A Woman's Castle...

We have a bad habit of wanting to move. I think it's the challenge of finding a total dump, buying it for cheap, and then doing it up the way we want.

I've been online tonight looking at houses we can't afford, and having a splendid time. There are a lot of houses out there that I'd like to live in. But I think that I'd like to live in them for a few months, and then after a while, I might start to feel a bit lonely. Does anyone really need 3,500 square feet to live in (I know you're going to tell me 'yes, they do!', but I'm not sure I buy it).

That being said, some of the greatest houses I've seen and been in are houses where it wouldn't hurt to have either an intercom system that worked throughout the house, so that you could page people when tea was ready, or when you were looking for someone ('Boss - I am in the kitchen - report to me, please!'). Either that, or you'd have to have a scooter.

The house that we saw at Grey's Court last weekend was that sort of house. Terrific staircase up from the ground floor where the stairs were so plentiful that you actually went up the stairs, and reached the back of the house before the stairs turned, and then took you back almost to the front of the house again. Super great. The kind of stairs you want to come down for your prom, or your wedding, or when you're having a spectacular house party. Tres glamorous, of course.

But where we are now isn't glamour. It's big enough for what we need right now. Granted, we have way too much stuff. The kids have too many toys, and no matter how many times I suggest a cull, the suggestion is met with more than a bit of resistance. And I have too much crap, too. I love to collect things. I've got a great collection of blue and white creamers. I'm just waiting for a house where I can display them. I also have a lot of other things that I've collected.

My McCoy pottery collection is partially on display, and partially in storage at my mom's house. I've got some great art that's, again, at my mom's house. Although some of it is in our loft here. I've got knick-knacks galore. Books. Old tin toys that you wind up to watch something happen. Memorabilia. Biscuit tins. The list goes on.

It's like water. Crap seeks its own level. The moment we buy a new, larger house (one day), the level of crap will just expand until it fills the space available to it. Another good example is my crafting area (which I did purge earlier this year). The amount of yarn, fabric, do-dads, bits, pieces, notions, and parts of things that I kept in case I ever might need something like them -- it's incredible.

But I do use it. Slowly. I crocheted the eldest her name in brightly coloured yarn bunting a few years back. I just recently for Xmas gave the youngest a crocheted name bunting, too. I'm prepared to organize all the granny squares I've crocheted into a real, live blanket. I just need to sit, and organize it, and number the squares. I've got another blanket on the go - for the beach. I've got about halfway through my second quilt, so that needs doing.  I just need a week off of regular life to finish my crafting projects.

I guess it's just that for some reason I have this idea that if we moved to a larger house, we'd have more space, and I wouldn't feel like it's such a chore to craft. I can't get stuff out to do, and set it up, and then go back to it for a half hour at a time when I can. Instead I have to take things out, and set up in the kitchen, which takes a while, and then do what I want to do for a finite amount of time, and then I have to dismantle it all and put it all away. So more often than not I feel like it's just best to not get it all out.

May be in the spring. Maybe then, for some reason, it won't feel like such a chore.

But I'm going to keep looking at the houses that are for sale out there. You never know. We might find a place we like enough to venture forth, taking all our crap with us.

Craftiness

I'm pleased that I finally made the time to do a few crafting things that I've wanted to do for a few weeks now. I went to a place in Birmingham recently, called Aston Hall. It was a typical tour through a country house, except this one was at night, and was by candlelight. It boasted the actors saying and doing things appropriate to 1640, and there was a physician, some lace makers, a few ladies' maids, some soldiers, a few kitchen staff, an artisan, and even a band (Diabolus, who are mighty fine).

The artisan was making wreaths the way they'd have been made at that time - which is by using various evergreen bits and pieces from the countryside, and binding them together, and hanging the finished product horizontally. I figured if an actor could do it, so could I. So I did.

And it turned out OK, I think. It's not so tough to do, but it takes time, and concentration. And you have to go outside in the rain and cold, and get the stuff. Which can also be nice, if you don't have whingeing children along with you. Although the eldest was the one who sighted the best crop of rose hips, so for that, I can forgive a bit of whingeing.

Then we made butter. Real butter. The kind you get when you put whipping cream into a jar, and then shake it until your arms hurt. For a while you think 'This is never going to work.' And then suddenly, it happens. It splits into buttermilk, and butter. You have to put it into a bowl, and rinse it with freezing cold water, and press out all the buttermilk. And then you have to salt it.

But let me tell you. The difference between store-bought butter, and butter you've made yourself, is vast. I cooked a risotto last night and used the butter we made, instead of olive oil. It was fabulous. I'm probably just reading into it, because I WANT to taste the difference. But the woman in the kitchen at Aston Hall told me to try an experiment, and bake two cakes, or two batches of cookies. Use store butter in one, and home made butter in the second. And then do a tasting. She said she pretty much guaranteed that the taste buds would choose the home made butter, hands down.

So that's next.

I think it's just the craving I have to make things, rather than buy them. while I like to go shopping and see what's out there, and I like having new things, I also really like knowing how things work, and why they work, and I like to see if I can do it myself. Most of the time, I can. I don't think I'll ever be able to do anything like coppice, or lay a hedge, or do any blacksmithing (although I'd sure try it if I had the chance to do it!), but I like trying out the traditional, analogue tasks to see what works, and how the whole process is put together.

It's probably also a little bit about having some extra knowledge in order to survive the Zombie Apocalypse. Not that I'll be able to hide a cow or a goat or a sheep in my boarded-up house when the Undead are walking the Earth. They'll either eat its brains, or it'll give me away. But hopefully I'll be able to milk it a few times before either of those things happen, and make some butter myself. For the toast I'll make over an open fire, while I try to survive on tinned tomatoes.

At least I'll have my wreaths to look at while I do.