One of my blog friends, Cynthia from BEATNHEART, once asked me where the name for my blog came from. Finally, here I am, months later, getting around to the explanation - sorry it took so long Cynthia.
To do this, I will expand on the photo my mother submitted for the four lovely women post this morning. My mother is on her yearly trip "home" to England. She visits family and friends and meets up with a group of childhood school friends for cream tea at the very lovely Adelphi Hotel (photo above) in Liverpool.
My mother was born and raised in post war Liverpool, England. To be precise, she was born and raised in a place called Everton in Liverpool. To be even more precise, I bet you know where this is going, my mother was born and raised in Everton Terrace, Liverpool, England. The address was 26 Everton Terrace and this was the front doorway (it's gone now). By the way, she does have arms, they are just behind her back in this photo.
Yes indeed, this is where the name of my blog comes from. I grew up hearing stories about my mother's childhood. I created a picture of what the streets, shops and most importantly, the people of this, to me, magical place, were like. When I decided to open my Etsy shop and start this blog, I was stumped for the right name. I wanted something that would work for both sites, a name that sounded like a place you might like to visit and most importantly, a name that had a special meaning to me. Everton Terrace, when it popped into my head, was just so obvious.
My mother is fortunate enough to be able to go "home" every year and reconnect (since the internet) with her childhood friends. These lovely women get together and spend an afternoon together and they have themselves a good time. I have met a few of them. These are ladies you'd like to sit down and have a cuppa with friends. Smart, sassy, funny and sweet.
There you go. The name of my blog and shop are a tribute to my mother, my ever supportive mother. Everton Terrace is the place of my mother's childhood. A place that fueled my childhood imagination. It is a part of my mother's identity, a connection to where she came from. A connection she keeps in her memory. The homes are all gone now, but the friends, well, the friends luckily remain.