BIRTHDAY CAKE AND CARLOWAY

 

What goes through that woman’s head, not a lot, or way too much of the wrong thing. Having missed making it out to New Tolsta on the day she then four days later sends a cake out on the bus of all things complaining of a heavy work schedule. That sort of thing could only happen on the islands, a birthday cake delivered to the door, but when I saw the cake I realised why nobody had devoured it on the way.

A shop bought caterpillar chocolate cake, looking like it should carry a government warning, as all foodstuff intended for children warrants these days. And now having looked at the box it actually does carry a warring of sorts for high sugar and saturated fats. The list of ingredients looks like it could compete with the list of casualties on the Titanic. What’s beeswax and carnauba wax doing in cake, and radish concentrate, for God’s sake! Despite that it tasted quite good, but in order to fit into the cake tin I had to have a second slice, not a good move, felt seriously sick for the rest of the evening. Does Tottie want to add diabetes to the rest of my ailments? This morning I put a slice out on the bird table, but the blackbird that keeps an eagle eye on everything I put out took one look at it and flew off.

I had my monthly bloods taken yesterday and a frank conversation about my weight, not that it seem to be going up much now. I referred to my legs and stomach as being fat covered and wondered if this was what women of a certain age had to contend with. I was told they preferred to call it a soft covering, which does sound a much nicer way of putting it, but it’s still fat to me. In the afternoon I had jag in the rear to top up the female hormones for another six months. The old gender issue is getting increasingly confusing for me, and I’m not the only as I was told that in the Stornoway Nicholson Institute there two students who identify as rabbits. Well that’s fine as long as they don’t go breading like rabbits, and don’t come round here because I’ve set snares in my garden but as yet caught nothing.

I must not forget the creative side of my life, for it is that which keeps me sane, or at least that is my perception of things. Last evening I completed a blanket embroidery of Carloway pier. Still a busy place and providing an interesting dual aspect composition. I’ve got another three lined up as subject matter during my time in WA, but there are another dozen or more that require investigation on my return.   

REAL MEN DON'T USE EMOJI.

 

 

TOM. It’s 3.00 pm and I’ve just realised it’s my birthday 71 years old and don’t feel a day over eighty. I dare not look at my emails or Facebook page for fear of what I might find. Why am I suddenly receiving a deluge of messages adorned with those ridiculous yellow sun faced emoji? I don’t know what half of them mean, and on my mobile phone they are way too small to make out anything, other than most of them are yellow and round. The red heart I suppose is obvious, but there’s another thing that looks like a pair of garden shears. It’s used most frequently by a friend who like me is a keen gardener, so maybe she means happy gardening.  I’m getting most of them from women friends, sometimes without a single word of explanation, and Tottie is one of the worst offenders. You would have thought that her being a journalist would mean she would be able to find the correct words to explain herself rather than resorting to a symbolic cartoon language that means nothing to me. Have our lives become so hectic that we no longer have time to put down in words what we mean? Will our ability to express ourselves in the written form become like the hand written letter, a thing of the past? I’ve seen children marvel at the speed with which I write, stopping only to dip the pen back in the ink. The hand eye coordination is extra ordinary, but now I marvel at the dexterity of young people’s thumbs on their smartphone keypad, my own being way to big and arthritic to achieve such accuracy. It gives me great pleasure to see a page full of my handwriting and know that a computer could not understand a word of it. Our daily lives seem full of passwords and security codes. Whatever happen to our beautiful unique signature?

I can at least count my blessing in that Tottie also seems to have forgotten my birthday, but then again why should she remember. We have at last seen the sun with clear skies for the past few days. So good to be able to put the washing out and forget it. Apart from Tottie I’ve had two visitors this week to the garden. The first was a heron that I surprised down in the vegetable garden. I can’t think what it was doing there other than enjoying a bit of shelter behind the beech hedge. As it struggled to make a vertical take-off I was reminded just how large herons are when seen at close quarters. The second visitor was a rabbit that hopped across the gravel in the front of the house and disappeared into the bushes. I’ve seen it again, but it is the first I’ve seen in five years since the dreaded miximatosis was released. I have mixed feelings about their return. A rabbit-free period has meant tree planting has been simple with no guards needed, but today I discovered an ornamental rowan tree I’d grown from seed had been neatly nipped off at ground level. If they are back then I would prefer that they stay down on the machair and do not become regular visitors to my garden. It’s looking like meat might be back on the menu. As for visitors to the studio I don’t expect any more as I’ve put the sign back in the shed, and my mind is taken up with preparing to leave in mid-October. I’ve purchased a small bag with wheels and extending handle that will be my walk on cabin luggage. There will be no other, and in it I hope to pack as much making materials as possible, a change of clothes, slippers, toothbrush and all important medication. I’ve learnt from previous trips to Australia that clothing is not a high priority. I see people struggling with massive suitcases and feel sure that half the stuff they’ve packed will return unused. I somehow can’t see Tottie as a minimalist when it comes to clothes. I don’t think I’ve seen her in the same outfit twice this summer. Having enough variety of embroidery wool is all important to me, and this time I’ve put in a few scraps of blankets to continue my harbour views. I also put a couple of bits of mattress ticking to serve as the background for some wacky birds.

