Tag Archives: felting

My Hobby is Doll Making

Well, it’s not, actually. But I’m trying to felt one doll for Dori, so far it was fun, now the poor thing lays around the main bedroom window, half dead half alive and certainly rather creepy (limbless), because I seem to be incapable to push myself into felting it some feet and arms, so I can dress it.
I should, though. The boxes for Kuwait with most of the stuff we have will be shipped very soon, and I won’t have much things left to do. Also, I intended to finish the toy before departing, so Dori can have it matched with her felted purse, which she – I’m happy – likes and wears.


The poor baby is sick now, crying her eyes out because of so much pain caused by epitympanitis and the doctor’s generous share of Paracetamol but nothing else for its management. I think a doll like that would make her a bit smilier, maybe even forget the pain for a little moment and have fun a bit around the bed.
She took over my half of it, completely ignoring her own basinet – clever girl, she knows where it’s comfy. I just pray that the inflammation will fade before Thursday, or we are so doomed on the plane. And all the passengers in the same cabin as well..


Purse it!

Somewhere in between folding clothes I decided that I don’t want anymore and digging through the stacks of stuff on the floor I stopped and realized that yesterday night I played around wet felting, and tried to make a piece of felted wool.
Leaving the things unsorted and laying around, I sat in the middle and decided to shape it a bit, and from a flat piece of tangled wool it became to be a purse for Dori, since I promised her a bag before we’ll move away. The cloth wasn’t even remotely close to the size of a backpack, but ’twas enough to sew a pocket from it.
I additionally wet felted the strap for it during the process, cheating a bit later on with ironing and flapping it around instead of hot-cold-hot-cold water, and using few parts of unwanted pants and old underscarf I managed to stitch it up to the shape reminding a purse.
Dori is happy, it actually seems to hang on and survive few days of handling around the world, and my fingers scream “no more needles, please”, but I’m overally satisfied with the result – for the first attempt, I mean. And it felted some of the I’m-so-freaking-out-like-seriously-freaking-out away.


In 5 Years?

Maybe… hehe. When I showed this creation from wool roving to my dearest husband, he, very mysteriously, didn’t seem to share my sense of humour – be it the grey strikes in his caricature hair or the fact I woke him up from an afternoon nap, he really didn’t like it so much as I did.
Well, maybe when he will wake up from his pink dreams, he might change his mind?
I don’t get so quickly along with the felting as I hoped to do, but in the end, the purpose was to keep busy while being – at least seemingly – productive, and since I majorly suck in cooking and cleaning and all the housewifing, why not to craft and pretend to be important, right?


The days (of our lives) in this place are counting down pretty quickly, hubby – who doesn’t appriciate my great sense of humour, I have to rub it again – is going to leave to London on Monday, to pick up our visas for Kuwait and than in just few days *pheeew*, we are somewhere else again.
The fact it got so close makes my sleep a bit rocky and I have nervous dreams about it, I mean, would you blame me? Moving when I was 22 was great adventure, moving three years later (and obviously 10 mental years since that point… wrinkles, wrinkles, where art thou?) is just a great deal of stress.
Maybe because we got a lot of stuff and we can’t really make it with one suitcase of 20 kg, maybe because I’m transforming into an old cat and hate changing places and paces and all that stuff around, maybe simply because moving to Britain was “eventually close” from Czech, but moving to Kuwait is “eventually far” geographically as ideologically.
I know, I should not have such a problem there being a Muslimah, but still. Weird place. Way too many unknowns.
Abood doesn’t really make it easier for me (or my thoughts), because he already assembled many boxes and started to pack his part of chaos in here, which really, really, reaaaally makes me tick like a timed bomb (or makes me wanna run around screaming and waving my limbs in the air as the flags… K’Naan, I blame you for this sentence). I am pretty known for packing earliest in about 24 hours before the plane leaves. makes me way more relaxed, and in the end more focused on what I should pack and what not.
Well, let’s hope this “move” will go well.


Reading and Felting Through the Time

As the date for moving from country to country comes closer and closer, I get more and more anxious – together with my slow recovery from yet another tiny human being passing away, not really a pleasant combination for me neither for the peeps around me.
I re-found one of my hobbies from some time ago and that is reading till I drop. Abood was so good to supply me with enough crimi and suspense stories (because right now I’m mysteriously allergic on anything even remotely close to romance and Harlequines), and put up with my random outbursts of crying whenever the book finished and I found out that I have no other to read (that’s the pregnancy hormones fading and sorrow talking – quite unpredictable and dangerous, I might add). He eventually gave up and bought me a whole bunch, so I won’t run out of them for a moment. My reading speed in English is much, much slower than in Czech, where I was capable to crunch through one or two novels (of 400 pages each) in one day. Now it’s more like one book in two days, talking intensive reading. Casual reading speed and I’m up to four, five days per novel. Good. That means I won’t run outta books till we move to Kuwait, inshallah.
I also gave up on running around Newcastle in a vain try to stumble upon a carfts shop which will have any felting supplies, or at least know there’s a craft called felting. It took me several hours, many miles in my feet and a mild headache to realize it’s a pure waste of time (although also slightly therapeutic as I had a purpose and no need to think around) and I ordered them online. Some Merino wool tops, true fleece and few extremely sharp needles specially shaped for felting. I still lack finer needle which wasn’t in stock, but obviously it doesn’t really stop me in attempts to commit a suicide through stabbing my poor fingers uncountable times, eventually creating some furry ball or furry human-resembling statue. Lacking the needle for finishing moves, I can easily say: “It’s not my fault it looks so coarse, it’s the needle.” What will I do when the needles actually arrive, that is the question. Probably find another excuse. “I’m too sad to do it better,” or “I’m too stressed from moving to a desert country.”
Felting, especially for beginner, is rather time consuming and I find myself easily lost in repetitive stabbing, when I realize I should actually cook dinner and stop revenging myself on the poor shaved sheep. Reading is, as widely known, a time-killing hobby as well, so with these two on programme most of the day I am managing not to go loony, not to sadden way too much or make my hubby hate my whiny presence.