A quick 'call' into an art gallery

We'd been out walking in the Dales all day and now that the unusually fierce afternoon sun was beginning to mellow and our legs were noticing the miles that had passed beneath, we finally returned to the car.

We drove out of the sun-drowsy village and it's daisy filled green and followed the narrow lanes to the Settle, it's larger but still village like neighbour. Settle has wonderfully tortuous lanes snaking through cottages perched on the sides of the hills. You have to squeeze through gaps originally designed for horse and cart between toll houses and tiny homes.

Suddenly after the almost claustrophobic jostle of housing, a little village green appeared hosting a huge tree, a telephone box, post box and bench. Himself grinned as he told us to go and visit the art gallery.

Art Gallery?

Where?

Here of course! 

It is call The Gallery on the Green and has events and special guests exhibiting their art throughout the year. When we visited - all the art work was on the ceiling so we all got a crick in our necks as we craned up to look at the pictures.

So that you don't have to suffer the same affliction, here for your perusal is the ceiling in all its arty glory!

So we duly signed the visitors book and returned to the car having enjoyed the delightful unexpectedness of it all :)

Enjoy the rest of your day, with love hawthorn xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Little bit of this, a little bit of that

I keep meaning to stop and say welcome to some new faces, hi to some regulars and hello to any one meandering through.

Jane you asked about the yarn - it is the one I am using for *sshhh you know what* and is Nymph 4ply 'Wisteria'  from my shop - it's working up beautifully for that particular item (and if you are wondering at the secrecy -  I am crafting a birthday pressie for my Mom - for her birthday [obviously] which was about 2 weeks ago.......I am still perfecting the art of the item - I've managed the frogging back part really well so far.....) *sigh*

Lovely Lady - yes finally after a bit of a rocky start, the cats are almost as close as sisters or I suppose more like a mother daughter combo. It is funny to think there is only 6 months between them. I suspect that due to Pan's less than auspicious start, she will remain a small cat especially next to Lily's VAST quantities of fluff!
When she sits down, her fur wafts upwards just like a lady's crinoline skirt - in fact - remember the 1956  'King and I' with Yul Brynner and Deborah Kerr? Well, Lily's fur reminds me of Deborah Kerr's dress when she dances.

Hi Jacqueline -I see your sky scarf is growing beautifully, I am still recording the sky colours but must knuckle down and knit some rows - just need to finish my Mom's pressie first!

Hi Amanda  and Miriam Weaver! Welcome, nice to meet a new bloggers :) I am hoping this week to get over and say hi, it's been ages since I last has time to play on the lap top - combination of work, sunshine and the boys homework needs.

Thanks N (colouritgreen) your bwahahaha hit the spot!! Yes, I agree we do have loads of  'you-is-me-and-me-is-you'  similarities :)

My on a rather musical note posting seemed to have a toe-curling response from all of you but much more interestingly I was delighted at how many closet folkies are skulking around out there - woo hoo!

Any hoo, it has been nice chatting but the garden, the cats and the sunshine are all tempting me out so I will have a brief encounter with the vacuum cleaner, hang out the washing then spend some quality time with the weeds before going to work.......well, that's my day sorted!


Oh, before I go, one quick photo from our weekend.......... what do you do with a pack of boys and a thirsty garden on a hot day?  Well fill the pool and let them loose......garden gets watered and boys cool down - win win.

Where have we been?

Here

There

Walking

Working

Crafting

Progress

Loving

Living

Normal transmission will return shortly 

when my life returns to normality. 

Ps watching the Eurovision (surreptitiously on my lap top coz Himself thinks its all a bit too girly!!)

On a rather musical note....

I am rather fond of folk music - yes I can hear some of you out there sniggering or sighing at this unfortunate infliction, but yes, I am rather fond of the Irish lament or the traditional sawing away at the fiddle that gets your feet tapping and your heart singing (well for some of us that is!)

A while ago we used to regularly go to the Dent Folk Festival and see some amazing acts out on a field surrounded by hills and sheep. However latterly we have not been able to go.

With this in mind, last week at work when I was beside myself with the pressure of staff shortages and double shifts, I felt the need for some sort of music therapy so started searching for any bands or festivals. It was a fairly fruitless search to start with, as it is a bit too early for the festival season and bands were either too far away, too expensive, fully booked or not on a day we could go.

Then............ I found something that made me rather excited.

A local folk group were getting together this Friday - yes THIS Friday in a neighbouring town at a pub we used to use in our misspent youth - as ha! Problem solved - or so I thought....... erhum.

I text Himself who seemed fine about it, rang the pub to check that kids could come and through a rather muffled line I could hear an harassed staff member saying that yes kids could come but they would have to keep muffle muffle away from the bar (which is normal) and sit in the muffle waffle room with the waffle muffle band and that muffle muffle 8.30pm - he was obviously busy and I heard just enough of the conversation to confirm that this was what we would be doing this Friday evening. Yay!