 The drawing of these was achieved with the aid of five years old Eppie, who had the simple task of drawing a squiggle that would start and end in the same place. I then had to turn it into a bird. It surprised me as I rotated the page as to just how little additions were required to achieve this. Both the Toucan and peacock were fine examples and will now go on to become ticking samplers.. 

 TOTTIE. Tom has had a bad week and although he didn’t want to talk about it, it didn’t take long before the full story came out. He’d received details by email to pay back his friend in Australia for his flight to WA. The email was hacked, the details changed and the money subsequently and innocently transferred to a third party. It took the best part of a morning in the bank to sort it out and they admitted it was a very sophisticated scam, but Bank of Scotland came up trumps and the money was refunded. I couldn’t therefore make out why he was still so upset, surely getting the money back was something to be celebrated. He explained that it wasn’t about the money, and that it was the fact that someone had intercepted his emails. He said through tears that it felt like a physical violation far worse than any robbery. I think emails will now be a thing of the past for Tom. Sadly this sort of hazard will continue into the foreseeable future and is only set to get worse with the intervention of AI. I have however discovered that the friend he will be staying with is also a Nadin like me. I wonder why Tom didn’t tell me that earlier when I was delving into my family tree. I must do some more digging, but work keeps getting in the way. The boss caught me researching the family name on line, and followed it up with a little lecture entitled “in your own time Tottie”. I almost forgot it’s his birthday, but I’m not even sure if I should send him a cheery message acknowledging the day, since I know he doesn’t do birthdays. Oh, I can’t just ignore it now I’ve remembered. A few big smiley face should do it.😄😊😀👄

NOT SECRETS AND HOT FLUSHES

 

Tom. I really don’t get it, here’s me being stuffed full of female hormones that gives me hot flushes, and now Tottie tells me she’s been on hormone replacement therapy to combat the hot flushes of menopause. And like most women she always refers to it as going through the menopause, well there’s certainly no going through anything for me, I’m stuck with it for what remains of my life. There really was no point in thinking I could keep my trip down under a secret from Tottie. What makes this Island life so special is that everyone knows everyone. And they also know what you’ve done, are doing or about to do. As soon as she heard I would be going to Australia there was talk of a gathering for dinner to send me off. She has become my most regular visitor throughout the summer, to the point that I can now tell simply by the scrunching of the gravel along the back of the house that it’s her. She has this sort of provocative mincing walk as if she’s never out of high heels and I’m wondering if that’s why they call her Tottie, as she totters along. I can expect a little triple knock and a coo-coo at the studio door, not dissimilar to one of those Black Forrest Cuckoo clocks hitting the hour.

There have been others who have ventured as far as the studio door, and I usually sit tight, continue stitching and listen to the voices as they discuss the £5 entry fee. Thankfully very few decide to risk it. Today was a good example, and the first time I’d bothered with the sign for over a week. Two lots called by, and neither made it inside the door. To be honest if I saw a sign asking for an entry fee I’m not sure I’d bother either, but it has meant that I’ve achieved a lot over the past few months. The running total of visitors now stands at 14, but it has been good recently seeing customers coming back annually as well as one couple from Cornwall who hadn’t been here for nine years, well before the studio was even built. For those who decide that to pay £5 is too steeper a price to view my artwork, even if it is refundable with any purchase, they leave the poorer having no idea what I do. For those who pay up and leave empty handed they have at least had an experience and leave the richer for it, but for those who make a purchase and reclaim their entry fee, I hope they will never regret it. I sometimes wonder how I’ve got by over the past thirty five years as an artist, but somehow I’ve managed with a combination of a frugal lifestyle and luck. There is rarely a day goes by that I don’t create something and the production has been immense. I know some artists who struggle to keep up with demand. Thankfully any demand for my work has remained very much within my bounds of creative production, which has allowed me to keep a considerable amount to adorn the walls of my own house.

