Murder, she wrote...

As I suspected, shit had hit the fan.  After our not-so-romantic failure of a homesitter, my  dear husband and child went to France, leaving me behind to look after our dogs and cats. Missing holidays in France was a hard blow, but something I can survive. But! 

They also went ... house hunting!  Without me!!! For me it qualifies as plain domestic abuse.  And as I suspected, the worse possible scenario has happened. They bought a house in Southwest. A farmette in Charente.  A man and a 12 yo child bought a home. Without me! 

All I have is few pictures taken by our 12 yo who is blissfully happy about the choice because our next door neighbours will be the riding stables. Good for horses and maybe... for gardening.  And extremely happy husband who called right now to tell that he already has done all the measurements and has made all the design plans for our house.... 

I’m sitting here steaming. Totally and utterly pissed off.  Murder, she wrote...

'No good deed goes unpunished

Do you know

the biggest complaints married women have about their husbands?

Lack of romance is a big one (among others, of course). When you look at a grumpy man carrying over half a century on his shoulders already, you do not expect much space for romantic behaviour.
Not my case.


Dear husband decided that this is the right time of the year to do something good. And he did. Invited in our home a homeless man. Lets call him John.

Sounds completely crazy, but actually this one was one of his best thought ideas. We knew John for over 3 years - nice, but mentally restricted, barely writes or read, but we never saw him drank or behaving badly so he seemed a real candidate to get a chance in life.

Husband, after his nasty burns, would do with an extra pair of even not so skilled hands for a help then and there. It would give John a chance to get off the streets, get back into same strenght and work schedule, and when he would be ready, my husband was planning to give him recomendations to get back into a proper job and start independent life off the streets.

We knew that John has epilepsy, so there were numerous limitations but we did our research and were ready for that hurdle. He also had no documents so my husband started to sort out all that right from the beginning.

So John came in and right into shower, his clothers were washed and sorted out, husband bought him new boots and some needed clothes, and good deed started. It was planned that we will be leaving for France past Wednesday, leaving him house sitting and doing some gardening when he feels like that.

 At the beginning seemed that all goes well - John was keen to do things, but some problems also arised. He needs to go to local pharmacy twice a day to collect his daily meds, and every time he dissapeared for several hours. The pharmacy is just 5 min walk from our house so it was weird.  But ok, John had been on streets for over  7 years, so maybe he is missing his street life?

Then on one of his walks he had a fit and was taken to hospital. Husband rushed there to find John smoking outside already. Well, that's the thing with epilepsy - fits come and go easily. Next day he needed to be collected from the hospital again - seemed that he had been hit by a car - John had bruised leg. But he still tried to convince us that he wants to do the work and that he can do it.

Next day husband went through his wallet and scratched his head - some notes seemed to be missing but again - as we were preparing for France, a lot of last minute shoppings were done in a hurry, so maybe he just forget something he spent the money on.

The next day we discovered the 20 pound note missing from the money jar, and this time it was absolutely clear that money is gone and only one person to be blamed for it. It was Tuesday afternoon, and we had ferry booked on Wednesday already. What to do?

Husband tried to find a last minute replacement (to look after house and after John) but all our unatached friends already had made some plans. Finding a professional home sitter on such a short notice and weird circumstances seemed mission impossible but husband still kept trying. I carried on packing...

And then I discovered that my photo camera also has gone. On Sunday night after Crufts I uploded pictures, and left camera on its usual place - on Tuesday night camera was gone.

That was the last straw for the big romantic deed. On Wednesday morning after the breakfast John was politely asked to pack; husband took him to shop to get him a new tent and back on streets he went. Seems like John forget to tell us one minute detail about himself - drug addiction.

So, ladies, next time when you complain about you husband being not romantic, please remember, that sometimes romantic ideas can be a disaster. This one not only cost me my camera, but also my long planned holidays in France. And might have even more long lasting effects on my life but that's for the next post.

Ode to Singer

While the starch is drying out on the back for Oga quilt, I can finally tell the story I promised to tell long ago, about my oldest and most loved Singer (model 16K , serial number J1652230).

My grand granparents, 1906

When my grand grand mother Ann Beitan married Theodor Ozolin in 1906, they got a posh and useful wedding present from Ann’s mother Trine Beitan – this sewing machine.

The life was full of promises for them. Ann was a daughter of a wealthy farmers and Theodor – a teacher and an aspiring scientist.
  

My grandomother, 1908

But these were troubled times around – the waves of the Revolution of 1905 hadn’t settled jet and many were arrested, including Theodor, leaving pregnant Ann alone.  Theodor never returned. In prison he cought TB and died soon after their little daughter Zenta was born in December 1907. 

Ann never re-married. She returned back to farm and raised her daughter, sewing one fancy dress after another for her little orphaned princess.

