covid take two, champion cats and changes afoot

Picture the scene. I’m lying in bed at Mum’s place propped up by two pillows surrounded by snotty tissues. It’s Day 3 of my second bout of Covid in as many months and this time it’s absolutely floored me. I’ve rarely felt this exhausted or spaced out, in fact the last time I felt this ill was after my brain surgery in 2016 so that gives you some idea of how bad things are.

The last few months have been relentless and I guess this is my body saying ‘enough is enough’. Since September I’ve taught at Shetland Wool Week, the Woollyaway retreat, Knit With Attitude and Black Sheep Wools in addition to vending at the Scottish Yarn Festival. On top of that there’s been the mammoth task of selling the Hove house and finding a new nest in a new city. This meant navigating the nightmare that is the English system of selling houses where you’re shown around often filthy houses by an estate agent whose knowledge of the property begins and ends with its value.

Me: “When was the boiler last serviced?

Young estate agent: “Don’t know, I’ll have to ask.”

Me: “And is the chimney open, can I install a wood burner?”

Young estate agent: “Don’t know, I’ll have to ask.”

Me: “Damp is obviously an issue here, I can smell it plus there’s snail trails all over the kitchen floor. Oh and is that fresh cat shit behind that chair?”

Young estate agent: “Is it? I hadn’t noticed”. (Despite the overwhelming smell of fresh cat crap).

Aargh!

Take it from me, buying houses in Scotland was always a much simpler affair. In fact during our time together Sam and I must have moved house around nine times but this has easily been the most stressful move I’ve ever experienced. Of course this time it’s very different. This time I’m doing it alone. And when you factor in the physical toll of all that teaching, hours of travel plus the stress of driving a six hour round trip for each house hunt and the emotional weight of packing up a four bedroom house it’s no surprise that I’m currently laid up in bed with the Rona. But sneezing and snotty tissues aside there are HUGE changes on the horizon.

Next week I’ll finally be moving to my new home city of Bristol. Having taken what’s felt like forever I finally found THE house that will be the nest that Jang and I have been searching for since the beginning of the year. I say ‘I found’ but it’s more accurate to say ‘we’ because I couldn’t have taken on this mammoth task without the help of my big sis San. She’s been living in Bristol for over thirty years and having tried to convince Sam and I to move there since FOREVER, she’s been instrumental in helping me to find the right house for my next chapter. I have to admit that I’m excited. Yes that excitement is tinged with sadness because Sam isn’t here, but I am super excited. And more than a little nervous.

Choosing to step into a new chapter, in a new city is a healthy, positive move. Over the two years since Sam’s death I’ve learned how important it is to really tune into the needs of both my heart and body. Staying in our Hove home would have been an easy, familiar option but I felt the time was right to actively step into this strange new life of mine. To effect a positive change rather than respond to the events – both sad and happy – that occur in it. That upset and shape it. And so it is that Jang and I are heading west.

Ah yes Mr Jangalang, that champion, lifesaving pussycat of mine. Before getting him I could never have believed how healing having a pet could be. It’s remarkable how much his unconditional love and cheeky playful personality have kept me going since he came into my life.

You may be asking, what are my plans for the next few months? Well I have none. Actually that’s not exactly true. Let’s just say that I’m gifting myself 6 months (minimum) to settle into the new house so I can enjoy the process of turning it into a home. I do have a couple of work projects lined up next year but thankfully they have generous deadlines which mean there are no immediate demands on my time or currently limited brain capacity. Plus of course, there’s also BIPOC in Fiber to keep ticking over.

For now though, I’m giving my knackered old body the time it deserves to shake off this damn virus. And when I’ve recovered, I look forward to exploring the music, food and arts venues of my vibrant new home city.

Until next time, stay well.

