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I've come a long way baby.....

1/29/2015

Life is full of little surprises.   I received a lovely thank-you card in the mail and when I opened it, discovered a “Little” piece of my past inside.

Juanita, life partner of Thom who passed away over Christmas, sent us a card of thanks for the flowers and my blog commemorating the celebration of his life. Nestled in the fold were two photographs from 1991.   That was the year hubby and I married; as a matter of fact, only a few days before these pictures were taken.

The wedding was a last minute decision with immediate family, I do’s and a cake at the house with immediate family. We didn’t have much of a honeymoon, one night at the Mountain Gap Inn overlooking the Tidal Annapolis Basin spent watching TV. We were rushed for time, preempted by the preparations for the Marblehead yacht race that he was leaving for. I didn’t mind that my new husband would be spending his honeymoon on a 33’ C&C sailboat called “Irie” with a bunch of sweating, snoring, flatulent men; I got the ring on my finger so fair exchange! The plan was to have a large reception when he returned….if he returned….

Back then, I was frightened out of my gourd when it came to the ocean. A non-swimmer with a fear of the water instilled by my father’s neurosis, the sea was a foe not a friend.   Living close to Lunenburg with its rich fishing heritage, I was well aware of the scallop draggers sinking to the bottom of George’s Bank, even knowing some of the men that perished at sea. Without any knowledge of recreational water sports, all I could imagine was their tiny boat bobbing up and down like a cork in a bathtub. Ironically, during my first tumultuous marriage to a scallop fisherman, there were times my battered heart wished his boat would go down. Now that I was married to a kind and gentle soul, I worried those past, evil thoughts would come back to haunt me.

When hubby first told me about Marblehead I was not impressed. Sailing there, and racing back to Halifax was a concept I couldn’t fathom. Moby Dick disasters and large freighters crashing into them along the shipping lanes were top of the list of objections. Why he mentioned they would have to cross them going in and out of the Bay of Fundy along the route is beyond me; it only served to add to the gloom I was racking up in my imagination that caused me to be on pins, needles and porcupine quills the entire time he was gone. This doomsday attitude tainted every aspect of the trip even putting a shadow over our recent nuptials.

Back then I was about as worldly as Opie from Mayberry and my irrational fear was the reason we rushed to marry.   We’d been living together for some time in one of the apartment units in a building hubby owned and without any legal rights, if he didn’t come back from the sea and I couldn’t make rent, I would have been biffed out on the street with no place to live. That might sound like a selfish reason to tie the knot but I loved this guy to the nth degree, we were going to get hitched anyway, so it gave me peace of mind and got me off his back, what I called a win, win! How I managed to hold it all together until he returned, all salty, tanned and tired to the bone is a mystery.

So I was pretty sullen that morning while waiting for the boat to cast off from South Shore Marine and disappear over the horizon. The photograph of our goodbye hug shows a half-hearted smirk, I was trying to look brave but couldn’t understand the frivolity of the wives and excitement of the other men about to leave. Didn’t they realize the dangers ahead? Didn’t they look at the size of the boat and think holy crap? Whoever said ignorance was bliss was so wrong because I was being tortured from a lack of understanding. On the flip-side, hubby was an experienced offshore sailor, knew the ropes and was ripe for the adventure ahead. I watched the boat grow smaller in the distance until it disappeared behind Shaw Island. My heart sank, he was gone. It was a lonely ride home; I actually cried.

In a rush to get married, we hadn’t thought much about photos, I planned to have them taken at our reception so these pictures are really appreciated. Both of us in big glasses, framed windows perched on noses totally dominating our faces. We look so young……we had more hair……how time flies!

The other photo is of Captain Thom at the navigation table and of course happy hubby, sailing being the #1 passion in his life….I’m not delusional about my #2 position. He probably had more fun honeymooning with the guys than he would have had with me considering we both lack the romantic gene. We joked the honeymoon was over before we married anyway, considering we’d lived together for over two years before saying I Do.