When the First World War started, Ann had no illusions – her darling sewing machine was in danger as Russian army was well known for looting, so still new and shiny, Singer was wrapped in endless layers of oil cloth, packed in an old butter box and drowned in the pond, while empty wooden box was left open in the attick. 

Ann’s decission was wise as farm happened to stand right on the way of Russian and German armies the whole war. If my granny counted right, different armies walked in and out of their farm 17 times during the WWI. 

My grandomother, 1930

When all settled, the sewing machine emerged from the depths of the pond, but a lot of shine has gone, and rust had cut its teeth in. But it still worked, and was perfect to provide my grandma with fashionable outfits for her college years while she studied accountancy and farm management.

My mum 1937

When my grandma married, she took sewing machine with her, and produced many fancy outfits for her little precios princess (my mum). Sadly, her marriage also didn’t lasted long, but that’s another story (WWII, you know). My grandma spent hours on this sewing machine right until 1987, when she died, and my mum took over. 

Now this sewing machine belongs to my youngest daughter who is learning to sew on it right now.  

Free motion quilting

While in general I’m still doing nothing, there are others working hard for me. Yesterday I studied a bit of free motion quilting.... by sea. 

 I must admit, sea is an expert and creates some fantastic stuff even without a long arm machine. 

Look at these beauties!

So it is rather difficult to open the sewing machine still - competition is too hard! 

There are so many distractions – all around here is pine forest and as I have discovered, the first chanterelles (Cantharellus cibarius) of the season are out! Yay! They are gorgeous in cream sauce. 

Och, and then there was the Summer Solstice to celebrate which we do all night long (the next day is public holiday here). Big bonfires, a lot of singing and dancing with ocassional beer and BBQ on the side... One must have time to recover after that, right?  

So I’m spending more time lurking around and watching the Nature doing all the jobs.

Zen of doing nothing

This is what I call a rural beach. Look to left, look to right... Nobody. Nobody at all. Only sea, the fragnance of Platanthera bifolia, commonly known as the Lesser Butterfly-orchid, and ecstatic dogs zooming around.


At night I fell asleep, listening vawes crashing. Weather is not exactly the best but desolation is fantastic. Life is good. 

Right now it feels that art projects can wait for a day or two... or eternity LOL. Nature does it all and much better than me. Zen of stones and sand, music of sea, fragnance of orchids... Heaven for a lazy bum like me!

Ode to my Singer

For quite some time I was browsing internet trying to sort out my sewing machine.  See, it’s an old Singer. Of course, it’s a bit outdated and such, but no modern sewing machine I had been able to try out was able to convert me – I still believe in my old, sturdy friend.

 An old Singer is like a best warhorse – its durable, tolerates rough life and is so simple that I can clean and tidy it up all by myself. And in turn it just goes, goes for everything, without hesitation – on this one my parents made their first tent out of thick, impregnated canvas, I sew my first jeans (and some 300 later), endless leather bags and belts.... It conquered it all, without a complaint. 

Of course, you do not expect an old war horse do a fancy dressage steps or win the Grand National. So I must admit that lycra or  spandex are not exactly for my Singer. But I can live with that - I can always play with some modern, more advanced electric wonder. 

So I really wanted to find a manual for my old friend – I have also a large amount of different feet and attachments that I have no idea what for, so manual would be useful. 

But it wasn’t so easy. To find a manual, you need to know the model. But there are no model sign on my old one, only the serial number. Went through the Singer page and they say tere that for older machines you must ask them – they can check it on their records by serial number. Great! So I sent them an email quite a long time ago but no response. Then another one, and another.... Oh well, probably we’ll need to live without the manual. 

Then today, after linking on Confessions of a fabric addict, I did exactly what all this linking is about – browsed through other blogs, and their links to some others. I love web, sometimes you can find a real hidden treasures. So I was looking, reading, left few comments, until I noticed a comment regarding some spare parts for a Singer. So I wrote to the author, to some Connie McCaffery, in case, she has an idea where I might try my luck to find the model. 

And voila! Connie instantly responded and after the morning spent, sending mails back and forth, now I know. Connie even sent me the manual I had been searching for so long! 

My old warhorse is an early model 15, with Egyptian decals! Most likely made in 1910, Podolsk, Russia. 

Not a big deal? Not for me. Now, when I’ll be sewing the dress for my youngest daughter, I’ll close my eyes and will imagine my grandmother’s first baby grown being sewn on this machine when it was new and shiny by her mother. 

My 11 years old is the fifth generation of our family ladies, leaning over that wheel. Isn’t it cool?  Over hundred years of hard work and the machine is still doing perfectly! 

(Okay, I must admit, not absolutely perfect – the rubber on the bobbin wheel had been replaced about 40 years ago by using a wheel from my toy car, and now I need to find a new toy car with rubber wheels as that one gave up finally).