Living on the edge - a thrifty hint

Warning: the following post contains items of extreme thrift which delicate souls might find disturbing.

I felt that I should preface this post with a public health notice because I know that there are different types of frugal mindset, and while some go for the buy one, get one free, others are quite willing to explore the farthest reaches of soap recycling.

Which is where we are going today, so if a shiver of horror went down your spine at the words 'soap recycling', then please look away now. If, on the other hand, it was a shiver of excitement at the thought of a bit of cheeseparing (or, rather, soap paring, as you will see), then do stay with me.

These cakes are not for eating

How much you will save by recycling your soap depends, as with most thrifty hints, on how extravagant you have been in the first place. It is one of life's little ironies that the super-frugal have to be satisfied with saving pennies as their tight budget has already been slimmed down to the minimum, but the lucky old spendthrift can save lots more with much less effort.

My own first forays into soap recycling saved me lots of money - it started when I was given a set of Penhaligon's violet soap for Christmas many years ago. The bars came in a little set of drawers, and were really almost too nice to use, but I decided to prolong the experience of violet-scented soap by saving the soap ends and stretching them a little further. (The idea first came from reading The Penny Pincher's Book by John and Irma Mustoe, I think.)

Grate

So first catch your soap - every time a bar of soap gets down to the teeny-tiny bit which is too small to use, I let that little piece dry and pop it into a small jam jar. When the jar is full, I know it is time to get grating. Grate all those little pieces - thick or thin doesn't really matter.

Line

Line a couple of ramekins (or any small container which you have to hand) with clingfilm (reused, of course).

Fill

Then fill the ramekins with the grated soap.

Press down and smooth

Add a few drops of warm water and pack down - this is where you need to go gently. You don't want a ramekin of water with soap gratings floating in it - aim for a ramekin of grated soap moistened enough to stick together. I do it gradually - add a few drops of water, press the soap down, add a little more grated soap, press down and smooth with the teaspoon. It needs to feel reasonably firm and not at all sloppy - just moist enough for it all to stick together and not crumble.

Aim for about an inch, or a couple of centimetres, deep of dampened and packed down grated soap (these are quite shallow ramekins so I fill them half full). Finish off by pressing down firmly and smoothing the top and then put the containers in a warm place - I keep mine on the shelf above the Aga, but an airing cupboard would do.

Check after a day that it is all sticking together - you can add more soap if it is too wet, or a drop or two of water if it is too dry, but when you have made it once you will get a feel for the consistency.

After a couple of days you can peel off the clingfilm, and turn the bars up the other way to dry further. I leave it for a couple of weeks at least before using, checking and turning occasionally so that the soap completely dries out.

Rustic

And hey presto! you have made two new bars of soap out of little pieces that would otherwise have been thrown away. Perhaps not quite up to the standard of Penhaligon's triple-milled, but that warm glow of frugality makes all the difference. And the more you spend on soap to start with, the more you will save - isn't that a fun thought?

£*£*£*£*£

This post is dedicated to those two Queens of Thrift, before whom I feel quite humble: Angela at Tracing Rainbows and Mrs Thrifty Household. Do visit them for a continuous stream of Thrifty Hints and Tips and ways to elasticize your budget.

£*£*£*£*£

And tell me, which are your favourite thrifty books?  I am always on the lookout for books that will save you the cover price - I find it an infallible justification for the purchase.

Beat him when he sneezes

In the interests of snufflers everywhere, I offer an alternative to beating your children. I have some sneezers in my house, and being as I am a caring mother and all that, I really did not want to resort to physical chastisement. But when the hankie drawer is so far from the kitchen that it really is too too much to exert oneself climbing the stairs, something has to be done to retain someone else's sanity.

What about a box of tissues, you say? Well, I say, have you ever seen a tissue box as pretty as this one, and even more to the point, have you ever seen the havoc tissues wreak when released into the wild, and they find their way way into the washing machine? Not to mention the trees, and the dust which falls off the tissues (try shaking one in a sunbeam), which makes the snufflers sneeze even more ...

