Writing posts about my husband always gives me a chuckle. It brings out the Topsy and Tim writer in me (for those outside the UK and the childless, Topsy and Tim books are storybooks for young children in which the eponymous heroes go through ordinary life experiences, for instance Topsy and Tim Go Swimming, Topsy and Tim Go To The Supermarket, Topsy and Tim Learn to Ride Bikes, Topsy and Tim Experiment with Chemical Warfare – no! really, I made that last one up). I have this overwheming urge to turn Mister Litlove into a verbal form of cartoon animation. I’m sure it’s a way of showing love. Let’s definitely consider it as a way of showing love. Anyway, you may recall a while back that he was doing a woodworking course and generally hoping to commit himself to more woodworking projects. Well, on the weekend he finished making a table for the garden, and I thought you might like to see it. Here it is:
I initially suggested it because a) we really need a garden table and have been looking for the right one without success for several years and b) I figured that if something drastic went wrong, and he took a chunk out of the table top or something, the fact that it was intended for the garden would mean it wouldn’t matter in the least. Of course, nothing drastic went wrong and in fact the table is so beautiful it is way too good to be left out in the garden.
So far, we haven’t been allowed to do much more than look at it from a respectful distance. Eating on it is also out of the question.
I asked Mister Litlove to send me over a few photos to post, and this is the sort of thing that the woodworking fraternity really appreciate. Pictures of the joints. Must be the equivalent of the appraising eye I run over book cover design.
And here is one last picture of the table from above, showing the lovely grain in the wood. Mister Litlove gets terribly insecure about his woodworking abilities, and in any project there seems always to be an interlude during which the offending half-finished project has to be put away out of sight, shrouded in covers or stored in the garage, until he can bear to face it again. And look! It always turns out just fine in the end. Tell him, all you creative people out there, creativity is always a long slow process of trial and error involving much frustration, isn’t it? And isn’t the result worth it? I can’t tell one end of a piece of wood from another, and wouldn’t have the first idea where to start making something out of it. Plus I recall woodworking lessons in school, in which my supremely patient teacher would re-do for me every single step of the foot stool we were all making because I bodged each one, every time. Woodworkers are born, and not made.
The other thing I must mention in this post, far more mundanely, is readalongs. It suddenly occurred to me that I had entirely forgotten my own readalong of Angela Carter’s Wise Children. Duh! Although I can’t recall anyone stating a definite intention of reading along with me. Well, I will try to fit the book in before the end of August in any case. Rainer Maria Rilke’s modernist novel, The Notebooks of Malte Laurids Brigge is still scheduled for the first weekend in September. Or before or after if people can’t make that. No pressure, as always. This is the only drawback of the virtual world – if you could all come and discuss the Rilke over tea in our back garden, wouldn’t that be delightful?