I’ve started to amass quite a collection of old craft books; the more obscure the subject matter and the more worn the dustjacket, the better. I know full well that much of the content is in the bowels of t’Internets already and is always accessible, but there is a magic about these books.
Most of them have come to me second and third and fourth hand; there is marginalia to bate Banagher, and some pages are dogeared. Some methods and patterns seem to be particularly beloved. Every so often, I come across more tantalising hints of the books’ previous owners; a receipt tucked out of sight, a hand written dedication for a birthday long ago.
I hope they gave great inspiration to their former owners; I hope for the same for whoever has them after me.
Polish for ‘beads in my shoes’. One late night, a former housemate of mine, who is Polish, and I had a very strange conversation. I used my pidgin Polish, she used her more-than-respectable beginner’s Irish. I said that once I found out the words to say “beads” and “black tea with milk, please”, I could easily survive in Poland.
The conversation got sillier and… …then the name for this blog came about.
Thank you, Malgosia, for a seemingly nonsensical phrase that sums up my life pretty well, as well as all the nodding and smiling as I went into Bead Show&Tell. And thank you Sue, for encouragement and tolerance of the fact that beads could be found everywhere when I set up camp. How your innocent couch cushions did suffer!
Try as I might to put a bit of smacht on my crafty stash, it always creeps back to this stage, where I end up with beads in my shoes, in my bag, in my wallet, wool nestling among bills and documents in shoeboxes.
So there you have it- beads in my shoes, because one night that’s where some stray size 8s turned up.