But Ayumi at Pink Penguin came to my aid with her fabric basket tutorial, and a range of fabric called
Pam Kitty Morning (I really just bought it for the name) hailed me from afar. The hankie-like prints meant that I didn't have to put a big sign on the basket, and the biggest sniffer of them all instantly made the connection.

(By the way, you aren't allowed to use the top one, as it is there for display purposes only.)

[She is most touched by your kind comments, she says as she dabs her eyes in an Olympian way, most touched indeed, and thanks her readers most sincerely. She will no doubt be paying calls to return the compliment very shortly.]

Thought for the day

On Fridays Soulemama always posts a very beautiful picture from her week, under the heading 'This Moment', and encourages bloggers everywhere to join in. It is a lovely idea to encourage everyone to stop and pause and appreciate the good things in their life, and every week I mean to join in, but Friday comes, up goes the post, I admire the picture, and think is it really Friday already, and oh no, I forgot to take a picture - and promise myself to do better next time (you will note that Soulemama manages to do a post without words, which is utterly beyond me, so I hope that you are prepared for some verbiage).

This has gone on for some months now, but this morning I woke up and remembered it was Friday, which was a good start. I then started to think about what magic moment I could pick from the week to post for all the world to see (or at least a few kind readers - I am not really in the big league like Soulemama {and if you want to learn more about the subtleties of hierarchy in the world of blogging, then this is an illuminating read}), and before sitting back in a warm glow of satisfaction.

Unfortunately the only feeling I could sum up was one of faint irritation. Yes, I most definitely got out of the wrong side of bed this morning, and what is worse, I am home alone and the Head Chef is not around to take the blame (for it was surely his fault, as he was out boozing with the boys and came home late so I was forced to wait up for him, reading a very interesting book). Well, maybe not boozing, he tells me that he only drank one small glass of wine, but certainly I feel quite out of sorts because of it.

And the faint irritability is compounded out of having to fetch my own logs in (definitely down to HC), and skies turned grey (well, nobody can help that one, but if anyone was at home, they might well find themselves in the firing line), and finding the chicken water frozen, which meant plodding back to the house to look for the plastic jug which was hiding (definitely HC's fault), and taking hot water back to fill up the drinkers, and a nagging feeling that I should be doing some housework even thought the sewing cupboard's siren call is tempting me.

And then I looked at the little adverts down the side of my inbox and the little links to 'Apple Pie Receipe [sic]', Homemade Dog Biscuit, Deep Cleaning, and Public Sewer Services made me laugh in their hopelessly irrelevant  randomness (although I shivered slightly at the ones for Loose Fitting Dentures? and Dental Practice for Sale (Good Income)). So another little Handy Hint for you - just take a look at Google ads if you want to induce a fit of hysterical laughter (but take heed at a warning from One Who Knows, don't write emails with the word 'pyjamas' in them, as the effect could be most disturbing).

Logs - dwindling fast

But back to the task in hand: my impressions of the week seemed to be overwhelmed by the cold, and I certainly can't show you pictures of my charming offspring as they put their hands over their faces in unison if they see me fumbling for my camera (on Christmas Day, would you believe? How Unkind.).

So at the end of the week, what I will share with you is logs and ash buckets, which is pretty much what it has been about here. Logs coming in, fires to be coaxed alight, and wood ash bucketed out onto the garden (good for soft fruit, garlic, lightening heavy soil, and topping up raised beds).

Chopping block and ash bucket

{The other burning issue here this week has been how to get a Princess to wear a coat out of doors in freezing temperatures, which has taxed my maternal negotiating skills to the utmost. I succeeded in trading coat wearing for an off-games note this morning (genuine indisposition, of course, m'lud) as I felt that the potential withholding of such was a trump card, but if anyone has any hints and tips (apart from buying something brand new from the Barbour shop [who would have thought that Barbour would come back into fashion?]), then I would be most exceedingly obliged to you for sharing them.}

PS The Oxford commas are especially for Angela, and the superfluity of parentheses for Mrs Micawber - the joy of life is in such trifles.

The weight of tradition

I am running a little behind this week (It's only Monday, you say. But this is what is left over from last week, I respond, a touch plaintively.) and so I am still on the second Sunday in Advent, pausing with Floss, and only a day late (it's the thought that counts).

