- Every woman has a different idea of handsome.
- How you say something is as important as your actual words.
- Never put yourself down, there are enough people in the world waiting to do that.
- Humorous self-deprecation has its place.
- Be self-ish. If you can't look after yourself, you can't look after others.
- It is not your job to fix things for everybody.
- Try it. Except drugs and orgies. Those you can pretty much guarantee don't live up to the hype.
- Put in the hard graft to reap the rewards but accept sometimes there are no rewards. If someone else swans in for the glory moment, kick them in the shin. Hard.
- Be able to communicate in a foreign language even if you do it badly. Una bierre grazie/un biere/s'il vous plait/ein bier bitte/una cerveza per favour will get you friends in many countries.
- Keep learning always. There is something new to be experienced every day, even if it is just a sunrise or sunset.
- Stand tall.
- Take up space.
- Don't let someone tell you you can't because of who or what you are if you think you can.
- Every man has a different idea of beautiful.
- Be enough for yourself.
- Develop a sense of your own style. Allow yourself to adapt it as you age.
- Stand up to the bullies; sometimes they live in your own head.
- Listen to people.
- Don't carry a gun unless you are authorised by a government agency. Same goes for a knife bigger than a Swiss Army blade.
Thursday, 6 February 2014
Posted by trash at 17:49
Wednesday, 15 January 2014
Are you gifted with a partner who is good with words? Does your man or woman always manage to say just the right thing at the right time to soothe your soul, to calm your nerves or to make you laugh so much your anger drains away? It is likely you are one of a very select group and you should try and take a minute to appreciate how special your beloved is.
CK and I have been together for 21 years now. That is a long time. I am not sure quite when I became old enough to have been in a relationship that long; probably about the same time I became old enough to have a 15 year old daughter. 21 years. And half the time I still have no clue what goes on behind his eyes because he is a reserved Englishman, an introvert. Three things that together make him almost unreadable to anyone but Mr Holmes. But every so often he surprises me.
I have been Springcleaning here this week in the hope that it will assuage the Gods and they will stop with the rain and raise the sky height just a little bit. My bedroom has been completely emptied and is slowly being put back together; CK being away for the week with work meant I could do it in peace and, if come bedtime, last night I had to shovel a path betwixt door and bed and fall asleep under a carapace of sleeping bag and 300 quilts there was no dissenting voice or rolled eyes to stop me. Yesterday as I pulled the contents from every cupboard and dragged out the Universe of shoes, books, hair elastics and craft materials that was under my bed I found a letter. My husband had written me a love letter.
It is written on a simple piece of white A4 in blue biro. It is folded in ways that are only just short of crushed. Looking at the back I think it might even have muddy pawprints around one edge but never has there been a more beautifully crafted, more elegantly created expression of love. I don't know why it was under my bed, I cannot quite figure out why it is not pressed between the pages of beloved book to be taken out and read on special occasions but I do know that never has any woman been as deeply loved as I am fortunate to be.
" Some nights I just want to shout 'I love you' but nothing
comes out except "How was your day?"
"How was your day?" is what I say. "
Posted by trash at 13:29
Monday, 18 November 2013
So the other week the everso talented and clever Julie over at Little Cotton Rabbits wrote a post all about her knitted hedgesnogs. How different yarn thickness and needle sizes change the size of the finished hedgesnog. She mentioned how it would be rather fabulous to make one big enough to be a footstool or pouffe. I happen to have 25mm needles. The game was on.
I swooped into the crafty jumble sale that took place last weekend and cleaned them out of brown and cream yarn
It was proper jumble where the local old Grannies had turned out their craft cupboards, finding years of hidden goodness. Some of it not even 100% acrylic!
So I set to with my thread of uber-yarniness and little by little,
day by day I slowly growed a hedgesnog.
It got bigger and bigger
and it growed so much this week that I even got to change colour and begin the decreases in the face section.
I have made a mega-LittleCottonRabbits Hedgesnog.
Watch this space, I have hopes of actually figuring out how to get it sewn up very soon...
Posted by trash at 00:05
Tuesday, 29 October 2013
Thank you all for your kind words.
Thinking about it over the weekend I came to the conclusion that while it was a hard thing to do it was actually not a hard decision to make. He was ready to go and it was beholden on me to see that he could with as much grace and ease as possible.
Being the fabulous friend that she is Missus Moog arrived bearing armloads of fabulousness; a bottle of her delicious rosehip syrup to soothe my horrid cough and this - a stunning project zip bag she made complete with some of that clever, tricksy free-motion picture making stuff all the clever people do.
Can you recognise it?
It is a picture of my ReggieSneggie Black Dog standing on his wall.
Posted by trash at 21:22
Thursday, 24 October 2013
If you get a minute today spare a thought for my lovely old man black dog, Reg. In about an hour I am taking him on his last trip to the dammit, blasted stinking horrible bastard bloody vet (obviously I paraphrase his immediate and blatant reactions everytime we go there).
Yesterday morning he went to stand up and couldn't, his left back leg just couldn't bear any weight and he kept falling flat back down onto the wood. His ability seesawed throughout the day but he obviously was seeking comfort because while I was in the shower and he couldn't find me he took himself upstairs to his sheepskin beside my bed. I cannot imagine how but as the vet said recently - "He is like two dogs pushed together" - so those crazily strong, 16 yo forelegs really did their job. I am pleased and grateful he spent the day in a place he has loved best since he stopped being able to crawl under our bed or get in behind the sofa. I have never known a big dog to have such a small turning circle. Yesterday afternoon, even with his limpy, wobbly back end, he managed to turn himself around in his cupboard so he could watch the world out the kitchen window.
From weird-looking, little rat-tailed puppy with a 30 second gap between input and output when eating to the elegant, model-like middle years when he was all flowing mane & tail and beauty incarnate to the noble old man dog he has become in these last few years we have been lucky to have him share his life with us. Otherwise who else would have kept the postman, next door's dogs and those fecking pigeons at bay all these years?
Posted by trash at 09:18