Handmade with Love.

 

Anchor Me

As you know, I made and took two very large quilts with me on our trip — one in my case and one in Tony’s. You know the stories behind them, but a quick recap won’t hurt.

The idea for the first quilt came about as a wedding gift for Jiffy (Jonathan) and his intended Josie. I wanted something that spoke of the sea, as Jiffy is a fisherman and spends a lot of time on the water. Josie’s favourite colour is green, so that had to be incorporated too. Jiffy, of course, would be happy with anything his mum made and sent with love.

I showed them a few ideas and an anchor quilt was selected. I didn’t promise an exact copy, but something in that direction.

I pulled greeny-blue batiks from my collection, and in April of last year, while we were in Australia for Scrub Stitchin’, Janice kindly took me to an amazing shop with a wonderful collection of batiks. A large selection of fat quarters was added to the project that day. LOL

Over the following months I was often asked if I had started yet. When I finally did make a start, I kept you all updated on the blog and you all cheered me along.

Eventually I had a quilt top — but it still needed an anchor, and things stalled a little.

Then one day it all just happened. I played with pencil and paper, made a template I liked, and cut the fabric. An anchor was born.

I wanted to keep the quilting simple and watery — which I did.

And here it is: 

Anchor Me. 

Josie particularly loved the idea of “being anchored together” when we were planning it.

As you know, when we arrived on the island, Jiffy was away sailing with my dad, so we had to wait a whole week for his return. When they finally came back, we were on the harbourside waiting for them — I already shared that moment with you. Josie was there too, waiting.

The very next day we returned to Ramsey with the quilt. I had put Tony in charge of taking pictures… please… so he made a video! 

Sigh!  

He did eventually pick out a couple of good still shots from it yesterday.

I think they both like their new quilt. And I do hope it anchors them together, happily, for the rest of their lives.

I thought when I left the island 12 years ago that Jiffy would be the child I would have to worry about. But just as we were planning to leave, he introduced me to Josie. I felt good about her — something told me he would be okay with her at his side.

And he has been.

They are good together, and they now have two beautiful children.

∘◦❀◦∘

Fynoderee's Fields

The other quilt, as you know, was also made using batiks. I told you the story behind Fynoderee's Fields in an earlier post.

Look here for a reminder.

Kaiy had left the island before we did and was living in Birmingham with her husband. They were planning to return to the Isle of Man for the wedding, so I thought it would be lovely to make a new quilt for her as well.

Life, as it often does, had become rather complicated for Kaiy in the weeks leading up to our trip. I'll leave that story for another day. This post is about quilts and smiles.

Kaiy arrived back on the island a few days after her brother returned. Tony and I also got to meet Faith again. The last time we'd seen her she was just nine months old, so that was rather special.

A few days later we finally managed to arrange a time to meet up and hand over the quilt.

I don't think I need many words here.

I think the smiles say it all.

∘◦❀◦∘

Every stitch in these quilts was sewn with love, every fabric carefully chosen, every hour happily spent thinking about the people who would one day wrap themselves in them.

The journey from my sewing room in Timaru to their new homes on the Isle of Man wasn't without its challenges, but seeing them finally wrapped around the people I love made every moment worthwhile.

An Unexpected Reunion.

 An unexpected reunion on our return to the island was an old school friend. I’ll tell you the story, and maybe you’ll understand why Sharon believes our meeting was meant to be.

About 15-ish years ago, I went off tea. I used to love tea — I lived on the stuff — and then suddenly it just started to taste wrong. No matter what I tried, more milk, less milk, more sugar, less sugar, different varieties, even lemon… nothing worked. It still tasted like sticks. I was just off tea.

I’ve since learned, or come to understand, that it was all linked to hormones and menopause.

