If the timber could talk...

What is it that makes me so fascinated with history?  Why is it when I see even the smallest piece of something that appears old I cannot help but conjure up stories of what may have been.

A piece of china dug from a farrowed paddock, a rock that once was part of a home or a piece of furniture that is screaming out to be renovated and all the blemishes underneath are exposed to tell their story.  History intrigues me.

Years ago when I travelled the the Mother Country of England I was fortunate to stay with some wonderful people  ( yes you know who you are ! ).  They took me to the ruins of castles that had once stood proudly overlooking a village.  These ruins I have never forgotten.  Oh if they could talk what a fascinating story they would tell. I imagined knights on horses and fair maiden hanging out of the towers .. Ok maybe I have read too may books in my time..but still the who experience was totally encompassing with the romanticism of days gone by...

I remember staying in a 14th century pub of which the door frames where so low I had to try not to bang my head. It was obvious that generations of people have grown ..but the atmosphere of the building was intoxicating..as was the grog served !!
  I heard the village of Nottingham talked about on the radio and to me this was totally bizarre.  Famous places steeped in history that to a young person on the other side of the world seemed unreal.

Recently I have renewed my love of antiques.  They are something that has always appealed to me but with 2 young Feral boys charging around the house I thought it better to wait until they were older due to the damage factor.

I have just purchased a kitchen chiffonier that I am oh so excited about.  I have cleaned out the spot for it and eagerly await its arrival.  Whats its story is I do not know but maybe it belonged to a regal family and was used by the servants for storing crockery in.  Maybe it belonged to a poor family who treasured it as their most valuable possession and in the end sold it to feed their children.  The answer I do not know but its fun imagining.

Tomorrow I will be picking up a side board that has seen better days..and that's what I love about it. I am sure it will slowly tell me its story as I lovingly scrape the paint from it beautiful timber.  To see knocks and damage to me is telling the journey of its life.  To me scars on a body tell the same..a story..an experience.. so i can not wait to start peeling back the layers.



The hard work paid off



I don't care if the furniture in my house of mud all match or are different colours.  They are unique and all bring a sense of home to me.  I remember when growing up my Grandmother used to move on average every 18 months ( as long as she kept the same phone number we could keep up !! ).  I always knew though, that when certain pieces of her families history were placed in the 'special spot ' that it was home.. her home.. my sanctuary.  I know I will inherit some of these pieces one day when my parents decide the time is right and I will cherish them deeply as they tell the story of my family to this day.

It is funny how over the years something that once would have been seen as a piece of junk suddenly becomes valuable in the monetary sense.  For some this is good I know, but to me the value comes in the story, the journey it has taken to get to this point.  To me a piece of stone from a building I once knew is just a valuable as the Queens Jewels.  These are my jewels and my history to pass on to my Ferals.. and I can not wait to share these with them..whether they like it or not !!!

Cheers Dilly xx

PS this was written just before pieces arrived and here they are !

Must have been the machine.....

My clothes have shrunk.  They truly have!!  ..  I'm sure they were not that tight last time I wore certain items..they have shrunk !! I could not have put on weight ..could I?

Face the facts girl.. you have.  Its hard to admit it to ones self that the kilos have started to creep back on when I wasn't looking.  They seem to have stuck themselves to me with gusto making things a bit snugger than I like.  But why should I feel bad about this?  Because as far as society is concerned I should.

Now I'm nearly 6ft tall and not a skinny person in any sense.  I'm broad and " big boned" I have been told. I am the large one in the family.  the big girl.. The others quite small and dainty, No matter how hard I try I will never be one of the wafer thin sticks that are the same height as me and I don't know if I really would want to be.  I am curvy in most of the right spots with some wobbly bits thrown in for good measure but this is me.

I have always felt that nagging pressure to be a certain way. I have been known to ask the questions.. 
     Does my bum look big in this?.. yep
     Does it make my muffin top spread to a loaf of bread?  yep
     Should I be as graceful as the dainty gazelles that grace the cover of the latest magazine after giving birth to their 10th child and still not have a stretch mark to show for it? yep.
I know this is unrealistic.

I have tried on many occasions to suck the tummy in and only release it when no one is watching.  I have a great collection of 'fat pants ' to hold bits in that would otherwise like to escape and run wild with the rest of the wobbles. These do a fantastic job if I decide not to eat, move in a way that may cause them to hitch a ride in a not so pretty place or breath deeply.   I know its how we women perceive ourselves that fuel this feeling of inadequacy but to be honest it doesn't help when bombarded with skinny is beautiful and any other way is not.

Yes there are those women out there who are genetically blessed with the perfect body and looks ( half their luck ! ) but this is a very small minority.  Its just that these are the women we are shown in media.  Where are the ' normal ' girls ?  We are here !! I hear you yell.

 I love food.  I love the way it melts and tastes.  I enjoy eating with friends and family and sharing a bottle of vino over a good chat.  I know what I am putting into my mouth has the potential to shrink my clothes. I shouldn't care but I do.  I don't have much will power and that frustrates me huge time.

I'm 42 heading for the 43 mark.  I have bits that wobble on my wobbles, knees that are starting to face south and I don't look good in a pair of low cut jeans..( who does !).  I have wrinkles that I figure are telling my life story and hair that really is not my crowning glory deciding to share its natural highlights of grey with the world.  we all get older..all of us.  To those smarty pants girls who snigger as I walk past.. girls you will get old too !!!

I am sure I will continue to struggle with my body issues all the time pretending I dont care.  I will try , honestly try to be more accepting of myself but sometimes it aint that easy.  But I will not deny myself that piece of chocolate that is calling very loudly over my shoulder so I can just be the skinny girl. How boring life would be without it !


Cheers Dilly xx