I'm tired today. I was up late washing and ironing the tablecloths for the tea tables at the show, each cloth is embroidered with flowers and each one was collected and/or completed by my mother, who went through a phase of needlework during the 1950 s and 1960s
I have very few items handed down to me from my parents. Those I do have ( a simple jam pan, a broken ginger jar ) were items I took from their house before the house clearance chap did his thing., and were items I remembered from being a child.
The tablecloths were a different story.
My mother gave me them in dribs and drabs, often after she had washed and re ironed them. Sometimes, when she was in the mood , she would complete some delicate sewing on an unfinished article, but for the most part she was happy to pass them onto someone who appreciated them... Little did I know then, that they would become part of a traditional country flower show, used every year and appreciated by all who saw them....
Much much better than being shut away in a dark drawer for the remainder of their lives eh?
It feels as though they have " come home"
I'm typing this with a cup of coffee after the first dog walk of the day. Only Albert is awake, he's sat in the window, scanning the field for " The Bastard" who has put in an appearance yet again. (" The Bastard" as you recall, is the feral cat who lives in the nearby field. He bullies Albert mercilessly at times)
Enough of this leisure activity.
I have a novelty vegetable to design