It’s ok to judge a book by its cover…

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Especially this one – as it’s creator, I’m allowed to say that.

I was so enchanted with my iPad case, I felt compelled to make another one almost right away. So, after spending a few days on lacework for one of my pieces (clouds for my flamingo picture – the ‘fit bird’ in my life), I am back knitting in the round with my favourite faux-Fairisle. And what a jolly little ball it is, all pinks and blues with a dash of brown. Not having used this particular dye pattern before, I am intrigued as to how it will knit out.

A pretty little picot

A pretty little picot

Two journeys in (remember, I am knitting in the car) and this is my progress. Casting on stitches with a chihuahua on your lap (yes, I am a total cliché, my dog never far from away from my knees) is somewhat challenging, especially when ‘said’ canine is reluctant to sit still. But we got there in the end and I managed to cast on, join and begin in earnest, to the tune of: click, click, click.

What you can see above is the brim (think hat) or cuff (think jumper). Essentially ten rounds of knit, then a round of yo, k2, followed by another 10 k. The result, when folded and sewn down: a picot edge. Having used it before with hats and socks, it is familiar. It is also that little bit more interesting than a basic rib and rather pretty without being unnecessarily tiresome or complex. Sometimes one needs nice and simple; for the motion and the focus to be the purpose of the thing, its meditative rhythm, healing and calming, slowing the inner banter, quietening it.

*

Familiar quarters

Familiar Quarters

Comfortable Centers

A nip and a tuck

Celebrated Endings

I have been working for a little over a week – my knitting time restricted, permitted only in certain locations and at certain hours: typically those bookmarking the morning. They amount to the too’s and fro’s of my life and, like retail therapy, provide valuable diversion; the only difference being that here the distraction is from commuters not change, the antagonists people in charge of cars.

As I have advanced, the pattern hidden inside the wool has revealed itself. It is different to my expectations. I had anticipated something paler – more yellow and pink, less green and brown. I imagined it would be summery, in keeping with the current season. Instead, its palette reminds me of autumn, of gathered fruits and fallen leaves, of sweet and savoury sensory suggestions, a kitchen alive with cooking things, like chutney, jam and cakes. It rewinds me to a previous life, to a different year, to the crunch of dried things and early sunsets, to orange soaking the sky with the promise of a clear tomorrow, to the embrace of a familial landscape and the security of being young. I become nostalgic, lusting after a yesterday that I’m not sure ever was, craving a storybook illustration when the reality was somewhat more generic, mass-produced and black and white.

My attention focused, I proceed quickly, secure within the pattern. Freed from my notes, I slip into trance, my thoughts drifting in and out, sinking down and under. I feel at peace, the journey no longer a source of antagonism. Each time we arrive (me and whoever is driving), whether at home or away, I am slightly disappointed, part of me longing to prolong my containment. This is a good sign. It means that the process is working, the piece filled with energy, intention and love.

At the close of each journey, I measure the case against my Kindle to stop it from running wild. I am conscious that in my relaxed state it could easily grow ferrel, freedom enticing it to take the control from my hands.

Finally, I reach the end, deciding to fold over and secure the open top before committing to the closed bottom. An extra line of security, so to speak, allowing me one last measurement before I swap my KnitPro Symfonie Circulars for a Clover “Chibi” Bent Tip.

I fold the picot in half to create a seam. This gives the undulating edge, which always reminds me of castle battlements and medieval stonework. One of these days, I shall have to substitute the bow for a gargoyle to complete the effect. As an idea, it appeals, being somewhat quirky.

I can now bind off with confidence, safe in the knowledge that I am knitting in accordance to rather than against; that, upon completion, I will not have to retrace my steps. Believe me when I tell you that casting off too early is devastating, being meticulous, painful, somewhat dangerous and repetitive. Besides, not one to endorse mistakes, holding to the belief that everything happens for a reason the exact way that it is, I would also be stuck with continuing, reinventing the purpose of the piece, item or garment in question, finding somewhere else for it to fit in amongst the plethora of things I wish to make. Sometimes successful, sometimes not: it is better with specific items to proceed slowly, holding back rather than getting carried away, even if that means ten minutes of travelling at speed on the motorway with nothing but the blur of passing cars and the straight line of the horizon (interrupted sporadically by farmsteads and tree clusters) to distract me.

