The August Round Up.

August arrived with a thud—mostly in my mid and lower back. Three chiropractor visits a week became my new rhythm, each one a gentle nudge toward healing. Despite the discomfort, I kept showing up in my old role, hoisting, wheeling, and lifting with the kind of grit that gets the job done. The work was heavy, but I kept showing up—because that’s just how I’m wired. 

That chapter is now closed. I’ve completed orientation for my new role and officially step into it tomorrow, 1st September. I’m looking forward to the change—new faces, new rhythms, and hopefully fewer demands on my spine. With any luck, my back will settle into the new pace without protest, and I’ll be able to bring my full self to the work: practical, creative, and quietly mischievous when the moment calls for it.

The back pain slowed my creativity, but not my resolve. As planned, I completed the mohair scarf—soft, airy, and stitched with pain and persistence. I forgot to snap a photo of the finished piece, but here it is mid-progress, lounging beside its matching pal.

Both scarves have now been donated to a worthy cause. With any luck, they’re out there now wrapping a deserving soul in warmth, comfort, and a little bit of Loulee love. 

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Some distractions are worth chasing. This month’s squirrel arrived in the form of a scarf pattern—one I stumbled across, bookmarked, and started almost immediately once the yarn landed on my doorstep. It’s a beautifully soft yarn, shading from gentle greys to dusky blues, and working with it has been a quiet joy.

This one’s for my brother. I hope he’ll feel the care stitched into every row when I gift it to him.

It’s about three-quarters done now and should be finished very soon—in plenty of time to be mailed across the globe. It’s destined to be a Christmas gift, knitted with love and quiet care in every row. I hope it’ll wrap my brother in warmth and memory on cold Winter days. 

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The ripple blanket lives on.  It’s become a kind of quiet companion in my crafting life, always waiting patiently for the next row, the next color shift, the next squirrel to hop out of the way.

Progress this month has been slower, thanks to the back pain and the general reshuffling of life and work. But even slow stitches count. A few rows were added in quiet moments, and the blanket continues to grow—soft, steady, and unapologetically ripple-y.

It’s not finished yet, but it’s not forgotten. Like a good story, it’s unfolding in its own time. 

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The jigsaw puzzle has seen real progress this month—especially in the beach area beneath the planes. That stretch of sand was no small feat, but piece by piece, it’s coming together. Tony popped in a few pieces (with appropriate celebration), but the bulk of the work has been mine. There’s something quietly satisfying about watching the image emerge, especially when the trickiest bits finally click into place.

It’s become a gentle after work ritual—part challenge, part meditation, part “just one more piece before I cook dinner.” The planes still hover above, waiting to be framed, but the beach below is nearly complete. And then onto the sky.

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Let's wrap up August with a decadent treat. 

Rich Dark Chocolate cake.

175g unsalted butter

3/4 cup brown sugar or Keto alternative.

1 teaspoon Vanilla essence

6 eggs separated.

150g dark chocolate melted.

140g ground almonds.

Cream the butter, sugar and vanilla until light and fluffy.

Beat in the egg yolks.

Fold in the melted chocolate and almonds.

In another bowl beat the egg whites until soft peaks form.

Gently fold them into the chocolate mixture.

Pour into a greased and lined 20cm spring form tin. 

Bake at 190C for 20 mins, then reduce the heat to 150C for 35 mins.

Allow the cake to cool in the tin.

Dust with icing sugar.

Or go with the extra decadent Loulee topping.

Soften 110g butter and beat in 2-3 cups of icing sugar, or similar keto sweetener.

Then add 1/3 cup of cocoa and a few spoons of milk or cream.

Slather over the top of your cake.

Slice and enjoy.

Those big soup mugs in the background of my image have homemade chicken soup in them.

YUM!

Guess what's for tea?

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I began August with a firm vow: no new starts, no distractions, no squirrels. Just steady progress and finishing what I’d begun or previously planned.  But as any seasoned crafter knows, squirrels don’t care about vows. One hopped in—bold as brass—and before I knew it, I was ordering yarn and planning something new. I won’t say more just yet, but readers may spot its bushy tail in September’s round-up. Consider yourselves gently warned.

Between Roles and Rows.