Joy: rediscovered

It’s been a while since you heard from me, and there’s a good reason for that. As you know, I tend to speak only when there’s new work to celebrate or when I’ve something worthwhile to say. However, having shared so much of myself online in the last couple of years, I took a bit of a step back to re-evaluate my life. Yep, another re-evaluation. As if multiple bouts of cancer and brain surgery weren’t enough, losing Mum and Sam in such close succession meant the last three years have been….well, challenging tends to be the current term of choice. But to me, a challenge is something you choose to take on.

Never in all my worst dreams would I have chosen to lose my mother and husband within a year of each other. So ‘challenge’ just doesn’t cut it for me. It’s been beyond shit.

It hasn’t exactly made me question myself, but I did question where the ‘old me’ went. The joyful, celebratory, optimistic Jeanette. The one I failed to recognise despite the many times I looked back at pictures of myself cuddled up next to Sam or my precious Mum. What I’ve learned from the hard lessons of grief is that the ‘firsts’ are hellishly tough: the first birthdays without them both, the first wedding anniversary as a widow, the first Christmas without the world’s best gift-giver. And Sam was annoyingly good at both finding and wrapping gifts. The pain of those firsts began to define who I was, or at least I’d started to let that happen. Starting conversations with “my husband and Mum died” created an expectation that all you are is a sad, grieving entity, and the weight of that was making my heart ache. So I chose to do something about it.

I needed to re-frame myself as an individual. As well as a knitwear designer, writer, maker and founder of BIPOC in Fiber, I was also a sister, daughter, aunt, grand aunt, friend, primary carer to Mum and a life partner to Sam. Those last two roles had played such a massive part in my life that I’d lost my sense of self without them. As a result, I felt rudderless. And that needed to be addressed if I was to move into the next phase of my life.

Taking myself away on a retreat seemed the most helpful thing to do, so I set about searching the internet. I quickly decided against a grief retreat. They may be appropriate for others, but having come through the raw immediacy of Mum and Sam’s deaths, I didn’t feel that sitting amongst strangers and discussing my saddest losses was the best thing for me. This may well be oversimplifying the process or doing those types of retreats a great disservice, but the thought of someone possibly telling me ‘they were in a better place’ meant I gave them a hard pass. So instead, I looked for a wellness retreat. Something that would offer me space to breathe, to look after my physical and emotional health, perhaps even get a bit of sunshine and hopefully rediscover my joy. Perhaps a new joy.

After a week of searching the web, I eventually found the *Glow Retreat. And having just returned from it, I can’t think of a better name for what it is and the magic it’s worked on my life.

Susie Howells (above left) and Sarah Oliver (above right) run Glow Retreats at various villas and venues in Ibiza, Greece and the UK. What I hadn’t noticed when searching (despite it being clearly stated on the website) was that the retreat was focused on yoga. However, looking back, it was meant to be. I’d zoomed in on the mention of daily mindfulness and breathwork, and the retreat taking place in Ibiza – somewhere I’d never been with Sam – offered my first opportunity to travel alone to somewhere new and start making my own memories. Yes, those firsts just keep coming.

I chatted with Susie and Sarah over email, and they assured me that the yoga sessions would be within my capabilities. When teaching, they encourage each person to only do what they can in order to make the practice their own. This was exactly the encouragement I needed, but I finally committed when Susie assured me there’d be plenty of laughter. They say it’s the best medicine, and I was up for an overdose.

On Thursday, May 11th, I was up at the crack of dawn, heading for Gatwick and into the Ibizan sun. Completely out of my comfort zone and with my big girl knickers pulled up high, I dived into five days of yoga, breathwork, mindfulness and mouth-tinglingly delicious veggie food. Each day began with a gentle wake-up breakfast of overnight oats/yoghurt and fruit – eaten around the pool – before we eased into the morning yoga session. What I love about Susie and Sarah is their ability to hold space for everyone while making each person feel like they’re the only one in the room. Even an unbalanced, tight-shouldered novice like me.

