Extreme Knitting Redhead: Zebras are like buses…..

Monday, November 25, 2013

Zebras are like buses…..

You don't see one for ages and then you see several!

We were in the lovely town of Rye the other day when we stumbled upon this lovely chap out shopping in all his stripiness:

He looks as if he's just stepped off the Serengetti and popped into the shop! He's made of concrete and resin and he was sold. It brought to mind another fine zebra I encountered on one of my runs earlier this year.

Then I remembered that my neighbours, the 'neigh' part is quite relevant in this case, from Stevenson Brothers Rocking Horses produced a beautiful rocking zebra a few years ago and it has been hugely popular. The brothers grew up in Kenya so it isn't quite quite so odd that they chose a zebra and they have donated money from their sale to various charities based over there.

In the same shop there were lots of strange taxidermy birds and other animals together with this horse's head which had been made to look like a unicorn:

He was a gorgeous horse with the most beautiful muzzle and I really wanted to stroke him but I felt a bit weird about it and so I didn't.

Rye is a pretty town with some beautiful timber-framed buildings and cobbled streets. The cobbles are quite hard to walk on and you have to be careful not to trip.

We had a look round a couple of art galleries and an exhibition of works by local artists.

As Rye is one of the Cinque Ports (originally from the French 'cinq', i.e. 5, but pronounced "sink") one always expects lots of paintings with a nautical theme. I loved this mermaid.

This beautiful anchor by the very talented Heather Collins was covered in a mixture of wool scraps, felt and embroidery. It was stunning.

We had a jolly good mooch around the shops as it was a nice bright day and I came home with these jolly over-the-knee socks in my favourite colour, purple, and adorned with the happy faces of pansies rather like the violas I have in some pots at the moment. I also sneaked in a couple of balls of Rowan Kidsilk Haze in 'blackcurrant'.

The other highlight for me was finding these wonderful tea-towels (and more!) by Sarah Young. I had a long chat with the gallery owner about these as they took me right back to my childhood and learning to sew.

Not only can they be tea-towels but you can cut around the shapes, sew them together and make a doorstop, cushion, or even a tea cosy. Such fun and wonderful designs too.

Clarence the cross-eyed lion took me right back that wonderful TV series Daktari from the 1960's.

Although he was beautiful it was Hester the Hare who stole my heart. Well I could hardly choose anything other than a Bluebelle lookalike now could I? I always think that Rexes are more like hares than bunnies and their coats are like velvet. I do miss having them hopping around the place but we do have plenty of pesky wild rabbits on the land.

Tango and Bluebelle, the last of my beautiful Rex rabbits

I spotted this woolly friend hanging on the wall of a weaver's studio.

As a footnote, my first G8 blog post went onto their site this morning here so I hope I'll reach a new audience.

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Mum's Story

In 1997 my mother, then aged 81, had a series of minor strokes. Shortly after that we started to notice behavioural changes notably memory loss and confusion over everyday items. We thought it was just old age finally catching up with her. Then she started wandering and had violent mood swings. Although she already lived with us it became obvious that she couldn't be left alone for long and so I left my job to care for her. The next few years saw a gradual decline into the blackness that is 'vascular dementia'. My normally placid mum became violent and aggressive. She had psychotic incidents where she would see imaginary people (children hiding in her wardrobe, Russians sitting on the stairs, women stealing her clothes) and she would shout at them and sometimes throw things too. She was so convincing that we used to go and check that there wasn't anyone there! When my sister died mum did not know who Judy was or that she was her daughter. There came a point when I suddenly realised she no longer knew that I was her daughter and this was a terrible time for me. In the last 2 years that she lived with us, life for us all became almost unbearable as she needed 24 hour care - she couldn't be left alone at all because she would either wander off or hurt herself, she never slept for more than 30 minutes at a time during the night, she became incontinent and incapable of doing anything for herself. Finally my husband and I realised that we could no longer provide her with the care that she needed and she went to live in a special care home where the team did a splendid job caring for her in the last few months of her life. There she lived a zombified existence unaware of who she was, what she was or where she was. It was heartbreaking. She died in March 2005, the day after her 89th birthday.

Thank you for taking the time to read mum's story and I hope you'll dig deep and sponsor me using the link below to help find a way of beating this destructive disease.