queerer and queerer

We have been reading far too much Enid Blyton. I know this because Felix said to me this morning about sitting in his sister's chair at the table (she'd nicked his), 'Claire it feels very queer to be sitting here!' My response was the only one possible - to burst out laughing and then pretend, hopping on one leg (damn, why do I never practice those kegels?) to have found something vastly amusing outside the kitchen window. Oh! Look! A... sparrow! On the bird feeder! A change of reading matter is in order I think. Although the chapters in The Faraway Tree are marvellously short, each one rounded off like a mini story, complete in themselves, perfect nonsense even, if one does not mind the liberal sprinkling of uncommon and unfashionable word usage. I say it does feel queer here! or Look! The dog is acting remarkably queer! .... What a queer looking tree! And so on. There was never such an overused word in her books as this one. I read it all with gusto and inward childish smirks while my children sit, around the fire, Enid Blyton style and listen carefully, hopeful that I shall read yet another chapter of the book that never ends (perhaps a woodcutter may pop along soon and end it all for us with one blow of his mighty axe?)



We erected a nature table, Autumn is always the one we go overboard with, the other seasons are paltry in comparison with their offerings of seasonal fodder to be brought indoors. I painted the tree, The Beauty beside me doing her own (I presumed) until I asked her if she was planning on adding a bird or some leaves to her tree. No! This is a robot hand! And so, the spirit of Autumn is rife amongst the small fry I feel. We have gathered the most conkers ever ever in our history of gathering. With many shouts of, I am the very first person ever, EVER to have touched *this* conker! Then it is tossed forgotten into the vast bag of others. We have so many we plan on using them for the lucky dip at our Halloween party, literally hands can be pushed inside down down to reach the prizes at the bottom. The Beaut practices this often so that I feel half my days are spent picking up conkers as she gets too enthusiastic and throws them riotously everywhere. Do I dampen this wild autumn fairy spirit girl or go with the flow or conkers conkers everywhere....? Mostly I feel like hiding them away until Halloween. But guiltily don't and resign myself to conker pickings, indoor now as well as out.

This year our party is going to be a El Dia de los Muertos - The Day of the Dead party. We are all gearing up for it and Isaac has many disgusting things planned to spook his friends. To balance the chaos of fake blood faced children running in and out of the house with tricks and I am planning a more wholesome side with soup bread and chocolate apples, apple bobbing fire and other such things.



I have been knitting mittens this week, the boys seem to have five or six pairs each and the girl none at all that I can find. I invented a quick pattern, the book ones not being what I wanted and am whipping them up. I need to else I forget the pattern, this is often the case with me. So many times I have mocked at the notion of writing a splendid pattern down only to find two hours later I have utterly forgotten it and no amount of staring hard at the knitted item unlocks the secrets of it's making.




Making weekly ghee



Our autumn books unearthed and out to read



Finding pleasure in both fires being lit more and more often and the little girl loving solo domino playing.



Supposed to be using this time to shop online, but queer feeling overcame me and I remembered I also needed to write a blog post, even queerer feeling means I think that too long has been spent away from the mitten knitting, and the magic numbers held so clearly in my mind are beginning to fade. I say! It does feel queer to be such a sieve head..... (now clearly Enid could have used that one : Sieve Head the forgetful Brownie? Perfect.