At this point I should mention the villa we stayed in because stunning doesn’t begin to describe Can Verru. It’s away from the hippie/clubbing nonsense that Ibiza is so famous for and instead it offers a haven of peaceful calm set among wild fennel, lemon trees, rosemary and olive trees. I couldn’t get enough of the plants and flowers as you can see from the pictures I did take. More importantly I felt able to immerse myself in each moment spent in these grounds rather than mindlessly taking hundreds of ‘Gramworthy’ pictures just to ‘check in’ and say I was there. I really WAS there.

The yoga felt inclusive and achievable, not posey and worthy. And I mean, I’ve seen posey yoga; I live in Hove, remember. But, above all, it was enjoyable, so much so that I’m still practising daily now I’m back home. With the fantastic food prepared and cooked by Rakhee and Martha and the gentle presence of Marta, who seemed to know my needs even before I did, I feel restored to a new me. As well as the complimentary full body massage, I also treated myself to a session called ‘Energy Transformation, Trauma Release and Somatic Re-Integration’. This treatment works on the Meridian channels and reflexology points in the feet and hands. I really can’t begin to understand how it achieves results, but after nearly two hours at the hands of my therapist Marin, something changed. And I mean dramatically.

Without going into further detail, it’s enough to say that despite not knowing what to expect, my openness to the process allowed me to heal. I feel like a new part of my heart has been unlocked. Of course, it was emotionally and physically exhausting, so much so that I went straight to bed afterwards. But within me, something has definitely shifted: for the better. I feel lighter, I’ve lost weight, and I look different, according to friends I’ve seen since coming back.

Much to my surprise and once again out of my comfort zone, I also discovered I like kayaking. After supper on the beach on Sunday night – our last – we paired up and took to our kayaks with our superb guides, Paolo and Christian. According to Mel, one of the other ladies on the retreat, I looked petrified getting into the boat (well, I’m a crap swimmer, and the sea was FULL of jellyfish). But I went for it, and after a few minutes of paddling with my kayak buddy Sarah, I loved it. Watching the Ibizan sun setting for the last time, this two-hour trip hugging the island’s coast gave us all a chance to admire its beauty from a new perspective. Perhaps I should have titled this blog post, ‘Lost Weight, Gained Perspective’?

Thanks to Susie, Sarah and their glorious retreat, I’ve connected to a new joy and rediscovered my love of food and cooking. Those precious five days have proved that:

I don’t need to eat (so much) meat.
I like drinking lots of water.
The occasional tea and coffee taste better without the synthetic taste of sweetener.
Not eating in front of the telly means I can focus on the taste of what’s actually going into my mouth.
I like kayaking!

Since coming home, I’ve eaten a lot of salad and finally found a use for those dates lingering in my baking cupboard for so long. It seems Date, Orange & Cardamon Energy Balls don’t take long to prepare; even better, they stop me from reaching for the junk while I’m working. I’ve bought lots of healthy snacking ingredients from Grape Tree and even dug the dehydrator out of storage to try making crackers and other snacks to keep me away from the Pipers (sheds tear). I’m not saying I’ll never eat certain foods again, but I’m riding this change for as long as possible.

Right, I’d better go do some work. Have a great weekend,

J xx

*This post is in no way sponsored by Glow Retreats and is an unsolicited account of my experience as a genuine paying client.

In praise of a manky fingernail

Post for #thepattinrepeatgame based on a photo taken while waiting in the hospital

If you follow me on Instagram, where I’m @jeanettesloan, you may have noticed my recent post about having to take a break from knitting. I posted a cryptic hint which accompanied one of my posts for #thepattinrepeatgame, promising a longer, explanatory post in the future. Well, today, I can happily explain it all.

Like many dark-skinned people, I have a couple of nails on both my hands and feet with slightly dark vertical lines running from cuticle to tip. It looks a bit like very fine pinstripes. In my case, I was accustomed to these markings because, being very much like my late Mum, I was used to seeing them on her toes and the fingers of her precious creative hands. But around two years ago, the nail on my right index finger began darkening, not from the cuticle downwards but the inner side of the finger and moving across the nail. I hadn’t hit or damaged it in any way and what was even more concerning was that it began with a very definite dark line. Now I know what you’re going to say, I shouldn’t have turned to Dr Google for advice, but that’s precisely what I did, wanting to find out if I should or shouldn’t be worried.

