Living With Fear And Blue Skies

Dear readers,

It's hard to live with fear when the skies are blue but neither the headpounding dread nor the limpid skies showed signs of abating for the entire week.  I had to learn, therefore, the almost unbearable lesson of living with a birdsong filled world when my greatest wish was to sink into dark, undisturbed sleep for several days and nights.

 Last saturday night I discovered a lump in my left breast.  The impact on my stress levels was immediate.  Images of my youngest daughter, barely four and motherless, flitted through my mind and I moaned to myself whilst lying in bed 'Oh my God'.  Ironically, like many of you, I had recently read Kate's post which had left its mark on me.  If I am honest I would say that my (more or less) regular breast check was more thorough than usual this time thanks to Kate's well-written words.  Sunday was hard.  My usual swim with Tristan did little to raise my troubled thoughts and on Monday morning once all the children were at school I picked up the 'phone with trembling hands and dialed my local doctor's number.  Two hours later I sat in her surgery and watched her smile turn to a troubled frown as soon as I uttered the word 'breast lump'.  After examining me she urged her secretary to make an urgent appointment for a mammogram and scan.  Thursday afternoon at 3.15pm was fixed and as I said my goodbyes and smiled weakly at the secretary I descended the stairs out into the brilliant sunshine and wondered how on earth I would survive four days of waiting.

 And much as though I would like to share with you, dear readers, my advice on how to endure heightened stress levels I must confess that little helped soothe my stiff back and excuriating headaches.  Neither spring flowers nor sunshine lifted my spirits.  Knitting Tristan's springtime pullover kept me focused at times. Caring for my children with a serene face and gentle words kept me more or less together.  As often as I could I would allow myself to drift into light sleep; anxiety is exhausting as many of you must know.  Certainly I felt loved and grateful when friends called and texted me with kind offers and gestures.  But the stress levels rose as the week wore on.

 Thursday afternoon after an hour of thorough tests carried out by caring medical professionals I was given the all clear diagnosis I had hardly dared hope for.  And had I, for one second, whilst lying there under the dimmed lights in that clinic entertained the thoughts that all this anguish might have been for nothing the specialist's sad words cut through my fuzzy head: "You did well to come.  I see too many women in their forties with breast cancer."

 So, to echo Kate's simple message please, dear ladies, check you breasts some time soon.  This blog of mine is only small but if my heartfelt words may be heard by one person at least then I will be content.

This sweet musician of mine and his siblings are reason enough to be mindful of such health issues, don't you think?

Tristan wears his second High Water ready for spring.

The yarn is Madelinetosh Vintage in the beautiful colourways Bloomsbury Blue and Grasshopper.

My Ravelry notes are here.

My dear husband took the pictures on this beautiful spring sunday!  Do you see the wild periwinkle flowers in the last picture?

Finally I am joining in wth Laura's The Year In Books with my choice for the March.  Having enjoyed Kate Forsyth's enthralling novel, Bitter Greens  I could not wait to read this version of the Grimm brothers' lives and their neighbour in Kassel, Dortchen Wild.  I must confess I am more than halfway through it already! 

I am also joining in with Karen's Sunlit Sunday for the second time!

I wish you all a wonderful start to the week and I will return wth a much cheerier post soon.

A bientôt,

Stephanie

Wild Violet Season

Happy March dear readers!

I am shyly joining in with Karen's Sunlit Sunday this weekend.

"I can see meadows, deep woods, which the first outburst of buds mists over wth an elusive green, cold streams and forgotten springs.  Easter primroses, daffodils with the saffron coloured heart, and violets, violets, violets...

I can see a silent little girl whom spring has already enchanted with a wild happiness, with a bittersweet and mysterious joy. A small girl imprisoned by day in a schoolhouse, and who exchanged toys and pictures for the first bouquets of violets from the woods, tied with a red cotton thread, brought by the little shepherdesses from the surrounding farms.

Oh, violets of my childhood!  You rise up before me, all of you, you lattice the milky April sky, and the quivering of your countless little faces intoxicates me." 

This is an extract from the French writer Sidonie-Gabrielle Colette's kaleidescope of fragments dedicated to her childhood first published in 1908 under the title of Les Vrilles de la vigne.  Although there is no particular logic to be found in the sequence of these eighteen short stories, there is a poetic or musical beauty to be found in the construction of each together underscored with a strong feminine sensuality.  The above description of wild violets is from the short story Le Dernier Feu which has marked me particularly.  If you would like to read these stories in English you may find them in this book.

