There might be a short (or long) hiatus

The last couple of days have been very difficult for me. The brief version is that I have lost my beloved workshop space. You know the cliche 'it never rains, but it pours'? This wouldn't happen while everything else was hunky dory. Oh no! It has to happen while we're trying to sell our house, and while Mr Namasi is trying to find work (in a less than ideal job market) before his notice period comes to an end, following the demise of the business he has been working for. And while I am waiting to find out whether 'the big C' has taken up residence in my body.

Thanks purely to the good grace of a friend, I have somewhere to store my tools and equipment on a temporary basis, but I no longer have a space in which to use them.

Before I was offered the space, I used to work in my garage at home. The resultant mess and clutter, was an ongoing problem - especially once we had put the house on the market.

Then a friend took out a longish lease on a shop space with an attached house and outbuilding (which consisted of a vestibule and two 'rooms').

She set up a business in the shop (unrelated to me) and employed a manager, who was to live in the house with her family.

My friend offered me the use of the larger room in the outbuilding as a workshop. The vestibule and the smaller room served as overflow storage space for the shop and the house.

My special place

I cannot begin to tell you how delighted I was with the arrangement. Of course, it wasn't perfect: I had a working space, but nowhere separate to store my finished pieces, which didn't benefit from the sawdust generated by the work on new pieces. But that was a problem for another day. I pottered away happily in my workshop, even when the light was poor, even when it became so cold that I had to wear double layer jacket to keep warm.

Sadly, things turned sour. I won't go into detail, because there may well be legal proceedings and I may be called upon to give evidence. Suffice to say, my friend and I are still solid - in fact, it is she who has offered me the use of her garage to store my kit. But the tenant of the house has determined that the space I have been using as a workshop is in fact part and parcel of her tenancy agreement, and required me to move out.

So today, we have hired a van and will be moving what we can into our friend's garage. On (ugh) Black Friday. In between doing a delivery run of this lovely piece, which found a happy home, and my husband attending interviews and and and.

Of course, I still have a studio at home, where I can do sewing and beading and all manner of other handcrafts, and I will focus on those for the time being.

Eventually.

When I have picked myself up off the floor.

Bear with me.

On appearing in print

One of my kreations is featured in the December issue of Reloved Magazine, in the section called Creative Hub. I am disproportionately excited about this.

During my time at drama school and 'on the boards', I was mentioned and pictured in various local and national newspapers.

That's me in front on the right

I later appeared in people's living rooms across the (South African) nation every Saturday, during my time as a (rather poor) TV presenter.

Presenter of Lekker Ligte Liedjies

Then, during my quarter of a century as a Learning and Development (L&D) professional, I had several articles published in various sector publications. I was never one of the movers and shakers, but many movers and shakers knew my name - I was even on hugging terms with some of them. I wrote a blog then, too, which was occasionally cited by other bloggers.

In comparison, my tiny little feature in Reloved is very small potatoes. But somehow, I feel just as excited about it as any of the above. I'm not sure why that should be the case, but what the heck. Much delighted squealing and hopping from foot to foot chez Romeis when I saw my mooring rope Christmas tree in print.

Note: at the time of writing, this item is still for sale, please contact the author for further information.

On being unsuccessful

This a somewhat introspective post - normal service will be resumed.

Lately, I've been seeing a lot of those 'habits of successful people' type posts and articles. Things that tell you what 'they' do that you don't. Things you need to change in your life, in order to become successful. But when you look at the people being held up as successful - people whose sterling example we're urged to emulate - most of the time, I reckon they might as well just substitute the word 'rich' for 'successful'.

Are you really successful when you have several failed marriages in your wake? Or when your relationship with your children is dysfunctional? When you make your living off the misfortune of others? If your direct reports at work loathe you or fear you? Is it all about having a guest list that reads like a who's who, even if you trampled the nobodies underfoot in your journey to the top? Is it really successful to have turned your back on people who had nothing to offer you, in order not to be slowed down by them?

I have absolutely nothing against people being rich - it's all relative anyway. I have known some wonderful and downright awful people pretty much across the board. I just don't see that wealth should be held up as the only measure of success. I also don't see why people who aren't rich should be regarded as failures.

There are solid marriages founded on little more than love and mutual respect. There are well adjusted children growing up wearing their older siblings' hand me downs. There are people who are such a pleasure to work with, that their colleagues will go to great lengths to have them on their team for a project. There are people who exude such serenity and tranquillity that just spending time with them feeds your soul.

I won't be reading any more of those lists of habits/behaviours/whatever. I don't want to be like the people idolised by the authors of those articles. Most of them (and there are always exceptions) aren't very nice.

