Tuesday, 30 November 2010

Twelve vases

How is in life that you can get rid of twelve vases and still have enough for every occasion? Every one of them has been used and loved but life with small children is not conducive to Elton John style cut flower obsessions and so they have been packed up to go elsewhere (along with a jug that has gone to live with friends).

I am slowly sorting through the house with an aim to reduce our 'stuff' by a third. We have lived in this house for 7 years. When we moved in we filled every room and we've gained more things, a dog and 2 children since then and I feel like I can't breathe. The decision to get rid of things is however emotional. I can tell the story of every one of these vases - the one from Jordan; the centre piece from our wedding; the gorgeous but impractical Israeli ceramics; the boring but functional tall glass one that is perfect for lillies (but as my husband is allergic never gets used).

Oddly the only ones I've never put flowers in are the ones that are hardest to part with. This pair of vases belonged to my grandparents. I've never used them. I don't remember them particularly as being in my grandparents house but just knowing they were theirs makes it hard to part with them. They're a small bit of history. I hope that whoever ends up with them loves them. (Yes they're Royal Doulton but they're seconds and one has a crack in it so they're not worth anything other than that they look pretty.)

We're in the midst of a cold snap. We've mostly escaped the snow (although every morning Isaac asks if it's snowed and wants to rush to see) but we've had sharp frosts that have stayed all day.

We've developed a little ritual if we go to playgroup. On the way back we go into the petrol station and buy a packet of cloud crisps (skips) and then go to the park. The rush to the park is more of a draw than the crisps but if I try to bypass the petrol station all hell breaks loose. The packet is held in a firm grip until we reach the swings and then boy and bag swing gently until the lure of swinging high sees the bag thrust in my direction.

What's a boy to do when it's frosty - why scrape it up and eat it of course...

No comments:

Post a Comment