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Snug as a Kindle in a ball of wool case

One last measurement

I find my Kindle and slip it inside the case, pulling the cuff right up to the top and then a little over, making sure it is both snug and comfortable, roomy but not oversized. It fits. I can now sew up the open end and declare it finished but for a bow, which I started making yesterday and plan to complete today.

After some deliberation, I decided upon a pale blue for the bow. It went well against the colouring of the case, matching the palette within the pattern, drawing focus to it. In addition, it was more interesting than a pale or medium pink, there being a lot of that already and my having only just completed work on one of those for another piece. Besides, I like that it clashes slightly, the blue contrasting the green like two flavours of mint gum or a stripped toothpaste; they fit together, while simultaneously standing out: a bit like me and my personality.

[ A slight deviation detailing my personality: On the outside, I am conservative and painfully polite. I wouldn’t say “Boo!” to a ghost, or even have the confidence to stick around long enough to try. Dig deeper and get to know me, allow me to trust you and grow to like you, and the real me comes out: dry-witted and mischievous. When dressing, I purposefully wear combinations that don’t ‘technically’ go: putting red with pink, blue with black, circles with stripes and cotton with silk. While classical, conventional, a homage to both the Victorian and Elizabethan eras; it’s quirky and edgy because it’s different, because it isn’t currently in fashion, because it won’t be and hasn’t been for quite some time. The eccentricity of it suits me, allowing me to express myself in subtle ways, revealing only what I feel confident enough to share. On good days, I go wild, really experimenting with it. On bad ones, I reign it in, placing my feet carefully. My wardrobe is a veritable sweetshop offering a rainbow of choice. I have fun with it.]

The happy couple are united

The happy couple are united

Casting on four stitches and using garter stitch, I knitted until I had achieved enough rows to tie the length created into a comfortable bow, testing it (you can see I like to do this: test, try out, make sure before committing; it’s something that expands into other areas of my life – sometimes aiding, sometimes hindering it) before casting off. I then decorated the bow with pearlescent beads, taking care to space them evenly – one above the other, three to a row.

And it's love at first sight

And it’s love at first sight

Done, pleased with the result, this was then stitched onto the front of the case using a technique called invisible stitching: the secret, matching the colour of the cotton to that of the wool, using small stitches and stitching neatly. Anything slapdash and it will show.

Especially for you

If you would like a case of your own, please don’t hesitate to email me; I would be more than happy to make a few for the right people and price. There are easily six weeks of summer left to survive before the madness abates (see: I spy with my little i for an explanation) and I shall be clicking without interruption throughout.

I’m also planning on making iPad, mini-iPad and iPhone cases, so keep your eyes open for these links to light up as I manifest my offspring. As with here, I will be documenting my progress throughout. Interested parties can sneak a peak, arouse their inspiration and pick up a few tips – like where to get wool and what wool to get, whether to use circular or dpn needles, which size works best, how long it all takes and ideas on how to accessorise once you are done.

Below are images of the yarn that I used and links to where I brought it. If you would like to make your own case or something similar (like a jumper or a scarf) you can easily order from here. I have to warn you though: they have discontinued the line, or at least this colour run, so stocks are running out. The same stands for those of you wishing to commission a replica. While I am more than happy for you to pick a ball from the site, I cannot guarantee I will be able to order it for you. It might perhaps be safer to order the desired ball on sight and then to have it posted on to me at my residence. That way, we all remain happy, our hearts achieving what they desire.

Sidar Snuggly Baby Crofter

Wool: Sidar Snuggly Baby Crofter DK

Pretty Paisley (147) – 50g

Shade: Pretty Paisley (147) – 50g

4mm needles; 22 stitches x 26 rows, 10x10cm tension square

Needles: 4mm needles; Gauge: 22 stitches x 26 rows, 10x10cm tension square

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In Situ: Pretty Paisley (147) – 50g

Pretty Paisley (147) zoomed in

Close-up: Pretty Paisley (147)

I bought this yarn from woolwarehouse.co.uk. They are super-reliable, quick to act and prompt to dispatch and even post abroad at very little cost. That gives them five stars from me.

What colours will you choose?