The creative umm err OR from hmm to tada

Madeleine's collar

For an eclectic collection of reasons, ranging from practical to deeply personal, I have been away from my workshop for the past week or so, working from home in my studio.

This has meant a shift from power tools to fine handwork. I guess my sewing machine is a power tool, so I haven't been entirely without them.

It has also meant a shift in output from items made of wood and metal to items made of fabric, thread and beads.

The immersion in a different set of skills with different materials has resulted in some new ideas, which I hope will see the light of day soon. I've found myself rethinking my plans for some of the items in my workshop. Some bits of work were going to become one thing and will now (probably) become another. Just because of the shift in focus.

I haven't deliberately been thinking about this or that piece of wood. It's just that while one part of my mind is focused on the task (quite literally) at hand, another part of my mind wanders off of its own accord. There is no guarantee that it won't come back empty handed. In fact, there's no guarantee that it will come back at all, but that's another story.

I was recently asked to describe my creative process for a feature in a magazine (more of that anon). I have to say I felt like an utter fraud. I don't think my journey from hmm to tada really deserves the word 'process'. That sounds altogether too organised.

The sort of work I do at home is far more likely to have a process behind it, because it often involves patterns. I'll think of a piece of fabric in my stash and ferret out a pattern that will be suitable. Or I'll come across a beading/cross stitch pattern and dig out the materials I'll need to complete it. Following the pattern is like following a process. Of course, I deviate. A lot. Because that's just kind of who I am.

For example, I bought a series of Mouseloft cross stitch miniatures. Once I had completed them all, I turned them into a sort of patchwork carrier bag.

Mouseloft miniatures carrier bag

I liked the finished result, so I took a couple of MJ Hummel cross stitch panels, and turned them into a carrier bag, too.

MJ Hummel carrier bag

Skirt tote bag

But that's not always how it works. I came across a skirt I have (ahem) outgrown. It has a beautiful applique design on it, and I wondered if I could turn that into a bag, too, since I seemed to be on a bit of a roll with bags. I could and I did.

Sometimes it's just a case of needs must. Some time ago, I was making a necklace for my son's fiancee to wear for the wedding (which, in the end, never took place, but that's beside the point). But it transpired, she didn't want to wear necklace for perfectly acceptable reasons of her own. So I set the piece aside.

A few days ago, I came across the various bits of it that had been completed, and thought I might as well finish it. Sadly, somehow, I had lost some of the beads called for in the pattern. So I had to innovate. The finished product (at the top of this post) looks somewhat different from the original design, but I like to think it works.

Do you have a creative process? Do you plot and plan? Or do you fly a bit more by the seat of your pants?

Fly tipping in reverse... or why the Upsycho needs a van

Since moving into full time Upcycler mode, I have developed a distinct tic. Every time we drive past a skip, I practically give myself whiplash, trying to see if there's anything useful being chucked out. There often is, but sadly, I can't usually fit it into my car. I drive a great big monster of a Volvo S80, but its boot (trunk) is smaller than most and its back seat doesn't go flat. Both for the same reason: there is a built-in fridge in my car where the middle back seat should be. Go figure.

A while back, I was taking Jess for a walk, when I spotted a broken pine TV stand on top of the bins (trash cans) of a house not far from mine. I helped myself to it, popping a note through the letter box, in case they hadn't meant to chuck it out. It became two dog beds.

Two dog beds

In the summer, I took my Mom birding at a local sanctuary, and we spotted a pile of trash dumped by the side of the access road. It included two plastic crates that I was sure I could use, but my Mom was so horrified at the mere suggestion, that I didn't retrieve them. I'm so sorry I didn't, because they would have made great dog beds and plastic is a terrible product to send to landfill because it doesn't biodegrade.

Last month, for several days in a row, I saw a very nice armchair dumped by the side of the road on my way to work. Sadly, I just knew it wouldn't fit in the car. A real pity, because it was crying out for an Upsycho makeover. Eventually, the council must have removed it because it (and the rest of the junk dumped with it by a fly-tipper) disappeared.

Two weeks ago, I spotted a tea trolley, dumped on the exit ramp from the local Sainsbury. It was a blind bend with no safe place to stop, so I promised myself that I would go there on foot next time I visited the store, and retrieve it. Someone beat me to it. I hope it was someone who was able to do something useful with it.

Just a few days ago, I spotted a metal item sticking out of the undergrowth beside the A509. It was during rush hour traffic, so I had a full second or two to take in some sort of square section frame and circles. I went back yesterday to investigate.