After the Marblehead/Halifax race, if he made it back, we were supposed to have a wedding reception but my mother suddenly passed away from infection from surgery and the plan died with her. I couldn’t celebrate our union with a numb heart. My only solace is that she saw me marry a guy she really loved and respected, knew my life had finally settled after so many years of struggle and unhappiness.

I often wonder how my life would have played out if I hadn’t met my special guy. Through him I have a more open mind, love the water and look forward to lots of sailing in 2015. He is one of the best things that ever happened in my life and I love him even more today than the day we wed. I’ve come a long way baby! Juanita, thank-you for dusting off these memories.

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Welcome to the 3rd Dimension Workshop

1/28/2015

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I am in the process of designing a couple of patterns for this workshop. Stayed tuned!

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A day in the life of pets......

1/26/2015

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Paula from Chester Basin Animal Hospital

I had one of those heart-in-throat moments Friday. Hubby phoned me at work to say that Fiz, our red toy poodle, got up on the table and ate the remaining dark chocolate covered cashews he’d been snacking on before he took them all out for a pee, probably a dozen and they weren’t small. Fiz is calculating. I’ll bet dollars to doughnuts that she saw daddy was having a snack, nosed the door to get back into the house right after her pee because she planned to target the dish. Daddy was still outside waiting for Henri to finish his whizzing all over the garden while she was helping herself to death by dark chocolate. She was on the last one when daddy came back into the house.

Fiz is a very different kind of dog. Very intelligent, fearless and adventurous. She loves the vacuum cleaner when it’s in use and would sit on top of it if we let her. Loud noises do nothing to frighten her off inside the house, although she’s as skittish as a mouse in a roomful of cats outside. She likes to sleep on top of the sofa back and jump up on the dining room table in our absence, basic cat moves, although tricks taught by daddy because he used to put her on his desk while he worked on the computer.   One perch is as good as the next so she helped herself to the dining room table, the perfect vantage point to see us coming up the road to let the others know that mommy and daddy are home!

There’s no denying she’s a big daddy’s girl. When hubby is home I barely get any attention, she gets all the scratches and cuddles from him….what purpose do I serve other than to annoy her with eye and ear cleaning. I’m dropped like yesterday’s news but that’s okay, I have three others who think I’m #1.

She’s spoiled and indulged more than the other three, not so much by me, like I said she’s daddy’s girl and in this lays the problem, instilling bad habits of being up on tables.   I’ve preached it’s dangerous. Jumping off a three foot table edge is only asking for a broken leg and those don’t come cheap. I hear horror stories that a $3000 plus fee is nothing to fix a break, especially if there are complications. I’m against table sitting for a lot of reasons but I’m just white noise….blah blah blah!

I think its common knowledge that dogs and chocolate don’t jive. After a quick call to the vet to find out how to induce vomiting, then a call home to make sure there was hydrogen peroxide in the medicine chest, I hit the road. Hubby was ready with towels and I filled a syringe and shot 3 cc’s down Fiz’s gizzard. There was a lot of licking and swallowing but no vomiting so I gave her another shot. Much the same, a lot of distaste for the bubbly liquid being force fed but stubbornly holding on to that darn chocolate. Another squirt of 5 cc’s of the peroxide yielded no reaction so another call to the vet and we were in the car heading for Chester Basin Animal Hospital. I know stomach contents take time to digest and metabolize so I wasn’t freaking, actually I was amazed at how calm I was. I could see that hubby was upset so I didn’t say “I told you so or berated him but deep down I wanted to scream all manner of nasty things. All those times I warned what could happen, don’t let coffee or sweets lie around, only the night before I had pointed out he’d left a chocolate bar on the table. All I get are looks like I’m a two-headed pain in the arse and as irritating as a buzzing mosquito. Dogs have the mentality of a two year old human, needing constant surveillance so nothing foreign goes in the mouth and all potential problems are out of reach. I’m constantly in a state of stress, thinking about what can happen next; protecting my pups from all the dangers I’ve read about and experienced. I lost a precious poodle to a black widow spider bite on my watch, I know the dangers. I know what is toxic to dogs and keep an eye out for it. Maybe I’m fanatical but how many times have I saved them from things just like this! The pressure of it all is huge but how can I let go and relax when there’s so much at stake?

