I’ve been putting my Annual Book List together, collating what I read last year so readers needn’t go back to each monthly post looking for a title you’d meant to jot down. And so that I can easily refresh my memory of what pages I turned. After two book posts in a row, though, I thought a change of topic might be in order first.
But I’m flailing a bit, trying to choose that topic, moving from one to another only to second-guess whether or not it’s of general enough interest. I think this has to do with my not quite having decided what it is I’m wanting to Claim in this new year (or not yet bold enough to Claim it? Perhaps Bold should be my word, rather than Claim!).
I’m even more sure my flailing has something to do with the reality that this new year is 70 years away from the year of my birth. Eventually I’ll have more to say about that, but I’m not quite ready.
Second-guessing is a poor way to generate a topic, never mind a post. I’ve ruled out Reading; I don’t want to resort too quickly to What I Wore again; I’m tempted to turn to my Travel Journal or write about an exhibition we saw while away, but I think I should ground myself here at home first; I look at my Sketch Journal and find nothing I feel confident sharing; I do have an idea and a great prompt for another post on Sexuality and Age, but that one is going to take hours and energy I don’t quite have yet. Hmmmmm, what to do to build some momentum.
I look up from my laptop screen and on a narrow shelf overflowing with myriad paper artifacts of the kind that might constitute a “mood board,” I read a quotation from the musical artist, producer, songwriter, manager Francis Arevalo who spoke (inspiringly, with humour, honesty, and refreshing energy) on the theme of “Sanctuary” at this month’s Creative Mornings talk here in Vancouver: “Creativity connects the space between my personal and the collective, what’s inside me with what’s beyond me.”
This quotation echoes something that my artist friend Haude Bernabé once said to me about my blog, as we walked together in Paris. Doing me the honour of drawing parallels between the brilliant work she does in her studio (see her website; I’m smitten by her latest series of drawings) and the words and images I regularly send out from my keyboard into cyberspace, she spoke of our shared impulse, the drive, the effort to connect. And, indeed, we were walking together — we had connected — through my blog: because I’d been blown away by her creative work and had to tell others about it (you can read about it here: how our virtual meeting led to an “In Real Life” connection; or here, my serendipitous discovery of her work, a moving installation in an ancient Parisian church).
A shared emphasis, then, on the ways that Creativity Connects, on its potential for bridging the gap between the personal and the collective, what we carry inside and what we reach to beyond ourselves. This morning, early, thinking of writing here, I was daunted by a sudden image of those boxes at Hyde Park’s Speakers’ Corner in London. The wooden boxes or folding stepstools or overturned plastic milk crates that “Speakers” mount to gain elevation over an audience they hope to gather to their words. I’ve marvelled at silver-tongued men and women holding an open-air crowd’s attention amid a plethora of distractions.
But I’ve been even more awestruck watching Speakers arrive alone to turn an empty spot into a makeshift podium. The moment they step up to address the air, spinning an audience from their breath, words spoken in . . . what? Hope? Faith? Determination? Conviction . . . The knowledge that Connection can be Created? That they — and their words — Create this Connection. It’s always seemed like such an audacious act, moving across that barrier from silence to spoken word, from standing alone to bringing an audience together, however small, of however brief a duration.
For me, today, the connection depends on my stepping up onto my virtual milk crate (I’m so short I might need to stack the Ikea kiddie stool on that crate) and beginning to speak (or write, since this is virtual). I need to stop second-guessing and believe that some of what matters to me, today, might resonate — connect — with some of you. I need to stop this Bout of Doubts about whether or not what I do is at all “creative” (Remember again: Comparison is the thief of joy).
After all that preamble, three bits of “random abundance” for you today, (creatively? Idiosyncratically, at least) stitched together by The Writer of This Blog, and I’ll let coherence take care of itself (see Kim Stafford quotation, top right column):
1. On the CBC News website a couple of days ago: Birders in my province (BC) and in adjoining Alberta as well as Washington state have been heading to Kelowna hoping to spot a fieldfare that’s flown far, far off course. And although I’ve never seen a fieldfare, I instantly remembered my literary sightings of the bird, twice last January. A striking coincidence of first spotting them in Dara McAnulty’s Diary of a Young Naturalist where he writes of an Irish winter so cold that the visiting flock of fieldfares perished . . . and then finding the birds again in Olga Tokarczuk’s Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead. It was in the latter that I learned of a surprising tactic fieldfares use to drive away a threatening hawk. You can read my January 2022 Books post to find out more– I suspect you’ll be as incredulous as I was, but you can google “fieldfares poop on their enemies” to find ample corroboration.
