time stands still




As things change so fast and inevitably, it would be nice, to have a special place where all the memories and flavors and smells of our life which are beginning to fade away would be safely stored. On hand, for whenever we feel the need.

The emotions raging when we were teens wanting to change the world, with headphones hanging from our neck, hours spent on our secret diary or chatting on the phone as if our lives depended on it. Or, further back, the laughters of the afternoon parties to which our mama took us, the special taste of the confectionary sugar we would steal from a cake with a finger, and the magic of the summer days where our games continued uninterrupted. Then, farther still, our baby cries, the smell of the body lotion after the afternoon bath or the plastic spoon that fed us with our first vegetables. Right until the blurred image of our parents as we met their eyes for the first time.

I’m lucky to have at least one such special place still in my life. A house with white walls near the sea I go and visit at least twice a year, almost like on a pilgrimage. It has hosted not only 3 generations of children and the birth of a few family members. Time has taken its toll on it too, of course. But, if i choose the right drawers and cupboards, time stands still. The tiny delights above belong to my grand-grand-mother whom I never met.



Au fil du temps

Retrouver, en faisant du rangement, les restes des laines tricotée ou crochetées au fil du temps. Chaque pelote évoque des souvenirs, parfois oubliés. Oh, cette série de chaussons que j’avais tricotées pour mes enfants. Et la petite layette pour ce cadeau de naissance? Et ce pull! Et cette écharpe! Chaque souvenir me rappelle une saison, des visages, des parfums, où j’étais, lequel de mes enfants était déjà né. Toutes ces preuves tangibles de mon affection qui s’est matérialisée de maille en maille, jusqu’à devenir pull ou bonnet ou salopette et partir vivre sa vie chez quelqu’un d’autre.

J’ai eu envie de rassembler tous les projets dont j’avais des souvenirs précis dans un cahier: un bout de laine, quelques lignes et une photo si je peux. Que ce sera beau, dans quelques années, quand je déroulerai ce fil d’Ariane et referai ce chemin à rebours, au fil du temps.

Que votre soirée soit belle, chers amis.




While making room in my crafts corner, I stumbled upon the rests of wool I have knitted or crocheted over the years. Each leftover ball brings back (sometimes forgotten) memories. Oh my, those tiny shoes I had knitted for my children! Those clothes for that baby shower. That sweater! And that scarf… Each memory brings back a season, familiar faces and scents. Where I was, which of my children was already born. All these tangible proofs of my affection that, stitch by stitch, became sweater or hat or overalls and went to live its life in someone else’s home.

It made me want to collect all projects of which I have clear memories into a notebook. Just a piece of thread, a few lines and, whenever I can, a picture. I so look forward, in a few years, to unwinding this Ariadne’s thread, all the way down the memory lane.

May your evening be bright, dear friends.