Dilly Tante inspired me today with those lovely chickens she found at Red Ted Art
But as I can’t sew I spent the afternoon knitting a distant cousin. Here’s how: First, I would knit four traingles
Then, I would knit the legs (i-Cord),; beak and crown are crocheted (Picot).
Next, I would crochet the yellow triangles together, fill the little chicken and finally attach everything red. Little black beads make for the eyes.
Hannah started it and as we had talked about the pattern earlier this week I just had to follow … Yes, she challenged me.
So tonight I spent the evening knitting an egg from the book (Arne & Carlos: „Easter Knits“ or „Paske-Strikk“ respectively) and even a second one, though the latter would last for less than 5 minutes as I unravelled it right when it was done.
I knew it all along (and I have said that before): things that small and delicate are NOT for me. Neither little bunnies nor Easter eggs! Still, here is the egg with J (already in his PJs) holding it .
As always he would take the finished creation to his room. Good night egg.
This morning the beautiful birds designed by Louise Weaver found me. (It would be lying if I said that I found them. All of a sudden they were there. Serendipity?!) Since then, there are still no signs of spring outside but definitly inside my head. Those extravagant birds, so playful and luminous, just brightened my day.
The Jealous Curator makes this a „two-in-one“ discovery. Not only because she enunciates my inner thoughts (Yes, I am jealous when looking at those birds) but because her blog is beautifully done, very well written and presents awesome pieces of art (jealousy again, I guess). Great way to start the day 🙂
The other day, the kid went on a school outing. When I asked where they were going, he gave me a very detailed explanation: “some garden, or nature, or… stuff.” He also announced—very seriously—that he would bring me back a present.
Fast forward to the afternoon. He comes home, slightly mysterious, slightly proud, and very dirty. Then, with great ceremony, he slowly unzips his anorak, makes a funny little face, and carefully reveals… a tiny strand of wool. (And no, you really don’t want to know what his hands looked like at that point.)
Turns out they had been to a farm, where the kids got to try things like spinning wool. He later admitted that he wasn’t all that interested in the whole “sheep-clipping, fleece, spinning” process. But the idea of bringing home real wool—wool that he had made himself, no less—clearly won him over. And somehow, that little fuzzy string made it all the way home in his pocket.
This morning, he checked back in with me. Very serious again.
“So… what are you going to make out of it?”
Pause. Thoughtful look.
“Do you think it might become a cardigan?”
Years ago, a colleague gave me his mother’s old sewing machine. Dusty, a little battered, and long hidden in his attic, it finally came my way the day I casually mentioned that having one would be nice. I can’t say I ever used it for anything “big” – I’ve always been more about fixing than creating.
Over the years, though, it became my go-to for patching the kid’s jeans. Zillions of patches. The machine was reliable, eager, humming along as it stitched whatever I needed – straight stitches, zig-zags, you name it. Sure, I occasionally broke a needle, but that was the extent of the drama. No serious breakdowns.
Still, we never really bonded. Maybe it was the weight – it’s a beast. Dragging it out of the basement, carrying it into the kitchen, setting it up on the table… I hated every step. So naturally, I procrastinated, letting the pile of jeans grow until, inevitably, the kid had nothing left to wear. By that time, of course, he’d grown, and all those freshly patched jeans were suddenly too short.
So why am I telling you this? Because today I finally decided it was time to find a new home for my 1950s Ideal Zick-Zack Deluxe. I listed it on eBay for free, hoping someone out there would convince me they’d be the perfect new owner. Within an hour or two, about 20 people responded.
My gut led me to Ritva – a young mother of two, devoted to needlework (at least that’s what she said). I loved her emails, the way she wrote, and I have to admit, I was curious about someone named Ritva. Isn’t that a beautiful name? I’d never heard it before.
To make a long story short: an hour ago, Ritva came by. She seemed to really adore the machine, its accessories, and even the suitcase it came with. It was love at first sight. And when she started praising all the advantages of an old machine over the newer “plastic” ones, I couldn’t help feeling a tiny pang of regret for letting it go.
Have a wonderful new life, Ideal Zick-Zack Deluxe, and thank you for being part of our family for the last 25 years. I promise I’ll think of you every time the kid rips his pants.