Dispatches from the Department of Catchups and Creative Maybes

A recent knitting squirrel that I chased right to the end was the Dad scarf I made for my brother. It was a joy to knit—soft, soothing wool in shades of grey and blue, each row stitched with quiet intention. The colours reminded me of stormy skies and seas, and the scarf came together like a memory of island Winters unfolding. He’s a grandad now, which made the gift feel even more special—something warm and thoughtful for a man who’s stepped into a new chapter with quiet grace. 

I haven’t sent it off yet; it’ll be packaged up alongside the scarf I made for his wife, ready to arrive in time for Christmas.

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As the Northern Hemisphere drifts into autumn’s embrace, we in the South are stepping gently into spring, with summer not far behind. The evidence is all around—especially on our flowering cherry tree. I looked out the window today and saw it in bloom, delicate petals catching the light like confetti tossed by the wind. Already the bumble bees are visiting, their fuzzy bodies weaving through the blossoms. Soon the honey bees will join them, drawn by the promise of nectar and the rhythm of renewal.

I love to stand beneath that tree and listen to their industry above me—the gentle hum of thousands of busy bees.  It’s the music of spring, stitched into the air like a quiet anthem of purpose.

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Between boat repairs and child wrangling, the skipper’s been at it again—Jiffy Jonathan’s cord collection has yielded another masterpiece. This time, a dog lead, braided with purpose and the kind of love that loops gently between hearts, hands and paws.

Made at the request of his lovely lady Josephine, it’s more than a leash—it’s a quiet tether of care, woven and knotted with love. Mostly black, but flecked with tiny hints of pinks, golds, and blues each one a soft reminder of the hands that tied it, the heart it was made for, and the dog who’ll walk beside them.

It’s a good, solid lead—tightly braided and built to endure. The paracord weave is firm and purposeful, with knots that speak of experience and care. You can see the strength in its structure: the kind of lead that won’t fray at the first tug or buckle under a sprint. It’s made to last, with a brass clasp that catches the light and promises reliability. Not just sturdy—it’s steadfast, ready for muddy tracks, beach walks, and all the loyal pulling that comes with a dog who knows where she’s going.

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With three border rounds now wrapped around the ripple, I find myself at a pause—where colour choices feel like mood swings in yarn. Shall I go bold, go soft, or hand the decision to Tony, the random colour selector?”  He’s known to delve deep into the basket with genuine randomness, though sometimes he picks and pokes with quiet deliberation, as if searching for the shade that’s been waiting to be chosen. I'll keep you posted and include up to date images later in the week.

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Technically, I have a week off. Practically? That depends on whether the phone behaves. I’m treating it like a truce—me, the ripple blanket, and a few days of not being needed. Unless, of course, someone decides I am.

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With a whole week off (technically), I find myself surrounded by a constellation of projects, each twinkling for attention. The ripple blanket is whispering from beside the armchair, but it’s not alone. There’s a very important quilt waiting to be born—stitched with purpose and a lot of love. Drawstring bags are queued up like polite party guests, suggested, but not promised, if they materialise they are destined for the drug trolley at work where they’ll corral inhalers and rescue space from the overcrowded drawers. The Christmas ornaments are still mid-magic, and somewhere in the mix, one bootie is already on the needles, quietly hoping its partner will be cast on before the next Winter. I’m spoiled for choice, truly—and while I’m not exactly sprinting through the stash, I’m meandering with purpose, picking up threads where I can. Brimming with ideas and possibilities. And let’s not forget the list of WIPs—those loyal companions half stitched and hopeful, and of course the squirrels that are sleeping, curled up in the corners of my imagination, waiting for their moment to leap.

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Thanks for reading along as I catch up on a few things. Feel free to leave a comment and tell me about your crafting plans, your creative pile, or whatever’s quietly waiting in the wings.