Blog Posts

BUZZ OFF!

6/9/2017

You would think with four dogs I wouldn’t be able to keep an eye on them all simultaneously, but this maternal gal can and does. No matter what I’m doing I have one eye on them, constantly checking to see what they are doing and generally, they are all in one area watching me as intently as I watch them. I am their entire world and it shows in their eyes as they watch their human go about daily tasks. If I’m relaxing and sitting, they are all piled on and around me, their bodies pressed into mine for comfort and warmth, happy as a clam in mud.

So when Jake disappeared yesterday it was rare and unnerving. Being the consummate worrier that I am, my mind immediately went to the dark corners, scraping away the cobwebs of past incidents that frightened, saddened and sent me down the black hole of bereavement. My Louis died on my watch from a spider in the woodpile, a freak accident that taught me to never let my guard down. My already tight and anal outlook was magnified that day until I am almost a freak about keeping my babies safe. So I went from 1-60 in panic mode.

I called Jake's name with no response, which is highly uncommon. He is usually my shadow, my little black shadow, who follows me everywhere, two steps behind like I’m his queen. Sometimes if I stop short and turn around I bump into him so I’ve learned to shuffle softly as I move.

Now I’m running about the house like a mad woman, searching frantically, even second guessing myself and look outside thinking perhaps I missed him when they came in after peeing. The notion of that is insane, I would never miss one of my babies, not only is the visual of four pups imprinted in my mind, my brain does a count, 1, 2, 3, and 4. Maybe it’s a little OCD but I’ve trained myself to be on top of their comings and goings 24/7. Checking outdoors was like when my rings were stolen and I looked in pockets of coats that I hadn’t worn in months, even years, trying to find a simple solution to a potential disaster.

He’s not anywhere upstairs or down, so I’m on the brink of losing my mind when I think to check out the small powder room and there he is, hiding behind the toilet, looking up at me through eyes that are clearly afraid. My poor baby! I pick him up and cuddle him, so happy he’s found and okay but his little body is shaking like a vibrator on turbo. I asked him what’s wrong but he wants to get down and hide back behind the big, white, porcelain bowl. He’s so afraid there is no comfort in his my arms.

And then I hear it, the distinct and annoying buzzing of a house fly as it whizzes by my head. Poor Jake is petrified of house flies. Once, one landed on his ear and got tangled in the hair, buzzing frantically until it broke free. In the meantime Jake was jumping up and down and yelping, trying to escape the loud sound magnified by its closeness to his ear. I picked him up and he shook like a leaf in a hurricane. After that any housefly has to be eradicated immediately or Jake is ducking his head low and hiding under a chair.

It is difficult to train that kind of fear out of dog because they don’t understand words. Sometimes soothing them in a moment of stress can make it worse, it’s difficult to know what to do. My immediate reaction was to protect and love, but perhaps I made it worse by coddling him. Who knows, but he’s is deathly afraid of them now and all I can do it get out the fly swatter and make it better.

I had bones out aging on the kitchen counter and it was a nice day so the main door was open and the screen door isn’t a tight fit. The flies were getting in through the top gap; they could smell death and rushed to the carrion buffet on the counter. My dogs love a bone that has a bit of rank on it and the bacteria balances their guts so they never vomit, ever!

So I got out the fly swatter and the body count started racking up. I don’t know why I hadn’t noticed them before but I was at the computer in the living room and wasn’t paying attention to what was happening in the kitchen. Fifteen flies in all, thirteen died and two were given mercy when I opened the screen door to let them out. Only then did Jake stop shaking. I had to cover the bones to keep the smell from permeating the entire house so the flies wouldn’t have a reason to come in.

While I was committing mass murder, Jake went back into hiding, probably the swatter added to his angst. I am a bit embarrassed to say that it was so darn cute to see him crouched behind the toilet for protection that I snapped a photo with my phone. I feel a bit mean finding humour in his duress, but that little peanut face looking up at me was precious.....I think he’ll forgive me.....

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150 Canadian Hit & Miss Flag Offer

6/8/2017

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Limited Quantities
150 Canadian Hit & Miss Flag Bundle
Includes - uncut wool, pattern and instructions

Makes a lovely 12" x 12" pillow!
Bundle - $74.95
Comes with a small flag to fly on the day!

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Roly Poly

6/5/2017

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During the recent visit with Barbara Carter, author/artist and new friend, we learned about one another‘s childhoods. I was really interested to discover that she had a Roly Poly, I saw it in one of the photographs she showed me of her home. I’ve not known any other children that had one. She keeps hers sitting on a shelf in her studio, an innocent collectible from her past, while mine is guilty, buried somewhere, out of sight and out of mind so I don’t have to look at it. The more I stare at the fanatical smile, the more sinister it becomes. Overall for me, the clown disguise is innately unnerving, as is the perpetual smile. Now I’m not freaked out enough to be categorized as having Coulrophobia, the fear of clowns, but let’s say I find them creepy and leave it at that.

I’d come about the toy when we moved to the upstairs apartment at the Post Office when I was five. Frankie Langille, the custodian of the building gave it to me. It had been in the dark, dank basement, perhaps someone left it there to be rid of it, didn’t like the look of it either. The clown grabbed a bit of my attention, spinning it and watching it weave back and forth, smiling at me from all directions, but it was rather useless for long term entertainment.

The clown, in all it's various incarnations has been presented as toys for decades. I browsed the internet looking at vintage Roly Poly’s and let me tell you some of them are downright satanic looking. Why anyone would design and present them as toys for children fails me. Further research and clowns got pretty wild looking, the are portrayed more as demons than a fun family toy. Ironically, of all the items from my childhood, Roly Poly is the only thing that survived, the only link to my past and I couldn’t be any less thrilled.

If broken down, a clown’s mask may be a happy image, but then why throw in that lone tear, making it all seem rather schizophrenic? The person behind the makeup could be a happy soul, but they could also be angry, resenting having to prance about, and how do we know which side of the fence they perch? And really, what better way to prey on children then for a pedophile to present themselves for their amusement. I often wondered about Ronald MacDonald, the representative of MacDonalds Restaurants; if a better mascot would have served them better, but then unlike other children’s fallen heroes like say, Pee Wee Herman, Ronald seems to have kept his red nose clean.

I own a memory of a clown; it’s now faded and lost its impact, but occupies a space in the back of my mind. I was almost abducted by a circus clown when I was three, at least that is what the police thought of the incident. A sunny, summer day in the sandbox was interrupted by a yellow car coming to a stop perpendicular to our driveway and a clown in the backseat opens the door, filling it with all his splendour. He's magnificent in his large pouffy wig, big red nose, white face, huge red lips, white ruffle around his neck and he holds out his hand to offer me a shiny new quarter, held between the fingers of his big red gloves. I loved shiny things, I’ve said many times my mother called me crow, so I dropped my less interesting pail and shovel, scaled the wall of the sandbox and started toward the car. My mother saw what was happening though the kitchen window and ran to the door. Once on the door step, she became paralyzed with fear and could only holler my name. At some point her crying broke the spell of the coin glinting in the sunlight and I changed course to run to her. The clown slammed the car door shut and the driver sped away, leaving rubber on the road. I’m not sure what might have become of me if I’d reached the car. Perhaps it was innocent, I was so darn cute maybe the stranger felt compelled to give me a present, pat me on my blond head and go on his merry way. Or perhaps I would have been the victim of a child molester or even worse, ended up a toothless carny in a circus, taking people for their hard earned money.

Joking aside, I’m not saying I would run from one today, but I would keep my guard up and not turn my back, or if one asks if I want a balloon, I’d think twice about accepting it.

Occasionally, you hear about clown misdeeds, there'll be stories of crimes perpetrated by people in clown costume. And of course history gave us a real “Killer Clown”, Wayne Gacy, one of the world’s most infamous serial killers. He worked as a clown part time, dressed up as “Pogo” at children’s parties and fundraising events in Chicago. He was known to say that "clowns can get away with murder", and during that same period, he sexually assaulted and killed at least 33 young men between 1972 and 1978. I wonder how the families that hired him to dazzle their children felt when they realized the great Pogo had a basement full of bodies.

I don't mean to paint all clowns with the same brush. I’m sure there are many who dress up with love in their hearts. It’s just that darn old adage; one bad apple spoils the cart. One never really knows what is in another person’s soul, and it only seems logical that it would be even harder to identify the true essence of a person when they hide behind a mask.

Barbara sent these sketches she’d done years ago of her Roly Poly so I thought I'd write a little story. I never knew the real name for the toy until she enlightened me. I used to call mine Clowny.

Do these faces really say children's toy? To me they say "I'm going to eat you with some fava beans and a nice Chianti"

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Book review - The Girl Before

6/5/2017

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I’ve been reading a lot of good books lately. I like psychological thrillers which usually entail murder or at least an untimely death. It takes a couple of weeks to get through one, I’m only reading at night to lull myself to sleep. It’s ironic how murder can be restful, but it soothes my mind and shuts down the gears that run my brain. So...I know a book is particularly intriguing when I’m not able to wait for bedtime and pick it up during the day. This weekend I finished “THE GIRL BEFORE”, by J. P. Delaney.

I discovered reading cures my insomnia so I’ve been prolific lately; the read ones are piling up in tall stacks on my bureau. I buy books at two places, Costco and The Superstore. At Costco the prices are always discounted heavily, a big plus, and I get PC points for buying at the grocery store so it’s all added savings for reading on a budget. I don’t mind buying new books because it supports the authors, their reward for entertaining me. I like to keep a book that thrills me, perhaps to read again. Menopause has its perks, it’s sort of like Alzheimer’s; I forget quite easily now so I can reread and rediscover the same experience down the road.