We arrive at the vet clinic after what seemed like a very long and silent drive and they put this little patch in the corner of her eye, something called Apomorphine, Ophth Insert, to induce an immediate, convulsive reaction. Within seconds she was chucking up mounds of chocolate, gooey fluid the size of hamburger buns with pieces of nuts floating in the gelatinous liquid like buoys on the sea. Over and over she hurled as a belly full of brown came out of her. She puked until last week’s breakfast purged on the pile. The heaving was violent and she was clearly in distress, I felt so bad for my baby but I held it together and held up her ears to keep them from sweeping through the mess on the vomit soaked blanket. The smell of chocolate wafted up from the counter. I hoped the smell would attach itself to the awful memory of this moment, maybe create an aversion to the taste of cocoa in future.

The retching caused petechial hemorrhaging in her eyes so they were red, especially the one that held the small disk, that one looked like it was straight out of a horror movie. After she finished being sick, they removed the little patch.

So all’s well that ends well. A hour after it all you would never know there was anything wrong, other than a smelly mouth and sticky ears from the back-splash. She was bright eyed and bushy tailed once again and thirsty as all get out. I try not to think of all the “what ifs” and force the thoughts away as not to obsess. It just goes to show how quickly a disaster can happen to test how fragile the life of a precious pet can be.

Not so happy now, and refused to look at the camera. The bucket to the right filled with her chocolate contraband. Resting now on a clean blanket probably thinking, what the crap just happened?

The medical vomit miracle that saved our Fiz!

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Hats off to Charlene, or is that on?

1/23/2015

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Above a before and after. Love how it coordinates with her wool jacket. Accident? I think not!

I’ve always wished I could wear hats. I love the chapeau; the sexy cranial bonnet. I lust upon the hat wearers with greenish eyes, wishing it could be my noggin under a stylish cap.

But alas, my head is flatter than a pubescent girl in the back which isn’t conducive to the round or oval shape of the hat. Maybe I’m over critical but in my mirror, a side view of my head looks like it took a nasty swing from a plank. Possibly, while in the womb, the bone meant to develop on the back of my head got confused and grew on my chin cause that feature has more than its share.

In my youth I heard people say that my mother must have laid me on my back as an infant, causing my skull to melt into the shape of the mattress. Up until then I didn’t know I looked any different, not having eyes in the back of my head to see like our mother did, something we were told when caught being naughty. Like the woman who told a young Michael Jackson that his nose was HUGE, leading him down a trail of discontent, hearing negative comments about my head made me pretty self-conscious.

I stressed over this physical imperfection for years and won’t go into the details but I spent a lot of time trying to camouflage it with my hands, or always sitting front-on so no one could see my flaw. When Shane was born, while most parents are concerned with how many toes and fingers the kid has, I was checking out his head. Unfortunately, due to his big size of almost twelve pounds his head came out shaped like a cone to maneuver the birth canal so I had to wait a week before I could properly assess it. Fortunately for him, he had a beautiful shaped head but if there was any truth to beds misshaping infant’s heads, I didn’t want to chance another cranium disaster, so I turned him like a chicken on a spit every time he rolled over on his back.

In my case, maybe I was literally soft in the head, but more than likely, the flatness was due to a genetic flaw, an anomaly on my father’s side as he was a bit of a flatty too. When Shane was born with a perfectly shaped head, I wasn’t going to risk his noggin to chance and although there is no proof that my diligence paid off, he still has a perfect hat head today. I’m taking half credit for it anyway, allowing 50% to go to his father’s genes dominating mine; he had a great head….his flat attribute was his butt, if not for a tightly cinched belt his pants would have dropped to his ankles.
There was a lot of misunderstandings or wives tales going on back then. I remember when I put Shane in a walker at 3 1/2 months, my mother-in-law wailed. I mean literally screamed and cried that I was abusing my child, warning me of the deformities I was causing. I asked our family doctor if there was any truth to her accusations, if the pressure of standing on malleable bones would cause them to bend and bow? He didn’t think we had anything to worry about and the complete opposite occurred, the walker served to strengthen his legs to the point of being able to stand early, while other babies his age could barely sit without falling over. And, I would like to brag (once again) that he walked unassisted at 7 ½ months. Shane is far from bowlegged and grew long and lean at 6’ 4” tall and it’s too bad mommy-dearest-in-law isn’t around so I could blow her a raspberry….that woman sure gave me a lot of grief.