Festive vignette

Whether my thoughts will count, I am not sure, but I can feel that giant Tree of Tradition looming between me and the weak winter sun, and the weight of obligation swinging above my head.

Festivities

Tradition can be a bit of a millstone, but don't let it shackle you by the neck - cut loose and walk on (being careful to drop it behind you, rather than straight on to your toes). The only obligation you have to others is to smile and be pleasant, and say please and thank you nicely and sincerely - the rest is optional.

Weak at the thought

If the thought of cooking for the 23 people squeezed into your very small house fills you with horror and keeps you awake at night, then think up a new tradition which will enable you to be a beaming host/ess rather than a snarling one.

A season of silly hats

Perhaps someone with a bigger house and more plates is desperate to hold the party, but thinks they can't because everyone absolutely has to squeeze into Aunty Grumpy's bijou residence whether they like it or not? Perhaps you could do two manageably small parties, or alternate years? Or maybe dig a great big hole in the garden and go and hide in it (just remember to arrange the leaves carefully on top so that no one can see your retreat) . . .

A season of thrift and recycling

Then you can concentrate on the happy traditions, the ones that transport you back down the long line of Christmases past, only pausing at the ones that are smiling to greet you. So often these happy moments come down from the attic in battered cardboard boxes (smelling slightly of mouse).

A season of recycling memories

As you pull out the decorations, one by one, the memories come flooding forth, attached to those glitter-encrusted confections of polystyrene and cardboard that your children made in the days when their needs were simple and their vocabulary limited; the bird with the broken beak which is the sole relic of your childhood dreams; the box of carefully coordinated bells and bows marked 'Good taste 15 years ago', which now possess a disappointingly tawdry air.

Beware of the mistletoe

And then there are the words: Christmas is full of words - carols, and stories, and insincere thank you letters, and heated arguments over the right way to cook a turkey. And everything has been said and done and written so many times before, and so much better, that Christmas is a work of fiction from start to finish, an imaginary narrative of bonhomie and homecoming.

Dreaming of a white Christmas

I have my own special Christmas book full of poetry and prose, carols and songs, quotations and verses, and a warm glow of pictures of the past. It was a present to me twenty years ago and (unlike so many presents) I have continued to treasure it, and get it out again every December to wallow in the words of imaginary Christmases in story and history. There is no weight of tradition to burden one here - these Christmases are long gone, and so are those who people the pictures, smiling out of the pages, frozen in time and silently acquiescent in our dreams.

A new tradition in the making

But these stories also show that Christmas can be anything you want to make of it: happy or sad, remembered or forgotten, treasured or dreaded. The important thing is to write your own story, just how you want it, choose your own colours for the pictures, and remember that if it doesn't go quite how you wanted this time, it's like gardening - there's always next year waiting to give you a chance to do it differently.

A present from a friend far away

And if you want to bask in a warm glow of festive nostalgia, my special Christmas book, although out of print, is still available on Amazon here and here - starting price only a penny (which of course sets off a whole new train of nostalgia and reminiscence about geese and old men . . . .).

And here is one that I made earlier, accompanied by a steady gaze

Making winter with Silverpebble and Mrs Thrifty Household

The clocks changed last night, it's going to be dark oh so early, and some cheery chappie on the radio announced this morning that winter had begun. My heart sinks at those dismal signs of the season of short days and long nights, of chill and damp, and leaden skies - but help is at hand in the persons of Emma from Silverpebble and her trusty friend, Mrs Thrifty Household. Together they have a cunning plan to avert the miseries of the grey days by Making Winter a happy time.

So I have heaved myself out of my incipient doldrums and tried to think of something nice about winter. And it being the time to hack into those poor pumpkins and give them scary faces, what came to mind were pumpkin soup, so cheery and warming, and another of my favourites, toasted pumpkin seeds.

Princess Bunchy has chopped away at Mr Pumpkin, and at my behest has given him a benignant face, and whilst she was doing the carving we gave her a bowl for the innards, in the spirit of waste not, want not, which prevails in our little cottage.

We took the seeds, cleared them of flesh, then spread them out on a baking tray. Sprinkle with olive oil and salt, then put into a hot oven for ten minutes or so - best to keep a close eye on them because the interval between crispy and burnt is a short one. They are done when they have browned and start crackling as the outer husk pops.