What makes me decide on a particular book? I open it to a random part and read the two pages showing. I can tell instantly if the writing is good. For me the plot is almost secondary to the way it is written, but I find if the writing is good, generally the story is well presented. If the words flow unencumbered with interesting descriptors I’m in and off I head on a new adventure.

THE GIRL BEFORE was a well-crafted read. The plot is built around a rather unique building and the control-freak architect that designed it. An interesting concept about minimalist living, void of all things personal that usually provide comfort in a traditional home like paintings, knickknacks, photos, books, and pillows. All were against the rules. To apply for a lease, the prospective tenant has to fill out a questionnaire, beginning with; Please make a list of every possession you consider essential to your life. Tenants have to sign a contract and agree to be monitored and graded on their successes and failures while living there.

The story is built around two women, Jane the current renter, and Emma, the girl before who is found dead in the house. Was it murder, suicide or an accident? Alternating chapters tell each of their stories. I liked this wave action thriller, going in and out of these women’s lives to keep me guessing. It was different, unlike anything I've read before. Although set on a backdrop of extreme minimalist living it was cluttered with emotion, love, sadness and fear. I was also impressed that the story was written by a man. His insight into Jane’s feelings and emotions after giving birth to a stillborn child, and all of the emotions, thoughts and feelings of both women, all I can say, from this woman’s perspective, he was spot on.

So Saturday after work, I had dinner and finished the book in the evening before I went to bed, and once there I thought about it until I went to sleep. I love a story that lingers.

This reader gives THE GIRL BEFORE a generous five stars.

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Adjustments....Day One

6/2/2017

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I’m day one into my adjustment for a better life. I've been struggling for some time, drained of energy and feeling lower than the bottom step, so it's time to provoke change. I need structure so if I write about it, perhaps once a week it will help to keep me on track. Last night I didn’t have the greatest success in the sleep department but I suppose I can’t expect more than baby steps after decades of indulging in the nocturnal makeup of a cat. I fell asleep around midnight after reading for a half hour and then woke at 1:30 AM. I was wide, WIDE awake and tossed and turned for a couple of hours. I got up at 9:00 AM feeling unrefreshed and had four naps after breakfast, the last one ended at 4:53 PM. No sense getting ready for work then, but I’m hoping I paid my debt, with interest, to the sleep deficit mobster. Hopefully, now I can begin to transform myself into the morning person I hope to become.

My goal is to reprogram my infernal, I mean my internal clock, to go to bed at a decent time, get in eight hours of sleep so I can rise earlier. I would like to be a person that pulls a few weeds in the cooler temperatures of the morning, maybe write a bit or hook, sip coffee in my favourite chair at the window, drinking in our amazing view and be grateful for all I have. I like a leisurely morning to play with the pups and think about my day and still have time to ready for work without panicking I’ll be later than planned, because lets face it, I'll always be late, it's my quirk.

So I’m about to attempt a midlife 180, at least give it a good shot. Make changes that are reasonable before I have to worry there is more than a few extra pounds and sleep deprivation dragging me down. Cheers to my health and my sanity and procuring the most out of every day. As I get older I fret more about wasting time, so I hope to energize my mind and body to live the fullest I can possibly do. Day one didn’t pan out so well but I’m hopeful day two will show improvement and continue over the following days on a slow but steady incline. I know that failure is a part of success so I won’t let the bad days cloud the good.......

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A time for some changes.....

6/1/2017

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This are is supposed to be a walkway between all my peony plants. You can barely see them with the grass so tall!

I’m frustrated. I’ve packed on a few extra pounds over the winter and my stomach is entering the room even before my chest. I’m getting older, it happens, I can’t expect to weigh what I did in my thirties, but this extra flab is zapping my energy...my get up and go...got up and left. I've looked and certainly felt better, its time to make some changes.

I’ve been pretty lethargic of late, with the energy of a broken finger. I move like a slug and take a nap after breakfast. Insomnia has hit hard for the past couple of weeks adding to the perpetual deficit. I’m forgetful and my eyes feel like window blinds half opened. I really need to get a grip over the next week or so to get back on a path of wellness. I’ve been taking vitamin B12 and D, but I think I need a major overhaul, veggie drinks, salads and no more snacking. I need energy. I have gardening to do and painting around the house, a driveway to scrape as the grass is taking over and it bugs the heck out of me, if I don’t beat it back it will encroach over the entire parking area. I’ve been picking away at it, five minutes here and there before having to practically crawl to the house for a rest, its hard labour! Grass on the driveway is a pet peeve of mine; it shouldn’t look like part of the lawn. It’s bad enough the grass as taken over my gardens, sending shoots under the rock edge, creeping its way along the soft earth to rise up and push out my plants, but now it’s forcing its way up through the crushed gravel! The damn grass is an infernal pest! A never ending battle! I’d like to cover the lawn with cement and paint it green.

The garage needs trim paint and I have the boat floor boards to sand and varnish. The kitchen and living room hardwood floors need to be recoated several times as there are bare spots with raw wood shining through. I have a month to do these things and then my focus will be on the boat. Due to circumstances we will be launching later this year, perhaps the middle of July so I have all of June plus a bit to get a grip. If I don’t get a grip I’ll be sitting here in a month’s time still lamenting all these things need doing and feeling guilty about not doing them.

I’m not liking this belly that looks about eight months pregnant; stretching out my clothes and bursting buttons. It’s either fat or I'll be giving birth to a big tumor. I don’t eat bad food but I do eat way too much of it. It’s a simple fix, as easy as less on the plate. I do comfort eat which is a more difficult challenge but once I get the ball rolling it will get easier to abstain. Once I start feeling better then working at a steady pace, burning fat and recharging the batteries, I’ll trim down, it’s getting started and over that beginning hump that’s difficult.

I am also going to try to go to bed early every night.   I’ve been averaging 1:00 am and I’m paying for it, I used to be a sharper pin but now there is a fog that dulls me. I do things and two minutes later question if I did it or not. I walk into a room for something and forget why I came. This isn’t me and I don’t have Alzheimer’s. It’s nothing a good eight hours of sleep wouldn’t cure. I wish I had a big switch that turns off the electricity at 11:00, forcing me into bed at a reasonable hour. Hubby and I are terrible together. I think he’s always on west coast time and I was a cat in a previous life, a nasty combo to promote sleep deprivation. Fortunately for hubby, when his head hits the pillow he’s gone whereas I have to read to quiet my brain and that can take anywhere from fifteen minutes to an hour or so it’s 2:00 am before lights out.

I’m fat, tired and mad and I’m not going to take it anymore.....change begins tonight!

Weeds and dandelion's dropping their seeds for next years crop. I can't even see my plants!

One garden finished on the right side of the house.
You can see the grass growing on the driveway behind the birch trees.

This small area yielded three wheel barrows filled with weeds and more to pull.
It's a good thing I like this kind of work!

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The Six C's of Rug Hooking...

5/31/2017

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I was doing a bit of mental doodling when this thought popped into me head. Like the Four C’s of diamond grading, Cut, Color, Clarity, and Carat, rug hooking could be defined in the same manner. Let’s call it the Six C’s of Rug Hooking. After all, like a diamond, a rug could be a girls best friend!

CONCEPT - First there is a concept. An idea inspired by nature, a memory, a piece of art or conjured through your own artistic vision.

COMPOSITION - The idea is mulled over until you bring your thoughts to fruition by laying pencil to paper to create a composition.

COLOUR - After the design is perfected and copied to a backing, then the colours are planned. The wool can be hand-dyed, purchased or recycled from cast-off bargain finds.

CUT - Then the cut will be chosen either by personal preference or to suit the detail in the pattern. Smaller motifs will dictate #3, #4, and #5 strips. The larger motifs and background can use #6, #7 or #8.

CRAFTSMANSHIP - With hook in hand and wool strips at the ready, the craftsmanship begins.

CREATION – The end result is a hand-crafted, fiber-art creation; an heirloom, to be treasured throughout your lifetime and for generations to come.

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Hook Me A Stocking

5/30/2017

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A while ago, I put out a request for ideas for a new Christmas Stocking Pattern. The one I chose would receive a free pattern after I designed their idea. There were so many good suggestions I was finding it difficult to select only one, until Suzanne Chaddock sent in an entry for a stocking filled with rug hooks. The light went on and I could instantly see the finished rug in my head.

So I set pencil to paper and drew out the pattern, thinking this would definitely be a design I would love to hook for the website. It’s layered with rug hooking tools, in all shapes and sizes, some emblazoned with holiday words and others with festive images. There was a lot of motif crowded into this one that would need a fine cut to complete, then #5 or perhaps even larger for the background. As I always do, I hooked it in my head as the drawn lines took on various shapes, seeing gold and blue, purple and Christmas greens all on a delicious festive red background.

I sent the pattern to Suzanne knowing she’d do a fabulous job and when the photo of her beautiful stocking flashed up in her email Monday, I was blown away. If I may be so bold, it’s been a wonderful marriage of design and rug hooking, and I was tickled to see that we both shared the same vision for colour planning. Ask Deborah, I literally squealed with delight when I saw it. I’ve said many times it’s always the best part of my day to see one of my designs hooked, the afterglow sizzles for days.