Anyway, about five or six months ago I tried again, and guess what? I liked it! But only out of a teapot. No dunking a bag into a cup — no, it has to come out of a teapot… even though I still dunk the bag in that. LOL

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The teapot that started it all

While I was browsing an Isle of Man website before our visit, I saw a beautiful teapot with Celtic designs on it. I wanted that pot. I was determined to find it and bring it home.

In our first week on the island, I hunted through many souvenir shops and likely places, but I didn’t see it. I turned to the internet and found the suppliers instead. I contacted them via their “Contact Us” page and received a lovely, very helpful response.

And here’s the thing… I recognised the name on the email.

So I replied and told him who I was 50 years ago — my maiden name, my then nickname — and asked if he remembered me. I also mentioned I had gone to school with his niece but had lost touch.

He did remember me, and he gave me her number.

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Sharon

Sharon and I were in the same school intake when we were four years old. We stayed friends all the way through school, spent weekends and holidays together — we were inseparable.

And then somehow, within two years of leaving school on a small island, we lost touch.

I have tried to find her over the years, even as recently as 6-7 years ago, I looked on facebook.  But never could find her and eventually gave up.

And now suddenly… I had her phone number.

I was so excited I quickly sent a message, and within five minutes I had a reply. We arranged to meet at a coffee shop the next day.

We talked and talked and talked. We sat there for four hours!

Then, because the fire alarm went off in the café, we had to leave, not wanting to part ways yet, we walked along the promenade in the sunshine, still talking. We remembered school days, homework, younger siblings, and old adventures.

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And then the teapot…

Our walk took us past a gift shop, and what should be in the window? The very teapot I had been looking for. 

It turns out Sharon lives just a couple of streets away from my brother. We headed up the hill together, and hugged on the corner, promising to meet again before I returned to New Zealand.

We quickly snapped a selfie — there was no one around to help us. 

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Meant to be?

Sharon, of course, wasn’t on holiday, so between family and work commitments we only managed one more meeting before I left. But again, we slipped straight back into conversation as if no time had passed at all.

Forty years is a long time to catch up on… but somehow, it didn’t feel difficult.

I told her about going off tea and then finding my way back to it, and how I had originally been searching for a teapot and ended up finding her uncle instead.

That’s when she said it:

“It was meant to be, Lou. It was meant to be.”

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A final twist

There was another small twist that felt like a sign.

A day or two before I sent that email, Tony and I had been to Ramsey, my old home town, visiting an elderly friend. She had moved house, but we tracked her down to a building that used to be the Prince of Wales Hotel, it's now converted into apartments. 

Back in my childhood, it was owned and run by Sharon’s grandparents. Sitting in Edna's front room catching up with her brought back memories of that very same room, I remember going behind the bar for fizzy drinks and crisps and running across the road to the beach afterwards. On rainy days we’d play in empty rooms or in the guest lounge.

That’s also where I first met Sharon’s uncle, who would gently tease me and call me “Spennylegs” — a nickname his brother (Sharon’s father) had given me.

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Sharon does have a Facebook account, created only a few years ago and hardly used, but she now has Messenger on her phone and we’ve promised to stay in touch.

Maybe it was meant to be.

I sure hope so.

Getting there....

 As I'm sure you know, Tony and I have been away for a few weeks. Our long-awaited trip to the Isle of Man has now been and gone.

It was a very emotional trip, with many wanders down memory lane. Far too much happened to squeeze it all into one blog post, so here is the first of several.

We left Timaru on Saturday lunchtime. The sun was shining – what a beautiful start to the trip.

We flew from Christchurch to Sydney, then onwards to Dubai aboard an Airbus A380. It is a truly enormous aircraft, making the Sydney to Dubai flight in about 14 hours.

We had a long layover in Dubai – 20 hours on the ground. Emirates gifted us a complimentary hotel room and meal so that we could freshen up and get some sleep. What a wonderful thing to do.

We certainly tried to sleep, but it just wasn't happening. Instead, we decided to head out and explore a little.

