Hey Plain Jane

A couple of books came in the post for me yesterday; Rick Stein’s Mediterranean Escapes, a wonderfully exotic cookbook to go with the author’s sojourn through the spicier locals of Europe, and the book seen above, an utterly delicious quilting book by two Australian women who own their own quilting business Material Obsession. I’ve already made one of their designs, a king single quilt called Annie’s Garden. I’m twitching to make this one of theirs:

known as Holiday Morning. Oh yes, just what I need! More projects! Please, more projects, because I’m so bereft of things to do here.

One day. I swear.

The linen stacked under the Material Obsession book is a small haul I took this morning at a thrift store in a country suburb, Freshwater. This particular store, which is tiny I will add, was having a linen bonanza sale. I was going to leave it until this afternoon because I am up to my tiny nostrils with a serious play writing commitment, but thank goodness I didn’t. I shot out there as soon as Jack was ensconced in his day care. The shop was chockas full of hunters, all rummaging madly. Alas, even at 10am, we were all a bit late. The store had sold out of most of its very beautiful old linen by 9 o’clock. I managed to scrimp a few tablecloths, a couple of embroidered tea towels and a doily or two. Oh..and a small crocheted lap rug:

When my mother comes to stay this Winter, I’m going to have to insist she teach me how to crochet. I adore this fuddy-duddy crocheted squares look. My mother is ace at it.

On top of the rug is a picture of the chocolate slice I made this afternoon for Jack’s Oyatsu. Oyatsu is a special Japanese word that means an after-school snack for children. I never fail to think Oyatsu instead of the phrase ‘afterschool snack’. Weird. Chocolate slice -this version of it anyhow- has special meaning for me historically; my sister Carmel and I always made it to cheer ourselves up on cold dull afternoons.

For I so loved the fabric that I was prepared to stand there and hand-paint out each and every one of those hundreds of tiny rust spots that refused to come out no matter how much lemon juice was used. You know you are addicted to fabric when this sort of Sistine Chapel restorative approach is even contemplated.  

But that was yesterday and that could explain yesterday’s certain profound lack of craft achievement.

But this is today and I cannot explain where the time evaporated to nor how the time was spent. I do know I spent far too long trying to get my sewing machine to sew without missing stitches. Checking and re-checking the bobbin tension, changing the needle, rethreading, oiling and even cursing didn’t seem to make a bit of difference.

I know I paid two trips to the accountant to finalise last year’s tax; signing stuff, getting John to sign stuff, trapsing documents back and forth, you know the bureaucratic drill.  The latest tax returns are essential for the adoption file. We’re getting closer and closer to the final crunch with all that.

I know that each outing for the accountant was also preceded with a thrift store rummage in two different stores. Not much. Sniff. Some nice black wool fabric, some ancient black lace (an unopened packet of about 5 yards!) and some dower wool check. Why for all the black? Ah-ha! a Little project I am cooking up. We shall see about the dower….

I’m becoming a thrift shop junkie. I’m leaping over that stage when I can only just manage to drive past one at any given time and now I’ve developed a compulsion. But I’m getting better at knowing what I’m looking for when I go there. 

Most of all I’m looking for fabric, and I go directly to the fabric boxes, usually at the back of the store, and sadly quite picked over. There is a group of people in this town who regularly scour for vintage fabrics too, so the pickings, when you find them, are real finds.

After months of rummaging hard, I’ve only found two fabric lengths that I called eureka! over.

Today’s finds were non-such. I dashed into a Life Line store while waiting for John to finish at the psychologist’s testing we have to do for the adoption process.

(She gave us both a Rorschach Ink Blot test, which was fascinating and fun, but I’ve since done some reading on the test’s reliability and it seems to be the subject of much maligning for its lack of credibility. Oh great.)

I walked away with this charming ceramic deer, a real deal retro item as opposed to knock-off, and a printed muslin scrap of fabric which was likely once part of some fancy packaging for Japanese tea.

The fabric has a destiny as a cute table runner for sale at Hey Plain Jane.

And even though I call it a thrift store here, I wouldn’t normally say this out loud in real life. To me and mine it is called, most definitely a second-hand store. But Second-Hand Junkie is not quite as zippy as a self-title.