The picture is now posted on the website, taking its place among the 50 plus stocking designs we’ve lovingly created. It deserves a mention so I wanted to do a blog to share with all the folks that didn’t get to see it on our Facebook page. I think you will all agree this stocking absolutely glows.... if you don’t perhaps you should make an eye appointment!

Such a lovely little beauty to be brought out and hung at Christmas time. Santa, please fill Suzanne’s beautiful stocking with lots of goodies because she's been a very good little rug hooker!

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The Sting, not the movie......

5/24/2017

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It’s a busy time of year. Clearing away last year’s yard debris and battling the new weeds coming up faster than whack-a-mole at the Exhibition. Between the outside work, company and Honey I’ve been distracted from writing.

Every day is an adventure in my life, some great and other’s not so good. Weirdly, I’ve been stung twice in four days by wasps. I can’t remember if i was ever stung by a wasp, they usually mind their own business. I walked into the garage and something flew into my hair, I swatted at it, knocking it down the inside of the back of my shirt and then I felt the prick of its stinger in my shoulder. OWIE, OWIE! I beeline for the house ripping off my shirt as I go in case it was still trapped between my back and the material, willing to sting me repeatedly for trapping it. It swelled to a minor bump, so I guess I’m not allergic. Then Sunday, I was swatting them off the ceiling of our back deck. They’ve been trying to settle there and build a mud nest. That stuff is as hard as concrete so it’s best to prevent them from building in the first place. They only have so much time to complete the nest and plant their young so we hoped they go someplace less problematic. So I’m swooshing them away with the broom when one falls straight down and heads toward my upturned, open mouth, but luckily avoids the black hole and lands on my bottom lip, stabbing me with a vengeance. OWIE, OWIE, big time! Their sting burns for quite a while, like acid on fire so I ice it and then complained like the whiner I am. I was beginning to feel picked on and persecuted, this is my space they're violating right? I’m paying the mortgage so squatters buzz off! And oh joy, everything happens to me in three’s so I expect another round. I can hardly wait.....

We won’t be getting our boat in the water until July so I figured I’d plunge into yard work. Last year I did nothing except complain about the sad state of affairs when gardening was neglected in preference of boat maintenance. Once the growth is out of control, with weeds advancing past the height of the actual plants I was too overwhelmed to start.

So with the boat on the back burner, there’s no excuse to not make an effort. I’m digging my way slowly but surely through the three gardens. I’m getting bark mulch this year and laying the fiber cloth down to inhibit weeds so it’ll be less maintenance. I’m not a fan of this. Those bags of mulch are sprayed with insecticides so I’ll have to be diligent keeping the dogs out of the garden area and plant my edibles in pots on the deck. This weeding problem has to be nipped in the bud because I can’t spend my entire summer pulling them. The soil is so rich I get to the end of one garden and have to start back at the beginning, a continual loop of weeding, Mother Nature’s sick joke on the gardener.

Honey is hanging in there but she needs constant attention. We rarely make it through two days without her fainting no matter how hard we try. With the upcoming election, and door to door candidate visits, we’ve had surprise rings on the bell sending the pups into an uproar, threatening to knock poor honey out. She flies off the sofa and it’s always a scramble to chase her to the door and grab her before she falls over. I made a joke, we’ll vote for the candidate that doesn’t kill our sweet girl.

When we know a friend is coming to visit we have to be warned when they will arrive and jump through hoops to keep her quiet. We had company stay with us for two weeks and three times their arrival caused our poor girl to pass out. I felt badly for our friend as it had to be stressful knowing she might activate the one that might kill her. It’s stressful for me as the mom, my instincts are so strong I have one eye on her at all times, trying to prevent what might set one off. Dogs can smell and see things we can’t so they can erupt into a chorus of barking anytime and four of them are quite the quartet. Honey is such a social butterfly its difficult keeping her enthusiasm contained. Her heart rate escalates until her blood pressure drops; she lacks oxygen to the brain and passes out. She literally vibrates, too bad she doesn't have an off switch.

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Here's a yarn about hooking with yarn....

5/23/2017

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I’m sure a few of you have heard me express angst about hooking with yarn. I tried it a few years ago but found it frustrating. I work so fast the hook would snag the fuzz on the previous hooked rows and pull out the entire strip. Or I would pierce the strands of the two ply, get snagged and either pull it all out or struggle to untangle it. All this slowed me down, caused a bit of cursing and unwillingness to try again.

But now I’ve changed my mind. That being my prerogative as a woman, I’m also pleased that my brain is still flexible enough to form new opinions and teach this aging dog new tricks.

I’ve been hooking a series of 6” x 6” mug rugs to make an all-inclusive kit for the summer tourists. These will include a frame, instructions, hook, pattern, yarn and scissors, all at a great price. All ages will be able to hook while traveling in the car or evenings in the hotel room. Variety being the spice of life, I have eight designs hoping to capture the interests of diverse tastes. I’ve hooked four already with half as many to go, but they work up quickly and will be completed by the end of the week. There’s a sail boat, a kitty, an owl, a bee, a sheep, a ladybug, sunflower and a hit and miss.   A good cross section to hopefully appeal to the beginner’s eye.

I entered into this project with a groan. The word crap cropped up on the first one. I admit I struggled, snagging the yarn and all I could think was, OMG seven more to go, but half way through, a rhythm set in and I noticed I was no longer frustrated because I wasn’t splitting or snagging the previously hooked bits: all it took was some practice with this different medium. I do hold my hook a on a slightly different angle, but so slight it still feels natural. I do like the look of it too; a fine cut has always been my favourite. In a fantasy world I would hook everything in #3 wool strips but with the shop, time doesn’t allow that luxury anymore and I have to stick to #5 to #7 to complete projects as quickly as possible.

Hooking with yarn has benefits. There is little or no wool dust, a major plus, and there is no need to buy a cutting machine! The downside is the lack of mottled yarns. Unless you dye you’re stuck hooking with flat colour, there is little movement or depth that can be achieved with mottled wools. And, an even bigger regret, yarn doesn’t come in plaid! Wouldn’t that just be perfect if it were possible!

For this project I’m trying to use all factory dyed Brigg’s & Little yarn but their colour range is limited and I’ve had to supplement a bit with hand-dyed for the look I want to achieve.   But all in all they will be easy kits to assemble, not labour intensive so the cost can be kept down for the beginner.

So if anyone else out there is also on the fence about yarn, I would suggest giving it another chance, put in some practice to find your rhythm. Now I’m hooking as fast as I do with wool fabric and I must say, I do like the look coming off my frame. I’ll admit I was pleasantly surprised, maybe I'm not as rigid as I thought.....maybe that stick up the nether region has a bit of flex to it after all.....who’d of thunk?

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Floating in Salt Water

5/9/2017

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Coincidence or providence? I am always amazed how a simple moment can change the direction of a life......

I read at night to quiet my brain. No matter what the subject matter, anything from comedy to a serial killer’s blade, I begin to feel dozy within 15 minutes in and I’m out for the count in about a half hour. If I don’t read, I’m awake tossing and turning, my brain hammering out thoughts in rapid succession, thoughts popping up like blowing soapy water through a ring.

Because I only read at bedtime, it takes me a while to chew through a novel, but that’s okay, it’s not a marathon. Sometimes it’s one step forward and two back because I’m so tired a sleepy fog settles over me and I have to reread that same bit the following evening. Usually I get a half hour in before the book falls over, waking me so I turn out the light.

When Deborah Sweet told me she had a memoir of Barbara Carter’s I was curious and borrowed it. Back in high school I knew of Barbara by name but we never really engaged. For that reason I am amazed that I remembered her so vividly and could have drawn her from memory. We never hung out, nor did I run with her crowd. We were opposites, she being popular, having fun with boyfriends and partying while I was busy being nondescript, blending in with the boring wall flowers.

So a few months back on a Friday evening, I started reading her memoir “Floating In Salt Water”.   It captivated me from the beginning. Her childhood circumstance was different than mine but the emotions that resulted from her experiences were a perfect match. It was uncanny really, as if our thoughts lived in a parallel universe. Time melted and the wee hours ticked away threatening to bring on the crack of dawn, forcing me to put the book down and turn out the light. Sleep eluded me as I mulled over what I’d read. I tossed and turned until I finally drifted off sometime after 5.00 am.

My feet were dragging all day Saturday and when I got home from work the only thing on my mind was the book. I broke my rule of not reading during the daylight hours, gathered snacks and water, snuggled the pups around me and picked up where I left off. I finished her story around 1:30 am. I was filled with emotion and quite surprised at how good I felt. Strangely, there was a comfort in knowing that someone else had a difficult childhood and that I hadn’t cornered the market on unhappiness. I know that sounds strange, being happy that someone else suffered? But, I was offered proof that I wasn't alone, that someone had traveled a similar path and I felt elated. I grew up feeling persecuted and unloved and someone else shared this pain. There was a reassurance in her words, I’d found a kindred spirit.

I sat contemplating both of our lives for a while and was oddly energized. I jumped up to open my laptop.   I clicked on my own book, Burnt Carrots, realizing I’d not visited it for some time, so long that I’d forgotten the password. I tried several combinations and finally one worked. The first page opened and familiar words leapt off the screen.   I started reading my own story with new eyes. I too have a memoir of sorts. It’s basically 95% my life, with 5% embellishment. If hard-pressed I’ll admit it’s me but I like to think it’s just a story about a girl making her way through life, suffering hard knocks and surviving despite them.

