am i really that skinny? jesus
So I’m feeding you when I get back? Rosemary potatoes and pork roast sound good? I’ll be sending you home with left overs….
The Table Cloth
So if any of the few of you who are currently following my have read any of the evolving posts/about pages I’ve written you’ll know that I’ve the name Ban Ogha means Grandaughter in Scottish Gaelic and it is a homage to my grandparents who’s crafting hobbies I’ve been inspired by.
With that said, this table cloth has a story behind it that is the essence of that homage.
It started with my maternal grandparents wedding. My grandmother’s father as a gift started making a table cloth for them and guess what; he was a tatter. Now, tatting is a surprisingly laborious hobby. It takes time and it got to a point that my papa decided to take up tatting in the event that he passed away without finishing it. But when this story was passed to me, no one had seen the table cloth for a long time and presumed it unfinished. Until the process of my grandmother moving out of their original home. Boxes got moved from one place to another until the box that contained the table cloth ended up at my mothers and she pulled it out.
This is THE table cloth. ITS HUGE. A series of connected squares made by both my papa and great grandfather. Since this collaboration, my mother took up tatting and then I did.
I don’t think anything justifies the name “Ban Ogha” more :)
Making progress on my #crochet #afghan! It’s gonna be SO pretty!! #crafts #crafting #crocheting #blanket
if you consider a woman
less pure after you’ve touched her
maybe you should take a look at your hands
I will never not reblog this
listening to music with my phone in my pocket. apparently the screen was left on because i *pocket* disabled my phone. greeeaaaaat
I feel super special :)
Or maybe just enough money to buy it all and then return it all and buy new things?!
I don’t think you will ever change lmao
Rainy days to do nothing. Wonderful. Fuck leaving the house.
I’m always soft for you, that’s the problem. You could come knocking on my door five years from now and I would open my arms wider and say ‘come here, it’s been too long, it felt like home with you.’
its not summer unless your face is covered with watermelon juice or corn, salt and butter.