Barely civil to my face she ripped me to shreds behind my back. As deaf as a trout and a lifelong smoker, her booming, scratchy voice was like dragging logs, wrapped in chains down a gravel road. Her whispered, early morning phone calls to crony friends were filled with disparaging remarks about me which I heard while upstairs in bed. She was annoyed that I let my baby sleep until he woke on his own in the mornings. She popped a sleeping pill and went to bed with the birds around 7:30 pm every evening so was up with the same birds in the early morn before I was even conscious.   She felt I should set an alarm and wake the baby when she rose and would bang around and stomp her feet up and down the stairs to ensure he would awaken with no regard that I might not have gotten home until close to midnight from the restaurant where I worked. Most mothers would kill for a baby that slept all night and didn’t awaken until 8:00 in the morning but I couldn’t do anything right from hand washing baby clothes, boiling bottles, dishes or potty training. There was no way in hell my marriage was ever going to work, but living with her that first year definitely fast forwarded the divorce.

My mother-in-law never thought I was good enough for her son and told him many times in my earshot. Strangely, once I came along her precious boy stopped physically abusing her and took his angst out on the new woman in his life. You’d think she’d be grateful for the reprieve, no more bruises or broken bones for her, you just can't do enough for some people.....

And potty training, apparently I was up there with a sadist dictator in the torture department. I swear I’m not exaggerating…..my mother-in-law would run screaming from the house, hands waving in the air and sit in the car chain smoking because she couldn’t stand watching him sit on his little white throne. I’m not sure what the problem was, I read the book on potty training, I wasn’t making him sit for long periods, it’s sort of a hit and miss thing until he caught on, but to this day I don’t know what her problem was other than being a titch insane. On the flip side, when the little guy figured it all out and started having regular success with a #2, then the tables turned and grandma did a bizarre dance around the kitchen. While her cigarette dangled from her lips and clapping her hands, she would cough and sing something to the tune of, “Nanna wants to eat her little wootsy pig’s turd, cause it’s so darn cute…la la la lala. Sigh….

Back to hats. So, my head is flat which doesn’t suit wearing them. Most I tried would fall forward and come to rest on top of my glasses frames.   Then there’s my big, square face, not exactly the perfect shaped head for a hat, they had to be larger than life to make my face look average sized. Sadly, I have shied away from wearing them all my life, making the top of my head a victim of the cold while I churned with jealousy over those that did.

The flatness is the reason for clipping my hair up; the volume it creates provides a nicely shaped crown and back dome. Side on, my head looks balanced, taking the heat off my show stealing chin.   I’ve often thought hats should come with implants, padded bits that you place where they are needed so it rests evenly and fits snug.

So I was very pleased and only a little apprehensive when Charlene offered to knit a hat for me. She had made two different styles for herself and I tried them on thinking they looked rather sweet, surprised that they stayed in place. To date, in my humble opinion, these are the only hats that ever looked good on me or fit properly.   Thank-you Charlene!!!!!

Charlene is very talented, teaching herself to knit while on holiday last year. She’s impressed me with her beautiful shawls and socks and now these great felted hats.   She offered to make hats for Sue and me if we bought the wool so off we go to Have A Yarn where Charlene works part-time and selected our colours of Galway wool. I chose three; a rust, gold and blue for a striped look and Sue chose two coordinating aqua skeins for a soft mottle. The store inspired me to think, I can do this! I’ve knit dishcloths, why not infinity scarves and hats? So I’ve put a note in the universe’s suggestion box to add a few more hours to the day giving me time for another hobby, I’m still waiting to hear back…..

