Aspirational clutter

Last weekend I spent some time with my mother, a dedicated mother-daughter I'm-not-hear-to-do-the-clearning day. (Or at least that was the idea).

My mother has had a number of health issues in the last two years and I've not been able to support her in a practical sense anywhere near as much as I would like to. The price of living in another country (and a cost that seems increasingly high for the benefit.) On one notable occasion, I wasn't able to take the time off work to be there during her operation but managed to come for a weekend shortly afterwards. I woke up early because of the time difference and, with the house to myself, just started a bit of tidying. This rapidly became an epic cleaning session, partly because I just knew my mother was sitting looking at the mess and grime accumulate, feeling miserable and guilty but unable to do anything about it, and partly because once I started it was so satisfying to see the space emerge from the stuff. When I finally finished and sat down for a cup of tea with my mother she burst into tears, she was so touched and it was so lovely to be able to do something for her.

I was determined this weekend we would not get side-tracked by cleaning, but in the end we spent most of the day decluttering her bookshelves. We had a total blast and talked and talked and talked, and I was struck by how much easier it is to help someone else sort through their clutter than it is to deal with your own. All the things I challenged her on - have you ever read this book? Wouldn't you just look it up online? Does it add value to your life? - are echoing back at me in my own home.

One thing in particular struck me. The stuff we hang on to because, very deep down, we want to be the kind of person who has x or does y or knows z. I realised this a little bit when I first went through my books - I had a copy of Samuel Beckett's short stories. I read them alone in a pub when my friends were late and it was a thoroughly depressing read, made me feel utterly friendless and despondent. I have no wish to read it again, but I quite like the idea of being the kind of erudite person with Samuel Beckett on her shelf. I let go of the book.

My mother had several books on wine - in particular, guides on which wine to buy. She was keeping them because of a vague fantasy of exploring the world of wine with someone discerning. The books dated from 1996 and had never been opened, and for me it was so easy to suggest that if she does think about exploring the word of wine, perhaps she might want to either buy something up to date, use the resources of the internet, or even better, go to some wine tastings.

I do need to find a way to capture that clarity for my own things. But one thing I have let go of is the lace pillow. I learned how to make bobbin lace at school when I was about 10, and I loved it. I have since then accumulated bobbins, books, patterns and a lace pillow but have never made anything out of bobbin lace. I have finally acknowledged that, at least at present, I have limited time for craft activities and I prefer to invest my time and energy into things like knitting and sewing which give me practical, useful and wearable outputs - I don't really know what I would make bobbin lace for.

It was a bit of a wrench but I have let go of the image of a life when I can spend hours clacketty-clacketting the bobbins to make beautiful, delicate lace. 

I have also tested my fabric stash and given away all the synthetic fabrics which realistically I will not use. For some reason, I have never thought of craft materials as clutter because they are 'useful' and crafts are an integral part (for me) of a more simple, homemade life. Now I see that one of the areas I have accumulated the most clutter is in the various crafts I would like to do but have never really had time for. I have NEARLY got my entire craft selection to fit tidily into my craft cupboard, with four substantial exceptions - my current work basket, my yarn stash, my ragbag and the pile of odds and ends intended to become a patchwork quilt. (So really, it's not nearly at all...)

The thing most holding me back is a wish to be a thrifty crafty creative person who finds a use for old discarded things, rather than just throwing them away, but to be honest I have more things and ideas than I have time to implement them. I also have a stash of dubious quality, bought before I had learned what I liked or planned what I wanted to make - and this stash is preventing me from getting started on projects I know I will enjoy and benefit from. Time to let the stash go?

Lazy weekend and Brussels tea shops

Don't you think this is just the best way to start a lazy day? Long weekends - how I love them. And again, this little picture marks something of my journey towards a handmade life - the bread is homemade, the tea is loose-leaf organic in a handmade, hand-painted mug. And what is it about the tray that brings it all together somehow?

Looking for alternatives

I'm actually feeling a little bit annoyed with myself - because yesterday, I had the opportunity to challenge myself to find an alternative to muffin cases. After all, there were cupcakes before cupcake cases (I presume, anyway!) When a friend made several very practical and frugal suggestions, including one I could have implemented without making any additional purchases, I felt a little bit ashamed that I didn't think of them. I guess I still have a way to go in thinking outside the box.

In many cases, this comes down to focusing on the result you want to achieve - preventing the cakes from sticking to the tray - rather than the tools the recipe tells you to use.

Well, thanks to my friend's suggestion, I will look carefully at muffin cases and at her suggested alternatives, and make a selection that balances practicality with frugality. I think I may go for baking parchment, which I can cut into squares and use. I think this will be more cost-effective than cases.

One good thing did come out of my search - I didn't find cases last night, but I did find affordable gelatine sheets, which I have seen in several recipes but been unable to find to date.

Fail

City fail. I have been into no less than EIGHT SHOPS looking for cup-cake or muffin cases, and NO ONE stocks them. I am more than slightly appalled. Someone has suggested I try a kitchenware shop in the city centre, but that means that I will not have time to make the cupcakes for at least a week. Grrrrrrr....