My weekend was spent in the gentle rhythm of my new role—still shadowing, still learning, but beginning to find my feet. I imagine things will feel busier once I’m navigating solo, but for now, I’m grateful for the slower pace and the chance to ease in. It was a good weekend.  My back held up well over the weekend, which was a welcome change. The shift in routine seems to be helping, and I’m cautiously optimistic that things are settling. It’s not perfect, but it’s progress—and I’ll take that.  Just three more shifts in my old role now, with all the lifting and moving that comes with it. First, though, two days off—a chance to reset, stretch, and maybe sneak in a little crafting before that happens.

But first, the domestics. The laundry was out early, catching the first rays of sun. I ticked off my workout walk, baked a lemon cream pie, and whipped up a batch of chocolate coconut slice (recipes are in the tabs at the top of the page). Dishes washed and dried, ironing done and put away.  I also spent a bit of time in the garden—nothing too dramatic, just tending, tidying, and prepping for spring. And now, with the essentials handled, it’s time to play. I’ve got a couple of hours before I hop into the car and visit Dr D, my wonderful chiropractor—always a welcome pause at the moment, and a chance to keep things aligned in more ways than one.

But before I put my feet up and select a movie to keep me company, a quick update on my projects. The ripple blanket has grown a little, row by row, stitch by stitch it's becoming brighter and happier as it grows longer. 

It still has quite a way to go.

I’ve made progress on the scarf kit too, I’ve finished the first ball of yarn and made a start on the second, so I’m happily halfway. It’s coming together very nicely.

I’ve also made a little progress on the jigsaw puzzle, filling in some of the beach area below the planes. It’s slow going, but satisfying—like coaxing a shoreline into view, one piece at a time.

That’s enough for today—I’m off to rest, recharge, and maybe stitch a little more.

“Ode to the Vanished Sock”

Life’s still getting in the way a bit. My days off this week were mostly swallowed up by work. Wednesday turned into an extra shift — orientation in my new role (there’ll be more of those, I’m sure). Thursday vanished into a three-hour Health and Safety training session, followed by errands in town and chores at home. And today? Todays about domestics. But maybe — just maybe — I’ll get a chance to play with yarn for a while this afternoon, before trotting off to see the chiropractor again.

The good news is my back is improving. It’s much stronger than it was, and I’m so grateful for all the healing thoughts and kind wishes you’ve been sending my way. I’ve only got three shifts left in my old role — three more days of heavy lifting and wrangling hoists in rooms that always feel two sizes too small. Fingers crossed I can get through them without undoing all the progress that’s been made.

On the subject of domestics, yesterday while hanging laundry I discovered that I was missing a sock. Not uncommon I know, but my mind wouldn't leave it alone and along came this little ditty.

 “Ode to the Vanished Sock”

I lifted the bucket with laundry in tow,

From ensuite to washer, a practiced old flow.

The garments went tumbling, a sudsy ballet,

Then spun into silence and rinsed clean away.

But lo! When I hung them with care and with flair,

On Gran’s wooden airer (a relic most rare),

A sock was not present, its twin hung alone—

A soft, warm comfort, now utterly gone.

I searched in the drum with a hopeful lament,

Then scoured the laundry with nose to cement.

I peered in the ensuite, behind every nook,

Even checked in my shoes for the sock it forsook.

My trouser legs trembled beneath my inspection,

My scrub pockets yielded no woolen confection.

I circled the airer, I whispered its name,

But the sock played a trickster’s invisible game.

Then Tony arrived, with detective-like grace,

He retraced my steps at a galloping pace.

He checked every crevice, each slipper and shoe,

But the sock stayed elusive, as socks often do.

Was it swallowed by portals that socks often find?

Did it flee for adventure, leave comfort behind?

Is it sipping espresso in some Parisian drawer,

Or moonlighting boldly as a dusting décor?

While folding dry washing, each towel and each tee,

A lump in a sleeve gave a whisper to me.

There it was—my warm wanderer, snug as can be,

Tucked inside Tony’s shirt like a sock refugee.

No portals, no Paris, no laundry lament,

Just a sleeve-hugging hideout, quite sock-competent.

Now I sip from my Scrub Stitchin’ mug with a grin,

With the sock and its twin reunited once again.

*

Yes, after hunting all over the house yesterday, I found the sock this morning, right there on Grans airer, tucked into a shirt sleeve. And quickly added the final two quatrains.