So here are our hats. The picture of Sue and me in our mummer hoods show how they look before felting in the washing machine. You throw them in the machine with hot water and bit of soap and agitate until it shrinks.   Rinse, spin dry, try it on and start shaping while damp.   I used Charlene’s head for shaping the back so it wouldn’t be flat as a pancake.

In her beige/brown hat, Charlene felted some bits of the coordinating yarn to add a bit of pizazz.   For mine the stripes create enough interest so I’ll leave it plain, I think Sue wants to felt something. When I do a mottled one I’ll get creative. I’m going to buy some chartreuse wool and get a little instruction from the master. I’m alright with the straight knitting as long as I don’t drop any stitches but Charlene only lives down the road for a bail out.

How did I miss a picture of Sue in her hat?

Have A Yarn Facebook page https://www.facebook.com/HaveaYarn

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Endless possibilities for colour planning rugs!

1/21/2015

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A great way to colour plan your next rug is by taking a trip to the local yarn shop. Oh my, the feast your eyes will devour. I was in the store visiting Charlene who works occasionally at Have A Yarn in Mahone Bay and I was struck by the colour combinations you can find in a skein of yarn. Funky socks seem to be popular right now and the various selections are amazing. I started snapping pictures and there was no end to the possibilities so I recommend you check it out. I’m sure every yarn store is similar so you don’t have to catch a plane to Mahone Bay, maybe you can even look on line for variegated yarns.

I had the same feeling when I crossed the threshold at Have A Yarn as I get when I come to work in my studio. So much colour and warmth from the wool! It feels like roomful of hugs.

I can knit, do the occasional dishcloth and many moons ago, I knit a baby blanket for my little Shaney. I struggled with tension problems, trying to keep it from taking on an hour glass shape, too tight, too loose and repeat. Sometimes my tension would get so tight I couldn’t scoop the wool off the needle and then it would be so loose my needle would fall out so I got frustrated. I did a few misshapen scarves and then hung up my needles, turning to cross stitch for a while. That was an eye crossing experience and slow as molasses flowing uphill, so I jumped to needle point. When hooking came along I lost all interest in other crafts, this was the one, fitting like a custom made jacket so I never looked back.

Like I said, I do make the odd dishcloth, and odd would be a good word to describe the finished product. When I drop a stitch I find it very difficult to pick it back up. I can’t seem to isolate where I went wrong. So I leave the hole and move on….I call it a thumb space to make it legit.

So check out the yarns, maybe it will inspire you as it did me. I’m going to give knitting another chance and make a hat, one of those ones you wash to felt, but that’s another story for another day!

Check out Have A Yarn, another great reason to come to Mahone Bay! http://www.haveayarn.ca/

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Happiness is a warm hug....

1/20/2015

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I was enjoying my morning coffee, looking out the window at the wind swept ice breaking up in the harbour. The pups were squeezed around me, packed close, their warmth radiating through me, like a fleshy armed hug from grandma, drawing you to her bosom, the safest, warmest place on earth.

How we crave human contact. We are communal beings that need one another, and I don’t mean in a sexual way. We need and crave physical contact....the hug. It is known to relieve stress and promote psychological well being. A hug indicates familiarity, love, affection and friendship, all feel good therapy, and when human contact isn't available sometimes we substitute it by way of the family pet or now, buy it on the internet.

Monday morning, CBC radio covered a story about a man who started a business where you call for a hug and someone appears at your door, embraces you and maybe even lays beside you in bed to hold you, cuddling your woes away.   They will listen and provide human contact for an hour at the cost of $90.00. There is a contract to sign and for all those involved, protection by means of a phone call to check when they arrive at your dwelling and when they leave.   There is no sexual touching of any kind allowed. They provide a service for people starved for human contact, human touch, seeking emotional warmth through this nonverbal communication. To live alone, be depressed, trapped in a world without love, I can see how a hug might lighten the load.

Being touched is a powerful experience. It’s therapeutic but it’s something our society doesn’t really embrace....pardon the pun. With the world disconnecting digitally, physical contact may be in danger of extinction, how sad would that world be?