I learned about a relatively rare condition called subungual melanoma or cancer of the nail bed. And, given my body’s tendency to produce tumours (remember, I have a history of Hodgkin’s lymphoma, breast cancer and meningiomas), I decided the most sensible thing would be to visit my GP and ask for a referral to a dermatologist.

Fortunately I live in the UK, where the free healthcare delivered by our beloved NHS means I can see a GP within a matter of days and get referred to a dermatologist within weeks. At my first dermatology appointment, I was seen and told there was no need to worry. Or so I thought. Over the next year or so, I watched as the discolouration crept across my finger, and as it grew, the nail developed vertical weaknesses, which caused it to split. I dealt with it by keeping it short and painting my nails with brightly coloured nail varnish when teaching or shooting tutorials for work. Such was the embarrassment of the manky fingernail. I hated it and the worry the ever-darkening state was causing me. So I went back to my GP and asked for another dermatology referral, this time to someone who had seen it in dark skinned patients.

Again the consultant assured me that it was nothing to worry about for ‘people like you with dark skins’. But having previously Googled again (yes, I know), this time using the search term ‘subungual melanoma in dark or non-white skins’, the results were pretty minimal. Most of the available images showed how the condition presents in white skin, so therefore not valid for a pretty hefty percentage of the world’s population. And, well-meaning as my (white) consultant was when she tried to re-assure me, she only decided to refer me for a biopsy when I told her about my health history. And that’s where the two-week knitting break comes into play.

Before I go any further, if you’re squeamish or sensitive, do not, for heaven’s sake, scroll down to the pictures below or Google ‘nail biopsy’ – it’s as unpleasant as it sounds. Just get yourself to the doctor. I was so worked up at the thought of a nail bed cancer diagnosis that I went on to research ‘prosthetic fingers’, tried knitting without using the finger and imagined how I’d continue to work as a right-handed knitwear designer if I had to lose my right index finger – yep, my brain had already gone there.

Come the day of the procedure; I was almost physically sick with nerves. But after a quick mindfulness session in the waiting room, I was met by a lovely nurse called Melissa, who led me into the treatment room. My entire nail was removed under local anaesthetic by my surgeon, Mr Paul Drake, and I was distracted by lots of good knitting chat as Melissa, Jackie, a third nurse (Amanda, I think?) and Mr Drake’s wife are all avid knitters. The procedure was much less painful than I’d imagined, and today I received confirmation that the biopsy shows no evidence of melanoma. It will take about three months for the nail to regrow, but I can keep my manky finger, nail and all. Hooray!

So why have I written this long and rambling blog post? Because when I had pre-biopsy photographs taken, I gave consent for my images to be used in medical journals and / or a teaching setting. I told both the photographer and the dermatologist how difficult it had been to find references that featured non-white skins and learned that despite it being 2021, most of the images found in medical journals are still of white-skinned patients. Since my biopsy showed no sign of subungual melanoma, I’ve no idea what will happen with the images or whether or not they’ll be of use to the medical profession. But I hope this post will help the next non-white person who – like me – wants to know what they may be facing. To understand what is and isn’t normal for them since they may not have access to a GP or a healthcare system like the NHS. The above images show my nail before the biopsy and below you can see how it looks now. Not pretty is it?

Ugly – but cancer free!

It’s just under two weeks since my biopsy, and though my finger may look like a truck has run over it, it’s not too painful, and what’s more, I’m able to knit! So once again, thank you to our amazing NHS and, in particular, the staff of the Dermatology Department at Brighton General Hospital. Unfortunately the NHS website doesn’t have information on this specific type of melanoma – I guess that shows how rare it is – but you can find out more by doing your own online research, or better still contact your own GP. Stay well. 