So that's a nice thrifty idea for a cheering winter snack, in the spirit of Mrs TH, who has a wonderful ability to conjure up goodies out of the orts and scraps of life. She sent me some of the most beautiful little lavender bags made out of vintage fabric - it was such a lovely package to receive in the post and I absolutely adore the willow pattern fabric.

If you go and visit Mrs Thrifty Household here, and Silverpebble here, you will find all sorts of Making Winter happiness - I am hoping that they can get me through January with a smile on my face.

I am also wondering if all the nice things in winter are edible - I have a horrible feeling that they are, and that is why when I emerge into spring I have a certain air of rotundity and all is straining at the seams.

Fancy some Sugru; or, a giveaway by any other name

Do you know what Sugru is? I know, it sounds like a game, except it isn't really, but actually I have had some fun playing around with it, so maybe it almost counts as a game.

I first came across Sugru (hack things better, as they say) when I went to the Power of Making exhibition at the V&A (which you can read about here). Sugru is quite amazing stuff which you can use to mend or modify all sorts of things, and when the nice people at Sugru sent me some to play about with, and offered to give some away to my readers, well, who was I to say no?

And in fact, mending things apart, I think I have found the perfect stocking filler or budget present for the chaps in your life. When the parcel arrived and the silver package dropped out, the chaps in my life all exclaimed excitedly 'What's that?', 'Can I have some?', and 'Wow, that's amazing!'

I promise you that they never normally say that about the contents of the parcels that arrive for me.

Luckily it comes with a book of hints and tips

The Sugru website is full of pictures and ideas of how you can mend and adjust and improve things with this innocuous-looking material which moulds like modelling clay, and then gradually becomes firm, but in a plastic rather than brittle way. The big advantage is that it sticks to shiny things (unlike most glues which never seem able to stick together the things that you want to mend).

Being a complete girlie, I liked the way it comes in a selection of bright colours, and in spite of being a girlie who gets the Head Chef to do anything in the form of mending and maintenance which does not involve a needle and thread, I decided to improve my world on my own without any male interference.

Tidy wires - the Flylady would approve

And I am so pleased with myself - look what I made.

Girlie desk

A little hooky shelf on the back of Hippolyta to hold those annoying leads which are in daily use, but trail messily on the desk, viz Ipod and camera wires.

I find the sight of muffins most comforting

And I even made a nifty-thrifty little stand to hold my very high-tech portable speaking apparatus while it is charging. I would like you to admire the little wedge I made at the back so that it won't topple over.

Where have all the muffins gone?

(The Head Chef and the General had rather more boyish ideas which involved mending an aerial and something to do with a plug, but being a girl I wouldn't understand that.)

I think I will be buying some Sugru for the awkward nephews and difficult uncles (not personality-wise, of course, uncle, if you are reading this, which is not at all likely) for Christmas - it seems to me the perfect present for any of those chaps whose wants are either silver and matt black, and when asked can't think of anything they want except a BMW, a Macbook Pro, or some inordinately expensive power drill. Sugru seems to hit on all fronts - silver package (they even do a boys' version in black and white, no colours), a bit techie, and very compatible with tools.

So if you would like a nice shiny silver package of Sugru of your own, to play with or to tuck into your man's stocking (that didn't come out quite right, but you know what I mean), just leave me a comment below. No conditions, post anywhere - I'll heave one of you out of the sink next week, or maybe I'll feed you to the dogs, and see who comes flying out of the bowl.

Shiny shiny

As is traditional when it comes to the time to pick a giveaway winner, the wind is whistling and wuthering fit to blow bits of paper all round the garden. I suppose that I could have just stepped outside with my bowl and let the zephyrs do the choosing, but I didn't fancy chasing round the raised beds after the winner (especially as I don't have my laceups on this morning (oh no!)), so I took the coward's route and stayed indoors to do the mighty deed.

