sending letters to strangers.

I took part in Oh Comely’s November Care Package Swap Project a few weeks ago. Oh Comely - in case you haven't heard of it - is a quirky magazine with the motto 'keep your curiosity sacred’ (words to live by, I think.) It’s full of beautiful natural-light-filled photographs, illustrations, interviews with interesting people, recipes, and articles on what could be called 'extraordinary ordinarinesses'.  

I came across it in WHSmith one afternoon about three years ago and remember writing in my journal about how finding it had ‘reignited my enthusiasm for ...life, really.’ (More than could be said for the “read all about how two mildly famous people lost weight and here’s some free lip-gloss” sort of women's magazine.)

So yes... the swap-box project. The idea was simple: you were paired up with a stranger, you put together a box of surprises for each other – including one.) something personal, two.) an inspiring snippet, and three.) a wintry treat – and then you popped your box in the post and sighed a happy sigh of creative achievement. Lovely.

Here’s what I put in mine:

-  A nice pen (Uni-Ball Eye Rollerball, black ink, fine tipped) 

-  Some teabags (assorted varieties) 

-  Clipper Fairtrade Hot Chocolate (plus marshmallows)

-  A few tealights (to brighten the grey skies) 

-  A copy of Winnie the Pooh (and a letter, written with evangelical fervour, detailing why this is a book that deserves to be read*) 

-  An envelope full of inspiring quotes 

-  A Toblerone 

-  A recipe for Courgette Soup that we make every year at Christmas (given by a dear family friend) 

-  A playlist

-  ...and some crocodile socks (or maybe they were alligators. I'm not sure). 

Putting it all together was quite joy-inspiring. I find writing notes and making things with my hands calming. Therapeutic, even. 

As a writer, quite a lot of my time is spent fiddling over phrases and paragraphs that don't ever seem to come out right... so it's satisfying, from time to time, to be able to create things that look exactly the way I want them to.

And it was fun pulling out my old typewriter (although, thank the Lord for word processors for everyday writing).

My own parcel, from my stranger, came through the post the other day. He sent me his favourite film, a collection of little rubber ducks, some sweets, lyrics from a Mumford and Sons song and a few other little things.

Jolly good fun. 

♥

*A note on my note on Winnie the Pooh: in my experience, most people haven't read it. They either didn't realise it was a book, or they they think it'll be just like the cartoon. It's not! It's profound, it's beautiful, it's hilarious, it's ironic. It's wonderful. And if you, reader, haven't read it: go now and do so. You won't regret it.

whims.

My first study-free week was delicious. I read a book. I listened (really listened) to music. I wrote in my journal. I thought about things. I went to the cinema with Evan (my brother, who was also exam-free).

And then a curious thing happened.  

On Friday, I was (all of a sudden) gripped by a desperate urge to make things. My List of Things to do Over the Summer did not include making things. This making things mood just came out of the blue. (I hesitate to use the word ‘crafty’ here. A ‘crafty person’ brings to mind two images. One: Dick Dastardly rubbing his hands together and laughing evilly. Two: someone who owns a fluffy fleece with a print of white wolves on the back. The kind of person who takes their shoes off in cafes, and who has a halo of unkempt hair, and who talks in a very ‘deep’ way, but no one knows what on earth they are talking about. God bless that kind of person. It takes all sorts to make the world an interesting place. I just don’t want to be one of them. Creative not crafty. Anyway...!)

I spent about eight hours making these. (I got the idea from here) I want to hang them in my room ...which needs to be tidied.. Tidying is on my list, which perhaps explains the creative urges. It seems that where there is a list, procrastination soon follows.

♥

recovery.

Last week, just because I could and because I've meaning to do for a few years, I re-covered one of my favourite books, A City of Bells by Elizabeth Goudge. The copy we have (a three-in-one version) used to look like this:

Yikes. I do judge books by their covers. Most people do. It's hard not to. But (yes, yes) the cover can be misleading. I read A City of Bells quite a lot when I was younger, so if I'd payed too much attention to the (hideous) cover, I would probably be a completely different person. One who doesn't like Shelley's Ode to the West Wind, for example ('...Drive my dead thoughts over the universe...') Now it looks like this:

    

It is such a lovely story. Funny, and quaint, and beautiful (especially the parts about the missing poet and the play and the bookshop and the Grandfather and...)  

After covering it, I read the first chapter, planning on popping it back on its shelf... but I then remembered how much I liked it, and it had been so long, and I thought I'd just read it again.   

So I did! 

And it is just as good as I remembered it to be ...even if she does write quite and rather a lot about flowers. 

♥

found.

Sometimes I trick myself into believing that I’m doing something incredibly useful, when actually I’m just avoiding work.

Like just there. I spent an hour organising the University Work folder on my computer. It all started because I was looking for a good definition of 'journalism' that I knew I had in a Word document somewhere, and then I realised how jumbled my folders were. And I realised that this was utterly unacceptable. I realised that I absolutely had to fix them right that very minute or – or - the world would probably end or something.

Of course I couldn’t just tidy up the folders. Oh no, that would be madness. I had to read everything in them too. And that’s how I came across this poem.

I wrote it last year for Creative Writing. We were given the task of choosing a well known character and then dropping them inside an unexpected situation to see how they’d react. I hadn't written much poetry before, but I loved it. Trying to capture the music inside words. The poet teaching the class suggested that I break up the structure of my poem to mirror the character’s thoughts. That’s why it looks so fractured.

♥

Cinderella.

march 2010

I’ve lost my slipper, I say to

no one. And no one listens.

I have lost – I have lost –  

lost –

Rain taps

on the window

like a bird; tap,  tap.

I have lost – I have lost my life.

Where has it gone?        It fell off

  after the wedding cake, and the black

umbrellas, and the       heart   ache.

         I have lost my life. Please nurse,

why has it gone?            It sparkles

at the top of the stair.

But I’m half way down,

and I can’t climb up.

If you   looked      you might see it

still,        a twinkle of light

in my eye.  My story is     not    over

yet. But I have  lost –   lost –

    They    come past, now and then, to check

I’m not dead.   Still breathing? Yes.

Heart beating?

Yes.       Still moving? Yes,            

yes.

But is this   living?

You are   old, Cinderella.

With your          snow white

hair, and your    lacy   thin,

skin.                      

      
You are   wallpaper

 ♥

(Pictures from: here)

...wrapping can be an art!

I spent most of Christmas Eve wrapping these: tipp-ex, brown paper, string, and ribbon. I’m not much of a ‘crafty’ person, but I like making presents look pretty. Probably silly to spend so much time on something that will only get looked at for a few seconds before it is torn off, but it was fun to make them. It was just a pity they had to be opened! The presents underneath weren't quite as exciting.