Another example of the frustrations of expat life - something that would be so easy in a Tesco or Morrisons becomes such a challenge. Especially when no one knows the French word, nor is it in my dictionary. Anyone out there know how to say 'muffin case' in French or Dutch?

On the limitations of being English

Don't worry, this isn't a rant about national identity or frustration about how Brits are viewed abroad etc. This is about one particular thing which I have been barred from for being English.

Blood donation.

I went to the blood bank today (because it stays open a bit later and I could go after work) to give blood and to give a sample for the bone marrow donor registry. All went well for the first 45 minutes, despite a few French/English communication problems and the most UNHELPFUL doctor on the planet. She was just standing in the room, arms crossed, staring into space. I asked a question. She said I had to go through the procedure properly and speak to Doctor A (currently engaged with a patient) before speaking to her. I explained that I had already asked Doctor A this question, and he thought I was asking for a translation of a word rather than an explanation of the risks the word referred to. She just said, you can ask him. Great.

Finally got in to see Doctor A, who looked about 85. Took my blood pressure, asked my weight, looked at me in some surprise and condescension when I confessed I didn't know my height in centimetres. To be honest, I was more surprised that they had nothing to measure me with. Are the budgets so tight they can't manage a tape measure up a door frame?

Well, we made it through the medical questions more or less. Finally after 45 minutes of paperwork, waiting and questions, we got to this one:
Did you spend any time in the UK between 1980 and 1996?
I had ticked yes, and this totally confused Doctor A. He asked why I would be in the UK at this time. Please note that at the top of my file it says that I am British and born in London (before 1996, as you might guess). Nevertheless, he cannot think of a reason I might have been in the UK in those years. I patiently explained that I had lived there.

He then explained to me that, because I happened to live in the same country as a mad cow disease outbreak fifteen years ago, I would never be able to give blood or any blood products in Belgium. Can anyone explain the medical reasoning behind this to me? Or why, in the UK, there is no such restriction?

Craft Workshops

Hello! I am still alive, you can breathe a huge sigh of relief. Life caught up with me, so I do in fact have a long list of blog posts I'd like to make on various topics, some of which are looooong overdue. Like this one.

As part of my interest in the journeys that our possessions take from the extraction or production of the raw materials through to the disposal of the used product, I am just a little bit interested in craft. I work with wool, and I am interested in all of the stages of the process from fleece to jumper. When I started working with Sunbeams, a Brussels-based charity promoting ecological issues in the English-speaking expatriate community here, I mentioned my interest in craft, and eventually we organised a Christmas Craft workshop.

It was a really good fun afternoon. There were several different activities going on, and the group of children moved naturally and easily from one to another as each was completed. Most of these involved using items that would normally end up in the bin - the insides of toilet paper rolls, scrap paper, and especially Christmas wrapping paper. My own contribution was introducing them to crochet, making creations vaguely resembling snowflakes. I did find that teaching crochet to that age group was rather tricky, as you can't do any of the fun stuff, but that's just something I need to work on.

I really enjoyed learning to make, for example, plaited heart-shaped bags to hang from the tree, using old wrapping paper. And I loved sharing my passion with a group of little people, who were all really proud of their creations. I think what made the craft afternoon so successful was that there was a range of different activities, so that the pressure didn't fall on any single person to keep people interested for the whole afternoon, and that it had a fairly specific focus. The range of activities also meant that people could arrive and leave whenever suited them, and do as many or as few projects as they wanted to, as quickly or as thoroughly as they liked.

I have attempted to get a craft workshop focused on crochet up and running, but I think the brief has been too vague and I haven't reached my target audience very effectively. Looking back at the success of this workshop, I think it would be advisable to choose a specific brief and bring together people interested in different crafts for a similar afternoon. Hmmm... It's a shame I missed the boat for Easter, but perhaps a Midsummer festival theme would work. Feel free to contribute suggestions.

Expat Excitement

This is the second time I've lived abroad, and the longest, and I am firmly convinced that something strange happens to the wiring in your brain.

I've been to two expat shops in the last week, courtesy of an English friend of mine here. There's an Irish shop a few metro stops away, and an English shop just out of town. She was amused by my reactions in both - I went around squealing and gasping my appreciation at finding items I would never buy normally in the UK. Oh, the excitement at seeing clotted cream, Hovis flour and Cadbury's chocolate! I swear, I nearly fainted when I found the Battenberg and Cherry Bakewells. (He does make exceedingly good cakes, doesn't he?) They had Dip-Dabs, sherbert lemons and sour Skittles. It was like going back in time - I can't remember the last time I had a Dip-Dab, I used to eat them with my sister when we were wee things. (No liquorice toffees, though!)

I did of course spend far more than I should have done, which will result on some fairly strict budgeting for the next couple of weeks. I did get tahini, so I can have a go at making my own hummus soon. And Wensleydale cheese and some pickle, for sandwiches. (This country makes 80 different types of cheese, why am I buying Wensleydale??)

This is the thing. I only came back from England a couple of weeks ago, but it was like a starving man at a feast. Heinz spaghetti hoops in a tin - I ask you! What was I thinking?? It does strange things to your brain, does living abroad. Or perhaps it's just me?