I was really touched by Barbara’s story. It evoked memories in me and brought emotions to the surface. Our stories, although polar opposites, as far as experiences were concerned, ran parallel with emotions. We are very close in age, she was born Christmas day 1958 and I was born on the 18th of the same year. Only a week apart and living across the water from one another, we never knew the other existed.

So she has inspired me to get back to my book. It is written, I only have editing, the unending part, but I want it as polished as possible before I hand it over for grammar checking and professional editing. Then I’ll visit the process of self-publishing. From everything Barbara has shared with me, writing the book might be the easy part as there is a long process to get the story in print.

After I read her book, I searched out Barbara on FB and sent her a note to say I really enjoyed her story and how it touched me. We messaged back and forth and decided to meet. We had a fun afternoon sitting in the Hook Nook at my studio getting to know one another while reminiscing about school and catching up on our lives today. She is working on the next chapter of her life and has invaluable information of the publishing process. Later this month we are going to have a sleepover to immerse ourselves in our stories, throw ideas back and forth and enjoy our new found comradery.

So I’m back on the writing trail, newly inspired and excited about it once again. My book is titled Burnt Carrots and there are 575 pages which needs some paring down. My life experience isn’t better or worse than any other but it is filled with moments that others might relate too. I wonder if a reader will react to my story in the way I did reading Barb’s, because that would be fantastic.

It's cathartic to tell tales and I have some funny stories that will make you smile and others that might make you cry. I've unabashedly bared my soul although my face might be crimson as town folks and people I know read the most intimate details of my life, but the story needs a foundation of truth to rest on, so it has to be all or nothing. The older I get the more I know we all have secrets and skeletons locked away, so none of us are entitled to cast stones. Besides, they say, other people’s opinions of me are none of my business. I’ve changed names to protect the guilty but a few feathers might be ruffled but they also say, if I cut you off, chances are you handed me the scissors…..

Barbara Carter's book can be purchased on
Amazon by clicking this link:
https://www.amazon.ca/Floating-Saltwater-memoir-Search-Answers-ebook/dp/B01LWLW4Q5/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1494354225&sr=8-2&keywords=Floating+in+Salt+Water

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Let me give it to you straight......

5/5/2017

6 Comments

Patchwork Floral is a prime example of why you can’t effectively stamp patterns. In a time when corners are cut and quality isn’t the main objective, stamping is a quick and easy way to go, but it doesn’t always serve the customer.

If patterns don’t have any straight lines such as ovals and round florals, stamping is perfectly fine, but any time straight lines come in to play, they need to be hand done. When you’re paying a decent price to purchase patterns it should give you the very best hooking experience...your dollar should be purchasing quality, not compromise.

When I first started the rug hooking supply business I ordered patterns from various wholesale companies. Although I stressed that I wanted them to be straight on the grain and was assured they were, when the orders arrived that was not the case. Sometimes they were out only a line or two while others were out up to two inches. One company was rather annoyed with me when I returned a dozen oriental patterns. Their promise that they were straight on the grain was a misrepresentation, so I’m not sure why my discontent was a shock to them. It was hinted, ever-so-nicely, that future business wasn’t welcomed from my studio. C'est la vie!

I tried another company, in Canada this time and placed a sizable order. I was assured their patterns were plumb line straight.   The order arrived, the patterns were stamped off grain and half of it went back. One pattern in particular was a Sampler with all kinds of straight lines between the motifs; I’d ordered 6 of these to run a workshop and all would have been a nightmare to hook. I am not in the business of fixing other suppliers copyrighted patterns, that’s their nightmare to deal with. So another supplier was upset with me and at that rate I’d be out of business before I got started.

I learned early what poorly drawn or stamped patterns meant to all the savvy, knowledgeable rug hookers. My first year in business, another rug shop owner took me under her wing and unloaded a bunch of so called ‘popular patterns’ for me to sell. “Must haves” she called them. They were all off grain patterns she’d purchased years before and couldn’t unload until she took advantage of my inexperience. How she must have laughed all the way to the bank to cash my cheque? Two years later and those pattern were still hanging on the my racks, I couldn’t sell them even when I marked them down for less than I paid for them, so in the end I used them as scraps to draw designs on the back for my own use. Very expensive recycling and a lesson learned! So, that’s when I decided to design all my own patterns, the only way to guarantee the quality my customers deserved.

Anyone who hooks oriental style patterns will attest to the fact that it is imperative they are drawn straight on the grain. Orientals are generally hooked with a #3 cut strip and in straight lines so when the holes on the backing don’t line up you are continually correcting and compensating for the meandering.

We are very proud of the fact that at Encompassing Designs we hand-draw every pattern. Every straight line on the borders and in the interior of the design is hand done by pulling a pencil down the channel and then filling in with a marker. The holes line up sweetly so when you hook rows they look straight as a ruler. This process is labour intensive and time consuming but we take pleasure in knowing our valued customers are having the very best hooking experience.

I have noticed that patterns that are stamped are in the same price range of the ones hand-drawn. Something that takes minutes as opposed to hours to manufacture. I suppose that means our prices are too low or maybe it means the stamped prices are too high?    All I know is that Patchwork Floral took me four hours from start to finish, from cutting the linen, transferring the pattern, darkening the lines and sewing the edge. I’m no slug, I work at a decent pace and have experience behind me and it still took a long time to do. Some of the larger William Morris patterns can take up to two days to draw, with all kinds of lines and motifs and I see stamped patterns a quarter of the size selling for similar prices. Stamping would be wonderful if all the lines came out straight, if only someone would invent a system to do this, I’d be the first in line to buy it.

On the Patchwork Floral design, with all the many straight lines throughout the main body of the pattern it was tricky as each box had to be drawn first and then the motif on the red dot had to be pinned over each segment and drawn in. Checking and checking again to make sure everything is lined up...like the carpenter, measure twice and cut once. One booboo and I’m back to the drawing board, starting over on a new piece of linen. I’m anal so I don’t like black marker mistakes visually assaulting one of our patterns.

Add in an hourly rate for the drawing and sewing, plus the piece of linen slightly over a yard, plus the two markers it took to draw everything it came to a total of $98.50, I think we are hovering close to the drain on this one because this pattern sells for $102.95.

In the case of this intricate pattern, I certainly see the merits of taking shortcuts and stamping a design. Most people are in business to make a living so it only makes sense to do what you have to do to stay afloat, but where does quality fit in? It’s unfortunate that is the way the world is going and why so many businesses outsource to China for cheap labour.

Let’s face it, we all buy products that lack quality and care. Only recently I purchased a lovely blouse from Northern Reflections and two buttons didn’t survive putting it on the very first time. They popped off and rolled on the floor as I was buttoning up. I bought it without trying it on so my bad, but nothing is more irksome than paying a good price for something that doesn’t stand up. In this case, the blue coloured thread was unique so I find myself asking friends to check their sewing supplies or else I would have to buy a spool that would then lie in my own sewing basket for all eternity. Luckily I secured some but in the meantime I couldn’t wear the blouse without buttons, I’d bought it at Christmas time and didn’t get it on my back until March. I was more than annoyed.

If you are purchasing patterns ask if they are straight on the grain, insist that they are. Ask if they are stamped and if so, with care? Do a visual before you purchase it. At times I see lovely patterns posted on FB and I zoom in and can tell from the screen that they are crooked as all get out.

I believe if you hook a rug that is straight on the grain, your piece will keep the corner shape perfectly. When you hook rows that aren’t straight and you try to correct it as best as you can, the warp and the weft that should be 90* to one another are off kilter, it puts pressure on the corner and rows push on one other making it uneven. I see rugs that don’t have misshapen corners and I’ll bet this is why. One side seems to drift a bit. Making sure the outside border line is straight on the grain ensures that when the rows of loops put equal pressure on the warp and weft the corner will stay in place. My theory and I’m sticking to it.

So I was drawing this design and thinking about straight of grain and figured it was time for another little lesson on the merits of a well-drawn pattern. I think we have bragging rights…..”If you want the best, put us to the test!”

PATCHWORK FLORAL hooked by Diane Krys

6 Comments

Easter memories.....

4/19/2017

1 Comment

Easter always fills me with nostalgia.....and chocolate.

When I was a wee girl, the Easter Bunny usually left an arsenal of candy. The prized hollow chocolate bunny, watched us with its single candy eye from inside the plastic packaging towering behind our overflowing baskets filled with candy treasures. Before us was a smorgasbord of sugar waiting for the greedy mouths of children but our wise mother never allowed us to eat any of it until we’d lined our stomachs with breakfast.   It was torture to wait for the porridge to thicken in the pot.

I was deviously clever; there was a strong will and I found a way to get around the rule. Mom never suspected that my hollow bunny, still in the box and looking perfectly complete from the front, was stripped of its entire back, carefully broken along the seam where the two halves fused together. By the time I sat at the table for the lack luster porridge, I was full to the gizzard with delicious chocolate.

But even more than the excitement of candy, Easter was always the day I got to pack away my thick winter leotards and pull up knee socks. This transition meant everything to me. The practical and unattractive leotards I was forced to wear were for insulating value to ward off the cold and prevent knee pain.   The doctor labeled my aches and pains ‘rheumatism’ and my mother dutifully hunted for the thickest stockings to help keep the cold from creeping into my joints that caused restless nights and midnight tears.

