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.

Essential tools for quilters (I)

Weekend industry

Normally on a Sunday evening I go to the gym - I know that sounds rather extreme but when a princess is powering up and down the swimming pool, I feel that a yomp in the gym with London Calling ringing in my ears is more constructive than sitting on an uncomfortable sofa in a deserted cafe, leafing through the dregs of the Sunday papers.

But today was different. I was so very close to finishing a quilt top for the sofa, just another quarter of an hour ... when the phone rang. And by the time I had dealt with that, it was time to depart into the darkness in pursuit of health and fitness. The choice was painful, but I volunteered the Head Chef for swimming club duty (a chance for him to sit down for an hour and read the papers, I said, considerately).

Dear readers, you will be glad to hear that I have finished my quilt top, and done my favourite bit, attacked it with a steam iron and beaten those seams into an orderly submission. Having started out with dressmaking, and having been taught to apply copious amounts of hot steam at every opportunity, the technique of gentle pressing without steam, as recommended in all the patchwork and quilting books I read, requires a most astonishing act of will on my part.

Unfortunately, it is now too dark to photograph the quilt top, but earlier today I was having some very deep thoughts about the tools which I find most useful for quilting, the ones without which it would all end in tears.

And so I thought I would share these thoughts with you, in the hope that perhaps one quilter, sitting miserably amongst a heap of disorderly pieces of fabric might find my handy hints of help.

Bulldogs should be colourful

So for me, essential quilting tool no 1 is a basket of bulldog clips and miniature sticky notes (the teeny tiny ones can stay in the fabric until it is safe for them to leave and they don't get in the way of the gentle pressing, but their presence will preclude you from committing aggressive acts of steam). I set out my quilt pieces on a sheet on the B&B sitting-room floor in the gaps between guests, and so they have to be gathered up again immediately (and even if we don't have guests, we have canine marauders with muddy feet and a penchant for scuffling up any textiles found underfoot).

Pin your post-its

So to avoid much wailing and gnashing of teeth, I pin numbered sticky notes (at the very least at the beginning and end of a row, to indicate position and orientation), then pick the pieces or blocks up in the correct order, and fasten the stack with a bulldog clip. (Please don't rely on the adhesive qualities of your sticky notes - go for belt and braces with a pin. [I know this from bitter experience.])

Future proof

These stacks are then windproof, dog-proof, and generally forgetting what you are about in the middle of a row proof.

I feel that it is important to have brightly coloured bulldog clips as it lends an air of jollity to the proceedings, but have less strong feelings about the colour of the sticky notes, probably because the numbers and letters give them a serious, businesslike air, which does not take heed of such frivolity.

And one last little thrifty hint - write on those little tickets in pencil. It allows for mistakes, and you can reuse them for the next quilt. Presuming that there will be a next quilt, but of course there will be because these handy little tools for your quilting will increase your productivity no end, and you won't be stomping around with a seam ripper trying to find someone to blame for sewing the pieces together in the wrong order, and not noticing until you have nearly finished the quilt.

{Your eye may have been drawn to the most excellent velvet pincushion. This pincushion was one of the very first things I made with my very first sewing machine (before you go ah, how sweet, bear in mind that I was about 30), and I gave it to my grandmamma for Christmas. Along with the rest of my family, she was most surprised as I hadn't shown any signs of creativity beforehand. Things had changed by the time her house was being cleared and the pincushion (long-forgotten by me) was given to me as the stitchy one in the family. So now when I sew I have by my side a lovely remembrance of my dear departed grandmamma.}

And before I go, I must say hello to some new followers who have come on board: Naturally Carol who has just done a lovely post about gratitude, Poppy at Poppy's Frugal Life (being frugal), Rosie at Old Magnolia Tree (who needs some advice about fashion and knitting), Chey at The Other Side of the Pond (just starting life in the UK), Sharon Souter at Sharon's Sunlit Memories (who designs the most wonderful paper dolls), and Tammy Chrzan at My Journey. Please go and say hello and welcome too!