J x 

Last time of asking

It’s a dreary and wet Saturday morning and the March issue of Knitting Magazine has just hit my doorstep. Great you may think, a perfect excuse to hunker down with a(nother) cuppa and linger over the designs, articles and reviews held within the covers. But this issue  is a little different for me as it marks the end of an era ….my last Ask Jeanette column.

I was very privileged to have been asked by Knitting’s previous editor to take over the column from Jean Moss and I can’t believe that was something like 10 years ago. Within that time I also took on other features including the yarn reviews and truly enjoyed all the drooling, petting, swatching and writing about yarn for ‘work’. It’s truly been one of the best jobs in the world. But, as you’ll know if you read this blog regularly life has taken a few unexpected turns in the last couple of years with the diagnosis of my brain tumours. Although mercifully they were both successfully removed in 2016 the surgery has left me quite a different person and no doubt along with getting older, has left me with a number of difficulties. This may sound odd but I no longer feel ‘present’ in much of what I do so on a good day I’ll write something – much of it back to front or spelt incorrectly (thank god for autocorrect) – but without a great deal of focus or concentration which means constant reading and re-reading in order to try and get it to penetrate my brain. Even then I may come back to it 24 hours later and it feels like reading someone else’s work. Alternatively on a bad day there are the migraines which I’d hoped to have seen the back of after the craniotomy.  Fellow migraine sufferers will know how debilitating these can be and despite being caffeine free for over 5 years and trying to avoid cheese (boo!) & red wine (boo hoo!), getting lots of rest and drinking lots of water they still rear their ugly heads.

Unfortunately all this this has meant that trying to meet deadlines has become increasingly more difficult along with trying to juggle looking after my elderly parents day to day. I felt that something had to and has to change. So I took the difficult decision to bring to an end most of my work for Knitting Magazine. You’ll find my final column on page 44 but you won’t be getting rid of me entirely as I’ll still be responsible for the A to Z of Techniques along with the occasional design. As for who will replace me I’m very happy to say that the reigns will be very ably taken over by the wonderful, and hugely talented Sarah Hazell who I was fortunate to meet only last year at Ally Pally and will hopefully see a bit more this coming year.

Thank you for letting me into your favourite knitting magazine. It’s been an absolute pleasure to write for you. I hope you’ve enjoyed picking my brains over the last 10 years…it’s just time to put less stress on what’s left of them.

J x

 

A Time To Live

A very short blog post you’ll be grateful to hear. Sue Bourne (who also made the brilliant documentary Fabulous Fashioistas) has made a film about 12 people who were each given a terminal medical diagnosis. Now whilst it may seem like a ghoulish or depressing subject this film is anything but. I missed it when it was first broadcast but have just watched it on the BBC iplayer and I’m truly glad I did. I found it uplifting that each of them is facing their mortality on their own terms and with such dignity.

Please watch if you can it’s available for another 16 days A Time To Live

A very happy craniversary

A year ago today I was an inpatient at The Royal Sussex County Hospital here in Brighton. Fully anaethestised I spent around seven hours under the knife of Neurosurgeon Mr John Norris as he, along with a team of amazingly and highly trained clinicians and nurses, sliced my scalp from ear to ear, bored into my skull and deftly removed the two brain tumours that had been causing me so many problems. Having felt so bad for so many months prior to the operation I began to feel better pretty much as soon as I came round. In fact I was feeling a bit too good as, according to the nurses in the recovery room, I tried to get off the table – ever the control freak, I obviously wanted to be in charge.

So today is my craniversary, the anniversary of my craniotomy and I thought I’d share my progress with 12 pictures from the last year.