They were unfashionably hideous. Perhaps if the colours weren’t so dizzily bold they might have been bearable, but neon royal blue and bile green were a far cry from what the other girls in my class were wearing. My leotards were misfits in a chromatic battlefield with the rest of my wardrobe, standing out like a beacon saying mock me, mock me, mock me. I felt positively ugly back then, and the stockings only added to the overall embarrassment I felt in public.

These leotards were three times thicker than the other girl’s tights making my knees, calves and ankles appear fatter. Whether anyone else noticed I’m not sure, but looking at my reflection was like seeing myself in one of those distortion mirrors found at the circus.

Like any sock, the pilling of balls from the washing and wear made them take on the appearance of a disease without a cure. Mother tried to pick the lint but it was a losing battle. They probably should have been washed inside out to prevent the surface from knobbing up, but the fact remained, they were an irrefutable mess.

I already had a problem with my “chicken legs”, a pet name my older sister coined that never failed to bring tears. Someday I must regal you of the chicken leg chapter of my life, hopefully to bemuse, although at the time it pretty much molded my lack of self-esteem and crippled any thought of exposing my legs in public. Just another one of the insecurities created during the foundation of my youth that constructed the three stories of self-deprecating fool I am today.

So I’m wearing these hideous stockings while standing next to the lovely black diamond patterned tights of my classmates and I’m feeling like a warthog next to swans. Their thinner stockings might not have had the warmth of my bulky carpet-like tights, but they were pretty and stylish and well worth feeling the winter bite; To fit in, I would have accepted the seasonal numbness gladly.

Then blessed Easter rolled around signifying the cut off for winter attire. Back in the day before global warming reared its ugly head, the weather changed gradually and seasons flowed smoothly into the next. The temperatures would rise in a stately progression and the winter clothes would be shed sequentially, piece by piece, replaced by the lighter attire of spring. Easter meant throwing those ugly stockings aside to don knee socks so I didn’t stand out like a proverbial sore thumb.   I’d bury my shame in the trunk along with those leggings and I prayed that I’d out grow them or they’d be devoured by moths before next winter.

The irony of this story was that my so called rheumatism was not a medical affliction at all, but a symptom of my mother tying my leather shoes too tight. She’d double knot them so they wouldn’t loosen, pinching nerves in my feet that traveled up my shins and caused my knees to throb. I spent my entire childhood suffering from a parental obsession to prevent me from tripping over dangling laces. My mother blamed my aches on the cold, and of course that was a natural assumption considering it only happened in the winter months, but that was because spring and summer meant different footwear; soft canvas sneakers, sandals, flip flops and of course bare feet that didn’t press on or irritate nerves.

I discovered this years later when I tied a pair of shoes too tight and that old familiar ache of my childhood condition returned. Thinking about all the medication I was fed both orally and topically, too bad dad hadn't purchased stock in Children’s Aspirin, Absorbine Jr and Minard’s Liniment; the latter two were applied liberally, splashed on like whitewash on a fence post. While other children my age smelled of ivory soap, fresh air and sweet sweat, my personal scent was hospital disinfectant ad nauseum.

So as a child, Easter meant more than chocolate to me. It was a transition from persecution to an elevation, just like the biblical story. I’m not saying my tale runs parallel to the life of Christ but gee......those stockings were certainly my cross to bear.

1 Comment

Snow Cones

4/13/2017

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As the last bit of snow melts and spring emerges, I figured I’d better put a push on sewing up my darling SNOW CONES. They will sit on the mantel beside our Mr. & Mrs. Claus and charm our customers as they come through the door.

We sell all three patterns on one pieces of linen, a small, medium and large. 9", 12" & 14" high They all have individual expressions and different attire with plenty of opportunity to splash on Christmas colours, perhaps add a bit of bling.

These cones are free standing once sewn. No need for a Styrofoam center. Dig them out at Christmas time or leave them hanging around all year for a daily smile.

Pattern is $45.95 for all three

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A "Little" Monday rant....

4/10/2017

14 Comments

I’m going to start Monday off with a rant, get it out of my system and move on. Don’t read if the word crap upsets you as it’s been used in various forms throughout.

As shit storms go, no one died, but I’m feeling a bit beaten up and frustrated. More landlord grief. Renting out two apartments has been not only exasperating but almost unbelievable at what people try to pull. There are not many rental units in Mahone Bay, people are changing to AirBandB’s so we get a lot of interest when we advertise, do a lot of interviews and deal with a lot of emails.

It’s frustrating in that no one seems to read the ad’s content and asks questions that are already answered, which for me is a waste of time. When I’m home I’m there to relax not play ping pong email, back and forth dealing with questions for things already stated in the ad. Quite frankly, some were so poorly written English, I never even responded to them.

Here are a few examples of most frequently asked questions. Listed ad title…. 2ND FLOOR APARTMENT FOR RENT.   Questions…Is the apartment on the first or second floor?

Listed in the ad, UTILITIES EXTRA…questions….are the utilities included in the rent?

Listed, TWO BEDROOMS....questions, how many bedrooms?

And on and on, wasting my time having to reply while doing it without being condescending or hurting their feelings when I want to scream, read the #$%*&$@ ad!

I counted the annoying emails, 15 of them, that went back and forth answering questions that were unnecessary. And do you think I want to rent to people that can’t read or pay attention? Does that inspire confidence for me to let you rent our beautiful space? You don't have to be a rocket scientist to rent an apartment but you need to know and understand the basics of how to turn off the water on an overflowing toilet, how to change a light bulb, and most important, how to use a fire extinguisher.

Then there are the emails contrived of words I don't understand. I don’t know Text speak. Use proper English pah-lease! I’m over fifty; not technical or savvy with these newfangled devices, I don’t know what the hell you’re saying when abbreviating words or parts of words, or using single letters in place of words...I don’t know what the hell you’re saying and quite frankly not interested is asking for clarification.

Then others only want to rent the apartment for one month. This isn’t AirBandB. They want to rent until they find the place of their dreams, or buy a house. We aren’t putting revolving doors on the place so you can come and go. I don’t have enough time to paint and clean after you leave! Give us 6 months at least pah-lease!

Then others expect you to hold it until they can move out of their current place! Are people so spoiled now that they think the entire world revolves around them? In what universe would I care about your circumstance? I’ve advertised the unit is available now, not a month from now or perhaps two, October you say? I’m not clairvoyant so who knows what will happen in the future but I sure as heck won’t be throwing out a tenant to accommodate you. I have a mortgage to pay the first of the month. I don’t know you from Adam, but you expect me to bend so far backwards I’ll wait for you and then work a deal to pay your heat and lights even through it clearly states, utilities extra!

Maybe I need to make the ads so a child can read them. We no pay lights and electrical! You pay rent, you pay electrical, you pay water. Others want a discount on the rent. Could we knock a bit off for them? I don’t even have an answer for that.

One of the things I find really odd. You have no problem paying a couple of hundred for a package of phone, cable and internet and then money for your phone probably $75.00 plus every month depending on your package, useless things that are not subject to survival, but you begrudge paying for heat and lights, necessary for comfortable living. You want us to keep your arse warm so you can afford to watch TV, play games and cruise the internet?

One tenant that moved out was a piece of work and probably the real reason behind this rant. She was nothing but trouble from day one and quite frankly we were happy to see her go. She was screaming at hubby over the phone demanding her security deposit be sent via an email transfer the day she moved out. We have ten days to assess the apartment and return the deposit, not that we wait that long, but she wouldn’t allow hubby to speak so we could get the point across. Demanding her money; threatening us. Screaming how she left the place cleaner than when she took it on. Well that was a joke in itself. The previous tenants were so clean we didn’t have to do a thing in preparation for a new tenant when she moved in. You could have eaten off the floor! As it stands now, you could eat off the floor from all the crumbs, hair and dirt.

She left a pig sty. Nothing was dusted or vacuumed for some time as the ledges and baseboards were thick with grey settlings. The floors are filthy. They must have gotten a dog without telling us as the fur was everywhere, stuck to walls, baseboards and door frames. Blowing in tuffs, like dust devils, from the moving air of our walking. A coffee or tea was spilled and it covered ten feet of area as it fanned out on the woodwork and walls, very visible and a prime example of the lack of care. The sink is gross and will take comet and an SOS pad to scour it out. The blinds were thick with buildup, two were missing and presumed broken or else they were taken to her next stop. We’ve had tenants steal all the light bulbs in the past, leaving only the burnt ones behind so theft happens.

Cobwebs hung from the walls and the chandeliers. I’m not sure what clean means today to those that have no attention span and fingers that only know how to flick through internet pages. Perhaps healthy eating and cleaning should be taught in schools so the kids grow up to have a sense of what it means to hear “you are what you eat” and the merits of a clean home. They can do marvelous things on computers and phones but how to plug in an appliance, vacuum or do laundry eludes them.

This tenant screamed how she painted two rooms. That was a disaster. People who don’t know how to paint shouldn’t. Each sweep of the roller came down over the baseboards. How hard is it to wipe the wet paint off as you go? So I’ve been painting Sunday afternoon covering up her mess. We've lived in our house for twenty years and the door frames and doors don't have any nicks or bare wood exposed. Within only a couple of months the door frames of the apartment look like they've been wrestling with a wood chipper, from not a care in the world moving furniture in and out.

The living room and the dining room already had fresh coats of paint in a neutral light cream before she moved in. She covered the dining room in white and the living room in an icy blue white. It could have been worse, deep purples or reds; we aren't upset about the colour choice, just the poor application.

