When there is more in the box than you expect

Today, as it is raining, I decided to start the task of cleaning and clearing out our walk in wardrobe. It stores clothes and shoes, but also all my family history research, old Christmas cards in boxes and tins of photos, diaries and papers, still to be worked through from previous generations.

Today I opened the box, for the first time, of my christening gown. I knew it was wrapped in tissue paper, but I have never had any particular curiosity about it and have just left it wrapped up. I got a shock. There wasn't one Christening gown, but four! I have no idea which one I wore, but I have speculated who the others belonged to.

There are two almost identical. I am guessing they were bought for my grandfather's elder siblings, twins born in 1901. They died aged two months. By Edwardian standards, my great grandmother was considered "old" to have her first children at 34. A year after their deaths, my grandfather was born.

The other two gowns, one very simple and the other which looks Victorian in design I have no guesses for. It is possible they came through my great Grandmother's line, as she had three siblings, all of whom died young. My great grandfather had five siblings, so I'm not sure the gowns would be in such good condition after 6 christenings.

I confess, I feel emotionally fragile after looking at them. A new baby represents so much joy, and yet how many of those hopeful aspirations were dashed as babies died too young, or suffered illnesses that had no cure.

I'm not sure which one I was christened in, but I am guessing one of the twin's dresses. I was a large baby and 3 months old before I was well enough to go through the ceremony. So much to reflect on.

Red Cross Book Fair

Last year we discovered an annual bookfair in a town 50 minutes drive from where we live. This year we went again. It was supposed to be a day out with a friend from the capital. But due to a truck having an accident on the road north, he had to abandon his plans and we had to go without him.

As usual, we returned with amazing books purchased for great prices. I even got books for friends. The great news is that there are so many sales during the long weekend, that they can fund the refugee resettlement programme which is run by them in NZ. During the year they store books for this event, and a cool guesstimate wa that there were around 150,000 for sale!

Here are "some" of my purchases.

Now to find some shelf space.....

Of pies and patches

I'm trying to whip up some creative spirit, after feeling quite dull in that department for some time. I am getting to grips with a large patchwork quilt project, and yesterday I made a pie for tea, with the most amazing pastry (thanks Jamie Oliver for the Cornish pasty pastry recipe!)

Today I visited a quilting exhibition held in a huge room which is part of a national car museum (Southward Car Museum at Paraparaumu in case anyone is interested to visit) Husband happily roamed around the cars whilst I went looking to jump start my creative engine next door.

I was delighted to find that there were a number of traditional quilts on display as well as the huge and imaginative quilts sewn by machine. The first few pictures are the style of quilts I have chosen to dabble in over the years, using fabric garnered from unwanted clothes or offcuts.

I was especially impressed by the number of quilts which incorporated embroidery - one was animals of Africa, so I had to photograph the warthog (my favourite creature from that neck of the woods)

Another autumnal quilt really touched the soul as it was covered in embroidered birds

The variety of beautiful creations took my breath away. Here are a few more

Then I found the fabric I had been hunting for on one of the many Quilting stalls - pomegranate design. It is as rare as hen's teeth.

So now the creative engine is chugging away happily.

Birthday cards

I was born at the beginning of the 1960s which I think was one of the loveliest periods to be a child. I connect strongly to the designs of the time. It is why I saved all of my childhood birthday cards. This is for those of you who like retro stationery.

Passover, and why the Egyptians wore short skirts

Today is the feast of Passover, which I celebrate with my husband. Tonight we are seating eleven guests around our table. It is pretty tiring, getting everything ready, so taking a moment to sit to catch my breath, I watched my little ginger huntress in the turning circle in front of our house, playing with a mouse. I decided to go out and photograph it, as it was so adorable. It seemed quite easy to approach, but I was being given the evil eye by our cat - she was saying "Don't you mess with my mouse!"

I took my eyes off it for an instant and it vanished. It didn't take me long to find out where. It had shinned up my trouser leg, on the inside and had made it as far as my upper thigh!

I yelled for my husband and captured the wee thing by holding the fabric on the outside. I couldn't stop laughing. Between us, we managed to get my trousers off, on the front doorstep and evict the cunning little thing.

There is a certain synchronicity to this event. I am trying to imagine how the Egyptians managed with a plague of rodents. Probably better than me, as mostly they wore short skirts and not trousers!

Servant of the Vineyard

He has been captured watching the boundary of the vineyard next door.

The kindness of neighbours and strangers

Our neighbour messaged me last night on her way home from work "Would you like some pears and chestnuts?" Wow! This is the same neighbour who has gifted us pumpkins and dessert grapes from their garden. This evening's offerings were one step removed however. She had been given rather a lot of both by a customer and had divided the bounty. Generosity a step removed. Thank you whoever you are who grows and shells perfect chestnuts.

Chestnuts appear in some of my earliest memories: of St Helen's Square in York, where in the 1960s vendors could be seen selling from braziers. It was an early autumn treat to go into town and consume them from a cone of brown paper. Later, on bonfire night they would be the treats to eat whilst watching rockets and Catherine wheels explode and make you dizzy.

Memories of my years living in Austria roasting them in our apartment oven. The horse chestnut variety were an excuse to take a walk in the Vienna woods, to kick away the leaves and collect a basketful to dry and make into decorations.

Later, in a park in northern Athens, I collected a handful and took them back to my desert home, vowing one day to live in a cooler climate where chestnut trees would be the norm.....and here I am and here they are.