 I would love you to tell me about your essential tools for quilting (or sewing or knitting) - especially the ones which prevent family discord. Next time I will give you a hint about the non-violent use of seam rippers, so watch this space.

Scarlet and black

As a granny fashionista, I feel that it is my duty to dispense the occasional handy hint regarding matters sartorial, and this weekend I felt that I learned a lesson worth sharing.

And my advice is, please don't listen to those grande dames of decluttering, and ladies of high fashion who insist that if an item of clothing has not been worn for a couple of years, then the only thing to do is to toss it smartly into a bin bag and consign it to history.

No, the granny fashionista knows better - and in fact, I have come to the conclusion with matters of fashion and style, then the older the better, and even better if it is so old that you have forgotten that it belongs to you.

Many moons ago

Last Friday I found myself in the unusual situation of deciding what to wear to a party more than one hour in advance (mainly because those dastardly admirals were keeping me waiting, and I had time on my hands) and I stood in front of the mirror gazing sadly as this year's party frock purchase, and finding it sadly wanting.

I made the mistake of buying a new dress in the spring, thinking that three rather exciting parties in the offing justified such impulsive extravagance and would of course reduce the CPW to a mere nothing (fashionista-speak for cost per wear, a concept about as useful as that of investment dressing which somehow implies that spending large amounts on clothes is akin to putting the money into the bank or a pension. Take it from me, the more you spend on fashion, the more you spend and the less you have in the bank, whatever the CPW).

And as for my little piece of investment dressing, it has not stepped up to the mark for any party as yet. 'It is a very pretty dress,' said Princess Bunchy kindly. 'I think I might be cold,' I replied as I tried leggings and a variety of cardis, and every single pair of shoes to my name, and felt the sinking feeling that this fatal frock was not really up to a Hollywood theme in a rather lovely venue in the Great Wen, or anywhere else for that matter. In fact, this dress came under the category of Big Mistake, and contrary to the effusive affirmations of the shop assistants, it was not a dress for me but a dress for somebody else. I am not sure quite whom, but definitely not for me.

So Princess Bunchy went exploring in the back of the wardrobe and emerged with three party frocks from many moons ago, including the one I wore to my twenty-first birthday dance. 'It's rather revealing,' she said in a shocked voice, and I tried to explain about the 1980s and strapless ballgowns with boned bodices, not that my frock was strapless or boned, or revealing as I explained as I shifted the waistband up six inches to the 1980s, and pulled the laces tight, so this was only marginally relevant. 'Whalebone,' she said knowledgeably, and then I had to explain that actually I am not that old and plastic had been invented by the time I first donned a ballgown.

As you might gather, we were not getting very far: shocking pink and purple chiffon in layers, no, too strappy for granny arms. Pale grey and cream silk with pearl buttons from Singapore - dropped waist and boxy shape far too girlish. The princess dug down into another layer - only twenty years this time - heavy black velvet with a wonderful drape on the skirt. Beautiful - a dress of dreams and probably only worn once, and I still don't regret the purchase because I would wear it again if someone would invite me to a winter party (but I don't get out much, especially in winter). But a touch warm for London in August, even one as chilly as this.

Time was

And then, hiding behind everything, covered by dry cleaner's plastic, the princess pulled out a dress only a year older than she is. Scarlet and black, chiffon and burnt velvet, a whole raft of memories came spilling out with it. A mere fourteen years old, from a time when the Commander-in-Chief occupied a position which required his daughter to have one or two rather smart party frocks. And a sad time for other reasons, and I remembered the other velvet frock in ash grey and dark blue, rather roomy in its cut, which I had discarded because of the sad memories attached to it.

And this one in scarlet and black - bought after the grey one, for a summer party which I can't quite remember, but I remember feeling not quite at ease in the dress, and trying to forget things and be cheerful and graceful in a dress that was a little too tight and a little too bright for my feelings.

Scarlet and black, hidden away for all these years, and from memory, and now not too tight and bold at all, quite perfect for wearing on a red carpet and having its picture taken.