She had been living on the second floor. When the first floor opened up we advertised it and I was in the process of interviewing a potential tenant when she comes downstairs and barges through the door demanded if I don’t rent it to her she’ll move out, right in front of the woman viewing it. That put me in a very awkward position especially since the person viewing the unit loved it and wanted to move in. In retrospect I should have told the tenant to move out but quite frankly she took me so by surprised I turned to jelly in my boots.   I really don’t have the right stuff to be a landlord; I can’t effectively lord over my land. I really wanted to tell her to leave but talked to hubby and we figured we could rent out the second floor quickly but that didn’t happen for one reason or another so we lost a month’s rent. No sympathy there for us as long as she got what she wanted. Most people have to give notice for an apartment to give the landlord time to find a replacement. She moved downstairs in the middle of the month expecting the favour, no notice given or time to find someone first. She was loud and bullying, hubby was away and I was left to deal with her and let her have her way. My fault, I know, but why do I have to be put in a situation where some loud mouth walks all over me.

We are good landlords; we fix what’s broken and try to look after the place. I’ve lived in slums in my earlier life so I’m well aware how the poorer side lives. I could tell you stories that would curl your toes being treated like dirt under a slum landlord’s fingers. Living in shabby, cold, drafty and unkempt quarters that even rats snub their noses at, freezing like maggots in the winter and dying of heat in the summer months. I know 'bad' and we are far from it. We are not slum landlords! I would live in any of our units and be proud of my home and that says it all!

After the phone conversation the disgruntled tenant sits down and writes a long email continuing to slam us into the ground which I think was done thinking she would sue us if we didn’t cough up her security deposit and she’d have a copy of her grievances to back up her view of things. It was all histrionics and bullshit and not worth replying too. He who yells loudest is not right and big fonts don’t mean your side is true.   If we were having a screeching contest she would win but she didn’t have any facts, only her own assumptions and they were far from balanced.

Some people are cagey and self-serving. Gone are the days when anything is appreciated. Everyone has a sense of entitlement and backs it up with a rudeness that almost knocks the breath out of me. Sometimes it gets so bad I wish I could stay home with the blinds pulled and only venture out for provisions. People exhaust me when they are less than kind. The saying, “The more I get to know people, the more I like my dogs” has a ring of truth to it! Maybe that’s why I have four pups!

Yes, I’ve heard it’s not about me, it’s about them, blah, blah, blah. I know all the things I need to do to deflect or ignore. I'm well versed in being the better person but let me tell you it can knock the stuffing out of me as I can’t stand being addressed in that manner. Respect me as a person and we can talk! I’ve had a lot of crap in my life and water doesn’t run off my back like it might if I hadn't been knocked around so much. They say grow a thick skin, but why do I have too? Despite a few moles and skin tags, my dermis is just fine thank-you. I’m a good person, why do I have to be the one to change? Why do I have to duck when you throw crap, why can't you be the one to stop throwing it? Instead of me toughening up, why can't you lighten up? Why do the jerks get to go around pushing all our buttons while the nice guys have to shut up and set a good example?

I hate that I can’t defend myself when there’s a confrontation. I don’t do fighting well, never have. Sure I think about it later and come up with a million clever retorts but in the moment I’m a clam without a working hinge. I shut down and stand there like a dork, a blank wall, a pussy! Before I die I want to tell someone off, let them have it with both barrels, with all the force of 50, 60, 70 or 80 years of suppression, depending on the length of my life. It’s on my bucket list. I want to give it back as good, if not better, than how someone gives it to me.   I’m sorry, but I’ve eaten enough crap to fill a dumpster and I no longer want to take that higher road, it’s reached a dead end for me.
One of these days I’m going to blow like a volcano and spew molten lava all over some ass that tries to ruin my day or treats me unfairly! Will I feel better? I won’t know until I’ve done it, but I look forward to finding out….

14 Comments

Scary night!

4/4/2017

13 Comments

I awoke around 2:00 am to a red glow flickering on the upstairs wall. A glow isn’t unusual, the wood stove in the living room flashes a golden hue when it’s at a full burn, but a red glow was something new. I’m still a bit groggy, coming out of a deep sleep and a mystery drenched dream, so I’m not fully, eyes wide open awake. I’m aware of the wind whistling and howling outside, beating on the house as if it was settling a grudge.

I rubbed my eyes and looked again. Yup it was red, I wasn’t dreaming. I grabbed my glasses from the nightstand and put them on. Concern crept in and I now I’m fully awake. As I threw off the covers I smelled heat, not the kind that usually occurs with a wood fire, this was a scorching smell like burnt paint.

I hit the floor running and flew down the stairs. I didn’t need to turn on a light; the glow from the stove was illuminating my way. It was as if I was descending into a fiery pit, hot and flames dancing on the walls round me. Half way down I looked over the railing and was horrified to see the stove pipe was burning bright, the metal actually glowed red, like lava flowing from an active volcano. We don’t have one of those thin walled pipes. We invested in a heavy, steel lined, navy enamel coated pipe to match the Waterford stove. It was a special order from Ireland and not cheap, but I wanted it to match the stove and it’s served us for over 28 years, still newish inside after all this time. This pipe is thicker walled than the regular mat black pipes and probably what saved us from a house or chimney fire.

I screamed for hubby who was instantly up and he rushed downstairs. We could hear the charred bits rushing up the pipe into the chimney opening, like small stones hitting the metal walls as they were sucked up and out in a vortex.   The wind outside was creating a bigger draw and caused the fire to burn faster in the box and pulled it up the pipe. There must have been some creosote built up and it caught fire and burned up.
We turned on the nearby fan to cool the pipe. The heat was intense coming off the stove and it stunk of scorched material and paint. There had been no smoke which was a blessing; everything was being sucked up the chimney. We cleared away all the dog toys and beds and anything combustible around the stove. I thought the chimney might be on fire so I rushed outside to look up expecting to see a red glow against the night sky. Bless the stars above; everything looked normal.

What a fright. A chimney fire or worse, perhaps a house fire, in that kind of wind would have been disastrous; we would have lost everything, including our minds.

Of course I couldn’t sleep after that. The smell alone kept me awake; the burning creosote left a lingering odor that wouldn’t allow thoughts of danger to settle. My worrywart tendency kicked into high gear to plague me, I’m terrible at the best of times and now that we’d courted a potential disaster, my mind was as sharp as a pin that burst the sleep bubble to smithereens. The wind was still howling; hammering out a warning to be mindful of its power, letting us know who was running the show.

For the rest of the night I lay on the sofa with Honey and kept one sharp eye on the stove. The next morning after the wood in it had burned to ash and cooled hubby took off the pipe and cleaned it. If anything had been there it had burned off as his scraping left little soot on the newspaper. We are diligent about keeping everything in top working condition. We clean those pipes several times throughout the winter months and we have a professional sweep guy do the outside chimney every fall. We are careful, always following Benny's rule, “An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure”.

Lesson learned?   Don’t make fires in severe wind storms. Mother Nature has a way of kicking arse.

13 Comments

Flicking dry dye powder over wet wool......

3/22/2017

7 Comments

Last week, The Dye Guy was playing around in the studio kitchen, flicking dry dye powder over a piece of wet wool. What came out of the oven is nothing short of spectacular. Shane said he might like to frame this piece for his home and I fully agree. It’s a one-of-a-kind keeper! How would this piece hook? I'm not sure but it would be interesting to see if it's as spectacular as it stands now, but somehow I think it will never be cut into strips if Shane has his way.

As a child I would lie on my back and stare up into the clouds. That’s how I feel now, discovering something new every time I look at this masterpiece. Of course the colour speaks to me; anything blue catches my eye and this piece holds it like an outfielder’s glove. It has provoked many thoughts as I search to describe its brilliance with words, but how do I settle on one narrative?

I see A Rorschach Test, not that I’ve ever had one. The Rorschach Test is a psychological test in which subjects' perceptions of inkblots are recorded and then analyzed using psychological interpretation. If I was asked to describe what I see there would be multiple answers, from a landscape to a seascape, at first glance I even see two of our three iconic churches with a backdrop of nighttime illumination. I see a string of trees on a rivers edge, their reflections mirrored perfectly. I see the last stages of a sailor’s delight sunset with the anticipation of a sunrise to come. Sorry Freud, I don’t see anything sexual, but I would imagine there are those that might dip into the horizontal mambo if turned on its side.

I am reminded of Simon & Garfunkel’s song,

The Sound of Silence.

Hello darkness, my old friend,
I’ve come to talk to you again,
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping
and the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence

In restless dreams I walked alone
Narrow streets of cobblestone
'Neath the halo of a street lamp
I turned my collar to the cold and damp
When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light
That split the night
And touched the sound of silence

And in the naked light I saw
Ten thousand people, maybe more
People talking without speaking
People hearing without listening
People writing songs that voices never share
And no one dared
Disturb the sound of silence

There is a definitive depth to this piece of wool. It’s like looking into an abyss and having it stare back. I find it difficult to look away when there is so much to take in, I don’t want to miss a thing.

There is the magic of an Aurora Borealis to this piece; of lights dancing in the night sky.

An X-ray of our inner soul.

Ethereal - extremely delicate and light in a way that seems too perfect for this world.

The Shroud of Turin, a heavenly image burnt on the memory of the weave.

So many things come to mind, so many more to think about……what do you see?

7 Comments

Our wool is beary nice!

