Collection...

After the recent sadness of my Mother-in-Law's passing, both myself and John have once again thrown ourselves at the mercy of our house and the thousands of looming DIY projects that never seem to end. The recent spout of gorgeous weather has served as a reminder that hopefully summer is but a sniff away and if we are to attack the garden this summer, we need to draw a line under many of our unfinished projects on the inside first. So we are pushing full steam ahead trying to get our large hallway done.  Nothing fancy, just hues of coffee and cream (sounds so much nicer than brown and magnolia), laminate flooring downstairs (much more wolf-friendly than carpet) and a statement stripey carpet upstairs and across the landing.  That is the plan. 

It recently lost its title of hallway and gained the less coveted title of building site as various things have distracted our progress along the way (namely evening drinks and serious bouts of post-work laziness). But those days are gone.  The vino has been put aside, the Budweiser is staying in the fridge and we are becoming, once again, DIY hero's to our home. 

I try not to stereotype but I think its safe to say that most women favour the "feathering of the nest stage rather than the sanding and filling stage and I am most definitely one of those women.  That's not to say I don't get down and dirty and help John in the constructing phases, I am just filled with impatience as to when I can start hanging things on our massive expanse of walls and placing nik-naks in every nook and cranny, a good example of this being last night. I had begged john to hang some floating shelves and large old mirror I had inherited from my Mum some time ago and immediately I started mentally choosing and placing of all my little collectibles and it got me to thinking.... 

I have always held the hope that our home would serve as a modern museum of our life.  A warm place that told many stories at every gaze.  Somewhere filled with conversation starters and provoked thoughts.  A large photo wall I am planning will display pictures that I have collected throughout my many travels and as you climb the stairs, another wall will proudly show all my autographs that I have collected over the years. But it wasn't until the thought of a family party next week prompted me to spend time in my dressing room this afternoon, did I realise that not only have I not yet written about my shrine, but there within was a collection of a different kind. 

I know I have spoken of my dressing room many a time but I don't believe I have furnished you with any photo's which are long overdue.

It is difficult to do it justice as although perfect for me, it's not huge so getting decent photo's covering everything is difficult. 

It holds a myriad of things that I haven't even written about yet.  Recent treasures I have come across or things passed on.  I have inherited some beautiful pieces from my Mother-in-Law - Bett that I shall write about soon. I was privileged enough to salvage some gorgeous pieces from her own "extensive" collection that I hope I shall do justice to. 

I am ashamed to say that it is almost reaching saturation point and I already have another enormous wardrobe piled high with shelves of "everyday" clothing in our bedroom and another in a different bedroom housing all my coats (all 26 of them). I need to start embracing this whole "one-in, one-out" philosophy but I appear to have un petit problem with the "one-out" part. 

John finished building the dressing room around Easter of last year and ever since, I can 

honestly say that every second spent within gives me so much joy that sometimes I just sit in there with my cup of tea, just smiling and appreciating all that I have.   Granted, it is not a museum collection worthy of the Uffizi or Le Louvre but to me, every item holds a memory, a thought, a dream (or that eternal hope that one day I shall fit into it).  

We don't tend to think of clothes as holding memories (other than maybe obvious choices such as a wedding dress) but to me they are the perfect conduit with which to channel thoughts and reunite you with days and moments that are long gone.   John thinks its bizarre that when I pick something specific to wear, I can almost instantly tell him the last time I wore it, where it was purchased, how much I paid and my fondest memory of it.   

Some instant favourites that come to mind are as follows:

• My beloved red tutu (seen hanging up in one of the photo's) that I bought around 7 years ago from Billy Jean's vintage shop in Bristol.  I was spending a lovely afternoon with my friend Vic and the minute I saw it hung up, we were instantly paired.  Till death us do part.  I wore it on my second date with john with a black button down cardi and a small red corsage.   I remember walking down the stairs to the bottom of our apartment block where he was waiting at the bottom.  His face was one of shock, happiness (I think) and uncertainty but he still came back for a third date.   The local villagers in Chipping Sodbury however, were less amused as he took me for a drink. The skirt was so wide, I had to squeeze side-ways through the pub door to get through and once inside it was if the whole pub fell silent as me and all my netting looked gingerly around for a chair that would accommodate us both.
• My Cinderella dress (as I call it).  £20 from a charity shop in Westbury-on-Trym and I wore it a few years ago to my brother -in-laws for Christmas day lunch. I wasn't feeling too well that day but I remember the minute I wore it, I forgot about my less than ok stomach and felt like I had been transformed into a fairytale.  You can see the dress here at Dressed for Dinner. 
• Another one is the lilac vintage dress I bought on Etsy for around £12 that screams 1950's understated glamour. I wore to our first dinner party with friends in Caldicot, just after we had moved here.  A chance meeting out dog-walking brought us together and I am grateful as they are lovely people.  Here is the dress in question Lilac Wine.  

