Social media are mysterious things. The images we see on blogs, Pinterest and Twitter can make us gasp with delight and suddenly feel like taking up knitting needles or pliers. Creative inspiration can spread, joyfully. The sight of a posy of snowdrops on someone else's kitchen table really can help to cheer a grey wintry Tuesday afternoon. New skills are learned and real, lasting cackle-inducing-texts-at-11pm friendships made. A photo of a needle felted owl knitting in a tree can lift mood. I speak from experience of all these things.
There is always a dilemma though. When life is tough should it be shared? Some view social media as forms of escapism, for themselves aswell as others. If difficult truths are revealed there are concerns about losing followers, comments, customers, or even others' respect. On some days it's certain that the bare facts of anyone's life would not cheer someone else's morning.
Sometimes this means that there is little to say. Silence falls.
The last few years have been a mix of utter joy (two babies, creative endeavours) and great sadness for our family. In truth it has been difficult to weather some of the days and yet others have been truly wonderful. I'm beginning to think that this is how life is and Andy and I are relatively new to it. Perhaps the average yearly rate of tricky things has been exceeded. It's impossible to know and pointless to analyse.
I do know that blogging has taught me that on the days that you wish would end as soon as they've begun, noticing tiny details can be a saviour. An emerging primrose, a beautiful skein of yarn, a message from a friend, a small daughter's daft dance to a tune on the radio, a bl**dy good piece of cake. These are not inane, Polyanna-ish, homepsun pieces of nonsense, they are the good parts of life - to be held on to as tightly as you can.
I don't wish to be mawkish and all four of us are well (five if you count the dog). I've sort of been next door, learning how to bake things without gluten and eating them (more on this another day), talking utter nonsense in the very mysterious land of Twitter and being taught by dear dear Dottycookie how to knit in the round (and it's working. I'm gobsmacked).
I've missed the land of blog. Terribly. I was wondering if I could join back in? I miss the stories behind the crochet, the reason for casting on the new pair of socks and the impromptu trips to the teashop to eat a Chelsea bun. I miss the ability to savour photographs without a sort of Saturday afternoon football results (except its cats in cardboard boxes) tickertape going on at the same time. I promise I wont talk about sad things.
Here are some pictures from our newly decorated bedroom. It's only taken us eighteen months to finish it. My dear friend Fleur made my wardrobe curtains from pieces of antique whitework I found in a junk shop in Suffolk. Andy painted the floorboards and put up my Shaker pegs. A crate that was once part of my jewellery stall is now a bedside table and I fetched in my favourite garden chair and an embroidered cushion I found at a carboot sale. These are the ranunculus A bought me for that day on Friday. Secretly I want a frock that looks like one of these. I want to wear it down Tesco's with a tiara but they might usher me out.
The room seems now to be more than the sum of its parts. It's a good place. As is this. So, a belated happy New Year, and onward...
The last few years have been a mix of utter joy (two babies, creative endeavours) and great sadness for our family. In truth it has been difficult to weather some of the days and yet others have been truly wonderful. I'm beginning to think that this is how life is and Andy and I are relatively new to it. Perhaps the average yearly rate of tricky things has been exceeded. It's impossible to know and pointless to analyse.
I do know that blogging has taught me that on the days that you wish would end as soon as they've begun, noticing tiny details can be a saviour. An emerging primrose, a beautiful skein of yarn, a message from a friend, a small daughter's daft dance to a tune on the radio, a bl**dy good piece of cake. These are not inane, Polyanna-ish, homepsun pieces of nonsense, they are the good parts of life - to be held on to as tightly as you can.
I don't wish to be mawkish and all four of us are well (five if you count the dog). I've sort of been next door, learning how to bake things without gluten and eating them (more on this another day), talking utter nonsense in the very mysterious land of Twitter and being taught by dear dear Dottycookie how to knit in the round (and it's working. I'm gobsmacked).
I've missed the land of blog. Terribly. I was wondering if I could join back in? I miss the stories behind the crochet, the reason for casting on the new pair of socks and the impromptu trips to the teashop to eat a Chelsea bun. I miss the ability to savour photographs without a sort of Saturday afternoon football results (except its cats in cardboard boxes) tickertape going on at the same time. I promise I wont talk about sad things.
Here are some pictures from our newly decorated bedroom. It's only taken us eighteen months to finish it. My dear friend Fleur made my wardrobe curtains from pieces of antique whitework I found in a junk shop in Suffolk. Andy painted the floorboards and put up my Shaker pegs. A crate that was once part of my jewellery stall is now a bedside table and I fetched in my favourite garden chair and an embroidered cushion I found at a carboot sale. These are the ranunculus A bought me for that day on Friday. Secretly I want a frock that looks like one of these. I want to wear it down Tesco's with a tiara but they might usher me out.
The room seems now to be more than the sum of its parts. It's a good place. As is this. So, a belated happy New Year, and onward...