 If Colette writes in the final words of the above extract that wild violets belong to the month of April, I usually see their tiny faces appearing during the course of February along the shady banks and hedgerows of our local vinyards and in our garden.  Spring flower obsessions are shared by many as dear Elizabeth reveals in her recent and beautifully penned post on snowdrops which further endorses my opinion that she should really write a book on gardens.  I am fickle in nature.  Spring provides an intoxicating potion of vibrant colours and tantalising scents and I usually fall madly in love each year with each spring flower but, as loyal readers know, my passion lies with violets.  Greek myths tell us that violets first sprang where Orpheus laid his enchanted lute and that the goddess Persephone and her companion nymphs were gathering rose, crocus, violet, iris, lily and larkspur blooms in a springtime meadow when she was abducted by the god Hodes. This year I have succumbed to one of my favourite scents once more, Violettes de Toulouses, and, as you may see, to knitting a cardigan inspired by these brave, delicate and diminutive blooms hardly bigger than a fingernail.

I have observed with a little gratitude and much delight how the poetry of flowers has woven its magic on my dear Angélique since a very early age.  I wanted to create a cardigan for her which captured the elusive colour of violets.  The Old Maiden Aunt colourway, Bluebells, together with Madelinetosh's Olivia were a match made in Heaven.  

The pattern is Dani Sunshine's Bella.

My Ravelry link is here; do come and say hello!

The pretty wreath of violets was created by Amore Bride.

Please take a few seconds to look at the white dress Angélique is wearing.  It dates back to the late nineteenth-century and the collar, which you can see more clearly in the third picture from the top, is exquisitely embroidered entirely by hand. 

And before you leave PLEASE tell me which spring flower do you love the most?  I would love to know!

A bientôt,

Stephanie

ps  As my Facebook page, Madame Millefeuilles has very kindly reached over two thousand likes I would like to arrange a special giveaway, both here and on Facebook, once the flurry of pre-Easter orders has been dealt with!  

pps  I am also, tentatively, joining in for the first time with Jodi's The 52 Project.

A Year In Books (And A Lace Maker)

Dear readers,

I am delighted to share with you my February choice for A Year In Books organised by Laura at Circle Of Pine Trees.

Caramel tea is my favourite this month .  You may find it here

The year is 1683 and Robert Merivel, the main actor of Rose Tremain's Restoration (shortlisted for the Booker Prize in 1989), appears again, as melancholic and self-doubting as before.  The Puritan Revolution and Civil War have given way to the extravagance, gaity and desire for display which have revisted England with the return of Charles II from exile.  This is also a time of flux and uncertainty in every sphere; the perfect backdrop for Merivel's existence.  The son of a mere glovemaker, turned physician and natural scientist, and, more importantly, a close friend to King Charles II, who bestowed the imposing country estate of Bidnold in Norfolk upon him several years before.

Somewhat down in the dumps in the opening pages and surrounded by old, cranky and incompetent servants, Merivel is stung by Margaret, his beautiful daughter's, gentle reproach that he has become idle and that his life seems to lack purpose.  And so, in an attempt to seek glory, he decides to travel to London to his good friend Charles II with the aim of procuring from him a written introduction to The Sun King, Louis XIV, in Versailles.  Merivel's trip to France does not go as he had hoped but we, the readers, are treated to a  fabulous description of a palace under construction, the corridors of which are overspilling with malicious and desperate courtiers (many of which suffer the humiliation of sharing a "pisspot" and having little or no food) clutching at the hope of a moment's attention from a sneering and aloof king. 

A French château and a Swiss one, typhus, cancer, a duel, one miserable bear, lust, a father's love for his daughter, a profound friendship between a king and his physician, plenty of hot chocolate, and a smattering of gardens and, the most fabulous ingredient of all in my opinion; Merivel's touching self-deprecation which makes his excessive mood swings quite forgivable.  Rose Tremain's novel is as rich in material detail and it is in emotion.  I was quite simply enthralled and would strongly recommend it to you all.

I have gathered a lot of inspiration from reading Merivel and researching a little further the fashion of Charles II's court.  According to Aileen Ribeiro in her detailed book, Fashion And Fiction: Dress In Art And Literature In Stuart England, the king's preference was for 'subtle colours in his private costume, although the fabrics were rich and the linings often brightly coloured and pinked.'  In the painting below the king wears a plain coat and petticoat breeches of dark brown which brought to my mind the frequent cups of hot chocolate consumed by Merivel.