So far, I have ordered one with my dog’s name (Bella) and one with my childhood cat’s (Fifi), for that reason alone. I also have a healthy collection of others and now possess over twenty different shades, although I have no idea which one is my favourite. I love them all, my preference shifting along with my intention and in line with my mood.

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Available Shades

If you would like to see them in action: my flamingo’s hair is made out of Bella, the grass in The Fairy Princess and The Frog Prince is Nessie, and the background for Angel Delight and The Chocolate Bunny is Elsie. And that’s just off the top of my head…

• see the rest of the collection
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Yesterday

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A series of overcast days has reminded me how important the weather is, how much I value the sun; how deeply I loathe the winter, the accompanying cold and rain. With the decline, I’ve felt my mood plummet, matching the shift point for point. I cast my mind back over the past few months: the light, the heat – and forgive the intensity of it; even the nights when I couldn’t sleep, the mornings when the closeness of it was oppressive, hard to bear. Better that than this. Better that than me sat here shivering, struggling to warm up, cold in August) of all things.

Claustrophobia descends, settling around my body like a dense cloud: a fog I cannot see through. Hiding in my room, I seek the comfort of literature, curling my mind into the words as I curl my body into a blanket. I sip ginger and camomile tea against a backdrop of white: walls that are still, even after over a year of living here inhabiting this space, waiting to be decorated; the reluctance to put down roots, to claim my territory, to settle – here, anywhere – is evident.

I question my resistance, the reason for it, attempting to list the benefits. Footloose and fancy-free seem to have become my allies. Little and nothing my mantra. It’s all a bit too zen and a lot too modern. I’ve never been minimalistic. In England, my home was filled with personal effects; the space was a reflection of me. Fabric birds hung from painted ceilings. Paper butterflies clung to knitted plants. China ornaments talked to tin toys. Picture frames reclined in alcoves and rested on shelves. Books lined walls, creating temporary tables on polished floors. Paintings, mostly by me, although some by my friends, hung everywhere. I belonged there: it was my nest. Here, it’s more like someone else’s space, my being here borrowing.

I decide that I need to make more of an effort and that I need to work harder on finding my happiness within. This becomes increasingly important as August disappears, each day passing bringing me closer to autumn and the start of everything closing and emptying, shutting down. The tourists will leave, the hotels will close, towns will turn into shells. Unlike other places: there is only life here for half of the year. I dislike that, the isolation that prevails. It is hard enough to navigate my own rocky terain, without also having to deal with the external. I wonder if there is anywhere in the world that suits me; if there is such a thing as an everyday sunshine place? No longer convinced; I still choose to believe. For to give up hope, to abandon the dream, is tantamount to giving up and abandoning everything: my writing, my art, my desire to be something more, my pursuit of the kind of happiness that resides inside myself.

Tired of thinking, I let my eyes close and surrender myself to sleep.

by Rebecca L. Atherton

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Trapped until summoned

imageThe pain attacks my head,
sticking my eyes with needles,
making a cushion out of me.

My heart pounds,
my stomach lurches,
my throat becomes a summer meadow.
My feet want to stay still
but can’t stop moving.

Trapped inside,
glued to a chair by my dog,
waiting on him,
I have no option but to remain where I am until summoned,
staring at my phone,
willing it to ring.

by Rebecca L. Atherton

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Yesterday’s desire. Tomorrow’s heartache.

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Arriving at the beginning, she feels frustrated. How many times has she travelled this way, circling the exact same landscape, weaving in and out of similar trees, meeting and greeting familiar people? Despite having lost count, she knows it is too many. Only a fool would keep repeating the same mistakes, failing to learn, not just from what has already been, but what has been and been despised.

Feeling the twist of loss, she rushes cobbled pavements, ignoring the blade in her foot and the furnace that surrounds her, drawn on by the possibility that life will call her bluff and people surprise her. She knows her wish is futile, her hope naïve, but she continues to dream regardless. A romantic soul with a lonely heart, she always looks on the bright side, attributing to events the benefit. Only when it comes to the weather, which belongs to another being far greater than she, does she doubt. Dreaming is what she excels at, what spurs her on, what allows her to continue, even in the face of it.

