Bunny love...

This black rabbit by das kaninchen is my current Big Etsy Love, you know - that darling etsy object that you can't stop thinking about, that you want so desperately that you manage to convince yourself it isn't reeeeally like spending money if you really really love the thing you're spending money on.

Just look at her, she's so elegant, so sophisticated, so very regal. And, and, that's 16 inches of rabbit. That's a lot of bunny for yer money...

I love her. But as The Boy isn't convinced by my spending+love=not really spending theory I might be feeling the stirrings of diy inspiration and attempt to make a slightly more chic version of my wedding bunny. Then again I might just buy her, hide her from The Boy and tell him that Fuzz has learnt to sit still, stick his ears in the air and stop peeing on the furniture should he ever notice her presence in our hutch, I mean house.


Bunny by Das Kanichen, via etsy. Check out her blog for more bunnies and other handmade lovelies.

a year in pictures, II (b)

(I forgot August in the last part. You know, because it just wasn't that memorable last year.)

h. august

















All photos by me.

The Story, part III

So, she knew what she had to say, a simple 'will you marry me' ought to do it, but where would she say it? When? And oh god, how? She really wanted to get on with it, but she had just brought home a wedding magazine (for work purposes may I remind you) and if she asked him after two days of dissecting the wedding industry he would think she was nothing but a victim of canny advertising, that the Evil Wedding Geniuses had succeeded in convincing her that her life would be forever incomplete if she didn't glide down the aisle of a stately home in a hundred yards of white satin to the majestic tones of the bagpipes while he waited anxiously clad in tartan and squirming slightly because his bow tie was cutting off the circulation to his neck and three hundred of our dearest friends who had gathered to wish us well and offer us kitchen utensils were watching him closely for any obvious signs of discomfort. Oh no, the question popping simply must wait until memories of that Tome of Bad Taste had faded. However she hadn't bargained for just quite how sticky those memories would be, quite how genius the Evil Wedding Geniuses were in their ability to infiltrate your consciousness, your life, your sanity for better or worse, till death do you part.

So she waited, and by the time The Magazine was no longer making its presence felt in their home it was a few short days until her birthday. The girl had never been able to ask for presents, always finding the question 'what do you want for your birthday?' really quite embarrassing. She had rarely managed to answer it with more than an 'oh, you don't have to get me anything' or an 'I don't know', the very thought of asking for something in particular causing her immeasurable pain. So asking her boy to marry her anywhere near her birthday was simply not an option. If she couldn't ask for a new pair of earrings she certainly couldn't ask for a lifetime commitment. And so, it would have to wait.

And then it was valentines day, and oh for the love of all things tasteful she couldn't possibly propose on or around valentines day. Which isn't to say that it didn't cross her mind. She did consider a card with bows and bunnies and hearts and flowers with a simple 'will you marry me?' inside and when she didn't quite manage to get a card in time and found herself on valentines morning writing a message to her boy on her tummy in lipstick 'I love you' almost became 'wanna get wed?' But she couldn't bring herself to be a woman who proposed on Valentines Day. Despite her love for kitsch and cheese and all things a bit naff (and what is valentines day if not a delightful combination of all three?) she simply did not want to be remembered as that woman who thinks that valentines day is so very 'romantic' that a proposal is in order. Besides, she didn't think that kitsch, cheesy and a little naff was the mood she should be going for with this whole proposing thing and so it would have to wait.

And wait it did, until one day, one unremarkable day when the waiting became too much. When she couldn't keep it in any longer and holding out for the right time was starting to feel like a pointless pursuit. Any time would be right as long as he said yes and besides, she was becoming a nervous wreck and if she kept up this level of anxious weirdness for too much longer not only would he not be marrying her but he would be backing away from her altogether, slowly and with a minimum of eye contact.

And so, one afternoon, one dark dreary February afternoon she asked him. They were sitting on the floor, there was a rabbit under the bed. There was an unsuccessful attempt to talk the rabbit out from under the bed. And there it happened, among the dust and the occasional rabbit dropping, on a carpet they detested that the desire to get it over with, I mean marry her man, overwhelmed her.

“Boy” she said. “I want to ask you something...”

“Ok” he said. Looking bemused. Such proclamations were usually followed by a request for something terribly tempting that they weren't allowed, a puppy for instance.

“I wondered.... if..... um.... maybe....um....” she said.

“Are you ok?” he said.

“Uh huh” she squeaked. “maybe....um...if......um.....you.......”

“Are you sure you're ok?” he asked, looking more worried this time and feeling quite certain that a request for a puppy was not what was about to follow. Perhaps she wanted a pony? Or maybe she was leaving him? Oh crap.

“Mmmhmm” she gulped.

“I wondered if maybe.....um....you'd marry me.” she stammered, looking nervously the other way.

“Of course!” he laughed, “Bloody hell Pix, you scared me there, I thought you wanted a pony.” (or something along those lines)

And then they lived happily ever after.

....For a week or two, until they started trying to plan a wedding. At which point they realised that buying a pony and keeping it in their third floor flat would have been infinity easier. And cheaper.

The end.

a year in pictures, II

e. may









sun shining, hopes lifting, heart healing.



f. june










food growing, summer flowering, bells tinkling


f. July







food made, gifts bought, clock ticking...


All photos by me.