So, about today's activities....

The vacuuming’s done, the bread machine is churning away like a happy little cauldron, and the ironing in yesterday’s laundry is eyeing me from the pile. One of the veg gardens needs a tidy, and there’s still pea straw waiting patiently to be spread on the flower beds — but first, one particular shrub that getting to be a little large, needs to be relocated, and my back’s not quite up for solo digging duty. So, for now, I’m dreaming of yarn. Just a quiet moment to knit, crochet, or do something delightfully creative before I run out of day again. Thank goodness it's fish and chips for tea tonight, quick and easy. Sigh, I'd better get the ironing done, I need my scrub trousers for work tomorrow. The sooner I get some chores done, the sooner I can sit 'n' knit. 

Life is getting in the way...

Extra shifts at work, time with my beautiful grandchildren, social events, and a stubbornly sore back—lately, it feels like the universe is conspiring to keep me from my craft corner. Sitting in my usually comfy chair now triggers painful spasms, and standing all day isn’t an option either. The chiropractor visits are helping, though they’re not exactly budget-friendly.

Still, I’ve made a little progress on my very short list of current projects. The “Dad scarf” is a blessing—easy to pick up, with short rows that let me sneak in a stitch or two before I need to move again.

 The variegated yarn dances between blues and greys, catching the light in ways that make it look surprisingly bright. It’s a quiet joy, even in small doses.

*

Meanwhile, the cosy ripple blanket sits quietly, hook paused mid-row like a bookmark in a well-loved story. It’s waiting patiently while life takes the lead. I know I’ll return when the moment’s right.

Progress has been slow, but the colors still bring comfort. It is very much brighter in real life. Each wave reminds me that creativity doesn’t vanish—it simply ebbs and flows. And sometimes, even a paused project holds its own kind of beauty.

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When my back permits, I’ve been turning to something a little less yarny. As you know Tony and I are working on a jigsaw depicting Hawker Hurricanes. He’s helped a bit (though I’ve definitely done more!), and the planes are now proudly assembled.

I’ve moved on to the headland and sandy shore beneath them, fitting pieces in when I can. It feels surprisingly good to click a few into place—like small victories in a quiet campaign. I can’t sit or stand there for long without my back stiffening, but even brief puzzle bursts bring a sense of progress and achievement.

*

Slow progress, small victories, and a few stitched moments—life may get in the way, but it hasn’t stopped me yet. With extra shifts ahead and a new role to orient into, craft time will remain limited for now. My back is still protesting, but I’m hopeful it will grow stronger again. In the meantime, I’ll keep finding small moments of creativity—whether it’s a scarf row, a puzzle piece, or simply a moment to breathe. It’s not about speed—it’s about showing up, one gentle step at a time.

*

Until next time, may your needles dance, your yarn remain untangled and your stash whisper only inspiration.  

 

And now for something completely different....

Today I want to talk about my children and share a little of their artistry.  

My daughter Kaiy has inherited my artistic nature. She’s been drawing since she was tiny — I still remember the beach scene she sketched at age two or three. There were pebbles, rippling waves, and sand so vivid I could almost feel it between my toes. It looked like the beach we had walked on that very morning. She uses several mediums, pencils, paints, pastils, you name it she will produce beautiful images. 

Kaiy draws daily and journals too — not in a plain, boring notebook, oh no! Her journal is a kaleidoscope of doodles, reflections, and bursts of imagination. It’s part sketchbook, part storybook, and entirely her own.

Watching her grow as an artist has been one of my quiet joys. She shares her creations with me often, and each one feels like a little window into her world — sometimes whimsical, sometimes profound, always uniquely Kaiy.

She draws on the pages; her pictures are as much about the journal as the words that are written as she works through what is on her mind.

The recent demise of a certain Mr. Ozzy Osbourne brought about an interesting page.

Like me she loves to walk, so her art often shows me what she has seen on her wanderings.

Lately she has started Junk Journalling. 

And among the usual images I'm now seeing a different style of art.

I think she may have had enough of the Summer temperatures and is hanging out for Autumn.

Summer has kept her busy.

She loves Autumn and Halloween, I'm sure to get a plethora of witches and spooky images starting to appear soon then it will be Christmas, I wonder if she will draw her own advent calendar again.

