I had a very busy morning recently getting things ready for the post office.
At first I was
frustrated by how time consuming it was becoming. Finding the right sized brown paper from an old bag, and which box to
use
and where was that other old packaging I stored away for re-use?
Then in a magic moment, I became calm. The feel of the crisp brown paper as it folded, the sound of the blade slitting slowly and evenly, wrapping and creasing around the box to fit snug. I tied the parcel with twine and wondered what tricks people had to put their finger on the half-knot, when there wasn’t someone there to do it. Crossing the twine over itself, twist, neat even squares, round two directions of a box, dissected by the pattern of the string that is holding it secure. I felt very satisfied making up a parcel the old fashioned way. Something so lovely in the symmetry and basic materials.
and so my mum gave me some that she had sliced up and sun-dried.
I liked the way they curled into the glass jars, preserved and pungent for a rainy day.
I do love my glass jars.
What rainy day? How
will it ever be consumed? The act of
non-waste, use at any cost – yes, I really did inherit it. My parents are of that war-experienced
generation and are great hoarders. So
this week I also inherited a stash of “woollens for felting”.
Some of it was beyond belief that anyone
could hang on to something so broken.
But those holes did have a certain intriguing pattern.
Well felting is a whole other technique I have to take on
one day, so into a new stash it will go.
Stay tuned for the felting post!