She arrives in a puddle of heat, immediately losing half of her dignity to the floor beneath her feet. The other half following, the moment she opens her mouth. An inconclusive reply in her mother tongue, a tongue different to that indigenous to here, further proving just how terrible her grasp of the language is; although she was understood, which must (surely) count for something. It does, doesn’t it? The important thing is that she tried and that she keeps on trying, like with her dreams. At some point the world will feel sorry for her and grant her her reward. She waits, her hands prostrate.

The bathroom, the scene of the crime, is empty. Slowly, she peels open the door, steps inside, catches the light, disturbing a band of neon overhead. To her surprise, her heart’s desire is exactly where she left it, looking forlorn, face to the wall. She snatches it up, lifts it to her mouth, gently kisses it, welcoming it home; then presses it to her breast, where it fits exactly: the final piece of a complicated puzzle.

Returning to the threefold space, a space functioning as entrance, centre and exit, too many jobs for anything so humble to do with any real success, her cheeks flushed, her eyes sparkling, her lips curved, she expresses her thanks. In the city centre, finding anything that has been left, forgotten or mislaid is unusual, unless that thing belongs to another and is part of their heart’s ache. She decides she must have a guardian angel after all and makes a note to correct her parents, who harbour more formal views. That means that God does exist, the Tooth Fairy is real, and elves can and often do live amongst the flowers and the plants at the bottom of the garden. Now isn’t that so much nicer than worshipping the shrine of insignificance, holding fast to the belief that we are all alone?

by Rebecca L. Atherton

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Super Moon

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Once every thirteen months
the moon is uncharacteristically large,
the circumference of its orb almost threatening,
its glow, suffused with orange, demon-like.
Typical, then, that my eyes look up to a cloud-choked sky,
bereft even of the smallest hint of light.

by Rebecca L. Atherton

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Forgiving what I took to heart

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I love my dog more than life itself
and I’m not afraid to say it.
I think in the absence of the real thing,
she is my human child.

Some days, like today,
my love actually hurts:
a pain behind my ribcage,
wide and deep.

I think of my friends with babies
and I don’t know how they manage.
A cut lip would destroy me.
A sprain, and I would be a wreck.

And what of something serious,
like a virus or a disease?
I could never cope with compromised
or malfunctioning bits.

And yet I have –
in my own way,
on a much smaller scale:
navigating a broken tail,

fixing a dislocated knee,
treating a suspected heart murmur,
a skin parasite;
seeing her through hepatitis and gallstones.

We’ve been through a lot, her and I,
and so far we’ve survived.

I look to my parents with added respect,
only now understanding their challenges,
forgiving what I took to heart,
loving what I hated.

by Rebecca L. Atherton

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I Spy with my little i…

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…something beginning with C

I am currently in the throes of knitting myself an ipad case, hence the ‘C’. While in Australia, I watched and admired a friend working on a cabled one and have secretly coveted my own ever since.

I searched around on Ravelry (one of my favourite sites for inspiration and the first place I go after having visited Google images and a few revered blogs and knitting shops) and finally came across a faux-cabled pattern. Much quicker and simpler than the real thing, it struck me as a good idea.

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The ‘good idea’

Passenger Therapy – like retail therapy, only cheaper

I don’t permit myself personal projects very often, except for in the car. I make art and I make gifts, only bequeathing myself when something hasn’t worked out, when I don’t consider it good enough to share with a wider audience. As it is, my presents are hit and miss, often causing mixed emotions in their recipients. I guess there are only so many hats, scarves, blankets, bags, purses, toys, baubles and trinkets one needs before they start to feel like their home is a museum to somebody else. Not everyone likes to fill a space so tightly, personal artefacts pinned and hung from every spare inch. So this is a big deal, something for me, and I am eager to enjoy it as much as I can given that it is motivated by need and necessitated by fear.

Anxious by nature, both inside and outside of a vehicle, it, knitting, is my method of transport therapy. Put me on a road cluttered with hire cars fresh from the airport and crazy locals who talk, smoke, eat and change lanes all at the same time, and I am a nervous wreck. I need something to contain me and knitting seems to do just that. Besides, I hate to be idle. My hands are rarely still, even at dinner parties. It makes for quite a reputation. But I like my eccentricity and do my best to nurture it. I have wasted too many years caring too much and holding back as a result. Looking behind me at the long list of ‘never haves’, I consider this tragic and am determined to make up for it.

