Category Archives: accessory

Stan Dup or Ben Dover?

Yesterday was St. George’s Day. It may not be of much significance to most people. One exception are English patriots and churchgoers as St. George is England’s patron saint.

Another exception is scouts. As steady readers of this blog know I’m a scout, and though I belong to a non-denominational scout corps we still celebrate St. George’s day. We hear or re-enact the story of George before he was a saint and just was a soldier. He slayed a dragon and so saved not just a village but also a fair princess about to be sacrificed to the dragon. And then he turned down her father’s offer of half the relam and her hand in marriage because a good man does not help for personal gain. He helps because it is his duty to help his fellow man (and princess!)

So we tell the scouts that story and remind them that helping others should always be second nature to a true scout.

Then there’s the part they all look forward to: The handing out of stars.

When I was a girl scout in the YWCA they were real, metal stars. Nowadays they’re just embroidered material that you stitch on to your left uniform pocket. On the star the number shows how many years you’ve been a scout.

My new star says 8. And in my group there’s a custom that once you get that you get no more stars. Instead you just tilt it to show the sign of eternity.

So: Should my star stand up or bend over?

Think I’ll leave it standing. And next year break group consensus and swap it for my old “6”. Upside down, of course.

Think pink!

pink skuldertaske for

pink skuldertaske bag

My darling mum was always a collector and saver. I inherited and willingly pick up anything she began to discard because of a move to a smaller flat. I fully intend to turn the odds and ends into something, and this shoulder bag is one such thing.

I have no clue what she intended the two different kinds of material for. Probably something else. Only thing I’m sure about is the strap surprised her.

It’s an old bicycle tube.

The top is something shiny, the beads are mostly Czech glass, the floral-print is satin.

There’s something about contrasts …


Bobbin’ for cash

Yes, it’s usually for apples. I tried that once and got sopping wet on my chest. Not breasts as it was when I was only 10.

Last week I did a short round to a couple of bridal wear shops that had responded positively to an email suggesting I become a free-lance partner for them. I brought examples of embroidery, beading, stitched lace, fine crochet, and bobbin lace with me as examples. One ordered a stole. And this is the finished order: kniplet stola

This is what bobbin lace can look like when enlarged and made with a cashmere- / mink blend. It weighs next to nothing and should add grace to any bride in my opinion.

And the cash? Since it takes me a full day to measure out the thread, wind it up, sketch up the pattern and actually make it, I said the price is 1200 DKr. Which is a decent day’s wage and nothing extraordinairy.

Bead it, bag it


So here’s the reason I was silent online for a fortnight and a day: I kept myself busy making this little trifle. Which is less of a trifle given the fact that I started out with flat material, a lenght of cord, a needle, thread and two boxes of Czech glass beads. Yup, that’s right: Each and every single one of the beads on this bag is sewn on by hand.

I’m rather pleased with the result, I have to admit. I wanted it to look random in it’s pattern, and I followed a meandering trail traced in tailor’s chalk before I began beading.

That’s not saying I didn’t beat myself on the head a few times in the process. What was I thinking using the really small beads and tracing such a long trail? And did they really all need two stitches to fasten them securely?

The answer is I was thinking how it would end up looking. And I like it. It was worth it.

Ceci n’est pas une door handle

Nor, for that matter, is it a loft ladder:


I’m not particularly proud of these gloves. My defense is they’re made of thinsulate, which is completely unwieldy and – just to top it – has a strong tendency to come apart in tis three layers while you work with it.

The reason I almost call them a doorhandle is my nephew who is a carpenter. And he has cold hands in the morning because work gloves are either too thin to really keep his hands warm or too thick to actually work with. My idea was thar thinsulate just might work as undergloves because it’s thin AND warm at the same time.

The handle on my daughter’s door is playing up. And he promised to fix it and possibly extre-fasten her loft ladder in return for these gloves.

Nepotistic trading economy. You gotta love it.

shady scouting

Scouts aren’t just good. We do shady things too, often as not literally so – doing our best to hide to observe wildlife, running about at all hours including the dark ones, staying up so late the tent blocks the dim night light and leaves everything in shades. Furthermore, Danish scouts are (of course!) mostly both genders together, even in the tents at night, and we see the chin shades grow on our fellow scouts over weekend trips and summer camp.

This one is a shade(!) different. Apart from the different badges to mark things you’ve learned / skills you’ve mastered we have various “done something for an entire year”-badges. The easist of all to do is one I started doing this year: Wear the scarf every day. It’s called 365. The idea is to flaunt it in front of school mates, colleagues et c. Until Saturday I just donned my usual red checkered scarf. Saturday, however, I went to a 60 years birtheday party and decided to be a shade more discreet:


Sorry about the fuzzyness of the photo, I’m no good with selfies. I took off my white vest before leaving and just went in my blue linen shirt and a paler blue scarf. And noone said a word.

A single shade of grey

Ah, the innocense of youth. My teenage daughter is into a lot of things important to adults too: Doing well, being liked, being online, dressing nice, fashion, keeping fit and healthy.

Lately she’s also into keeping warm. The reason has a name: January. Instead of dressing with a large eye to just the right look, driving her sister and me to head-shaking frustration when packing “suits” as opposed to merely clothes, she asked – pleaded – to have me knit her woollen socks.

Always happy to comply with such wishes I asked about colour. I like colours and share this feat with her sister to the point of being willing to fasten extra ends for the pleasure of seeing a pattern grow.

But no, she’s still a fashionista. It had to be:


A single shade of grey.