2. We had our two local daughters and their families over for dinner Sunday night, primarily because the Steamed Christmas Pudding I made had stayed intact, uneaten, still wrapped and tied, when the daughter who hosted Christmas dinner requested I make a trifle for dessert. All raved about the trifle, it’s true, and I was happy to have made it, but I didn’t want to save the steamed pudding ’til next Christmas, nor did I want to chance the two of us breaking down to eat it some desperately gloomy afternoon.
So that pudding (served with diner’s choice of Brandy Butter or Vanilla Ice Cream) was meant to be the highlight, but the evening began with homemade hummus and these very good (I will say so myself!) homemade crackers. Then Paul served up a kid-pleaser Spaghetti and Meatballs. . . .with sides of ever-popular Roasted Brussels Sprouts and this fabulous salad from Anna Jones’ cookbook A Modern Way to Cook. He made some adjustments (roasted two kinds of squash — acorn and butternut — and didn’t bother with the black beans, just to simplify dinner-making). It was SO good. A Ten who wasn’t going to have any decided she’d try a bit and even admitted the squash was yummy, especially with the coconut dressing (she surprised us both with a comparison to cake!).
3. My main project this week has been pulling together records to deliver to the accountant for this year’s tax return. But I’ve been taking some Mending breaks, and the prime beneficiary so far has been a 4 or 5-year-old pair of wide-legged knit wool pants (you can see them here, in better days; scroll down). They’re so comfortable and, I believe, still stylish. Sadly, however, a hole has appeared in the worn-thin rear. I’ve missed wearing them, but as keen as I am on the liberating possibilities of visible mending, I’ve balked at the notion of colourful darned patches or playfully embroidered flowers accentuating the effect my gym workouts are (or are not) having on my butt.
The solution I finally arrived at, and with which I’m quite pleased? The patch I snipped from the foot of a black (store-bought, machine-knit) fine wool sock whose toe and heel have been abundantly mended. I’d thought of repairing the latest hole (a fifth or sixth!) but instead, the sock fabric has now been diverted from the waste stream in service of “bottom coverage.” I pinned the patch below the hole and running-stitched it in place with fine black wool thread, thus reinforcing the thinned area and closing the hole. It’s not an invisible mend, but it’s an acceptably quiet one. And it keeps one pair of pants in my wardrobe longer, slowing their journey to landfill. Tiny win for the environment. Plus I get to wear my comfy pants again with no risk of exposure.
If you’ve imagined me brave enough to step up onto that milk crate at Speakers’ Corner telling the air (or eventually, I hope, a small crowd of curious passers-by) about a bird following a faulty compass . . . . then you will have seen me encouraged by that small crowd (you’re in it, if you’ve read this far) to lean in, to share a favourite new salad recipe, sketch an image of a family dinner, let you glimpse a certain granddaughter. . . .even flashed the holey butt of an old pair of pants, newly mended. . .
But now it’s time for me to step down, pick up the crate, walk away. . . Stop me as I go, if you’d like, to leave a comment. About your own creativity, connections, hesitations. About fieldfares and other migrating birds (or humans) far from home, far off course, alone. . . About whether or not you know Anna Jones’ marvellous approach to cooking, whether you might try her Roasted Squash salad, with or without “popped beans.” . . . About mending you’ve done or avoided or wouldn’t bother with.
Or just say “Hello.” Or wave in my direction. I’ll feel the connection. . .
xo,
f
Creativity is a little lacking this month, probably due to the cold weather, dark mornings, short afternoons. It is heading that way as I type, the sky turning lilac and steel grey and the winter light playing tricks on the church roof. Most of the time I am dashing out for a brief walk, even if it is very cold and unappealing, reading books and simply waiting for the dark days of winter to pass by. It is curiously soothing. I have bought a new pattern to make a sumptuous coat in either silk or taffeta (if I can find what I want) and have another sewing project up ahead, slightly more bonkers but equally engrossing. And now, if you will excuse me, I want to nip out and find out why the church roof appears to be turning bright pink…
Author
Oooh, it’s already a sumptuous coat if you make it in silk or taffeta — hope you find just the right material for the pattern, and that you make sure to show us some of the making as well as the gorgeous garment at the end.