3/21/2017

8 Comments

I received this email from Marion Sohlnauer and wanted to share her talent with you. She made this wonderful little bear out of our hand-dyed wool, it looks like our Burnished Autumn Spot or Fall Foliage Spot. Her bears are wonderful! I pulled a few off her website but there are many to see, each one totally different and spilling over with character. Maybe we can help name this little darling.

Good day to you!

Last year I when visiting Mahone Bay I also stopped by your store. The variety of fabric is awesome, even though I don’t do rugs or patchwork, but teddy bears. I love experimenting with fabric and bought some dyed wool to make a bear of. I promised to send a picture once it is done. Well, here it is (see attached left). He is a one of a kind and the first bear made after this pattern. He is fully jointed (head, arms and legs) and very posable because of having steel shot in his hands and feet. He still lacks a name, though. I am looking for something Canadian, but haven’t really found something yet. Would you maybe have an idea? – In case you would like to have a glimpse at my bears, this is my website: www.yuschel-baeren.de It is available in English as well. Enjoy! Should you like to have a bear made of your fabric, just let me know. I’d be honored.

Have a nice day and best wishes from Germany. Marion Sohlnauer

There is so much personality in these wonderful little faces!

8 Comments

WE ARE CANADIAN!!

3/17/2017

0 Comments

The pattern "WE ARE CANADIAN!!" can be purchased in three ways.

1. Paper Pattern any size as long as it is square dimensions $15.00
(example 30" x 30" or 24" x 24") You decide what size suits you best! Paper pattern comes with coloured border attached. Dimensions are with the border included.

Purchase the paper pattern, red dot (to do your transfer) and a sharpie marker for special price of $20.00

2. 22" x 22" on Linen $75.00
3. 28" x 28" on Linen $100.00

This pattern consists of the following motifs:
CANADA lettering
Maple leaf with 150 in the center
Lines fanning out to represent fireworks and the flag borders
Nickel - 5 Cent piece
Canoe
Haida Fish
Curling Rock
Rug Hook
Moose
Fluer-de-lis
Acorns
Canada Goose
Mountain Top
Inukshuk
Pine Trees
Paint Roller
Totem Pole
CN Tower
Loon
Basket Ball
Polar Bear or Black Bear
Hockey Stick and Puck
Border of Hudson's Bay Blanket

0 Comments

Update on my Honey....

3/13/2017

22 Comments

I’ve been a bit of a no show. Honey had a scary spell last week and I’ve been trying to keep her restful to prevent another episode. I’ve never been more frightened. She passed out, her tongue turned purple and her gums pale. I really thought she died. Moments before she was excited and jumped up and down for a pick-me-up when a friend popped by the shop. By the time she was in her arms her blood pressure was dropping. Her head slowly arced upwards, her nose pointing to the ceiling and she let out a howl that chilled me to the bone. I took my baby from my friend as she went limp and all I could think was that I’m not ready to lose my girl.

She was lifeless but then started coming around and all I could think to do was to give her water so I used a syringe to put it into her mouth. She came around more and her tongue slowly turned to pink. When I could feel that her limbs regained strength, I put her on the floor and she went to her water dish and drank it dry.

Anyway, this was the second time this happened and I’m not sure how many chances are ahead or if the next one will be the last. We’re living one day at a time she and I, sometimes on pins and needles, other times cuddling and floating on a cloud. I’m not sure what’s going through her mind or if they know when they are dying, sometimes she looks at me with very sad, big eyes. We can’t begin to understand how they think and you know what they say about assuming.

I still plan to take her to work but she’s now up on the desk where she won’t jump up and down. All that gets a workout is her tongue when she’s petted. I researched it on the net and talked to the vet. Even squatting for a poop and the light straining involved can bring one of these episodes on. So I am trying to live in a stress free environment, no barking is allowed and no play. I hope to keep things together until Thursday when daddy gets home and that is going to be a challenge. The only thing more exciting for Honey than me and ball is daddy. I’m going to have to squeeze her tight so she doesn’t jiggle and squirm into unconsciousness, hand her over without her feet touching the ground and he’ll have to hold her tight until she settles. She normally loses her mind when she first sees him, jumping, crying and licking frantically so it will be difficult to contain that kind of excitement. I’ll bet he wishes I was that thrilled at his homecoming! Seeing him after a few months away is more like sliding into a comfortable pair of slippers and having an ahhhh moment.

I’ve been pent up in the house a lot and it’s been difficult. When it’s a forced confinement it wreaks havoc on my mind and I’m torn between trying to relax at home and feeling guilty for not being at the shop. I taught a beginner class on Saturday and although I dreaded going to the shop it was the best medicine ever as the women were great and the class was seamless. The night before had been difficult, up every hour with Honey and I cried a bunch so my eyes were swollen and sore. By the end of the class my eyes felt better and the dark cloud over my head dissipated. Being home isn’t as comforting as it sounds when the air is filled with sadness and deepens with every breath.

I’m just about to go outside and bring in firewood for the snowstorm coming tomorrow. Every time it snows I always think this will be Honey’s last winter; her last time to play in the snow. A friend suggested I start a journal on Honey, recording all the fun little things she does, her personality traits and my thoughts about her. I had forgotten I did this for Louis shortly after he passed and it was a comfort to read later because it is so easy to forget those little things that make them so special to us.

So I have to get to work piling wood and cleaning the yard. Now that most of the snow from the last storm is gone I can pick up all the clutter from a garbage bag that was ripped apart from the wind. Then later this afternoon get at those piles of laundry that grow like bad weeds. I need to show hubby, while in his absence, I was doing more than massaging my backside with the sofa cushions. I’ll be so happy to see him. Once he gets home we will share the ups and downs of Honey’s life and care and she and I will feel less alone....

22 Comments

We Are Canadian!

3/8/2017

6 Comments

I’ve been working on a commemorative 150th year design to celebrate the upcoming event of Canada’s special birthday. Of course there are many more historical events, inventions and items exclusive to our great country than I could ever fit on one pattern so I picked the ones I thought would be fun to hook.

We are going to sell this design on paper as well as linen. For me, I plan to hook it as a 21.5” x 21.5” pillow and I have purchased the down forms if anyone else would like to do the same. I think it makes a fabulous pillow and will adorn the shop for many years to come. I am a very proud Canadian and will enjoy hooking this design. If you wish it made larger for a rug on the floor as long as it is square I can up-size it and send you the paper pattern, even as big as say 50” x 50”.

The elements I chose are as follows. Maple Leaf with 150 in the center. Acorns, Canadian Goose, mountain tops, totem pole, loon, basketball, inuksuk, CN tower, polar bear or brown bear if you so choose, hockey stick and puck, canoe, Haida fish, curling rock, nickel, moose, fleur-de-lis, CANADA in bold letters across the top. And I added a personal touch just because. As rug hookers, our numbers are strong across this great land so I wanted us represented! We are Canadian rug hookers, as important as Canadian hockey players so there you go!

The outer border is the Hudson’s Bay blanket stripe. These coloured stripes are one of the most easily recognizable icons of Canada. The background to all these iconic motifs is fanned out lines that begin at the bottom to represent the birthday fireworks and I intended it to be hooked with alternating reds and whites to represent the flag with the maple leaf sitting in the middle. The one regret, I wished I could add the CBC symbol but I needed permission to use the logo. Too bad as nothing represents Canada better than CBC television and radio, hubby and I are big fans.

So I think I’ve represented Canada nicely and in the style of pattern I like to produce. Feel free to leave in or take out whatever motifs you want and replace them with something that speaks to you personally about Canada. It would be fabulous if a bunch of us hook it. I would love to see all of the interpretations. There’s lots of time before August so order it now and get started. Show our country how much we love it. And I know that you, our American friends, love us too, so this pattern is not exclusive to us, your northern neighbours. Let’s all celebrate our country’s big day! EH?

6 Comments

My country music roots are deep.....

3/6/2017

3 Comments

I've come a long way from the blue leotards and green vest. Thankfully my colour planning skills have improved!

It’s a bitter cold Sunday. I’m home alone with the pups and a fire in the wood stove. The Bose speakers are filling the air with the great sound of Classic Country Music; A trip down memory lane that never fails to bring smiles, and sometimes, with the right tune, a few tears. My dad jammed with a group of musical friends pretty much every weekend during my childhood. Nothing takes me back faster to the past than a bit of country, not a bad place to hang once and a while. I love all genres of music, but the old tangy country has a special place in my heart, but to a point.

I can’t do this often because with prolonged audience I become down and mildly depressed. If the music doesn’t get me the words are mournful and the twangy guitar can whine with the feel of attending a funeral. The old joke “What do you get if you play a country and western song backwards?”....”You get your wife back, your house back, your truck back and your dog”. That’s about as hurtin as it gets. Yup, small doses are all I can handle.   You’d think it would have a positive effect, make me appreciate all that I have and be happy in the knowledge that neither of us is living “Your Cheatin Heart”. But no, all that negative misery of unrequited love and broken hearts slowly drags me down until I’m filled with sadness. They say you are what you eat, well that can apply to what you listen too as well. I could feel the energy draining from me, like it pulled the plug and all the happy rushed out.