Not a trace of breakfast in sight

And the upside of remaining safely in the kitchen is that you get to see my beautiful shiny sink (oh yes!). The Flylady would be proud of me - no backsliding here - my sinks have been shiny ever since my first encounter with Her Flyness. And funnily enough, this shiny sink business really is like the broken window syndrome - this morning I left before the Head Chef and Princess Bunchy (not only am I knocking my house into shape, the plan is also to knock my cake-ridden body into shape by going to the gym at an ungodly hour), and returned expecting to see the dregs of breakfast leering at me from the sideboard - and instead, what did I find? A shiny sink smiling beatifically at me . . . The Head Chef hopes that I am impressed; I am reserving judgement.

Admire those reflections

I am getting on much better with the Flylady now that I have bought the book - I find the website slightly frenetic, and became totally confused about where I was and where I should be, and in one of those late-night book-buying sprees (I blame Princess Bunchy and her musical talents - it is always when I am sitting up late waiting for my nearest and dearest to return from some event that I run amok in the halls of Amazon because sitting at the computer is the only thing that will keep me awake) I bought the wonderfully titled Sink Reflections in the hope of demystification.

First shine your sink

And I am happy to tell you that now all is clear and shiny - I am much more at ease with the linear narrative of the written word, all has fallen into place, and I have sorted out my to-dos and my tick lists, my house is clean and I can spend the rest of the day hand-quilting (oh, happy day!).

The tension builds

And so, having made some more cake to fill the holes eroded in the gym (possibly), I can now present you with the winner. I did think about putting the Little Stranger into the sink to do the draw (and I am sure that she wouldn't have minded, as long as something edible was involved, and her definition of edible is comfortingly wide), but then I thought that I would have to start right back at the beginning with the bleach and Shiny Sinks 101, and I have made such leaps since then it would seem a pity to take such retrograde action.

Enter sausage tongs, sink right

So I opted for the sausage tongs instead. As a vegetarian this did involve some heart-searching but I felt that this would introduce an extra element of randomness as I do find them rather awkward to manipulate (not enough practice). It took a few goes, and a few restirrings of the bowl (I kept finding that I had picked up a whole bundle of slips at a time), but eventually I got the hang of it, and here we have the winner (and I can tell you that it was not easy to take a photo with one hand while keeping the tongs clamped shut with the other).

And here is the lovely winner: Menopausal Musing who said, 'I would love to own the Sergeant Pepper teatowel and the Tunnocks one - red is such a cheery colour!' Perhaps you could email me with your details, and I will pass them on to the lovely Al at All Tea Towels.

Oh, the bliss of a shiny sink!

Commiserations to those who did not win this time, but why not put your favourite tea towels on your Christmas list? Just think what fun you could have making things shiny, shiny - I think this one would coordinate rather beautifully with my sink, and this one would look rather fetching on the Aga. I have also used tea towels as rather fun recyclable wrapping for presents;  it seems so much less wasteful than paper, and I have spotted a few in the sale which would be just perfect for some people I know . . . 

Sunday afternoon

Late summer sunshine and time to sit and knit and count blessings.

Just about to turn the heel on my candy-coated colours of summer sticks of rock socks.

Cushions made from recycled Aran sweaters by my clever sister - cut off the sleeves, neckline and ribbing to form a square and stitch up.

My favourite garden chair - thrown out from someone else's life and come to rest in my garden.

Rustic recycled wooden bench made by my boys for me last spring.

Small good things - precious little pieces of happiness.

To be a farmer's wife

If you have come looking for my midsummer giveaway, you will find it in the post below - you have until the beginning of next week to enter.

It may not have escaped your notice that a certain Farmer's Wife quilt has become all the go in Blogland, and having seen the most wonderful quilt blocks being created by Dragonfly, Leila, Nicky, Angela, and some others I can't quite remember (prompt me if you can), I have decided to take the plunge and am now in proud possession of the book.

Being of a thrifty turn, I did not buy it myself, but it so happened that it was our wedding anniversary, and I bought the Head Chef a card with a most poignant quotation, guaranteed to bring a tear to the eye. We have an agreement not to buy each other cards and wasteful consumerist tat on our anniversary, so  such a card elevated me to a moral high ground (which is a most satisfying place to be, as I constantly remind my offspring) from which I could broadly hint as to the sort of present which would be an exceedingly acceptable reciprocation (I also sent him a clickable link and held his hand while he navigated the darkest reaches of the Amazon website).