Frances, your writing always resounds with me. I so appreciate your candor as well as your gift for language. And your bravery and optimism to send your writing out into the world with no doubt limited feedback that folks are reading it! I for one look forward to your pen name in my inbox.
Given your mention of salad, are you familiar with Emily Nunn’s Department of Salad blog? If not I think you might enjoy it- she too writes beautifully and features delicious salad recipes.
Elizabeth
Author
Thanks for the kind words, Elizabeth!
I don’t know about Emily Nunn or her blog — I’m going to check that out right away!
This was a lovely, meandering, connecting kind of post. You inspired me to begin mending my cashmere sweaters, to the extent that I eagerly search out holes in need of fixing! The latest was a spiraling embroidery over a worn out elbow. Thank you
Author
Thanks for the encouragement, Ruthie. Sometimes all I can do is meander and I’m always anxious whether those posts will work or not.
I’m SO pleased I might have got you started mending your cashmere sweaters — isn’t it fun?! I’ve gotten the same way, searching for holes to play around. Just noticed the other day that the elbow of a brown v-neck pullover has thinned drastically. . . might have to try your spiral! 😉
I’m sending you a wave from here in Edmonton. As I flounder in my corner of the province with a life now confined to wheelchair after a recent car crash, your blog reflects back to me the life I was living and loving a little over a year ago. Six years ago a leap of bravery set me free from one life path and sent me instead on path of new discovery travelling to Morocco, Guatemala, Ecuador and India meeting and working alongside indigenous women. Though we did not share a spoken language, our common passion for ourselves as women creators bonded us together. Plans of travel and adventure with my grandchild seem a distant dream now as I struggle to find bravery again. I wheel myself around in my new circumstances and wonder how I will find the strength to find yet another new path of living.
Author
Oh Ronda, that’s very tough! But how amazing that you made that leap six years ago. I hope (and suspect) that the more you heel, the more you’ll dip into memories of your travels and tap back into the courage and grit and wonder that you drew on then. And you already know that you’ve made one huge adjustment, albeit one you chose rather than suffered. (Is the wheelchair confinement longterm? Or is there a hope for more mobility ahead?)
Frances, I loved reading this post. I have self-doubt; I don’t speak up when I should in groups and then hear someone else voice my comment. I then presume that others see me as a non-participant or not interested enough to contribute to the discussion. So irksome — I must break this shyness and join in.
Between snowstorms we have had some beautiful colours in the sky. If only I were a painter!
Thank you for taking the time to write on such a variety of subjects.
Nadia
Author
So pleased you liked the post, thanks, Nadia! Isn’t that frustrating when we censor ourselves and then someone else gets credit for what we were thinking? Except that at least we can use those moments to remind ourselves that some of our ideas would have been received well — and take some risks ourselves, eventually. (easier said than done, I know!)
Waving from the other side of the world. I don’t often comment (lack of confidence) but I always look forward to reading your blog, so much of what you say resonates with me and you’ve introduced me to some wonderful books.
I hope you continue to find “le courage” for this blog. Know that I’m listening and enjoying.
Jules
Author
Thank you Julie! I’m pleased to hear from you and please don’t worry about commenting more often. Happy to know you’re out there, reading and waving.
We see flocks of Fieldfares on our morning walks & in really cold snaps they visit our feeding stations in the garden , often mixed in with Redwings . I hope that chap finds his way home . Our prettiest local birds are the Bullfinches , do you have those ? They like the feeders in the dog cage which is fixed on posts near the kitchen side window . It keeps them safe from the bullying bigger birds , especially the sparrow hawk that swoops through regularly . I envy you your Hummingbirds .
Author
I’m tickled to hear from someone who actually sees Fieldfares regularly, even in your wonderful garden (which I feel I know, after your generous guest post here). We have neither Redwings nor Bullfinches — Oh, those are such a pretty bird! — but yes, our hummingbirds are enviable! 😉
That Drive Your Plough book was one of my book club favorites. And the salad looks delicious. I often roast Winter squashes and this is something I want to make. Also I will check out Anna Jones website. I mostly cook vegetarian so always on the lookout for ideas. I remember trying out my “soapbox” in March of 2020, just before the covid restrictions. I had worked up the nerve to read a couple of my poems at our library’s poetry night. Fortunately it was held a a local pub so I could fortify with a glass of wine. After the event two men who are regulars came over to tell me how much they liked my work and invited me to join their Poetry group. I left feeling that even at this late age I was branching out in another direction, something I had never considered before. But then of course everything shut down, no more readings, no invitation to meet as that was not allowed. I had hoped I might still write, but the last couple of years have often felt like suspended animation, so not much creativity. I always enjoy your posts, wherever they make take you.