That about sums up how I feel right now. Sitting here with a bleeding heart glad there aren’t any guns or sleeping pills in the house.   Yes, I’m exaggerating to make a point but I’m mildly in the dumps. The other evening I was listening to Country Classics on CBC radio and several songs lyrics in a row spoke of not being able to go on after lost love. Hints of drowning in the bottle or no will to go on. The last song before I was forced to turn it off was a guy threatening to jump out the upstairs window saying “there is no place to go but down”. Geez, I’m not a happy enough person to ride this out. My ears started to hemorrhage after all that hurtin, I had to escape, go back to a little Bruno Mars, Uptown Funk for some upbeat energy.

My soul is open today, bared to memories and emotions. There have been smiles and tears as the songs seesaw back and forth different moments of those earlier years. I usually keep myself closed up and safe, but today I am as open as a book with pages blowing in the wind. I’m remembering dad playing the guitar and the mouth organ simultaneously, playing honky tonk piano or rosining up the bow to play the fiddle. Mom singing or dancing, sometimes both together. Austin’s Hawaiian guitar twanging out those mournful but beautiful tones. An Accordion with the oscillating motion of a bellows, a squeeze box, sounding to me like a big harmonica. How I loved to watch and hear it played.

“Please Help Me I’m Falling In Love With You” by Hank Locklin just played and it brought so many memories flooding in. That was one of the many songs dad taught me to play on the guitar I got for Christmas in my 12th year. Pretty much all the songs I played used three chords, G, D and A7. The first song I ever learned was Eddie Arnold’s Bouquet of Roses. Willie Nelson said that “All country songs are the truth and three chords” and he’s right! Remembering my parents and hearing all those tunes today is bittersweet; the fun of my childhood and then the loss of my parents along with the sadness of some of the music of that time.

Ernist Tubb touches me the most. Dad played his album until the vinyl wore thin and the needle slipped across the surface. His deep voice is as recognizable as any of the greats. I love them all. Both Hanks, Williams and Snow, Conway Twitty and George Jones, Tammy and Loretta, Tom T. Hall’s stories, Willie and Brenda Lee to name a few. Sometimes the hurtin is so overpowering tears flow but they aren’t because I’m unhappy, they just touch me in a soft, malleable place, reconnect me to a memory associated with the song. What I wouldn’t give to go back as a fly on the wall for just one day to sit in on a jam session. What I wouldn’t give to see my parents one more time when they were at their happiest.....

But that can’t happen so I use this musical link to the past so I can almost feel them, use my imagination to almost see them. Music was such a big part of my childhood, it seemed to ooze out of the woodwork. How many times did I ask dad to play Moonlight Bay and Glow Worm on the piano and I’d sit on the bench with him watching his fingers pound up and down in honky tonk fashion over the keys in wide-eyed wonderment.   I looked Glow Worm up on YouTube but I’m not sophisticated enough to add a video to this blog so those that have forgotten the tune or would like to hear it for the first time it sure is worth the listen.....it’s upbeat and happy. It’s by the Mills Brothers from back in 1957. Bette Midler did a version of it with the Mills Brothers in 1975.

Yup, I do love the old style of Country Music, but I can’t listen to it every day or I’d be down in the dumps, divorced, tipping the bottle at the local bar and chasing after married men. So every six months or so I tune in and get my fill of nostalgia, then go to the upbeat stations to keep my sanity.

Click this link to hear the Mills Brothers 1957, Glow Worm
www.youtube.com/watch?v=8myK93FqbYc

3 Comments

Noddy piece...

3/3/2017

8 Comments

Christine I thought you might like this little story. A friend of mine that lives in Toronto was over in France and found this charming rug on the floor of her B&B. She loved the rug, and the characters were a part of her childhood memory. She knows I hook and asked me if I would copy and hook it. I had no interest in copying the entire rug and the colours were faded. so I put that thought aside and forgot about it. However when at rug school last year another gal there thought she recognized it and did some sleuthing. In the end it seems it is an illustration of several characters out of the Noddy Books by English writer Enid Blyton.

Further internet sleuthing came up with a picture of something called Noddy's ring game. So I guess the characters have rings not hula hoops as I first thought.

So long story short, I am going to Toronto soon to visit my friend so I decided to just take one character element from the rug and hook it 10" x 12". I used various cuts and most of it was hooked out of my worm stash. I am estimating that the rug was hooked in the 50's. That's my guess. It was so small I just fabric glued a piece of unhookable wool to the back to finish.

Thanks Louise

8 Comments

Stair Risers full of Country Charm!

2/24/2017

0 Comments

This is a sample of the stair riser line called COUNTRY CHARM RISERS we are offering. 5" x 29". Click here for the information for names and pricing on the website: www.encompassingdesigns.com/new-designs.html

Eleven of these beauties are being hooked by a client, I hope she shares a photo when she completes them! I would love to hook them as well but I have my hands full with the nautical ones and only one set of stairs.

Some of you may wonder why I decided to design and hook risers instead of treads. These were my thoughts. There are pros and cons but when I added up the columns the risers came out on top, pardon the pun. Let me deal with the tread side first.

Treads will take a pounding and will have to be secured to the wood base; tacked or superglued; if they slip it could result in an unfortunate accident. Treads will wear and soil over time, not looking as great in a few years. Like carpeted staircases, it can result in tripping. Treads can only be viewed from the top of the staircase and you are upstairs less than down. Even if the only bathroom in your home is upstairs it is still only a few times up and down per day to view your beautiful handiwork. Treads lie flat on a surface are subject to overhead lights bearing down on then. Anyway who has a rug on their floor knows that over time they fade, not only from natural light through the window, but from lights on the ceiling.

The risers have the potential to be forever, well my forever that is, I can’t expect them to be unearthed several hundred years from now, intact and as colourful as the tiles they’ve recently found in an archeological dig.     There is no direct light bearing down on them from overhead so they are protected as long as no window light is shining on them during the daytime. Risers don’t get any wear and tear. They won’t be soiled and if dust settles they can be removed and shaken for a quick refresh. If secured with Velcro along the top and bottom they will not come off or cause tripping.

You and others will see them from the downstairs area of your home. Not all company is privy to the upstairs and would miss viewing your incredible fiber artwork, but looking up the staircase can be a treat to someone seeing them for the first time. They are real show stoppers and conversation starters, I’ve found that out at the shop already with only four completed. When your walls are filled with precious artwork and collectibles, and the floors are covered in all those wonderful handmade rugs, the staircase offers a blank slate to add more fiber art.   I hear more than not from long time rug hookers that rugs are rolled up in trunks and closets because of the lack of space to show them all, they do it because they love the process and feel sad to hide them away. Now you can take on a project that you have a spot for, look at it as one long runner in segments.    If you don’t have a staircase in your own home, maybe someone you love does, hook for them, a gift that will keep giving for many years.

So these were my thoughts and the reasons I settled on risers.

Is anyone out there interested in a Riser of the Month Club? Let’s decorate our staircases together. I’m interested in writing a story about this journey and I would love others to come along with me.

One riser pattern a month is more than reasonable as they are small projects, easily hooked, sewn and installed in the time frame. Depending on how many steps you have, in six to twelve months you will add to the beautiful decor of your home. Pick and choose which risers you want out of all we offer and we will automatically send you one each month, and we are open to other suggestions as well if you wish to personalize your collection. We can either send you a linen pattern $39.95 or a paper one for $12.95. Let us know your requirement and we will custom it to fit. Let’s rise to this project together! I am interested to hear your thoughts.

Although I am concentrating on the Nautical line for the studio staircase, I am willing to hook one of the Country Charm Risers so you can get a sense of how lovely they can be. That beautiful country flavoured checkerboard on each side will work the same as the rope on the Nautical risers, your eye will be pulled up the stairs with a continuous flow of country charm.

There are two blogs today, scroll down.

0 Comments

Nautical Flair Stair Risers

2/24/2017

0 Comments

Of things near and in the sea these nautical inspired risers are the hit of my studio and can be yours too! 5" x 29". http://www.encompassingdesigns.com/new-designs.html

Is anyone out there interested in a Riser of the Month Club? Let’s decorate our staircases together. I’m interested in writing a story about this journey and I would love others to come along with me.

One riser pattern a month is more than reasonable as they are small projects, easily hooked, sewn and installed in the time frame. Depending on how many steps you have, in six to twelve months you will add to the beautiful decor of your home. Pick and choose which risers you want out of all we offer and we will automatically send you one each month, and we are open to other suggestions as well if you wish to personalize your collection. We can either send you a linen pattern $39.95 or a paper one for $12.95. Let us know your requirement and we will custom it to fit. Let’s rise to this project together! I am interested to hear your thoughts.

Although I am concentrating on the Nautical line for the studio staircase, I am willing to hook one of the Country Charm Risers so you can get a sense of how lovely they can be. That beautiful country flavoured checkerboard on each side will work the same as the rope on the Nautical risers, your eye will be pulled up the stairs with a continuous flow of country charm.

There are two blogs today, scroll down

0 Comments

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BUZZ OFF!

150 Canadian Hit & Miss Flag Offer

Roly Poly

Book review - The Girl Before

Adjustments....Day One

A time for some changes.....

The Six C's of Rug Hooking...

Hook Me A Stocking

The Sting, not the movie......

Here's a yarn about hooking with yarn....

Floating in Salt Water

Let me give it to you straight......

Easter memories.....

Snow Cones

A "Little" Monday rant....

Scary night!

Flicking dry dye powder over wet wool......

Our wool is beary nice!

WE ARE CANADIAN!!

Update on my Honey....

We Are Canadian!

My country music roots are deep.....

Noddy piece...

Stair Risers full of Country Charm!

Nautical Flair Stair Risers

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