Hendrick Danckerts (attributed), Chalres II Presented with a Pineapple by the Royal Gardener John Rose, circa 1677.

Isaack Luttichys, Portrait Of Young Woman With Ostrich Feather In Her Hand, 1656

I wanted this latest hare of mine to wear the colours of the book - hot chocolate, starched laundry, arable earth and the browns of King Charles II's clothes .   She has also been greatly inspired by my friends who are passionate about lace making, both as collectors and creators.  I hope I've given her a timeless style.  Her pantaloons are stitched from my favourite 1900s hand embroidered polka dot tulle and trimmed with 1920s ivory lace.  The hem of her caramel-coloured dress is ornamented with a Breton friend's handmade lace.  As you can see she has a lace bobbin embroidered on one paw and on the other a lace thread spool.

I have named her Rosie Pierpoint after Merivel's favourite lover who runs a laundry by the Thames in London.  I must also confess that she is possible my favourite creation to date because of what she represents.  I love the art of lace making and I am very fond of the chocolate and caramel colours of her clothes too.  If you think you might like to give her a home you may find her here.

I leave you with a picture of our beloved eleventh-century parish church door where Rose Pierpoint was photographed today during a brief sunny spell.

May your week be filled with plenty of sunny spells too.

A bientôt,

Stephanie

The Spring Gatherer

Dear readers,

 

How may I thank all you kind souls who left sweet comments both here and on Ravelry concerning Tristan's winter pullover?  He was truly touched and most grateful and a little bit proud too which is a good thing as he can be quite self-effacing.  I read every word to him and watched him blush and glow.  A sight to behold.

Despite the unseasonally clement weather January has brought this year spring is not quite ready to limber up.  Timid bunches of naked green, which usually herald my favourite flower, the snowdrop, have not made their appearance yet.  However a couple of birds shared their demure song at dawn this morning and I felt most hopeful.  It was enough to fortify my heart after a mostly grey and damp week.  On Sunday I visited my favourite florist in the old part of Tours, after an enjoyable morning drinking coffee with new friends, and purchased a portly bunch of palest pink and white hyacinths to celebrate Angélique's fourth birthday on Monday.  It's a little tradition of ours.  Don't you think they set off this hat of mine well?  Rosewater is a delightful (and addictive) pattern which has been inspired by the famous Scottish architect and artist, Charles Rennie Mackintosh and his rose designs.  Rosewater, stylised roses, Madelinetosh DK yarn in the Molly Ringwald colourway - think of the 1980s film Pretty In Pink - all comprise delightful ingredients in my book!  

 

My Ravelry notes may be found here.

I often turn fondly to the copperplate engraving above when I need a little springtime inspiration and a splash of delicate colour.  I first came across it in the rare manuscripts department of La Bibliothèque nationale in Paris during my research on Baroque gardens and parterre designs a few years ago.  It is the frontispiece from Crispijn van de Passe junior's masterpiece Hortus Floridus first published in 1614; a Florilegium conceived against the backdrop of the Tulipomania which raged first across Holland and then spread swiftly to Europe until it died a violent death in 1637 due to its self-inflicted economic crisis.  Bulbous and tuberous plants were highly fashionable and the first part of this book, The Spring Garden, contains an exquisite collection of spring flowers many of which had been introduced to Europe towards the close if the sixteenth and during the early years of the seventeenth century.  Tulips, hyacinths, auriculas and crown imperials were rarities and treasured as though they were jewels at the time.  Equally prized at the time was French garden design and a few detailed engravings mark the beginning of each season in the book.

 

Hortus Floridus had a very complex genesis.  Each publication was unique as the production of the book was a continuous process with newly discovered plants being introduced from time to time.  It appeared in four languages: Latin, French, English and Dutch.  And most surprisingly the pictures, such as the frontispiece above, were to be coloured in by the owner:

"Hereby added the way in which the flowers according to their own colours should be painted or illuminated to the service of all curious lovers of flowers."

 

There is, if you are interested, a beautiful reproduction of an early twentieth-century edition which is available for purchase at a very affordable price here.