Author
That lost opportunity, fault of Covid lockdowns, that must really have hurt. Might you start writing again? Using that memory to fan whatever cinders might yet be glowing? Now you know that you can build a good fire? (excuse the extended metaphor 😉
Waving!
Author
Hi, Susan! Thanks!
My thoughts are so trivial, for example, how hopeful to have figured out a mending solution to your comfortable pants! I’m also fascinated by the Christmas pudding – need to look up what that actually is, a relative of fruitcake perhaps? And brandy butter – maybe same as hard sauce? I was always fascinated by hard sauce which I recall as a solid white substance that children were not allowed to have; by the time I wasn’t a child it had disappeared from the menu and I haven’t thought of it in, well, 60 years. Time for some research.
ceci
Author
Nothing’s trivial when we’re talking about a steamed Christmas pudding and hard sauce!! 😉
My dad (who originally hailed from north Yorkshire) used to make one, and a few years ago one of my sisters asked if I’d like to join her in reviving the tradition in our respective kitchens. I got some guidance from Penny, a Social Media friend, and now use Delia Smith’s recipe for a traditional Christmas pudding (online, should you wish to peek at it). Yes, I think Brandy Butter is the same as hard sauce (butter + brown sugar + brandy = NOT what the doctor ordered, but it’s only once a year . . .
Re Christmas puds , my sister makes the family puds . I put one away somewhere safe & forgot all about it . Three years later hubbie said it was delicious. I’m not a fan of dried fruit so can’t say .
I am new to your blog and sense a kindred spirit. Your musings and ideas seem “a step above” and leave me with things to ponder. Your subject, Sexuality and Aging is worth exploring and I look forward to it.
Looking forward to your posts from down here in Orange County, California.
Author
Thanks for the kind words from Orange County, Patricia! Happy to have you here 😉
Partially inspired by earlier posts of yours about mending and darning, I tried my hand at darning for the first time ever recently and while the results aren’t perfect, I’m pleased with what I accomplished. Pleased enough that I’m sharing the project on my blog tomorrow morning.
Author
Good for you, Elaine! My mending results are never perfect either, but they keep me wearing the garment in question so I count that as a win, every time. I’ll try to check out your blog post later — curious to see what you stitched!
I feel so ashamed of the fact that I’ve read so many of your posts recently and haven’t commented on any of them. Your writing resonates with me but I seem to trapped in this block of not being able to say what I want to/ or thinking that what I want to say is not worth saying…please know that I really love your posts and fully intend to participate properly soon💜 Thank you x
Author
No, no, no, Genevieve! You don’t need to feel ashamed, ever, for not commenting here. But I empathize with that sense of “thinking that what I want to say is not worth saying.” I think too many of us have incorporated this kind of assessment of the value of our potential contributions and stopped them before they get beyond us. Stopping to think before speaking is a very good skill in so many ways, and too many lack the ability to do so, but sometimes our gauge goes on overdrive. This is what I’m trying to negotiate here and in areas of my personal life, so your comment today really resonates with me. Thanks for connecting, but please don’t feel you ever “should.”
Thank you, Frances. That was such a gracious response. x
Lovely bird!
I have to find a right place to watch birds to know them-we have only sparrows ,crows,pidgeons and turtle doves here (which is not exactly true because I don’t recognize other birds) and I have swallow’s nest at my balcony at the seaside,love them!
Yes,I have to mend a sweater,as well.
The salad seems yummy -I love squash and I’ve checked Anna Jones,thank you!
Dottoressa
Author
You have a swallow’s nest on your balcony by the sea?! I’m so happy for you (and a bit envious)! I tried to tempt one to our bedroom balcony when we lived by the beach and one year they almost chose us. . . . but not to be, sadly. So I will picture yours and you watching them and smiling. xo
I just want to say that I love you, and admire how you approach everything. These past few weeks after Christmas have been rain and rain and rain down in California. We didn’t flood, but neither did we go much of anywhere at all. So now the sun is out, the Lunar New Year on Sunday feels more like the year can actually begin.