To cut a long story short (most of my stories are fairly long and meandering) we arrived at the pub about 15 minutes after starting time - the 8.30pm that was mentioned. The car park was full so we hurried in....to an empty pub.....? We, with our drinks, sat in the lounge part and looked at each other... something wasn't quite right. I was about to open my mouth to speak when right above us, through the ceiling boards came such a stomping and a fiddle sawing we knew that we were in the right place, just on the wrong floor - a quick check with the young barman confirmed that yes indeed we should be upstairs.

We set off and I could see the legs and a guitar case of a folkie disappearing up above us, so followed keenly.

There was a lot of folk upstairs, chatting and clapping and we could hear the sounds of cheering. Aha, a good crowd I thought, however, we had to wait until the folkies at the door moved before we could go in and grab a seat - hopefully we would not be too near the back with being late. I needn't have worried....... oh no..... not at all.

We were ushered in by a cheery bearded chap as he told us to grab a chair and come through.

The room was small. Very~small.

There were chairs all around the outside.

Each with a seated folkie and their respective instruments.

We were put

in

the

middle

surrounded by about 30 people

 we~did~not~know~where~to~look.

I nearly died. The boys shrunk to a quarter of their normal size and stared into their juices. Himself and I, glazed looks on our eyes smiled tightly and we whispered rather too shrilly - ooh this is nice? Isnt it boys, very nice, oh nice, nice oh.

Then the music started.

Each folkie sang, played, fiddled, harped, strummed, piped and drummed around us, one by one we were serenaded with Irish laments, Simon and Garfunkel, jigs and reels, covers and originals as...

we

sat

in

the 

middle

with

about

30 pairs of musical eyes on us....

Nervous grins all round.

After several individual performances the lead folkie sort of made an introduction (for our benefit) who they were and what they did and then.... asked us if we sang.
Err No
Played any musical instruments (a hopeful note in voice)
Umm - not us but the boys play piano and keyboard 
Did we know any folk songs? (desperate note)
Umm - none worth getting excited about and only enough to hum to.

The room went rather silent. Then Eldest dropped his juice onto the floor. gah..... could it get any more embarrassing.

I lept up and ushered Eldest out and nipped downstairs to the bar to beg a cloth to mop the carpet. On returning we were met by one of the women who had been playing the fiddle most beautifully. She chatted about how she'd started and asked about our interest and mentioned that usually it is just them and it was a rarity to have an 'audience' and yes new comers were always put in the middle. She asked about the boys and without the pressure of being scrutinised by all the folkies it was easier to chat to her.  We then went in. Mopped the floor and relaxed a little.

We began to enjoy the music when the lead folkie noticed that Youngest was really enjoying himself by now and got him involved, got him singing and shaking an egg shaped rattly thing. Eldest remained steadfastly hidden behind his fringe.

Himself (after a pint or two) began to sing - he has a beautiful voice but only sings for us and only if pressed. It was, after a rather terrifyingly embarrassing start, a rather good evening and by the time we were able to leave, it was after closing time. We left after many hand shakes and 'lovely to meet yous and come agains' and decided that we had, eventually, have a brilliant evening.

PS - no teenagers were emotionally scared or harmed by embarrassing parents or younger brothers. He was, to our surprise, the first to ask if we could go back - but I think Himself and I need to recover first.


Are we going again? Probably, but will definitely get there much earlier and grab a wall seat!!!

Where has time gone?

Last weekend was a wonderful walk filled couple of days - and I had intended on posting a few pictures and sharing a rather silly tale but suddenly it is nearly next weekend and I've not had time to even go on line and see what you have all been up to!

The culprit of this lack of time? Work...... need I say more?

So, as soon as I can I will post about our walks and our close encounter of the folk music kind.... scary stuff!

Life, love and Liebster

Do you see things or people as you drive along and form over time a story about them. Wondering about who they are or what do?

I do.

Before I injured my knee, while doing the school run I used to muse about the late middle-aged auburn haired lady, who wore slightly too short trousers that flapped around her ankles as she strode towards her lift. Her hair, short and curled, used to not alter be it rain or shine - a definite advert for firm hold hair spray. She, in all weathers wore a coat, belted tightly around her skinny waist while under her arm her shoulder bag would be equally firmly gripped by a slender hand. She always had a look of grim determination - was her job stressful or did she relish each hour she was there? We would see her determinedly walk towards her destination as we went to school and once I had dropped off the boys, I would some times see her standing, neck outstretched as she tried to spot her lift.  I only saw the waited for lift once or twice and he was young and trendy with slick-black surfboard hair in his fast and shiny modern car.  I don't think they were an item otherwise she would have glowed and smiled on her walk to work, her scowl and set shoulders make me think that it was a lift of convenience - not of love!

