The Maroon Diaries

The attentive follower may have noticed that things have been a little quiet lately here at The Maroon Diaries. I am very pleased to report that this lapse in blogging was not due to any health problems or techno-avoidance issues. Rather, I've actually been busy HAVING A LIFE. Yay for Lady Demelza! The Maroon Household made a collective decision to go North for the winter. This is wonderful for me as it means staying with my darling goddessdaughter Littletree , whom I adore more than life itself. The climate is the wonderful thing for Mr. CJ. With many of his health problems being arthritis-related, July and August can be a pretty miserable time for him. Up here, he gets to hang out on a sunny verandah rather than huddle by the fire... while I complain about the unreasonable heat. Yes, I am very sad to be missing out on the winter... but I have lots of happy distractions here to make up for it. I wish I could find a way to explain and express just how awesome and amazing Little

I started off with this grey slip of a dress, found in the op shop for $1. It's a lovely soft grey marle, and I saw potential for a slip or nightdress worthy of the Maroon Wardrobe. Someone thought they were so cool and clever and punk when they decided to add that short black zip to the neckline with the working on the wrong side and the zip so prominently exposed. I beg to differ. It also features this darling logo that indicates the size printed inside the back. Yes, it's printed on the inside, so no-one will see it, but I will know that it is there. First, I dyed the whole thing maroon. Duh. My intention was then to replace the zip with a strip of lace, and to add to the length by adding some doilies at the hem. I hadn't gotten any further than intending such when I wore this piece, layered over a longer tiered skirt, on my trip to Fingal Head  with Majikfaerie and Littletree. During our picnic lunch, Majikfaerie suddenly started a bit and said 'Did you

These beautiful works of art were formed by the patient fingers of a generation of anonymous women. I have no evidence that all these pieces were created by women, but I'm confident that it's a reasonable guess. In another generation, I might not be so sure. I have found these treasures in op shops everywhere, with an eye out always for the pretty, handcrafted details on a tablecloth, pillowslip or doily. I can't bear the sadness of the thought of these items being unwanted. I scoop them up and take them home and adore them, and honour the women who have created art with needle and thread since the beginning of human culture. I wonder who the woman who created each piece was, what she was thinking of and hoping for as she stitched. I wonder whether, when she folded the piece for the last time, she knew that she was doing so. I wonder whether she is still alive somewhere, or has passed on. I wonder at the circumstances of the creation, the adventu