Author
Aw, love you too and thanks for the sweet words. Happy Lunar New Year!
Hi Frances:
There is a lovely series of podcasts about textiles called Haptic and Hue (https://hapticandhue.com/)
by Jo Andrews, a weaver in Great Britain. I think you and many of your readers would be delighted, touched, saddened, and captivated by her individual podcasts. Especially the one about the Canadian quilts sent, along with many other useful items, to Great Britain during WWII.
Thanks for your ongoing lovely writing.
The sun is out in the Bay Area and the doves are eating our birdseed on the ground along with a dark eyed junco!
Author
Thanks for pointing me to these podcasts!
Enjoy the sunshine and the birds (we get juncos on our terrace occasionally as well. No doves and we try to keep their cousins, the pigeons, well away 😉
Good blogs have good comments! I am falling for Haptic and Hue. What a distinctive and worthwhile podcast, and good on you for sharing it. Sharing—by Frances and her readers—becomes generous acts that set others in motion. So, thank you. The good you do …
Waving across the Strait! It’s always a pleasure to read your writing, although I’ve been less and less motivated to comment on many blogs, and am content to quietly read and ponder a little.
Author
I’m the same with with commenting elsewhere, Lorrie, but very happy to wave back at you. It’s almost a decade now since we had our visit — Time, eh?!
Hi Frances, I’m waving across the pond , hope you can “see” me
Like others, I always read your posts and I’m totally in awe of all you achieve and your way with words, that invisibly link so many of us. All the interesting comments and interactions make it even more special.
I always read but hold back from commenting often from lack of confidence or the feeling that I won’t share my thoughts and feelings as eloquently as others …
I would miss your blog so much if you no longer wrote and I really appreciate the time and effort you put into writing it.
So from now on even if I don’t always comment … I’ll definitely wave, smile and say how much I enjoyed reading!
Rosie ( loveswitzerlandsnow 😊your friend in England, )
Author
Hi Rosie, I’m happy to know you’re out there waving and truly, I don’t expect anyone to comment and you should never feel apologetic when you don’t. I love the connection we’ve forged, here and on Instagram. Thanks for taking the time to comment today. xo
Like Wendy in York, fieldfares are regular winter visitors to our garden in northern Scotland. We have 3 apple trees, 2 of which are stonking big cookers, and this year I had left more than the usual amount of windfalls on the grass when our first snow came in December and stayed for nearly 2 weeks. Between the fieldfares and the blackbirds every scrap of the apples disappeared. I now put out for them any apples in store that are going soft or bruised. The fieldfares thump around the place and are rather thuggish – fiercely territorial over their bit of apple, and often abandoning their apple to chase a bird away from another apple. They have a very aggressive tail-fanning and head-lowering display which signals the start of their ire. We just have 2 today, as it’s less cold, but we did have around 10 at a time in December.
I have just ineptly darned the toes of my Giesswein felted wool slippers. Not perfect, but it extends their life a bit. Important now that buying anything from the EU is an expensive customs fandango, thanks to the actions of our appalling UK government.
Author
Two of you at least, then, with fieldfares in your gardens. And what a good use for your bruised windfalls!
This is what I like about this move to Visible Mending — might not be perfect, but it extends the life of garments. Mending invisibly (or even just more discreetly) was inevitably a time-consuming or impossible task for me so just didn’t happen. And if it didn’t happen, it was obviously less efficacious! 😉 Hooray for imperfection!
Oh Frances, we always seem to connect, at least in my mind. I’m in the middle of a post about friends. And how connections with those we call friends change and morph once one retires. Not exactly what you are writing about… but still, about connections. And includes how those online connections sometimes can blossom into real life connections.
P.S. Wishing that Canada wasn’t so darned big! And that we could pull the carpet and bring the east and the west coasts nearer.
Author
I’ll head over to yours right now and connect! 😉 (and I share your wish! Still hoping for another IRL visit someday)
Your blog is not the only one I read, but the only one I comment (if not always). It is only that often I think for too long about what I would like to write and then you move on to a different subject and the opportunity has passed. I hope you know how much I enjoy your posts and how grateful I am to you for keeping me connected with a different part of the world (which, for me, includes all the commenters here).
On the subject of mending: When my nephew asked me for a new pair of hand knit socks for his birthday (the third in five years, pair of socks, I mean), I suggested he also send me the old ones in case they needed mending. And they did. It was fun trying out different types of darning on different holes. (Well, the toes were so torn I just had to take them off and knit new ones).