Below are pictures of my progress.

A hat, a sock and a sleeve

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More like a hat than a case

Several journeys in and my case looks more like a hat than a case and I am tempted to stop here and make it into one. It’s only the heat of summer that prevents me. I would have to wait for months to use it and I don’t have the patience for such things. Besides, patience or not, I like what I see and I am enjoying the process. The design is really rather clever; so much simpler than juggling cable needles and slipping stitches backwards and forwards.

Faux-Cable:
R1-4: *p1, k3*, repeat between *s to end.
R5: *p1, sl1, k1, yo, k1, psso*, repeat between *s to end.
And so on, repeating R1-5 until you reach your desired length.

Official Cable:
R1: *p2, k2*, repeat between *s to end.
R2: *p2, k2tog but do not slip finished stitch off left needle, knit into first stitch on left needle again, then slip off left needle*, repeat between *s to end.
R3: *p2, k2*, repeat between *s to end.
R4: *p2, k2*, repeat between *s to end.
And so on, repeating R1-4 until you reach your desired length.

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It reminds me of a sock

A day later and it reminds me of a sock, a thought that makes me wince. Can you imagine trying to turn a heel and fashion a toe this big? Plus the whole thing would take ages and is far too fiddly for the car. Wrestling four needles, reading a pattern and balancing a chihuahua on your lap, all while your partner is weaving in and out, dodging and breaking to avoid near misses and dangerous drivers, strikes me as a mite bit too challenging. This is meant to be therapy, after all.

Pulling it out: the case of the case that looks like a sleeve

My hat has become a sleeve

Motoring along (pardon the pun) and my hat has become a sleeve. If I close my eyes, I can picture the jumper it would make. It would be a nice one: cheerful, unusual, pretty. Maybe my next project should be something larger and longer? If I start now, I might just finish it in time for winter. I only get a short amount of car time each day, between 30-60 minutes. At that rate, a jumper could take months. Probably better to stick to smaller things, things that I can turn out in a matter of weeks.

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The damsel can wear it

If the shoe fits, the damsel can wear it; or in this case, the iPad. I’ve taken it for a test drive, so to speak, and hurray!, it works. I am pretty yarn happy. It’s good to know my instinct hasn’t failed me, given that I was knitting in the car, away from my ipad and all means of measuring up and testing against. Can you imagine how painful it would have been if it didn’t fit, if it wasn’t wide enough? I would have cried myself to sleep. Tragic but true. I’m devastated when things fail: when the best of intentions, the grandest of ideas, the greatest of cares, backfires, and I am left in possession of a tangled wooly mess. The waste of such beautiful yarn, my time – all criminal. So much so, I usually have to reinvent it, thinking way beyond the proverbial box.

And if it was too long: going backwards would have been boring and hard. I would have made mistakes – dropped stitches, created holes, etc. I am relieved it is still perfect, without blemish or sin.

... an iPad in a case

Et voila!

“Et voila; je suis finis,” as the French would say. I’ll leave the rest of the world where it is: too much of a good thing is boring and detracts from the novelty. Besides, I’m not sure how far I would get; I never was much good at implementing languages outside of my own: my tongue is a little clingy, besotted with mother, clutching on to her hem lest she fly away.

Anyway, back to the point. We have landed safe and sound – bottom stitched together, top folded over and sewn under again; case as a whole washed, pressed and blocked, not a crease or a crumple in sight. Now all that’s left is a button to ensure safe transport to all who travel inside.

The Missing Link

Having gazed at it long and hard, both on and off my iPad, I have decided there is something missing and that the missing element is an attachment of some kind, a garnish or a flourish. And I have the perfect little design in mind.

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The perfect little design

Two days later, I have competed a bow. It took a while, as these things are inclined to do, but was well worth the effort. It completes the picture. When I showed it to a friend several night’s ago expecting some serious gushing, I was confounded by her somewhat lacklustre reply; a measure hurt by it too. It made me think, though, and that’s what led to the bow. So I have her to thank in a round about ‘you hurt my feelings and I had to seek therapy in my yarn’ kind of way. See: all’s well that ends well; we have our happy ending.