Very old

So this frock did go to the ball after all, and the story had a happy ending.
 
And the moral is, never throw away a party frock, because they come festooned with memories of all kinds, and far better to wear a really old one, where the cost is historic (and that is a genuine economic concept) and thus more thrifty than buying a new one.

Or you can buy a really old one, older than you are, which has been emptied out of someone else's bin bag, and thus become a genuine granny fashionista. Just like I did last week.

So many shades of grey

And no, I haven't read the book (and goodness knows what Amazon is going to recommend for me now that I have looked at the link), but the unremitting greyness of the past couple of days is oppressing me as I sit in my north-facing office - even with the lights on.

But the jolly redness of the tomatoes seem to defy the leaden skies, and the taste hints at Mediterranean summers and terrace living - if you shut your eyes quite tight and sit close enough to the Aga to feel the warmth.

Frilly tomatoes

The polytunnel has protected these tomatoes from the blight, and kept them warm enough to ripen up - the pretty frilly ones are Costoluto Fiorentino, a variety which has been consistently successful for us, in spite of our distinctly non-Mediterranean climate.

The Head Chef has been slaving over a hot stove preserving them for winter - we make an all-purpose tomato sauce/soup which is quite easy to do. Just cut the tomatoes in half and spread one layer thick on a baking tray (no need to peel or deseed). Scatter liberally with basil leaves and thinly sliced onions and garlic; drizzle with copious amounts of olive oil and season well, before roasting in the oven for half an hour or so (medium heat/middle of the Aga). Leave them to cool when they come out, then blitz in a food processor or blender. Freeze in portion sizes suited to your family.

Nice green beans

This tomato blend will then do duty all winter in lasagne or vegetable bakes, as pizza topping, pasta sauce, thinned down as tomato soup - the list is endless, and with food prices predicted to rise quite dramatically (and pig feed already escalating) we are eagerly squirrelling away as much as possible.

Tasty but few and far between

It has been a mixed year - the cucumbers are succumbing to mildew after a very modest crop (Marketmore, which is usually quite prolific), and unlike most years we have certainly not been overrun with courgettes - although that could be this pale green variety (I forget the name) which has such an anaemic air that we will be going back to the mix of yellow and dark green stripes which was so much more aesthetically pleasing.

Pale and uninteresting

The good old runners are still running away, and if you look carefully you can still see that everything is coated in thistledown. I fear that next year our little cottage is going to disappear in a prickly green forest and we will be machete-ing our way out.

Machete at the ready

I hope that you have had a sunnier weekend than we have, and if you don't feel up to the famous one, this Shades of Grey was very entertaining, and as far as I can remember, quite decent . . .

Knitting and dreaming

There is something very soothing about sitting on the sofa of an evening, knitting a few rows, and winding down from the day.

And knit, knit, knit is better than stitch, stitch, stitch for sweet dreams. I spent a night last week tossing and turning as I sewed in an endless train of zippers in my sleep.

But I have never had nightmares about knitting, I am sure - although to ensure that sitting and knitting in the half-light is stress-free I need the sort of simple pattern that I could, well, knit in my sleep.

Jane Brocket's pattern for these nifty little hanger covers fits the bill perfectly (you can find the pattern here) - easy enough to knit without your dreams turning to nightmares, and quick enough for a last-minute, charmingly retro present.

I love the clever little flowers which you make by winding yarn around a needle - rather like the fluffy balls I loved making when I was small.

And this can also count as a Thrifty Activity perfect for enhancing your halo of modest and frugal domesticity - I made these with yarn from my leftovers bag, and so can you too.

So there you are, a Thrifty Hint, a cure for insomnia, and a transfer from WIP to the finished list all in the space of one evening - what more could you want?