A present from my dear Head Chef

And lo and behold! (yes, once again life is full of surprises) what did I find but a nice little parcel arriving post haste at my cottage door. The Head Chef knows me so well and judges my taste so exactly, that it was the perfect appreciation for a loyal wife of so many years, who is so devoted to her lord and master and panders to his every whim in a sweet and complaisant tone. Whether she exists or not is another, more metaphysical question, and one to which I cannot imagine the answer ...

As to the book itself, I can highly recommend it. It is the sort of craft book which I love, being more than a mere set of instructions: there is as much to read and look at and think about as to do. This, for example, is why I enjoy Jane Brocket's books The Gentle Art of Knitting and The Gentle Art of Quilt-Making: they are a visual feast, and encourage one to think about the why of a craft as well as the how, and lead you to exercise your own creativity and explore colour and form, whatever your level of technical skill. Books like this demonstrate that a high level of technical expertise is not a prerequisite for producing a meaningful and beautiful piece of work, and manage to appeal to readers of all skill levels. (And what's more, there is so much to read, to look at, and to enjoy, that you needn't feel guilty if you don't actually get round to making any of the projects.)

But not only have I read and enjoyed The Farmer's Wife Sampler Quilt book, I have made my first two blocks. The book has patterns and templates for 111 blocks (included on a CD so you don't have to draw them out yourself), and if you make all of them you will have enough for a king-size bed quilt, but you don't have to be daunted by that number. The smallest quilt, which is 57 x 67in (around 1.5 x 1.7m), takes only 55, thus is much less of an undertaking, and will produce more of a sofa-sized quilt for snuggling up by the fire (rather appealing to me, chilly soul that I am).

The blocks take inspiration from and have been designed to accompany a series of letters from farmer's wives from the 1920s, entries in a Farmer's Wife magazine competition, and are a wonderful piece of social and domestic history, giving a window into the world of country women in the early part of the twentieth century, how their lives had changed and were changing, as they talk about their lives, reminisce about the past, and hope for the future.

I have been pondering my approach to this project, and how I will use this book to produce my own quilt. The notion of a farmer's wife quilt is one with which I can connect: I am the granddaughter, daughter, and mother of farmers, the wife of a smallholder, and have also worked and work on the land myself. I am a countrywoman at heart, leading a country life and want this quilt to be pieced out of my own memory and experience, so a big part of it will be made from stash, those leftovers from other projects which carry memories of their own. For my first blocks I was also able to use some of the fabric that Leila so kindly gave me as part of the Sew Mama Sew giveaway.

It could be difficult with a project like this to ensure that the colours work, because it seems to me that it is not one that I would buy coordinating fabrics for at the outset, but I think it is important to have some unifying theme or idea that will tie the quilt together metaphorically, if not visually. For me, I think it will be the colours of the natural world around me - which gives a pretty big palette to work with if I look closely.

The first block I stitched was block 2, Autumn Tints: I have used the colours of autumn. The circles in the centre squares talk to me of sunset and sunrise, the large, low westering sun and the harvest moon (and I deliberately did not fussy cut so they would be partial, sinking over the horizon). There are little red berries to harvest, the colours of fruit and wheat, sky and earth, all mellow and red and gold.

The second is block 4, Basket Weave. Here I was inspired by the mixtures of green and gold just beginning to appear in the lanes and fields about me.

 The beginning of end-of-season senescence is present even in midsummer as the peas start to desiccate, some of the earliest leaves begin to yellow, and the green wheat takes on a golden tinge.

The lightest fabric has a trellis reminiscent of baskets, and is full of memory as I used it in a summer frock for a little princess who is growing up fast, and all three capture this sense of summer on the turn: they have flowers and green leaves, as well as the golden tints which hint at the harvest to come.

And that I think is enough for one day - just notice the difference in appearance between the blocks set square and on point - something to remember when piecing, as they will be on point in the quilt. And I love the look of the hand pieced blocks - something imposed on me by the continued absence of my much-missed Rose, but I think in keeping with the feeling of this quilt. Surely memories must always be stitched in by hand ...?