The night before the op

Immediately post op

1 week later

8 days post op

2nd June

A much needed visitor

Build up of CSF fluid 3 wks post op

8 weeks post op

23 weeks post op

Celebrating our 10yr anniversary

Ten and a half months post op

Happy & healthy nearly 12 months later

To say that it’s been a whirlwind 12 months would be something of an understatement. Not long after my diagnosis  I was fortunate enough to find the Meningioma UK group on Facebook. It’s been, and continues to be, a great source of support (and believe it or not humour) not only for fellow meningioma patients but also the families of people diagnosed with this type of brain tumour. Having been advised at first that the tumours were likely to have been a return of previous breast cancer which would most likely have meant a terminal diagnosis I will ever be thankful to the phenomenal NHS who have saved my life yet again and a week after my surgery gave me the best news I could have hoped for. That neither of the tumours was malignant and I could plan for the future. I’m well aware that not everyone gets such amazing news and I’m keen to remember those overwhelming feelings of joy whenever I begin to whinge about tiny everyday niggles that really, really don’t matter. And this has become even more poignant in the light of what’s happened in Manchester in the last couple of days.

Unlike a lot of meningioma patients I didn’t give either of my tumours a name, I  preferred instead to refer to them as squatters. As ever  I haven’t taken the easy route to recovery since my brain squatters were removed. I could probably (well definitely) have spent more time ‘resting’ but let’s face it, that just wouldn’t have been me. I’m very blessed that over the last 12 months I’ve been able to move house, start to ride a bike again, complete 4 design commissions that will be published later this year, re-discover my love of ‘making’ which has led to the birth of SLOANmade and (along with Sam of course) am currently overseeing the renovation of our ‘kitchen from hell’ as well as organising my parents’ house sale and re-location to Hove. There are still the odd days when I’m exhausted for seemingly no reason and infuriatingly many more days when I mix up my words, lose concentration mid- task, fail to respond to Sam because I can’t concentrate on two things at once (sorry!) or forget….well just about everything that happened the day before. But hey, that’s all down to the new brain (and yes it is still new even 12 months on) and all of that is so, so much better than it could have been.

Thank you to everyone who has sent their support to myself and Sam whether texted, phoned, Facebooked, or tweeted. Thank you for the magazines, flowers, boxes of crips, boxes of popcorn, bars of chocolate, portions of delicious home cooked food, parcels of creams and intoxicating smellies, kitchen gadgets (you know who you are), glittery head garlands (you know who you are too) and many home visits. Please know that every single one has had a magical healing effect.

J x

A clear head

It’s been a stressful couple of weeks.. first the fridge/ freezer gave up the ghost within a whiff of the builders arriving to start the kitchen renovation and then the full on days and nights of knitting up my denim design. Life really is back to normal. It’s now nine and a half months since my craniotomy and I’m still incredibly grateful that life is so normal and that this is all I have to worry about. Those little ‘problems’ are easily resolved; we have a new fridge/freezer (it’s amazing how keeping the milk in a cool box for a week makes you appreciate modern appliances) and the beautifully finished garment has been carefully wrapped and dispatched.

Last Monday I dipped my toe back into serious waters with a visit to see my neurosurgeon for my second post op check up. It’s more than a little bizarre that I’ve met him only four times and yet he knows my brain more intimately  than I do. The fantastic news is that the MRI scan that I had before Christmas shows no sign of tumours (or lesions as he refers to them) and although he can’t give me any answers as to why I still suffer from migraines and occasional dizziness he’s happy with the scan results and won’t need to see me until next year. I may have an awful memory and occasional migraines but I’m truly grateful that he’s given me the ‘all clear’ and whilst I’ve been sweating the seemingly small stuff I have to remember that this is what really, really matters.

Pre op MRI showing the larger brain squatter (white mass in tpp right)

Post op MRI showing all clear

(The pre op MRI is on the left -the white mass in the top right is the larger tumour and the post op MRI is on the right showing all clear).

Thank you to everyone who has supported me over the last 9 months. Have a fantastic day

J x

 

From would be butcher to knitter

31 Day Challenge Day 26

There was a time, way back in my childhood, when I thought I wanted to be a butcher – yes I think I know what you’re thinking. But back in those days there was no such thing  as vegetarianism in our Bajan household and my parents found that if they wanted to feed a family of six the cheapest way to buy meat was to get it  wholesale from London’s Smithfield meat market. I think I was about 11 years old when was I first woken at 5 am and dragged along to help Mum carry bags but I became fascinated with the sights, sounds and (disgusting) smells that surrounded me. Obviously I didn’t become a butcher but I’m telling you this because it’s meant I’m not squeamish and don’t scare easily when it comes to blood and gore.

