Delving deeper

A few people have asked how Minky and Spook would be with kids. They're brilliant with Aran, not even a hint of jealousy, so they would be fine with really young kids, and would grow with them and adapt. The're ok with older kids, as young cousins and relatives have been round and no problem. I doubt, though, that Minky would cope with them at that boisterous age... she hates being picked up and can be nervy with new people, so if a young kid was chasing her she's likely to spend most of her time under a bed and I wouldn't want that for her.

It is starting to look like our only option is to hand them over to Cats Protection and I'm not dealing with that very well. They have a waiting list for cats needing to be rehomed, so we have some time to keep trying.

All of this is opening up old wounds which is just adding to the stress and anxiety. Old wounds that I thought I had dealt with, but were obviously just muffled by the meds. There's a whole host of emotions running round my system that I haven't felt for over 5 years, all adding to the difficulties.

Does anyone remember 'Golden Hands' and 'Crafts' magazines, from the late 60's/early 70's? Golden Hands dealt with fabric and textile things, Crafts covered everything else from woodwork to photography to glass. The projects look very dated now, but the magazines' approach was techniques heavy, and would put most modern magazines to shame. Very thorough and informative. They were an education in themselves, building up the skills levels in weekly or bi weekly chunks. Very influential to a young, bright and creative kid.

My mum collected all of them, and they were what I grew up on. I'd spend hours pouring over them, reading them from cover to cover. In the summer, I'd lay a blanket out in the garden, get out the box of magazines, and plan all these things I'd like to make. I made all my early dolls' clothes from them - Sasha and Gregor I think were the dolls' names. I loved it all, and my mum gave me this box of magazines, because I used them so much.

I've always felt that all this went a long way to make me who I am today. They are at the core of my strongest childhood memories.

When my mum and dad seperated, both myself and my brother stayed with my dad. My mum needed space to sort herself out, so we gave her it. I was in my mid to late teens, and understood what was going on.

Nearly every night my dad would come to my room amd sit and cry on my shoulder. That was tough, I couldn't help him. He may have lost his wife but we'd lost our family. My brother bottled things up and didn't talk to anyone and I became the 'pillar'. My emotions and feelings got supressed because I had everyone else's to deal with.

When it came to sort out belongings and all those things that get stored, my mum came round and went through everything with him. My box of magazines came into question. My mum did tell him that they belonged to me, and should talk to me about them; they were no longer hers. My dad believed me to never use them and wanted to get rid of them. My mum tried to tell him otherwise but he wouldn't have it. He may have done it out of spite to my mum, I don't know, but he went ahead and dumped them. The whole lot gone.

I didn't know this had happened until a few days later when my mum told me. My dad didn't think it was worth telling me. I was so unbelievably angry and hurt that I was ready to leave home there and then, and never talk to my dad again. I meant it, too. My mum talked me into staying and trying to sort it out with my dad, but it was too late, the one thing I valued more than anything had gone.

I couldn't bring up the subject with my dad, I was too angry.

I spent literally years trying to replace all the lost magazines, including dragging home a complete set of 'Crafts' magazines in their binders from Edinburgh on the train, where I'd found them in a flea market. It nearly broke my back, they were heavy, but I wasn't leaving them behind!

It probably took me about 10 years, but I finally replaced them all. I don't use them much these days but they stay with me, they have their own space on the bus. They represent much more than my childhood memories now.

I still can't talk to my dad about all this. I did try telling him a couple of years ago how upset I'd been, but he didn't really get it. And this whole fiasco with the cats has reminded me about how insensitive he can be. I accept his reasons for not wanting the cats, it's the fact that he left it so late to tell me, and didn't think to tell me earlier. You'd think he'd know that the sooner he told us, the more chance we'd have of finding them a new home - a year makes a lot of difference. He hasn't tried to help us rehome them either, yet through his work he has loads of contact with older people and pensioners and various charities, all possibilities. He just doesn't get that he could do something. He's washed his hands of the 'problem', and that's that. If this was me letting someone down like this, I'd be bending over backwards to put things right.