One of the cabin crew had suggested Dubai Mall, easily reached by metro. Out we stepped into 44°C heat!

Phew... it was hot.

Luckily, the metro station was only an eight-minute walk from the hotel. It was blissful to be back inside in the air conditioning. After only a short wait, the next train arrived. It cost us pennies to make the 35-minute journey to the Burj Khalifa station.

From there we took a 15-minute walk through air-conditioned tunnels to the shopping mall. Looking out of the windows along the way, I was struck by just how clean the city is. Not just the city itself, but the metro stations, the trains, the tunnels, the mall... everything was spotlessly clean and maintained at a wonderfully comfortable temperature.

The mall itself was vast. That may be perfectly normal for some people, but for a Manx/Kiwi like me, whose experience has mostly been of much smaller places, it was quite a culture shock.

Arriving fairly early in the day, many of the shops were only just opening. Cafés were setting up for breakfast and brunch. I was fascinated by some of the clientele.

We wandered around simply taking it all in.

The UAE may be a desert nation, but it certainly isn't short of water. Everywhere we looked there were beautiful water features. I imagine they also help cool the surrounding air.

Look at how tiny those people are at the bottom of the waterfall.

This tea shop completely fascinated me. Who knew there were so many different kinds of tea?

I'd read somewhere that there was an aquarium in the mall, and sure enough, we found it.

We didn't even need to pay to see the fish. A huge three-story-high wall of glass lets shoppers peer into an enormous aquarium... right there, opposite The Cheesecake Factory.

Guess where we stopped for an early lunch?

After eating a huge meal, I wandered back to the aquarium and took far too many photos. I was determined to get a decent picture of this fellow.

We also spotted another rather interesting group of people enjoying brunch at one of the cafés.

On our way back to the metro station we spotted a very familiar name...

Marks & Spencer.

Back at the hotel we again failed to sleep for more than an hour. Jet lag clearly had other ideas for us.

So, after activating our complimentary SIM cards, Tony did all the technical wizardry and set up a hotspot from the phone so we could connect a laptop and cast a movie to the hotel TV. Before long we were properly settled in, watching Netflix and trying to get in another snooze.

We stayed there until it was time for supper, a ride back to the airport, and yet another flight on our way to the Isle of Man.

This time we flew on a smaller Boeing 777 to Manchester, where it was cool and damp – quite a contrast to Dubai!

Once there we managed to get ourselves onto an earlier flight to the Isle of Man. We had originally been booked on the 5.40 p.m. flight but instead managed to leave around lunchtime.

It turned out to be a very good decision.

Fog had settled around the island and several flights had already been unable to land, returning to where they had come from instead.

The flight we eventually boarded had left Glasgow half empty, so it was diverted to Manchester to collect more passengers rather than have two half-empty aircraft flying the same route.

Normally, the flight to the Isle of Man takes about 40 minutes.

Ours took just 25.

There was still plenty of fog, but our pilot found a hole in it... and dropped us neatly through.

We were the last plane to land that day as the fog became thicker. 

My brother Andy and his wife Angie were there to meet us.

All of our luggage wasn't.

Tony's suitcase had somehow decided to stay behind in Manchester. Thankfully, it caught up with us the following day.

Did I mention that it is now Monday lunchtime on the Isle of Man, so Almost midnight, Monday in New Zealand?

I have to say, after twelve years of living in New Zealand, the Isle of Man's roads felt incredibly narrow!

I’ll be back soon with another instalment. It may not be the most exciting read for everyone, but I do like to keep a record of our journey for us to look back on.

∘◦❀◦∘ 

My Big Bruv.

I'm staying with my brother and his wife. Today was a day out and photos were requested. Neither of us likes having our photo taken, so we thought we'd have some fun.  

Then got serious.

We've relived some old memories and made some new ones.

Thirteen years wait for this one.

Kaiy flew in to the island on Friday. 

She had a rather shy Faith with her.