I’ve been through a lot of over the years and really believe that visualising any illness helps me to focus on the recovery. Back in Edinburgh I asked a registrar  if I could see my breast tumour after my first mastectomy. He quite didn’t understand and offered to show me the actual removed breast. I replied “if I want to see my tits I can look down now”. Needless to say he exited the ward quickly.

Anyway I would have really loved to have observed my brain operation (a bilateral craniotomy) as the process truly fascinates me.  Last night as part of their Hospital series BBC2 aired Episode 3 which focuses on the work of the neurosurgery team at (I think) London’s Charing Cross Hospital. You can watch it on the iplayer here.(Obviously expect some blood and gore).  Although it doesn’t show exactly the same procedure as mine it does show how brutal yet sensitive brain surgery is and how, despite the immense pressures of an underfunded, over subscribed system the unique and brilliant NHS and it’s incredible staff continue to save and improve lives for all of us.

And I am very grateful that it does

J x

 

 

Medicine

31 day Challenge Day 19

This morning I bypassed the usual onslaught of depressing morning news and took time to sit in silence for 10 precious, peaceful, mindful minutes. I then went for a 60 minute power walk along the seafront bathed in the morning sunshine with my fingers tingling from the cold, icy air. I now feel I’m truly ready for another beautiful day doing what I love.

It’s said that laughter is the best medicine. Well for me this view comes a close second.

I hope you had as good a start to your Thursday

J x

Goals and milestones

31 Day Challenge Day 16

Back in the first of my 31 day challenge blog posts I talked about how my work planning now needs to be more detailed in order not to overly stress my wobbly brain. I remember at the time thinking I needed to make some new years resolutions but given that mentally I can only cope with one thing at a time, it all became a bit too much to process and so none were made.

I recently started following Kristine Ofstad (@blogitbetter on Instagram) who offered some encouraging and inspiring thoughts on setting yourself goals. Based on studies done by the Dominican University the thinking is that we’re more likely to achieve our goals if we actually write them down. More than that (apparently) we’re even more likely to achieve them if we write a progress plan and share it with others. Gulp. To be honest that seems more than a little scary to me, I suppose like a lot of us, fear of failure and disappointment is holding me back. With this in mind she suggests setting short and long term milestones to chart progress (such as what do you want to achieve and by when) and share it on your blog to make yourself accountable. What? That’s even more scary!

So, as I said to myself before I went for my recent level 1 cycle training session ‘it can’t be more scary than having your head sliced open’ so I made a list of goals and milestones for 2017 and here they are. (Some are work related goals, some projects I’d like to make from my Ravelry Favourites and others are personal fitness goals).

Read 6 books in 2017. This may not seem much but I still have problems with concentration.

Start driving again before the end of February. I had to stop driving when my tumours were diagnosed and haven’t driven for 7 months and the longer I leave it the more nervous I’m getting.

Walk from Hove to Rottingdean by 1^st April 2017. 7 months off work has meant I’ve put on a lot of weight. I’m horribly unfit and need to shift my bum.

Cycle from Hove to Kemp Town by 1^st May 2017. I never cycled as a child but learned as an adult and am hilariously wobbly on two wheels.

Knit a top down garment. I’ve been in love with Bristol Ivy’s Svalbard for a long time now so this will probably be the design for tackling this technique

Design a stranded colourwork garment using some of my Jamieson & Smith 2ply Jumperweight stash.

Design using the double knitting technique. I recently learnt to do this intriguing technique and loved the results

Complete the 31 day challenge then commit to blogging regularly twice a week

Publish 12 new designs by the end of 2017 whether independently, collaboratively or in a magazine

De clutter my office of excess knitting books and my loft of excess yarn by the end of 2017. Contrary to popular belief you can have too much.

All I can say is watch this space

J x