The Story, part II

Part I

So, the girl wanted to get married? Oh what a contrary girl she was. Not that she regretted her contrariness for a minute mind you, it was made her special, interesting she told herself, it was what made him love her even. That was her story and she was sticking to it and when he told her she was impossible, well that just made her smile. But however delightful contrariness might be in a person she couldn't deny it had left her in an awfully awkward position, for she knew she wanted to marry him and he knew, without a doubt, that she didn't want to get married.

Now she didn't realise at the time that what most women do when they find themselves in such a situation is to drop hints. A diamond ring admired here, an allusion to the delights of matrimony dropped there, the merest suggestion that they do want to get married, they really do and that if the gentleman in question were to ask for her hand, well the answer would be a resounding yes. But that's not how this girl operated. Oh no. Hints were not her style, how very undignified such a game would be to her. In fact hints were so not her style that they didn't occur to her as a solution to her pickle until long after she had taken matters into her own hands and done the proposing herself.

Now she was aware of how a proposal should be carried out. Aware that it should be romantic, heartfelt, memorable and she had heard that at least one party should be kneeling on the floor. A rumour was circulating that jewelery should be involved but she decided that that was an unfounded myth.

The thought of asking her boy to marry her gave her flutters in her tummy and made her smile. This is a pleasant sensation she thought, I like this. At the same time she was carrying out some research of a professional nature into weddings and to this end she bought a wedding magazine. Oh boy, that did not go well and quite honestly it made her rather anxious about the whole wedding part of getting married. It was all so...tasteless. The men all looked the same, the women all looked the same. Of course that one was embroidered in a different place to that one, and that one's tiara was more modest that that one's which had a frankly papal air about it. That one had a bouquet of pink roses and that one over there had cream. One adventurous lady even had a bouquet of pink and cream roses. As she felt the panic rise in her chest she closed the magazine and put it down on the coffee table. Eyeing it suspiciously she used one finger to push it to a distance she considered to be safe and frowning she started to doubt that weddings were for her. Were she to get married there would be no long white dress, no walking down the aisle to a romantic tune, no tradition and most definitely no castles. Oh the poor pitiful fool, how little time it would take for her to lose her conviction.

But while she doubted that weddings were for her her determination to marry the boy never wavered. She knew she would ask him and she knew he would say yes. She just knew it. In fact along with the thought of dropping hints, the possibility of being turned down never entered her mind. For in all their combined irritation with those who told them that they simply must get married, he had been distinctly less vociferous in his disgust than her. 'Really?' he said with a bemused expression when she told him marriage was a nonsense. In fact, she had the tiniest suspicion that actually he would quite like to get married. Not that he was going to admit it now. No, he might be romantic but he wasn't stupid.

She however was not very romantic (and possibly a little stupid, but that's by the by) and orchestrating any sort of 'awww'-worthy proposal involving rings, boats, beaches or champagne was never going to work for her. She simply had to ask him, to tell him that she had changed her mind and would he please think about marrying her. To pop the question. For she was not good at orchestrating, not cool, not calm, not very good at acting. And a decent proposal requires a little acting, a little 'Oh this is just a normal, run of the mill romantic outing, la la lah. Hang on a minute, No it's not, will you marry me? Oh you weren't expecting that? Well my job here is well done. If you say yes of course' And the girl was nothing if not dreadful at acting. And planning. And concealing a plan. Just dreadful...


Part III to follow (soon, I promise. No, honestly, I've already written it...)

Bare feet

slow steps

arms wrapped tightly around your chest

where your heart hammers.




Inch by inch

pulled a little closer

to you know not what.



Hold your breath

ask for strength

no choice

but to climb slowly in.



Image courtesy of Olystad, via Flickr.

a year in pictures, I

a. january

one ward, four beds, three women. three nights, four scars, five bunches of flowers.
six weeks of healing. a lifetime of questions.

b. february

winter light, wedding plans. what to make, what to wear, how to tell the stories that stir.

c. march

tentative steps, blue skies, bare branches. decisions made, cakes baked. questions unanswered.

d. april

small steps, further afield. boats, blossoms, projects, paintings. spring will come and summer will follow.

All photos by me.

A new beginning...

No stories, no pictures, no posts at all. No comments thanked or questions answered, no blogs read or comments left. No emails replied to, no phone calls returned, no resolutions made, no reflecting on the year gone by.

Bad blogger, bad friend, bad daughter, bad granddaughter.

Well perhaps one resolution made. Nothing to do with a new year, just a gradual realisation that happens to coincide.

To blog differently. To slow down. To only post when I have something that has to be said. To stop filling the empty spaces. To take the time spent searching for things to say and spend it building a home, a nest. Spend it with purpose and intent. Spend it wisely because it is precious.
Spend it so that I know where it has gone, so that I can see the results, be they a house that is becoming a home, a business becoming stronger, an idea becoming realised, a blog becoming.... actually I'm not sure what this blog will become yet, but I'm excited about it.

Posts will be less regular, emails and comments will go unanswered for (even) longer and some if not most of you will probably wonder off. For which I won't blame you.

But achieving balance as opposed to a smug-makingly high reader count is the aim here. To switch the computer off and only switch it back on when I really want to, not because I feel I have to, that I really really have to. That my world might end if I don't switch the damn computer on, even though there is nothing I actually want to do on the computer, it's just become such a part of me that I'm lost if it's off. That's not healthy, right?

So, here's to a new year, a new start, a new found balance, a new way of living. A new, computer-minimal way to be.

Happy new year. May it be one of balance, of calm, of intent and purpose.

Photo of Roslin Glen, by me.