What hurt me most about the situation with my magazines was not just that he'd thrown them out without asking me, it was that he had never seemingly noticed how important they were to me. Even after all the times I'd asked him to get the box out for me because it was too heavy for a kid to lift. Even after all the lists of odd materials I'd want just so that I could make some project. Even after all the summer days of laying out in the garden with the magazines around me. He just didn't notice.

Over the years, he's thrown a lot of things out that have belonged to me and my brother without asking us about them, so I don't trust him anymore. Even if he had a change of heart tomorrow about the cats, I doubt I'd be happy for them to stay with him.

He's helping us store the bus, so I'm trying not to fall out with him. Actually, he doesn't seem to have noticed that I'm trying not to fall out with him. There's so much anger running around in my system, unable to vent in the right direction because I'm trying to keep the peace, at least until we leave.

Onwards into another day of phoning and emailing to see if we can find somewhere for our ladies. Have even placed an AD on Gumtree.
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Seesaw

When we first got the bus plans underway, it was a done deal that our cats would stay at my dad's. It might not have been my first choice for them, but it was safe enough and we didn't have to say goodbye forever. I suspect now, from the way my dad's been talking, that they'd made up their minds a long time ago that they didn't want the cats and failed to tell us until a few weeks ago.

We did our best, and thought we'd found an ideal foster home, only to find out (via a 3rd party, I might add) that she's not interested anymore. So now we're back at square one and we're supposed to be leaving in 3 weeks.

I'm getting fed up with people making promises and letting us down. Fair enough, this isn't a little thing, it's a commitment we're asking someone to make. But you'd think folk would have the balls to tell you they're gonna let you down, rather than let it linger on and on, which helps no-one. If you can't help, just say so, y'know?

I've been in tears most of the last 24 hrs since we found out our 2nd option had failed.

So the passport people needn't worry about getting them back to us, because we can't go anywhere until we've found a safe, good home for Minky and Spook.

We're getting desperate to find the ladies a nice home, so if anyone knows of anyone, please, please email me. We'd be eternally grateful. We won't leave until they're settled, and dropping them off at the local Rescue Centre is not an option.

Also note that a) my periods have started kicking in after the birth and b) I'm off the meds, and judging by my current emotional state, they're well and truly out of my system.

Tom's back is on the mend but still can't work on the bus, he needs to give himself enough time otherwise he'll end up bed-bound again. Sheila is past the infectious stage and has been round to give Aran cuddles. Aran still has a slight cold but he's sleeping better. All in all this means I've been getting some rest.

I wouldn't mind knowing what we've done wrong on the karma stakes, though.

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ETA - ok, here's some shots of Minky and Spook. Spook is the fluffy tabby (a Maine Coon) and Minky is the slinky black lady. They are happy living in a flat, can use a cat-flap and are just as happy in a garden. Sociable, friendly, characterful cats that are pretty well behaved and it's unlikely they'll have issues with other cats (although Spook might sulk for a while). They're about 6 yrs old, and have never had any health problems. Spook would brush herself if she could and Minky likes to tell you when it's bedtime.












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Writing an 'ad' for them is breaking my heart.
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Bleugh

Aran has a slight cold, Tom has put his back out and can hardly walk, so the last 18 hours have been difficult. We're in London, and even though Grandma Sheila lives 20 mins walk away, she's got shingles so can't help out either. This morning I've woken up feeling at my wits end. I just don't have the strength to look after both boys 24/7. If you have any spare healing vibes, could you send them this way?

So I really should be doing better things with my (little) spare time, instead of procrastinating and getting involved in copyright discussions on Ravelry. Funny, the things we end up doing to avoid doing what we should be doing... as if anyone would willingly get involved in a copyright discussion?

Still, my design mojo has returned. There was me thinking that a collection of baby Hats would be a fun and welcome break from working on book 2, with all it's heavy colourwork and maths, and something much easier on the brain during this hectic time. Wanting to keep the Hats within a specific skills range, so that beginners' would be confident knitting them is a key element. A little quirky ala Wormhead, but no complex techniques or lengthy instructions.