And the pictures above?  Well, the long-limbed creature is a doe who goes by the name of The Spring Gatherer.  She was my first creation this January and heralds the first throws of spring together with my newly acquired passion for patchwork which you can also see in its rudimentary glory in the doll's quilt I stitched for Angélique's fourth birthday gift - proficient patchworkers please avert your gaze!  I had so much pleasure making it; it's a flowerbed of sorts with a tiny embroidered mouse with armfuls of blooms - can you see it?  I mixed vintage French fabrics with scraps of Liberty but the BEST thing about this quilt is the handful of pink tatted lace flowers I have sown (yes, 'sown' not 'sewn').  They are the work of a remarkable Australian lady, Robyn, who gifted me the most exquisite lace I have ever clapped eyes on.  I will be taking more pictures of these beauties very soon to share with you.  Can you see one on The Spring Gather's bag?  When I look at Robyn's tatting I am lost for words at the perfection of those flowers and butterflies.  Can you believe she made them on a train journey to Prague and then Paris?

The weather may have been overcast but the week has been full of treasures.

 

I wish you all many happy moments over the next few days.

A bientôt,

Stéphanie

ps Will anyone else be joining in Laura's The Year In Books project for the first time in Feburary?

Delighting In Winter And The Boy

Dear readers,

Some folk cannot abide winter - there's too much talk of death in the garden - and grumble when temperatures hit zero.  Aside from the unpleasant truth of lurking stomach bugs and heavy colds I love it.  I don't consider winter a hardship.  It grants us many happy evenings of warm firelight and play (whether it be with yarn, musical instruments or playing cards), plenty of conversation and, just as importantly, another lens through which to see nature.  Winter is a time to observe the wood and the trees.  Barren branches against a pale blue sky are restful to the eye, and stunning too. The searching eye must prowl the wintery landscape learning the beauty of minimal colour palettes and stark silhouettes.

Here in the Loire Valley winter generally brings damp cold, rising water levels and precious little snow.  There is less sunlight of course (although this January, so far, we have been treated to a lot of sunshine) thanks to the slight tilt of the Earth, when rays strike at a shallow slant and the sun just doesn't feel as warm.  But when the frost strikes, or better still, snow falls, then childhood excitement returns as everything glitters like diamond dust and I find myself weaving fairytales both in my head and in our everyday life.

Mother Hulda (my version is a French adaptation), Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm's fairy tale, with its all-female cast, puts to the forefront the goddess of Pre-Christian German and Scandinavian folklore who single-handedly rules the weather; sunshine, snow and rain.  Mother Hulda is associated with spinning and weaving and in this wintery tale her cardinal role as patroness and guardian of all maidens is to shape the two sisters' destinies.  Mother Holle's eiderdown must be shaken thoroughly by a hard-working girl causing the feathers to fly about and the people in the world below to believe it is snowing.

And that slender, delicate maiden who has surely caught your eye above?  She is a winter fairy or, perhaps, a snowflake turned into the shape of a girl dressed in the finest white gauze with slippers sparkling like snow crystals.  She is also the work of the remarkable Verity Hope who paints, snow fairies aside, an evocate picture of life in sun-drenched Provence amidst the lavender fields.  I have wrapped her in tissue paper for Angélique's fast-approaching fourth birthday.

Finally, let us please turn to Tristan who does not get enough of a look-in both here and on Ravelry, averaging at around one pullover a year, poor child, which is quite shameful as I think about how palpable his excitement is when asked to chose a pattern and colour scheme for himself.  And as I observe him posing proudly for his photo session I marvel how such a dynamic, bouncy child can be so still and receptive to the camera unlike dear Héloïse who is always in movement thus causing many a blurred picture!  Dear Tristan, my guitar player and lover of anitque cars - or any car for that matter - is possibly the greatest weaver of stories in our family.  His imagination seems pretty boundless and his fountain pen nib scratches his ragged, hand-cut exercise books most weekend mornings. Perhaps, as Héloïse said recently, his tales are good because he strives to tell them without paying too much heed to perfection.  The odd spelling mistake or three will not hamper his enthusiasm!

He chose Veera Välimäki's High Water in Quince & Co.'s worsted-weight Lark in the wintery colourways; Frost and Winesap.The pattern is plain sailing except for the joining of the collar to the yoke which left me puzzled for more hours than I care to mention. Fortunately a fellow knitter living in Northern Norway, who is writing a thesis on brown bears, came to my help with a very useful diagram.   If you would like to read more about the simple techniques I acquired whilst knitting this pattern my Ravelry notes may be found here.

Happy weekend to you, dear readers! Thank you very much for all your kind comments which warm my heart.

A bientôt,

Stephanie

ps Would some kind knitting souls pop over to Ravelry here and leave a heart for Tristan, please?  For some strange and touching reason this son of mine attaches a lot of importance to how many hearts his pullover gets.  Thank you :-)