I have also just noticed that lots of new friends have joined the jolly party at my little cottage, so do go and say hello and welcome them to the throng:

Jodi at Farm Country Comforts

Deborah at Simply Miss Luella

Sarah Jane at Chantille Fleur

Annie at Moving On

Thea at Hearts and Bluebells

Miss Organic Fairtrade Knickers at I Blame Enid Blyton

Saffa and her lovely handmade paper art

Victoria at Tangled Sweetpea

Sophie at A Good Year

I do love blog names and often wonder how people think them up - the ones above are all so enticing, you just have to go and look.  I think I have put down all the new friends - I am never very good at keeping track of who has just arrived, so do tell me if I have missed you out, or if you have been following for ages and I have only just noticed, I prostrate myself most apologetically.

[And if you were wondering about the admirals, yes, they are still bothering me, and I am only doing this because otherwise I would be having nightmares about them and their stripes all the night long. I had better go and knit a bit of my favourite simple sock pattern to ward off any watery dreams. It is such an easy pattern that I can knit and nod away for hours, and the woolly stripes are so much more comforting than gold braid.]

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.]

Stash happy stocktaking, and a giveaway to come

The new year is traditionally a time to take stock of the past and make all sorts of worthy resolutions for the future, but I am never very good at worthy resolutions, so this year we plumped for something more mundane and resolved to run down our food stocks before ordering anything more, after finding an unopened kilogram bag of sesame seeds with a best before date back in early 2010 (not to mention various small bags of odd ingredients such as semolina and gram flour of very uncertain vintage, and bought for equally uncertain reasons). The hens have had a feast and we have 10kg of porridge oats to eat before we can go to the shops again.

Very neat

So that was the big resolution, stock control and stock rotation - all very good and proper, and all very successful. So how come this sort of resolution is so difficult to apply to the stocks residing so neatly in my sewing room?

Some nice tins full of bits and bobs

I decided that it was time to take stock of the fabric and yarn holed up in the store cupboard, and under the table, and other sundry hiding places, not to mention the stash which has escaped out into other hidey holes around the house, after reading a post by Cheryl, who is thriftily working her way through her own crafty stores.

A nice cupboard full of even more bits and bobs

Very bravely I thought that I would share with you some of said stocks, on the understanding that this is not necessarily a full disclosure, as there may be one or two other interesting surprises elsewhere (I am thinking that there might be something in a basket under the bed . . .).

And in a spirit of thrift and good intentions I am resolving not to buy any more inessential supplies until I have at least made a dent in the stores that I already have (although I do reserve the right to adjudicate on the definition of essential).

Some nice Christmas presents

But as any seasoned crafter will know, there is a difference between stash with future potential, and that with past history. Because one inevitably ends up with leftovers from projects, which may or may not have potential for something else.

Some leftovers and some left unfinished

There is also the speculative stash, which might well have proved to be a hopelessly unsuitable mistake, and undergone a transformation from tempting to hideous on the journey from shop to cupboard.

And the hopelessly optimistic stash, which usually involves a long trip to a festival or show, or even a holiday visit to some long dreamed of emporium, followed by the purchase of enough material to keep the most industrious crafter busy full-time until beyond retirement. (The words 'limited edition', 'today only', or Wollmeise often feature in such purchases.)

A drawer full of nice surprises

However, such stash explorations can turn up some interesting surprises, and really end up being almost as good as going to the shops (I am being positive, optimistic and thrifty here). I found a waffle dishcloth that only requires the ends darning in, and a coat hanger cover that just needs to be stitched onto a coat hanger (but where I did I put those hangers I bought for covering?) - two presents ahead for Christmas and it's only February. Not to mention a nearly finished jumper possibly slightly short on yarn, and a sock and a bit.

I like these, but some did not

And a cornucopia of quilting cottons bought to make a quilt before I went on the patchwork training day when aspersions were cast on my taste in fabric which put me off the whole thing. But time has passed, I stitched some of the cut pieces together last week, and hey presto! I rather like the effect, I remember that it was just what I was seeking for, and not only did the Head Chef say that it would look nice in our bedroom, but Princess Bunchy started making covetous comments.