This is just a little taste of her talent. 

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My son Jiffy Jonathan also sends me regular updates regarding his goings on. Lately, he welcomed a photographer aboard his fishing vessel, and the results have been nothing short of stunning. Seeing my boy captured in action — focused, capable, and completely in his element — was a proud moment.

Jiffy is the skipper of a fishing boat trawling for queen scallops on the waters of the Irish Sea. He works with tides and time, reading the water like a seasoned storyteller.

Here he is watching the net come aboard, laden with the ocean's bounty. The photos don’t just show a man at work — they reveal a life shaped by the rhythm of the seas. I’ve always known he was strong but seeing him through the lens of someone else’s artistry made my heart leap. He’s not just navigating the sea — he’s charting his own course, and I couldn’t be prouder.

 I’m grateful for these photos — not just for their artistry, but for the glimpse they offer into the man he has become. 

As if the photos weren’t enough to make me beam, Jiffy and his crew were recently joined by a videographer who captured their day at sea. The result? A stunning short film that brings the rhythm of their work to life — the hum of the engines and the clanking of the winch, hauling in the nets, I could almost taste the salt in the air. Watching it was amazing. Tony and I cast it to our big TV screen. There’s something deeply moving about seeing your child in their element, not just through your own eyes, but through the lens of someone who is there to tell the story. 

A day on a Trawler (take 2)🇮🇲🇮🇲🎣🎣

A linky if you'd like to watch the film, it's about 40 minutes long so grab a cuppa. 

If you watch the video, you’ll see that Jiffy inherited more than just my good looks — he got a touch of my artistry too. Just look at the knot he ties to close the cod end (The bottom of the net). It’s done in moments, beautifully tied it reminds me of an embroidery stitch I saw recently, delicate looking and yet it holds fast against the weight of a full catch. Then, with a few flicks and a flourish, it opens again — smooth and efficient spilling the shellfish all over the deck.

Jiffy’s been practising his knot work, and it shows. 

He’s produced some truly impressive pieces — not just functional, but beautiful in their precision. 

They may lack the vivid charm of our yarns and stitched threads, but in their quiet utility lies a grace that’s equally worthy of admiration.

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And next, my boy Joe. I don’t get many photo updates from Joe—he lives here in New Zealand, just up the road and around a couple of corners. Like his brother, he works hard to support his family. They spend a lot of time at the beach or by the rivers close to home, collecting driftwood for their fire and occasionally uncovering other curious treasures. One day, Joe came across a fallen tree. He returned with a friend to collect it, and something about it sparked inspiration. That Christmas, he gifted me a bench—crafted with his own hands from a piece of that very tree. 

He had some guidance from a friend, but the work was all his own.

Now it sits quietly in the corner of the patio, appearing from time to time on my blog with a quilt draped over it or tucked into the background. 

You can just see the bench in the corner of this image. That is Old Man tree behind Lucy Blue, he makes the bench a nice place to sit on a hot day offering shade and making a cool corner to sit and rest. 

Joe’s creativity is still growing, it doesn’t shout—it is settling in, like the bench he built from fallen timber. Over the years, the bench has silvered in the sun and softened in the shade, becoming part of the patio. In autumn, the leaves gather around its legs like Kaiy’s sketches—fleeting, beautiful, and full of quiet meaning. In spring, blown petals drift across the seat, like Jiffy’s fishing nets it catches stories on the breeze. Each one—leaf, petal, quilt, knot—is a gift shaped by hand and heart and left to settle gently into the corners of our lives.

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I’m so proud of all my children—not just for what they do, but for how they do it. Each of them has found their own way to shape the world: Kaiy with her sketches and journals, Jiffy with his knots and fishing nets, Joe with his quiet craftsmanship. Their creativity may wear different coats, but it’s stitched with the same thread—curiosity, care, and a touch of magic. Watching them grow into their gifts is the greatest joy of all. And now, they’re passing that love on—teaching their children to notice, to wonder, to gather fallen leaves and driftwood, and to find magic in the corners of the world. Their creativity is a legacy, stitched gently into the next generation.

This photo was taken in 2009  or 10 I think. It was the last time I had three of them together and clean at the same time.

My how they've grown.