Where is she now? I don't know, since returning after an absence of 6 months from not doing the school run, she no longer pounds the pavements in her solid determined gait.

There is a young man, overweight with (here I hate to use the word but it is so descriptive) a ginger straggly beard and un-fashionably tatty hair. He would casually wander towards the 6th form college in his left wing activist T-shirts stretched across his belly and his over-sized jeans hanging low and pendulous off his backside. Some days he wore black rimmed specs, not as a statement of fashion more of a need to see. He always struck me as a solitary figure as he plodded up the pavement,  pretty girls chatted in pairs always over took him and lads guffawing at a private joke lolloped passed him along to the senior school.

As we would sit in the traffic, inching slowly towards the busy roundabout, there was an elderly gent in his gabardine trench coat and flat cap. Clenched tightly between his yellowing dentures he had a wooden bowl pipe - an odd sight these days. He has a shuffling gait that must have worn his shoe soles thread bare. He would shamble along in his own little world - school pupils and mothers with pushchairs would stream passed him as he puffed on his pipe. Then, crossing the road by the roundabout he would disappear into the allotments. I don't seem him any more - is was very elderly and you wonder.......


There is a plump  girl, probably 17 or 18 who over the last two years has been trying to find an identity. Chameleon like she has changed colour and appearance in her bid to find herself. When I first noticed her she was sporting a vivid purple peplem coat, brittle bleached Marian Monroe blonde hair and vinyl skull covered messenger bag. You might wonder why I would remember such details - well she wore the same coat, legally blonde curls and shiny bag for weeks and weeks.
For a while she wore a floral wrap around type dress and honey blonde hair, her appearance belonged to an older generation, that didn't last long.
Her next guise was a Florence and the machine type flaming red-head. The coat was black and she had vinyl  pillar box red lace up biker boots. Her features never changed much, a chubby baby faced girl with pale skin and unsure eyes. She also seemed a loner, walking separately from pretty slim girls who appeared stuck together like giggly glue and boys who were interested in following these bright young things.

Her most recent transformation is the most interesting. Long locks are now dark and rat-tailed. She wears Che Guevara T shirts and torn dirty jeans with heavy biker boots.

And holds hands with the straggly red bearded young man - and they both smile.

I have been lucky enough to receive another award  - thanks you very much Jacqueline (Super Gran)  for thinking of me :)

The Liebster Award is a blog award that apparently originated in Germany, originally to showcase bloggers with less than 200 followers. Once receiving the award the recipient must pass it on to five more blogs of note which is a wonderful way to introducing bloggers to some of your own favourite blogs.

The Leibster Convention says that:......

1. You must thank your award presenter on your blog and link back to them.
2. Copy and paste the award icon into your blog.
3. Present the award to 5 blogs with less than 200 followers that you love.
4. Leave a comment on their blog to let them know
5. Have faith that these award winners with spread the blog love!

So here goes ; 

• See Liz at Home - she always has such beautiful things and photos
• marie's making - I love the things she makes, her tutorials and Ralph who comes to visit.
• Grateful for Crochet - an antipodean look at crochet with lots of pictures of sky! Which, at the moment in soggy Britain is a much desired thing.....
• There are many more blogs I follow but so many don't have their followers listed so for now, here are three to go and visit and say hello.

Well, that was a lot to say, there is more, like blowing bubbles for the kitten whilst parked in the car outside the vets or having a belly laugh and getting my happy batteries recharged with a dear friend when we met for lunch yesterday - but hey - you've got things to do and I've got the carpet to vacuum - boy do we live life in the fast lane!!!

All this divided York and Lancaster..." William Shakespeare, Richard III

What a grey day! Again! I know that we are all 'desperate' for rain and that we are under a hosepipe ban in parts of the country and I know, I know that the ground water is still low and all this rain is very necessary to raise the levels - but I-a-m-h-e-a-r-t-i-l-y-s-i-c-k of the ****** stuff - gah. When I grew up in Africa, rain was seen as a gift......

I have found that my crafting mojo is in a bit of a lull at the moment. Several have done projects languish on my desk. Each one has a fairly plausible excuse for its unfinished state but I feel quite uninspired to actually surmount these rather small blocks. Hmm - note to self - *get on with it!*

On the positive front, our feline family are handling each other's presence so so much better. My mom came up with a brilliant analogy. She calls their hissing and spitting 'The War of the Roses' Which appropriately enough has the red rose of Lancashire warring against the white rose of York for the English throne in the mid to late 1400s.

You may still be wondering at the connection here - so here goes, Lily (red) was born and bred in Lancashire and Pan (predominantly white) was found in a shed in Yorkshire. Brilliant!

But, unlike the war of the roses, our little furry dispute seems to be receding, with only the occasional spat.  I know that food and play is a great leveller and the tastiest treats and the most exciting games soon break down barriers.