And you know, trying to design to a set skill level has really thrown my brain off skilter! It's harder than you think, deliberately designing simple patterns. We may start off working such patterns as fledgling designers, but we progress onwards and upwards and easily forget what's required for a beginner or intermediate pattern (well, I do - I tend to go with the flow for my designs, using whichever techniques I feel are appropriate)

Still, at around 9.13pm last night, my mojo returned. Not that I have enough hours in the day to test knit them all and write the patterns before I forget, so thank frack for my little design notebook.

Another positive note - we now have our solar panels for the bus, the useful kind that also work in overcast conditions. We've 6, and that'll keep us in lighting and more quite easily. Our fridge is a 3-way so will work on gas too, but heck, we'd like to run it with minimal fuel costs!

The PO have finally accepted that our passport application forms are correct, that my writing isn't too big or too close to the edge of the boxes. Before we know it our new shiny passports will arrive, and we can book the ferry.

Sadly though, the Mayor of London hasn't listened to my whinging and allowed an exemption clause to the emission charges for poor bus dwellers who live ecologically, and who would like not to pollute the environment further by making 20 journeys in a clapped out petrol car instead of one journey in a 50% bio-diesel self-build bus conversion.

Think I might go for a walk before the boys wake up; better for me than staring at a computer screen, methinks.

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Worse than rabbits

Feeling stressed today.

Remember that ages ago, last year, we started the big clear out and downsizing, ready for moving into the bus? Well, due to books and babies that got put on hold, and lo and behold the toot that remained has multiplied. Where on earth does it all come from?


This sorting out business is making my brain ache. We're having to move into the bus in dribs and drabs, which doesn't help. Ideally, we'd like to bring the bus up here and shift it all in in one day... yet due to the new emission zone charge we'd be stung for £200 for each day for that pleasure. So instead we're taking it down in car-fulls, which of course is far cheaper in fuel costs and kinder to the environment. Not.

Now, I think it is commendable to want to improve the air quality in central London, but 200 smackers a day? The thief who stole our car got away with less. Any diesel vehicle over a certain age and weight get's stung, despite our lady's engine being as good as new and able to run on up to 50% bio fuel without a conversion. There isn't an exemption category for "I can't afford a new vehicle" or "I can't afford to pay the charge" or "we're 50% bio-diesel" or even "check my emissions and see how low they really are". Our bus is hardly old by diesel vehicle standards, she's only 12 years old, and is barely run in (read ultra low mileage) so the engine is as sweet as. It doesn't help that they still think she's a bus, not a motorhome. Don't they know it takes more energy to make a brand spanking new vehicle than that vehicle will ever use in it's life?

So we're forced to run our clapped out 17 year old estate car that is hardly economical on fuel and emmissions backwards and forwards, paying £2 a time for toll charges on top (the Dartford tunnel is the curse of our lives).

Ok, rant over. Consider this reason to leave the country no. 65,187.

Mind you, there'll be a deluge of vehicles ripe for converting being sold cheap because companies won't be able to afford the charge.... so guess where we'll be shopping when we need an upgrade...

Barp is coming along a treat, and even though you might not notice much difference in these photos, a lot of work has been done lately!


All of those shelves are for my books, and the under sofa area is all for my stash and equipment... and there's a *lot* of space! Tom has his 'shed' under the bed, accessible from the back doors.


The other job that needs to be sorted is Aran's passport application and my passport renewal. Each time I take the forms along to be checked at the PO, there's something stupidly wrong with them. Like "that letter is too close to the edge of the box". Yet another delay.
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Knitting in public?

We're still in Essex, and after some digging around through many embarrassing photo albums (as you do) I happened upon this shot.

That's me, aged 17, sitting on Holkham beach in Norfolk, knitting my then boyfriend a chunky fisherman's rib jumper. I don't remember using a pattern, and of course the boyfriend was dumped not that long after the jumper was gifted.

'Cos that's what you do when you're 17, right? You sit on the beach, tolerating the English weather, knitting.

And I've just realised that was 20 years ago. Yikes.