There is a growing collection of mismatched cups on my windowsill.  I love the colours, just a little murky and so cheerful.  They are waiting for me to get started on giving them new life. 

You see, each one is a little broken.  Some chips are obvious, some cracks only show up when the cup is full of hot water.  I could call it perfectionism, but really it's a matter of safety.  Once when catching my mother throwing out a china cup, she explained that chipped wine glasses are fine, decadent even, but anything broken, holding a hot drink, is just dangerous.

Rather than waiting to fill these teacups with wine, ever the engineer, I'm on the look out for a ceramic drill bit.  I believe these will make a great collection of bulb planters.  I can gaze again at the cheerful colours while sitting around a pot of tea with good company.

My apologies for the lack of recent posts.  My work hours have unexpectedly increased and as a family we are still finding our feet in the shifting sands of new routines.  The crafting adventures continue.  They are as essential as breathing, yet the writing is taking a back seat.