Let me tell you a story.....

 

Me and my welsh dresser

When I was in the Sixth Form we were rejoicing that we no longer had to wear the very smart brown and 'Champagne' uniform that we had endured for the previous 5 years. We could now wear our own clothes so we immediate felt like grown ups, even though we were literally still at school.

You didn't have to give me an excuse to express my creative side, to what I hoped was my smock top, cheesecloth, arty look - flowing clothes and hair, wooden beads, long skirts. I thought I looked different, I aimed to look different, and my day was made when my English teacher Miss Pritchard said something memorable to me. We always called her 'log legs' which was uncharitable, but accurate, and we always surmised that she had lost a fiance in the war with most of the other teachers at our all girls grammar school. She was on the verge of elderly and wore beige - cardigans, tweed skirts and thick tights with brogues. We were perhaps a little unfair to her, and now I am all grown up and middle aged myself, I would value a chat with her but she has long gone...

One day as all the girls were streaming out of the classroom, she called me aside and said quietly;

'I would have loved to be able to dress like you...'

There was a wistful look in her eyes that was the first realisation that I had that what we see on the outside of people isn't always what is going on inside. I decided that I was going to stick to my guns and dress as I liked because I had sort of got a blessing from old log legs, and I felt an affection for her for the rest of my school days. So I started to make more of the long skirts that I couldn't find in the shops; one memorable one was made out of striped yellow/cream/orange heavy woven material that I believe was made for curtains. I felt a bit farmwife-housey in it so I went for the complete look and made a huge cook's type apron out of an old white bed sheet. And this is probably what sparked my dream....

I was in a large long kitchen at a farmhouse table. Down each side of the table were 3 children, a mix of boys and girls, and we were baking together. I wiped my floury hands on my big white apron and looked up. There in the right hand corner was a lovely huge welsh dresser, full of china...

When I woke up, back in the reality of sitting my A levels in a Kent suburb, I just thought it was a nice dream. And it was.

However....

About 15 years later, after I had married and had several children, I was in my 28 foot long kitchen with my 6 children standing and sitting around my large kitchen table. We were making bread, and as I wiped my floury hands on my apron, I looked up. There in the right hand corner of the room was my lovely, large cream welsh dresser. Ever since then I have taken my large welsh dresser from house to house and it is the one piece of furniture that I never want to get rid of.

Spring hygge - my way

Winter has taken a long time to say goodbye this year. It’s spring at last, so it’s time to put away the cosy throws and furry cushions and think about opening a few windows.

Goodbye to hygge and all that?

That’s what I thought until it came to my attention that it’s possible to hygge all year round. Spring hygge? Sounds a bit unlikely, so I did a bit of research…

Apparently, what spring hygge boils down to is taking pleasure in everyday things. This is something I feel I do pretty well anyway, thank you very much. 

I found suggestions for brightening up your surroundings:

Lighter fabrics and colours.

Fresh flowers! 

Bring the outside in!  

A fairly instinctive reaction to spring, I think...

OK, so I’ll get out my bright yellow tea towels and pick a few daffodils from the garden.

‘Get out your spring cushions’ 

Well, I actually DO have spring cushions! The only thing is, they’ve been out since last spring because I couldn’t be bothered to store them over winter. 

I might just wash them – it’ll have to do.

Spring cleaning was another idea. 

I don’t know why this is touted as something new, as it used to be a traditional thing. I’ve always loved the idea of a massive clean up, but somehow I have never actually done it. As someone once pointed out, thinking about cleaning is much more pleasant than actually doing it. Besides, daily life has a habit of getting in the way of spring cleaning. 

Does anybody still do it these days?

Eventually this line of research came to a halt when I found a serious suggestion that I might hygge-up my spring by making pink champagne macaroons.  Now let’s not get silly!

Next I discovered that hygge is now supposed to be SO last year. Or maybe even the year before. 

‘Lagom’, I’m told, is the thing for this year. Another Scandinavian concept which means ‘just the right amount’. It’s all about moderation, creating balance and having enough stuff but not too much. Some people seem to think this is all very worthy but not as much fun as hygge. I can see their point, but surely the one doesn’t rule out the other?

The next step in my research led me to an alarming-sounding concept called...

Death Cleaning. 

I was afraid this meant spring cleaning until you drop from exhaustion, so I almost didn’t look any further. But all it means really is sorting out your stuff and planning for when you are no longer here - slimming down what you leave behind so your children don’t have to clear up after you. Probably a good idea, and also means you aren’t burdened with too many ‘things’ in retirement and might possibly get round to enjoying yourself.

Basically, a fancy way of saying decluttering.

Anyway, I’m off now to pick flowers and wash my cushions…

Basket case?

Finally we have moved house. It has been a long drawn out process, but a few interesting things have come to light as a result.

Now, I have been all fired up about decluttering, downsizing, streamlining etc. I thought I was on top of it. I was so ruthless with my hoarding tendency, getting rid of my excess possessions. I’m free! I thought. Now I can travel light through life, no longer weighed down by ‘stuff’.

And then… all these baskets were found when I came to pack. I felt like an alcoholic whose secret empty bottle stash has been discovered. And those baskets in that photo weren’t all of them either.

I’ve always had a weakness for baskets. I find it SO hard to part with them. But, honestly, I don’t know what I’m going to do with them all. There just isn’t room now. I have managed today to part with my three least favourite ones. It’s a start. I had no idea I had a basket addiction! I mean, how ‘normal’ is basket hoarding? Hard to say as there are no official statistics for this.

Another thing I learnt about myself is that I’m not quite as sentimental as I thought I was. The day before the move I was in pieces as the removal men dismantled my home around me. But this was the lowest point, and I was lucky enough to have my youngest son there as a shoulder to cry on (actually maybe I should say I cried on his elbow, given our height difference, but that sounds really weird).

Moving day itself wasn’t as emotional as I thought it might be. It was a bit difficult to manage the animals while the stuff was being taken out of the house and the doors had to be left open. I tried to do things while taking the dog around with me on a lead, but - trust me - it doesn't work! So I decided to go round to Mum and Dad’s for a cup of tea. Mum gave me a wise piece of advice when I told her I was feeling a bit emotional. “Don’t look back”, she said. “Do what I did when I left our home in Kent for the last time. I walked out of the door and didn’t look back.”

So, when it came time to go I did likewise. I’d had ideas about being the last to leave, wandering through the empty rooms that had echoed with the laughter of my children and all that sort of thing. In the end I was the last to leave, but I felt much more pragmatic than I expected to. Besides, there wasn’t time for sentimentality. For a start, the cat was going frantic and had had diarrhoea in his cat carrier and I was thinking how on Earth I was going to deal with it.

I went out of the front door, closed it behind me and put the keys through the letterbox. And I didn’t look back.

Archie wonders what is going on

I haven’t looked back all week either. I don’t think I will now. I feel at home here already, and although we have lots to do to make it fully ours I haven’t missed the old house at all.