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Our happy ending

Made to Measure

If you would like a case of your own, please don’t hesitate to email me or visit me on Ravelry; I would be more than happy to make a few for the right people and price. There are easily six weeks of summer left to survive before the madness abates and I shall be clicking without interruption throughout.

I’m also planning on making mini-iPad, iPhone and Kindle cases, so keep your eyes open for these links to light up as I manifest my offspring. As with here, I will be documenting my progress throughout. Interested parties can sneak a peak, arouse their inspiration and pick up a few tips – like where to get wool and what wool to get, whether to use circular or dpn needles, which size works best, how long it all takes and ideas on how to accessorise once you are done.

A new leaf

I’m useless at taking notes and forever mourning creations that would like to have siblings but that will remain one-off’s because, their details trapped inside, I couldn’t possibly duplicate them no matter how much I desired.

It’s the same with my yarn. In failing to note the brand, the line and the lot number: I fall in love only to be denied, my passions dismissed after a casual fling.

In a bid to turn over a new leaf and save myself later anguish when you email enquiring about the specific of this piece, in search of details I have forgotten to add: like where to get faux-fairisle yarn, procure Knit Pro needles, a pattern for your beloved item – I have taken photos of the important things. I hope this will be one healthy habit that stays.

Below are images of the yarn that I used and links to where I brought it. If you would like to make your own case or something similar (like a jumper or a scarf), you can easily order from here. I have to warn you, though: they have discontinued the line, or at least this colour run, so stocks are running out. The same stands for those of you wishing to commission a replica. While I am more than happy for you to pick a ball from the site; I cannot guarantee I will be able to order it for you. It might perhaps be safer to commit to the desired ball on sight and then to have it posted on to me at my residence. That way, we all remain happy; our hearts achieving what they most ardently desire.

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Sidar Snuggly Baby Crofter DK

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Lucie (171) – 50g

Up close and personal

Lucie (171) zoomed in

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4mm needles; 22 stitches x 26 rows, 10x10cm tension square

I bought this yarn from woolwarehouse.co.uk./a>. They are super-reliable, quick to act and prompt to dispatch and even post abroad at very little cost. That gives them five stars from me.

Yarn details from the website

A snapshot from the website

What colours will you choose?

So far, I have ordered one with my dog’s name (Bella) and one with my childhood cat’s (Fifi), for that reason alone. I also have a healthy collection of others and now possess over twenty different shades, although I have no idea which one is my favourite. I love them all, my preference shifting along with my intention and in line with my mood.

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Available Shades

If you would like to see them in action: my flamingo’s hair is made out of Bella, the grass in The Fairy Princess and The Frog Prince is Nessie, and the background for Angel Delight and The Chocolate Bunny is Elsie. And that’s just off the top of my head.

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The Water in Mallorca

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Drink flows like water,
which costs more than wine.
It’s the same with the bean and the bag.
In some bars, it’s €3 for an Evian
and €4 for some leaves in a mug.

In a bid to save money,
I’ve taken to drinking coffee by the litre
and wine by the jug.
While irresponsible for a person of my age and intellect,
inebriation favours me better than sobriety does.

by Rebecca L. Atherton

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Complaining to windows

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To my left, there is a lady cleaning.
She looks upset.
For half an hour now, she has been complaining to windows
and making faces at glass.

Every so often, she startles me with an exclamation
and several tongue clicks.
She’s hijacking my concentration
and trespassing my zen.

I want to abandon dignity,
chasten her with my lips.
But I settle for silent warfare
and apply my fingertips.

Dipping my index finger into make-believe paint,
I imagine I can see her aura,
tracing the outline of her body,
colouring it.

Brown turns to beige,
bows down to orange,
submits to pink,
dissolves into white.

My focus returns,
my mind reconnects,
my shoulders droop
and my heartbeat slows.