Must try that squash salad one of these days.
Author
Thanks, Eleonore, for the kind words!
So great that your nephew asked you for a new pair of socks — and sent you his old ones to be mended — that really shows how much he appreciates them! (I’ve done that with the toes before as well — a neat trick, isn’t it?!)
My little sproutySprout, seize “Bold” for your own. You pack more in a month than I can wrap my head around!
I can’t identify mending clothes (though I recently patched a tiny tear in a sheet I caught on the dryer door) or socks or knitting sweaters, but boyoboyOH, I admire your outdoor adventures, cultural forays, time with family, cooking, traveling, thinking, reading, drawing, writing, and connecting with other women here on you blog.
Never hesitate; you own Bold!
Happy New Year,
Deborah
Author
Ha! SproutySprout, that’s me! 😉 Thanks for the encouragement toward Boldness. I will take it to heart. xo
Hello Frances – I came to your blog today, as I often do for inspiration and as a reminder of why it’s good to talk / write /connect/ and to hopefully feel encouraged to rekindle my own writing. ( I find myself approaching my annual WordPress subscription renewal and only 2 posts written in 2022 – must try harder!
Like another of your readers – I follow many blogs but yours is one of the few that I comment on – your writing and observations often resonate with me and sometimes prompt me into action (except when it comes to mending).
I hope you enjoyed your Christmas pudding and brandy butter – we don’t have it at Christmas ( I am the only one who enjoys it). I have not made anything of Anna Jones but recently seem more drawn to vegetarian and vegan recipes that I see in the Saturday Guardian supplement Feast. I am always put off by the faff of squash peeling – but the end result is usually worth the effort.
I, too am going to seek out the podcast Haptic and hue – so hurray for the connections you create and Bravo to your eclectic soapbox discussion.
Margaret
Author
Thanks for the very thoughtful and kind words, Margaret. I should have said something on your Instagram story the other day — those gorgeous little bread puddings, with the process illustrated step by step. I’m glad you keep your WordPress going even if you only write two posts a year. I’m guessing/hoping that it will blossom once you reach my lucky state of retirement. . .
We did enjoy the Christmas pudding well enough, but it was clear that everyone was much more enthusiastic about the trifle I put together for Christmas dinner, so next year’s steaming is in question now. I do like the connection with my dad’s tradition, but a fair bit of work and expense for us to end up eating most of it ourselves after Christmas . . .
Thank you for braving your hesitation over what to possibly share on Jan. 19th and getting up on your milk crate (or two stacked on top of each other as needed). Today I have had the pleasure of reading your very creative post.
I enjoyed reading about the fieldfare that had been blown off course. That seems to happen a lot. On our lovely Martha’s Vineyard, where the local newspaper has a birders column, I’m often reading about birders flocking to see a bird that has been blown to the island and isn’t usually seen there. I know just a little about birds, but I have taken to watching them more and more over the last decade. In fact, I had my binoculars out the other day to watch several doves in the trees in my backyard. In addition to the pleasure of your story, I now have a book to purchase as a gift for two bird lovers, Diary of a Young Naturalist. I have no doubt that it will be a hit.
My mouth is watering over your dinner menu. Thank you for sharing the salad recipe. I’ll give it a try soon. I will just have to imagine your Christmas pudding. Sounds delicious.
Good for you for saving your wool pants from the landfill and coming up with a delicate mend (vs. writing a message across your bottom or something equally magnetic). I hope that you enjoy months more wearing pleasure. I expect that the other side will need a similar mend before you know it.
I’m looking forward to reading your posts about Haude Bernabé.
Author
Oh, I’m so pleased you’ve taken note of Dara McAnulty’s book — he’s an astonishing young man; writes beautifully and is keenly observant of, and passionate about, nature. Only just in his first year at university and a couple of books published alraedy!
I think you’re right about the other side of my pants — will I have to resist the temptation of writing a message? 😉
Hi Materfamilias! Thank you so much for commenting on my post. It’s my first time back on my blog in over six months and I’m just extremely grateful for you and your comment. I’m now signed up to get yours by email so we can be blog friends! Take care and Happy New Year. And I do think we’re in sync. I had never heard of field fare till Saturday! xoxo — Miss Whistle
Author
You’re very welcome — I’ve read and enjoyed your blog for many years and am very pleased to see new posts.