Something new from something old

One of my favourite pastimes is what I call ‘customising clothes’. This involves making my clothes fit better, or altering their style, or dyeing them, or all of those.

I find this much more satisfying than making new clothes from bought patterns because it’s more creative and means that I have what feel like new clothes, but are also familiar comfortable ones perfectly adjusted for me.

Here are some recent projects.

These orange trousers had become flimsy with washing and no longer worked as straights. I turned them into flares with some stiff pale-blue denim, and now I love them even more than before. They suit my flamboyant streak and I know Frog would love them too because they hark back to the hippie era of our teens.

I gave this t-shirt to Frog for Christmas but he only managed to wear it once. I’ve taken it in at the top and the sleeves, and now I wear it all the time. It assuages my grief.

I bought these two pairs of trousers shortly after Frog died, when browsing the internet for clothes was a way of staving off panic. One was in shades of pale blue and one was white and cream, none of the colours practical for dog-walking through mud. I therefore dyed the pale-blue pair ‘denim blue’ and the other bright pink. Subsequently I lost lots of weight and they hung off me. I took the waistbands off, made darts in the top and attached a new waistband.

Note the bi-colour waistband here, which is partly a homage to the trousers’ original design and partly because I couldn’t decide between stretchy and non-stretchy denim so used a bit of both.

The (wonky) darts in the back

The bi-colour theme is still visible after dyeing, especially in the blue pair

They both still hang off me but at least they stay up, and the wide waistbands come all the way up to my waist unlike the old ones which cut me off mid-stomach. I find that much more comfortable and do that to most of my trousers (including the orange ones above, as you might have noticed).

I’m now wondering what to tinker with next, and also how to conclude this post. Perhaps there’s a metaphysical connection. Perhaps I’m making something new from the old life Frog and I had together. (And that's as far as I can go for the moment.)

Happy days

Two evenings ago, the night before the full moon, I suddenly noticed my wild cherry tree. It was in full bloom and the scent of the flowers was filling the garden.

My wild cherry tree

The nearly full moon, half an hour or so later

I have this theory that every flower has its momentary peak and, if you’re lucky enough to catch it at that peak, the experience is extraordinary. This was one of those moments.
 
But where were the bees? Surely bees need to catch flowers at their peak as this, I presume, is the flowers’ most fertile time. Or, to put it another way, the flowers are doing their utmost to attract the bees when they need them. Perhaps the tree is pollinated by night-flying moths. Who knows?
 
The more I look into nature, the more questions I have, and the more I realise that we don’t know everything about how the natural world works. In fact, we hardly know anything. How exciting that is!
 

I’ve been visiting my secret wood nearly every day, so as to catch the bluebells at their peak, if I can, if I’m lucky enough, if God wills it. You can’t grasp at nature. You have to let it come to you.

My secret wood, in a valley created by two small streams, untouched because too steep to cultivate

The wood's first bluebells in a patch of sunshine

En route I’ve seen many other wildflowers bursting into bloom.

Garlic Mustard, aka Jack-by-the-Hedge,
a favourite food of the caterpillars of the Orange-tip butterfly 

Crosswort, so called because the leaves and the petals come in fours arranged in a cross.
It's related to what most people call Sticky Weed and what we as children called Goosegrass.
(Sorry for the blurred photo. I was in a lane and car came past and I had to grab Ellie.)

Cowslips, which shouldn't grow round here because they like chalky (not sandy) soil. This is a solitary patch which comes up every year and I'm always so pleased to see it.

I’ve noticed fungi as well, another of nature’s mysteries.

White tree fungus, like a clump of foam

Black tree fungus, like lumps of coal

The remains of a puffball, on the ground

Happy days. In nature, I feel closest to Frog. I know now that he’s still around me all the time and that he's guiding me. He told me so on one of my walks.

Thirteen weeks and two days

It’s now thirteen weeks and two days since Frog died. If anything, I feel worse than I did three months ago. I’m worn down by sleepless nights and my rapidly falling weight. I can’t believe that my body keeps going.

I try to hold on to my beliefs. I do my breathing exercises and make positive affirmations. I pray and go for long walks and sit in my secret wood with Ellie for hours, bathed in the healing power of nature. Neighbours, friends and family rally round. But the grief doesn’t go away. It frightens me.

Meanwhile, spring advances in fits and starts.

Ellie keeping me company in my secret wood. The carpet of bluebell leaves hints at the glory to come

Greater Stitchwort masses along the footpath

Pussy Willow is bursting into bloom. Already the flowers smell unbelievably sweet and soon the tree will be buzzing with bees.

Golden Saxifrage clusters on the banks of streams

The first Cuckoo Flower (Lady’s Smock) yesterday in the damp meadow behind the house. An insect has found it too.

Why do I have to be so desperately unhappy? Why can’t I simply be grateful for the near half-century that Frog and I spent together? Why can’t I simply remember that time with joy? Why can’t I simply rejoice in my new-found closeness to my brothers and sisters and the kindness that greets me at every turn? Why can’t I hold on to my belief that Frog and I will meet again?

Why does the grief outweigh everything?

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