm in my bed, I initially thought the bang and shouts were the antics of  Friday night revellers but awaked by the cries of Fire, I rushed to grab my sleeping children and ran from my home. You know those questions that ask what would you save? What book? What treasured photograph? Which sentimental attachment? It doesn't matter. You would let it all go in those first minutes of flight. Once the kids and Mr S. were safe I did go back for my dog, the golden girl who firmly believes that all humanity is good and requires her closeness of dogged love.

As my neighbour fights for her life in the hospital, I want to close down and retreat back into my home. To hold my children close and to keep them closer, I want to warn them of the darkness of the shadows, the dangers, the weirdoes, the bastards. What if? What if no one had seen the flames until it was too late? What if the smoke had travelled through the gaps in the terrace, the gaps that our surveyor noticed six years ago and we have not acted on? I won't shut down though. I will teach my children that life is a celebration, to rush at it with joy and openness. To embrace everyone they meet with sincere honesty and integrity, peppered with a healthy dose of street-wise cynicism. To attack every challenge with energetic vitality and intelligence. To be a parent is to know what real visceral fear is, yet to hold that fear for them and let them go bravely and freely out into the world.

Thank-you to the as yet un-identified man who rushed into the burning house and pulled Mrs B free.
Thank-you to my neighbour N whose kindness alleviated much of the trauma that my kids could have experienced that night.
Thank-you to my friend L. whose simple telephone call meant so much.

The Closet of Savage Mementos

(image from New Island Books)

 

This is going to be another post about books (and a wee bit of food!) I'm afraid.  Quite simply these long warm light summer evening are just perfect for lounging around with a great book and as the World Cup and the continued house renovations have employed most of Mr S's time, I have been taking the opportunity to escape into print, mostly fiction. There have been many recommendations that have passed around my book-club this year, but there has been only one exceptional novel that has achieved a consensus of enthusiastic approval.

 

The Closet of Savage Mementos is one of those books that will surprise and delight you with the skill and vitality of it's story telling. The characters continue to haunt you long after the final page has been read, you wish that it had been slightly longer so you could tarry a while longer in their company. Yet, there are no uneasy gaps in the plot, the characters have been allowed to have enough room within the novel to impart empathy yet retain a realistic unknowability. Nuala Ni Chonchuir tells a very particular story of love, the lightning-strike of passion and the impact of its absence but Lillis's story is also a universal tale, she is an everyman battling against exceptional circumstances to make her way in life, a life marked by great love and great loss.

Our book-club is lucky enough to have some very pro-active members, Pavlova Queen Fi who does all the Facebooking/admin and organising, Margaret who organises some great 'meet the author' nights and opens up her home and library to us and who blogs from here. Not forgetting, Lisa, who is a prolific blogger, bookseller, writer and book-fairy and who blogs from here. I just turn up occasionally and drink my coffee/wine and offer an opinion or two. In the past I have never really been that concerned to meet any authors, perhaps because they have always seemed very remote or perhaps being content with the book as a stand-alone piece of art.

However, last week when Nuala Ni Chonchuir graciously took some time out to meet us I was really looking forward to the evening, there was just something about that book! Having read it a good few weeks ago, I thought I better scan through, however it is so good I found myself properly re-reading again.We had a wonderful time chatting with Nuala, and getting some of the background to the novel, the process of writing and the experience of working with all the team who contribute to the process of publishing and marketing a book. I would recommend to any of you also in book-clubs to not only read this particular book but also to have a go and organise a 'meet-the-author' for yourselves.

As well as having a good natter, we always bring some food and drink to the hosts table. Cooking and drinking lovely wine in combination with book-talk - are for me - a sublime trinity of pleasure. For this night we had some dietary requirements to consider, one vegetarian, one person completely gluten-free and some other ladies trying to cut down on the amount of gluten in their diet. It was also a gorgeous warm summer evening. So a quick browse of the net, resulted in these two lovely recipes:

Pasta Salad with Haloumi and Lemon

I marinated the grated courgette for around an hour and a half in the dressing and replaced half of the olive oil with some camellia oil. This camellia oil is produced locally to me in the beautiful Boyne Valley and is apparently very high in omega 3,6 & 9 and has a delicious if slightly unusual nutty taste. I also replaced the pasta with a gluten-free alterative.

My sweet contribution is one of my favourite gluten-free recipes, these brownies are so scrumptious and just so easy to make. My kids go mad for these and of-course love licking the bowl after mixing. I didn't make the sauce as we were going to have a selection of goodies.
Nigella's Peerless Flourless Chocolate Brownies

Click on the titles for the links!

Enjoy-let me know if you try these! xxxx

 

Inspiring Teachers

 

 

 

The school year is finally at an end, an auspicious year for our family as both children attended school. E moving out of the infants classes and O just at the beginning. Both children had a fantastic year and reading their school reports I was the most puffed-up proud Mama in the world! I have a feeling that O managed to totally charm his vivacious young teacher and I really appreciated how E's teacher discerned and fostered her love of reading, writing and maths. Did you have a teacher that inspired and championed you? What books from your school days do you still love or which are still totally hated because of exams and essays?

I detested school, the old-fashioned teachers, the naked aggressive bullying, the choking atmosphere of catholic containment. Additionally, Northern Ireland in the late 1980's was a bitter and uneasy place. There was one sustaining class though, Eng Lit/Lang, taught by the lovely Mr H. This class, the first cohort of GCSE student,s gave me an escape from the day-to day mundanity and the anticipation of a permanent absence. The power of words and a university education could take me away from the chilling graffiti chalked up on the 'gasworks wall', a release from the constant self-censorship both in words and of actions and of movement.

The images above are just three of the rich and vivid books that we poured over that summer. That cover of Cider With Rosie, while not my favourite was the text that we used and just a glimpse brings me back to that stuffy classroom, the shuffle of paper, the laconic buzz of a distant fly and the smell of Tippex, Impluse and cut grass. As Laurie explores Rosie in the hay, there was a corresponding fission of anticipation in that classroom. Occasionally Mr H would divert off into a monologue about his hobby of flying micro-light aircraft. I would surreptitiously stare out of the mobile classroom window at the handsome curly haired boy while my friend N had thinly disguised thoughts for Mr H's moustache.

A little later, armed with A levels I escaped to the beautiful but sometimes haunting city of Bath to study, Handsome Curly Haired boy married the girl next door at 21, Mr H stayed on teaching at the same school chalking up thirty years at the same school. I wonder how many students he inspired to continue and enjoy reading and writing not as a chore or even a sometime habit but as an essential fundamental part of  everyday life. I wonder if he still spends the weekends flying his little 'plane. I wonder did any of us thank him...

Inspired by Sue's wonderful post about Cider with Rosie and the centenary of Laurie Lee's birth falling so close to my own birthday I was inspired to pick this book for our June book-club choice and I cannot tell you what a wonderful experience it was to re-read. The rich descriptive language, the abundance of unforgettable characters, the Grannies, the Uncles, Miss Fluck and her pre-Raphaelite suicide, this book touches my heart like few others. Now, re-reading as a mother, the chapter 'Mother' especially emerges as one of the most loving and compassionate portraits in the English literary canon.

"She was as muddled and mischievous as a chimney-jackdaw, she made her nest of rags and jewels, was happy in the sunlight, squawked loudly at danger, pried and was insatiably curious, forgot to eat or ate all day and sang when sunsets were red."