Oblivious,
my dog sleeps soundly,
entertained by a monochromatic landscape
of rabbits and moths.

by Rebecca L. Atherton
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Nice Girls Swallow. Sensible Girls Spit

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Life is complicated: the choice of potential options, vast; the possible pathways, many, meandering, overgrown and steep. Just thinking about it is daunting. Trying to affect our fate – making more than taking, succeeding more than failing, smiling more than crying, is overwhelming in the extreme and more than some of us can endure. It’s no wonder there are so many miserable people, so many hiding in their beds. We see a mountain and we run, reacting as if it were a spider. Maybe we have already climbed too many? Maybe we just don’t have the right kind of legs? Perhaps we have a fear of heights, an aversion to vertical? Whichever… whatever…: we are all doing the best that we can with the tools that we have; with what we were given when we arrived, when we came out. If we are lacking, if we are struggling, if we have given up sooner or not travelled as far: it’s because the appliances weren’t there at the start. They either got left behind, left inside; or they were never presented to begin with.

My house was well-furnished and my box is fairly full. I have equipment. It helps. Heaven knows, I have needed it. I still do. If I had a pound for the number of hills and mountains I have encountered, the rivers and seas I have crossed: I would be a wealthy woman by now. Alas, it doesn’t work that way and I am as poor financially as the day I arrived. I owe my existence to benefactors and generous souls. But I am rich in other ways – in heart and in mind, in spirit, if a little disappointed, broken and sad. Trying and not getting; hoping and being denied, taint the image. The picture fades. The paint cracks. The brilliance is dimmed. I am older than I should be and upset by that. The mirror no longer presents a shiny object. I try not to look, and I look away. I go out with ink marks on my cheeks, toothpaste around my mouth, sleep in my eyes. People eyeball and I have no idea why, I have stopped caring. Or at least, I pretend to. In reality, there is no switching off, no numbing. Opinions hurt and I cannot help but be affected by them. I am only human.

Maybe that is why I spend so much time and energy on my art, on creating? Am I trying, perhaps, to make up for the lack in other areas? If I shine on the page, on the canvas, will others be more forgiving; will they remember me for longer; will I mean more, have more value? It’s not a bad theory.

Then again: creative people are characteristically hard on themselves and mostly unhappy, their glass having a tendency to remain empty in the realm of life; Life (the bitch) taking out as many drops as ‘they’ (the individual) puts in. It’s a long road and it’s bumpy. There are challenges. But without these challenges, we wouldn’t grow and growth is vital for creativity, for art. The brightest flowers come from the sparsest of gardens, the thickest of nights, the heaviest of storms. We cannot fight this: it’s the price of the gift. And we cannot knock the horse: what’s given belongs and what’s there is there: full stop, end of story.

So let’s all be thankful for that which we have and make the best of what we possess and wish for less and expect as much. That way, we know where we are and won’t be tripped up.

That said, here are some rules to live by. Take them or leave them. Digest or deny. Think me wise or consider me a fool. It makes no difference… I write as I see. I live as I encounter. I rule as I see fit.

1. Tackle what is beyond you:

The best protection is to be working on hard problems, that way you are always moving forwards and aren’t so easily distracted. And when you succeed, conquering a hurdle, facing something odious that cropped up, you feel great. There is nothing quite so powerful, so healing, so cathartic, as a conquest you can attribute to yourself. Carve up your bedpost. Make your mirror heavy with medals. Fill notebooks and sketchbooks with the stories that you write. Immortalise yourself.

2. Be curious:

View everything as an opportunity to grow and expand. Act like a kid. Probe and question. Reach out and touch. Grab onto and take with you. Sign up and attend. Dive in, go swimming, explore… Discover, find out… Be in charge of what goes in and take responsibility for how you interpret that. Be the captain not the victim. Write your own beginning, middle and ending.

3. Study the sky:

Count stars. Collect clouds. Become an expert at weather prediction. Take time each day to look around you. Absorb your surroundings. Be grateful for beauty and appreciate ugliness. Unsightly is also pretty. Sometimes, it’s exquisite. Think of an old person’s face and the stories it conveys, the life it reflects, the people and places. Think of a ruin, the history contained in what still remains, the things it once stood for, what it has survived. Be mindful in the moment and see the world for the magnificent thing that it is: big, chaotic and complex; incomprehensible, all-knowing and wise; multi-faceted, unpredictable and proud. Do this and do it often and live your life from it. Swallow don’t spit, unless what you savour offends.

by Rebecca L. Atherton
imageTo keep up to date with my progress and receive a copy of my newsletter, send me your email address.

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• View or buy my work at my online portfolio
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