Half buried in the undergrowth

I dragged it out of the undergrowth and across the road to my car. Such a simple sentence to type. Not such a simple thing to do. The road had been deserted when I crossed it empty handed. But now that I was trying to make it back across the road, carrying two unwieldy metal structures, everybody seemed to want to travel to or from Isham! Finally getting across the road to a clear patch, I laid them down to see what they were.

My hard-won treasures

I hadn't anticipated that right-angled assembly and I had no tools with me to take them apart. Getting them into the car was no mean feat.

Getting them into the car was no mean feat

My Volvo S80 was not designed to do duty as a workhorse

Getting them to my workshop was the easy bit. Once there, I stood them upright and inspected them. I was quite surprised at how tall they are. Over two metres. Perhaps 220cm. One section is bent (top left of the picture below), and there is some rust to remove. Other than that, the frames are in pretty good nick. Obviously that fabric will have to go, but I have plenty in the stash to replace it with.

Over 2m tall!

What I don't understand is why someone dumped them where they did. It can be a dangerous stretch of road. Plus, they could just as easily have taken them to our recycling plant, which has a special section for metal waste. People are weird.

Watch this space to see what becomes of my fly-tip-retrieval.

You know the expression, change is the only constant?

I started this blog to explore the journey in my life-after-learning. Okay, I haven't actually stopped learning - far from it. I hope I never do. But I'm no longer working as a learning professional.

Working as an upsycho was the 'next chapter' of the title. And that is fun, exciting, challenging, interesting...and not terribly lucrative.

But there are other kinds of new chapters in our lives, too.

Mr Namasi and I are fairly new inductees to the Empty Nest Club. The doors to the bedrooms that used to be occupied by our sons now remain (almost) permanently closed. The need for two fridges and an upright freezer has evaporated like the morning mist. The need for two bathrooms, likewise.

The company my husband works for is being wound down as we speak. So he's hitting the 'want ads' as they call them in the movies.

And finally, we're foreigners in a post-Brexit-referendum UK (he's a Swede and I'm some other kind of vegetable). At this stage it's unclear what that will mean for us in the medium-to-long term, and things seem to swing from ominous to business-as-usual on a daily basis.

All the factors taken together made us decide that it was time to up roots and downsize. So we've put our house on the market (here, in case you're interested). We think we'll probably rent for a while, until we know which way is up and how many beans make five. Maybe a nice rural cottage with a big outbuilding. Maybe a park home. Who knows?

So much shifting sand. So much uncertainty. And yet...

We've hit bumpy patches before, but our sons were still dependents, living at home. The stress and anxiety nearly did me in.This time it's different.

We've always had this little thing we say to each other when we set off somewhere on our own: just the twosies of us. And here we are, facing challenges on every side, just the twosies of us. And because it is just the two of us, it's so much less stressful. Our sons have jobs and homes. They'll be okay. If we wind up sleeping on camp beds in someone's garage for a few weeks, it'll be okay. If we have to move to the EU, it'll be okay. We'll figure it out. As we used to say in South Africa 'alles sal regkom' (it will all work out).

So your friendly upsycho is being uncharacteristically UN-psycho about the whole thing.

For now.

Thinking about value

Wall art from reclaimed wood

As an upcycler/restorer, I make pieces out of things that other people were planning to throw away. Pallets that were to be consigned to the fire, have become wall art, or dog beds. Items of furniture that had been damaged by damp, have gained a new lease on life.

Before

After

I am also commissioned to restore things. Patio sets for two different clients, a candelabra for another, tables, counter tops... all manner of things. Even a picture. Fret not, it's not the art work I'm restoring, or we might have a repeat of this!

Failed restoration

What I have discovered is that there is no predicting what has value to people.

In the book version of the Harry Potter series, there is a very touching insight into Neville Longbottom that wasn't included in the movies. Having been tortured by Voldemort's bunch, his parents reside permanently in a mental hospital. Neville and his grandmother visit them there. Each time, as they leave, Neville's mother presses a shiny sweet wrapper into his hand, with the air of someone bestowing a gift of great value. Neville treasures those wrappers - not for what they are, but for what they represent.

Just because an antique dealer would turn his/her nose up at a reproduction table with a plywood top, is not to say that it doesn't have great sentimental value to someone who grew up seeing that table every time they went to visit Granny and Grampa. Just because it would be cheaper to chuck out a little patio set and buy a new one made of PVC, doesn't mean that it isn't worth restoring to the person who bought it with their very first pay cheque. Just because a picture is a print in a damaged frame, doesn't mean it isn't the most precious piece of art to someone for whom it brings back memories of a late, much loved relative.

It is up to me to see these things through the eyes of the owners. The people to whom these things are so valuable that they are prepared to pay me (or someone like me) to do everything I can to extend its life and to make it look pretty again. It is up to me to handle them like the treasures they are.