Daughter 1 and I went to an interesting exhibition of 19th century Scottish samplers. My photos are fairly terrible, presumably in a poetic-justice sort of way because, as the attendant pointed out after a while, one wasn't supposed to be taking photos. Oops. So we stopped. The samplers were pretty amazing. Should you happen to be in Edinburgh (you're not, though, are you?) then I would recommend a visit.
They're from the collection of an American lady, who's done research on the (mainly) girls who sewed them and the context in which they were sewn.
The same patterns recur a lot, such as this hound chasing rabbits (though we felt it was a bit more like a cat).
Letters, names, maps, houses, all amazingly neatly done by girls of between 8 (8!) and 16 years of age.
I've been going through my mum's photos and WhatsApping them to the family by photographing the photos with my phone. Again, this doesn't lead to high quality images. Look at my (blurry) girls, though! Where did the time go?
And here are my parents and myself at my grandparents' house, presumably at Christmas, since there's their scrappy little Christmas tree in the background. My brother must have been taking the photo. I look 10 or 11. Sadly, the only survivors from this photo are the tablecloth and me. My granny was so lovely. Why is no one looking at the camera or indeed looking cheerful, apart from me? Maybe my brother hadn't warned us he was about to take the picture.
These are photos I'm managing to throw away. My parents went on lots of lovely holidays to Europe and America, all documented with lots of pictures, and I'm trying to be firm, keeping only the best ones. It's not easy. And there are lots of other archives apart from that.
And here's one of my amaryllises, reminding me of why I give them windowsill space for 360 days of the year while they look exceedingly boring: to enjoy their bright trumpetiness for the other 5.
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