Sunday, 27 September 2009
Touched by your presence (and presents)
I will start with a quotation from one of my heroines, George Eliot, which I first wrote down in my teens, in purple ink with silver underlining in a miniature ringbinder of blue plastic, adorned with a suitably profound Snoopy sticker, along with various other bon mots which appealed to my dreamy, romantic teenage mind. My teenage days may be long gone, although the tendency to romantic dreams of a more bucolic kind perhaps persist, but I think that Eliot's inevitably wise words are worth repeating.
'I like not only to be loved, but also to be told that I am loved. I am not sure that you are of the same kind. But the realm of silence is large enough beyond the grave. This is the world of literature and speech and I shall take leave to tell you that you are very dear.'
I think it is a plea for affection and appreciation to be articulated, and a recommendation for communication of the positive. So in my circumambulatory way I should like to say thank you to all of you who have posted such interesting and supportive comments on my last few posts - it is so cheering to be the recipient of such encouraging feedback. And I in my turn appreciate you for taking the time to respond so constructively.
And thank you also to those kind people who have taken pity on me and voted for me in the Dorset Cereals blog awards - I did suggest to the Ploughboy and the General that it might be a nice gesture to vote for their dear mamma, too, seeing as they are the digital generation, and it is just like Facebook, really, but so far, not much luck. I think that they are probably quite incredulous that anybody actually reads what I write at all.
It is also cheering to receive lovely presents in the post, and this happened to me yesterday. The postman brought me a little package all the way from France, from dear Floss, whose Rentree Giveaway I was lucky enough to win.
I was very pleased to see that Floss had managed to find a diary which was 100% recycled, and Princess Bunchy was even more pleased to take it into her possession. She has a theory that such a diary will be a remedy for her tendency to forget which day her music lesson is. And as she informed me, she speaks French, so the text language section will be doubly useful.
So thank you, Floss, very much for such a sweet present and such kind thoughts.
I have also been sending out one or two presents, which I would like to show you as evidence that I do sometimes finish knitting projects, in spite of the fact that I have about, um, six in progress at the moment, not to mention the collection of fabric, patterns and ideas pending on the sewing front.
You might well remember the beginnings of this little blanket here, and here, and I gave you a small glimpse of the finished article last week, but the little person for whom it was intended was intent on keeping us all waiting. He has now arrived, and by way of welcome to the world, this is ready for him to snuggle under.
I am pleased with the colour combination, and had chosen it to be suitable for a boy or a girl, because I don't knit speedily enough to have embarked on it after the fact. I have voiced my reservations about the Sirdar cotton yarn before, but the finished effect is very pleasing. I am not entirely happy about the stitching up, which you saw here, but I am hoping that the baby won't notice. It has been wrapped up with some lavender bags for a week, so I hope that will ensure sweet dreams.
I have also been quite industrious on the swap front, and have completed my seed swap for Indigo Blue, to be posted tomorrow, and my letter writing swap with Ruth, and have started work on the rainbow swap with Bekimarie. So please be patient, Heidi, Lola Nova, and Kirsty - I have the materials, I have the ideas, and it's just a matter of time - but I promise that it is a hive of industry here at Pomona's cottage, the midnight oil is being burned, as well as candles at both ends, and I plan to have all promises fulfilled by Christmas, if not before.
And the Ploughboy has departed for the halls of academe, leaving his naughty, hole-digging, skirting-board-chewing, escape artist friend behind. I am off to vent my maternal grief at not being able to go and be a student yet again, and will share my feelings on this shortly.