Tottie. At last a few days of summer just to remind us what we should have had, but even then it didn’t last. I could hear Tom somewhere in the undergrowth sawing down a New Zealand holly bush, cussing a swearing. Tom doesn’t do politically correct, which is hardly surprising as I think the last TV comedy he saw must have been “Till death us do part”, and his language really is quite colourful at times even when stitching and he’s stabbed himself with a needle or the yarn has managed to knot itself. I coughed loudly but it did nothing to arrest the train of expletives as clouds of dead seed head fluff rose from the trembling bushes. He eventually came out dragging a large bunch of severed branches and gave his customary greeting, “Oh it’s you, I thought I heard a car”. I feel sure one day he’s going to follow that up with a blunt “What do you want?”

He does however always seem pleased to take a break from any strenuous work, ripping his support corset off, saying let’s have a cuppa. This time I got a look in his workshop, and I have to say I’ve never seen such chaos.

It seemed impossible that my beautiful Hebridean chair was created in such a messy space and how he ever manages to produce anything is a miracle, but the new frames he’d made for the harbour needle works are extremely effective with a clever bit of simulated cross grain veneering. He made it sound terribly easy with a red oxide undercoat and a black top coat that he’d simply scratched and smudges with his fingers.

 He seems to have several pieces of stitching on the go, but then he explained that most of those will be completed while in Australia. I don’t think he was going to say a word about OZ, but I’d already hear the rumour. He showed me the tiny bag he’s taking with him. Just cabin luggage, nothing else and that will probably be stuffed with needle work bits. I suppose you don’t need much in the way of clothing and with his hot flushes even less. He gets a bit touchy about those and when I said I was getting hormone replace therapy he said “you want to be careful you don’t end up like Mrs Thatcher and loose the plot.”

 

 

 

      

 

           

A VERY STRANGE SUMMER.

 

 

 

I’ve just had my twelfth visitor of the year and now feel I do merit that rather strange accolade of the least visited attraction in the Western Isles. I’m sure most places have noticed what a wet summer can do for trade, and I have to admit I’ve stopped bothering to put the open sign up even if the sun does show its face, telling myself I’m far too busy to be having interruptions. 

The garden is already looking somewhat autumnal but with some late colour and there is still time for a second spurt of growth, and many of the trees are already showing signs of that. I’m taking the odd day off for a jolly to look at a few more piers and harbours dotted around the island. I drove over to Point which everyone told me was not worth the trip and found it fascinating. I suppose that’s the artist’s eye. Both harbour and light house will provide valuable material as will the pier at Bayble. I’ve also had a Tottie free week, but that doesn’t mean to say she hasn’t been sniffing around when I was out. She said she was doing some delving into her family tree. I’m being careful not to let her know about my trip to Western Australia, and I’m certainly not about to tell her I’ll be staying with my friends Charley and Lara Nadin. I’m sure she’d also be volunteering to house sit while I’m away, thankfully I’ve already got that one covered. 

Tottie. I’ve hardly moved from my computer this week as besides work I’ve been researching my Nadin family tree. Turning up some interesting stuff world wide.

Since Tom told me of his cancer I’ve made it a point of calling in on my way to or from the beach. He’s not always in, but when he is he seems relaxed to the point that rather than stopping to make me a cup of tea he asked me to make him one and bring it out to the studio, while he continues on with his new project. I find it hard to believe Tom has only had thirteen visitors (not counting my own) but then this summer has been exceptional and continues to be so. The accolade of the least visited attraction on the Western Isles has been well earned, and the point was driven home on my most recent visit when I walked straight into a cobweb across the door and a second brushed my face as I wandered around. I know Tom is not one for dusting, but when spiders start to take over one must begin to ask questions. He no longer bothers to put his open sign up and I wouldn’t be surprised if he wasn’t a little depressed. However he seems remarkably cheerful and becomes quite animated when talking about his latest embroideries depicting local harbour scenes. I’m not sure that these explain totally his upbeat mood. Maybe his upcoming London show is giving him a wee boost, I don’t know. 

Anyway that show is certain to be a head turner  as it was back in 2019 when he exhibited them at An Lanntair in Stornoway, but this time these biblical images are being offered for sale. They represent two and a half years of his life, and as he put it the most intense period of embroidery work he has ever done. Even he admits difficulty in imagining just how he produced the body of work. They are remarkable and will be exhibited under the title “The Master Works”. I couldn’t get a price out of him, but it is obvious that one would require deep pockets. It is indeed refreshing to see someone prepared to raise the bar and demand to be correctly paid for such extra ordinary work. For too long has the skill of needle work been unappreciated and undervalued. Looked on as women’s work it is easy to see how this has come about.