A nice book

I think that these stash explorations could be quite productive - I must just sit on my hands and not let my fingers do the walking over the keyboard and add to the stores before I have dealt most firmly with the matters in hand. Trouble is, I was given a very nice book for Christmas, which has given me ideas of a most expansive kind . . .

Those little dogs keep popping up everywhere

And one last good thing - I suddenly came upon some things which I was given before Christmas for a giveaway for you - I will be posting about this 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.

Making winter gifts: things to do with a fat quarter part 3

January is on its last legs, thank goodness, and although the thought of February does not exactly fill me with untrammelled glee, I am beginning to be of the opinion that Emma and Mrs Thrifty are right, and Making Winter is the way to go.

What with the teeth falling out and the dodgy hand, not to mention the brown paper bag over my head to cover the only part of me visible above the endless layers of knitwear encompassing my rapidly inflating muffin top (or perhaps that should be muffin middle and bottom as well), I had begun to feel that the only Making that I was fit for this Winter was Making a Break for the Fireside.

A robin isn't just for Christmas (from Sew Sweet Violet)

However, I have been to see the nice lady with the computer program for retraining recalcitrant hands, and she encouraged me to try a little light needlework or knitting before I return to her cosy office and warm congratulations and patting on the back at my skill in playing computer games (sorry, Activities) that my children could have mastered before they were out of the cradle. (My left hand pinch grip might be pathetically weak, but oh I have such control of the movement - see, all that sitting by the fire and knitting and sewing might have overstrained things, but it has helped me to top marks in Control and a big happy gold star [I have always had Control Freak tendencies, so make that two stars].)

A winter gift

Having had severe needle withdrawal symptoms since overdosing on housework with consequent collateral damage to my pinch grip, I almost managed to skip back to the car (except that the hamster cheek kept bobbing up and down (mainly down) inside the large scarf and impeding my progress).

And so here is one I made earlier - a dinky, zippy bag known as a Ditty Bag (pattern from Keyka Lou), which I stitched up as a present for a very special person - and just the thing to make a small inroad into my embarrassingly large collection of fat quarters (which have been becoming even more embarrassingly guilt-inducing over the last few weeks as I pondered why I had a collection of fat quarters compendious enough to keep my family and friends in winter gifts for the next century when I couldn't sew a thing what with my dodgy hands and dodgy teeth to boot).

As ever, the lovely Keyka Lou pattern was easy-peasy, lemon-squeezy (very important when you are feeling small), and easily completed over the course of a quiet Sunday afternoon, listening to the radio, and getting distracted along the way. It comes in three sizes - I chose the large one as consuming the largest amount of fat quarter, but even so had enough left out of two fat quarters for little purses or wallets like the ones I made here and here.

The fabric was from the Annie's Farm Stand range (available from the Fat Quarter Shop), and I have a some handy little hints for you (as you know, I have a penchant for handy hints).

To speed up cutting-out time, if I have to cut multiples of a particular pattern piece I do a bit of folding and stacking - layer the two fat quarters together, and fold them over or concertina them if more than one piece of each colourway, and you can cut out all the pieces at once. (For these little bag and purse projects super-accuracy is not needed.) This also works well with interfacing.

It is well worth buying a teflon pressing sheet for interfacing - it saves glue on the iron and the ironing board, and tears at bedtime, and in my mind does justify the outlay.

And if you have so many fat quarters that you don't know what to do, weep not - you could make some pretty baskets like this (instructions here and no pattern required), or go into mass present production as I did here (and they were all a great success at Christmas time, I am pleased to tell you), or even another thrifty little present (those fat quarters are a historic cost, so you can feel very thrifty about using them up).

As to my hand, it is so cold here today that I am losing touch with my extremities - all is quite numb. I wonder if I could squeeze on another pair of gloves and some more socks. I have taken the paper bag off though, and am wearing just the one scarf . . .

PS My January has been singularly unproductive, but if you head over to Lily's Quilts, you can see what lovely things the busy bees over there have been making, as it is Fresh Sewing Day when everyone has to stand up and be counted. (She shifts uneasily on her seat and points to one solitary Ditty Bag).

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