Memory jars, Christening gowns and slugs.....

Day 3: For memories which make me smile, and for dreams which may become my memories too one day.

I started a memory jar a while back. I saw the idea on Pinterest, and basically it is a glass jar with a lid in the living room. I write down a simple word or line of a particular memory and pop it in the jar, and on New Year's Eve, the idea is to take them all out and read them aloud. The whole family is supposed to be joining in, but SEEM TO BE SLUGS AND HAVE DONE NOTHING YET. Oh well, they have a few more weeks to get their act together and join in. I, on the other hand, have kept popping papers in. It will be fun. And I am the Keeper of Memories around here anyway, aren't I??

My garden is going crazy, people. It is November. It is also 14C today, which is warm for this time of the year. (Yay! No heating on yet!) And so help me, my pots are starting to sprout summer seedlings. And the daffodil and tulip bulbs are all shooting up through the soil. I may have to break out the compost and cover the lot up again in the next day or so, because soon the Arctic winds are supposed to be arriving from Siberia, so they will die. Wrong season, plants! Go back to sleep!

Some of my summer plants are still flowering merrily on, which is great, and the roses - well, they keep growing buds. So many this year. Over and over again. Beautiful. The slugs are out in force. I hate slugs. I squished one this morning. {{Shudder}}

For all the high-ish temperatures today, it is grey and damp and dark. Having lights on in the middle of the day just seems all wrong, but one does need to see. Especially if you are my mother and sewing up navy squares into yet another blanket for the church/homeless/people in need. Navy and dark do not go well together when you are trying to see.

The quilting is getting there, albeit slowly. It is the falling asleep thing, you see. Stitch 4 stitches, and head drops and Linds is off to the Land of Nod. Then I wake at midnight or later, and, with a sudden burst of energy, sew for half an hour till I remember that I should be in bed at 1am, and not listening to CNS News and sewing.

Did I mention that I found quilted when I was sorting through the most recent boxes hauled down from the loft? A Christmas one, in green and red, a panel Christmas one, and then an alphabet one too. I had completely forgotten all three. They are washed and drying as I speak. My kitchen looks like a Chinese laundry. Not that I have any experience of what a Chinese laundry looks like, of course.

I also found the baby clothes I kept. There are teeny tiny little outfits for all 3 of them, and oh, did it take me back to see the tiny sizes. My baby era was so long ago. And the little dresses - there are also some which Marge and I wore as babies. And the silk christening gown which my mother once wore. Then me, Marge, Andrew, Diana. David, no. I nearly forgot to have him christened, and so he was 15 months old, it was the night before we left South Africa, and I have told you that story before.

Does anyone know how to get brown marks off pure silk christening gowns which are 86 + years old??? There has to be a way. I googled it, but I am far more comfortable trying out something already proven to work before I start playing with denture tablets and such like. Mother is already hyperventilating at the thought of it disintegrating. It has with it, a circular baby shawl which was knitted when I was born. So soft and oh, so beautiful. I must haul out the camera.

So, we are back to boxes piled all over the place. Mother's vast collection of dolls from around the world (in national dress - 3 boxes), my oldest son's belongings, toys from my children's youth, which Missy will be delighted to see, I am sure. And assorted paintings, and other paraphernalia. Sigh. My efforts to cast a spell and get the walls to shift outwards have failed. So we are back to boxes. Toss out. Charity shop. Auction. Kids. But in the mean time, they are occupying my kitchen.

I am a world-class decorator. Boxes are a speciality.