I could (and would) go on and on but I won't bore you with my memories.  I hope you are all out there creating some of your own.   

Ultimately, clothes are just fabric and thread, just something to cover us and protect us (nakedness is thankfully NOT an option) but we wear them every day, they serve to promote our identity, our personality and to project a little bit of us into the world.

I hope one day that either my Niece or my two Step-daughters will inherit some of my pieces and that they will not only share my stories of them, they will create their own memories in them and so a legacy (albeit a little one), will live on. Not only that but, considering the majority of my wardrobe is made up of second hand items, lots of of pieces already hold their own tales and stories that will also weave their way into the fabric of life. 

Oh, and just to finish, this isn't clothing obviously but it is one of those little memories I was talking about that will furnish my wall somewhere. I wrote this message on a scrap of paper before I left for a year in France and placed it secretly in John's wallet.  He found it but kept it there all these years until I remembered it last night. 

I bought this little frame ages ago in the M&S sale for around £1.50 and have since been trying to think what I could display.

This seemed perfect. Just like the man it was meant for.

Happy memory-making!

Return to Sender...

Well hello there.

I apologise again for my lack of activity of late.  The absolute legend that is my Mother-in-Law sadly passed away so normal service has not yet resumed. 

I didn't know whether to write about her or not but I reasoned the more ways we remember her the better, so dedicating a post to her seemed only fitting.   As Merchant-Locke family members go, I probably knew her for the shortest time as I only came on the scene around 6 years ago, but from the day I met her, she made quite an impression.

She was an incredibly strong woman, cheeky, feisty and full of life.  Even in her eighties, she didn't let life slow her down and spent most evenings at the local pub with her friends and often her little dog.  She had the lucky ability to stay awake drinking till the early hours (at various lock-in's that she used to boast about), to then awake early the next day with no hangover what-so-ever.  She loved her family but her social life also figured big in her daily plans and she was renowned for coming up with reasons to be excused early from family gatherings so that she could sneak off back to her local and be with her "other" loved ones. It became somewhat of a running joke in the family.  The phrase "I can't be too long, I need to get back for the dog" was code we knew only too well for "I'd like a lift home soon, oh and you might as well drop me at the pub, it's nearer".  And we all loved her for it.

She was many things to many people. To the grandchildren, she was a cool granny, never one to moan about anything, to her twin sister, she was her female soul-mate. To her children she was a funny, eccentric, colour-clashing icon that was both ditsy and tough but always happy and independent to the point of frustration.

I always looked forward to seeing her. She made it so easy for people to love her.  You couldn't help but smile at her quirky little ways.  The mint imperial she always gave the dog before she went out (as if to off-set the guilt at leaving her to go off gallivanting - again), the way she would make her daughter drive half way across the city to save 10p on a bag of sugar and the way she hoarded everything, with no logic whatsoever but as if stockpiling was a way of life and we were the odd ones for not understanding.  Then there were the clocks, dozens of them all over the house but not one of them stating the correct time oh, and her culinary tastes (or lack of).  I am sure if  you look up the word Fussy in a thesaurus, Bett Merchant-Locke would be among the list of synonyms. 

She was a true matriarch, an inspirational head of the family, a family that centered around her like planets circle the sun and she will be greatly missed.  Gratefully, her passing was quick and she didn't suffer long.  A month ago, she was sat in the Whitehall Tavern with her pals joking and drinking and no doubt causing all sorts of grief for the landlord, then last weekend she was gone. Lung cancer being the evil taker, leaving a gaping, undeniable hole where she once oozed life.

I would say sleep well Bett, but you weren't one for taking it easy so I will simply say, keep smiling dear lady.

Elizabeth Merchant-Locke, seen her at our wedding with my wonderful Brother-in-law Michael, who also sadly passed away a while ago.  I can picture you both, in the Wetherspoons in the sky, Michael, you with your steak and chips and Bett with your southern fried chicken wrap. 

And glass of Bailey's.  What else? 

Ps...anyone thinking the title of this post is a little insensitive, it was done tongue in cheek.  Bett was a huge, huge Elvis fan.   We were in fact pondering over it as the exit song for her funeral but we have gone with another Elvis classic.