Part of the interview was about touch and babies. Preemies are released from the hospital up to six days earlier when they are handled, touched and caressed. Depending on their length of stay, a preemie can cost up to a million dollars for care and early release through touch can constitute savings to the tune of 4.1 billion dollars yearly. Infants who are touched gently on a regular basis gain weight and grow at better rates than babies who lack this contact and experience fewer medical complications in their first year of life.

Like any kind of home care, this kind of business could have risks. Walking into a unfamiliar situation is always a worry. There could be mental instability waiting behind the door. CBC interviewed a retired law enforcement officer that voiced his concerns.   The business owner said the huggers are trained to assess situations and most are educated in the mental health fields, like psychiatry and psychology, and apparently there is no shortage of volunteers for the job.

Today is a good day to grab the ones you love and embrace them tightly....after all happiness is a warm hug.   Grab your spouse, partner, child, parent, grand parent, pet or even a tree. If you don't have anyone to hug, drop by the shop, I still appreciate the merits of a good squeeze and it's free!

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Year End Brain.....

1/19/2015

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Let me introduce you to Year End Brain. Closing off a business year is an entrepreneur’s nightmare. Well maybe nightmare is too strong a word; I would imagine some of you enjoy the year end paper tango.   Even though I have a bookkeeper, some things still fall on me, I have to pay bills and cost invoices. If done monthly or as they come in it might not be such a wad to choke on but I left it go to the end of the year so it feels like climbing a mountain instead of walking a trail.

Sure I can do it, and maybe even do it well, but I don’t find any joy in it. It’s been rather stressful because I have to put 2014 to bed before I can explore 2015 with all its new possibilities and promise. Last night, I was lying in bed not sleeping per the usual, when these thoughts ran through my head.

Year End Brain isn’t your friend nor does it want you to have any. It wants you to be a slave to its bidding until the job is done. It has deadlines so every distraction, every minute you speak or hang out with someone; your Year End Brain interrupts your thoughts and wills you to get back to work.   Although you are not allowed to spend time with your friends, Year End Brain has peeps. It’s pretty tight with the Bookkeeper and the Accountant. They send you emails and make phone calls to ensure you stay on course and the pressure mounts because you don’t want to let anyone down.

Year End Brain stops you from doing the things you want to do, like rug hooking and going out for dinner. It doesn’t care if you have house guests or friends in need. It doesn’t give a hoot that you have fun new ideas to get out for the new year, there is only its bidding.

Year End Brain is immune to excuses or diversions. It demands attention and will cause relentless nightmares and headaches if it doesn’t get its way.

Year End Brain’s mortal enemy is Creative Brain, the daydreamer cousin despised for its ability to wander off and play its lackadaisical games.

Year End Brain is a bully, self-serving and suffers from tunnel vision, all it sees is a paper trail to the tax man.

If Year End Brain feels threatened it calls for reinforcements. Enter, Guilt Brain, to gang up and bring you back to order.

Year End Brain has no time for Social Brain, no time for fun. It will suck the luster out of any attempt to enjoy time spent with friends.

Year End Brain is a squatter. Once in, it will not leave until every last bit of paperwork is finished.   If left too long, it will cause endless worry, sleepless nights and fingernail chewing. If you procrastinate, alcohol consumption is the only way to rid yourself of its presence, dull the hold it has on you until you don’t give a crap, but it’s only temporary, and it will be back at its post the very next morning. The only lasting and true relief is to buckle down and do the work. Once completed, the shackles of Year End Brain will melt away, bid you farewell and no longer care how you spend your time.

So, I am finished for 2014 and over half of January is gone already!   I feel like I should receive an award, and in my speech, thank my genius hubby for all his help yesterday evening. He devised a spread sheet that calculates the cost of goods sold in the push of a button. You load in all the varying information and voila, out pops the cost of an individual item. Before it would take me ages to use the adding machine to find the various costs, especially when an invoice might have ten or twelve items on it. It prorates the freight and calculates the exchange where applicable. If I only want the cost of one of the items on a long page of items, it will do just the one cost.

In my previous life, I did the costing for a company I worked for and used a lot of adding machine tape! Now I have this fabulous spread sheet that is amazing and I’ll use it as shipments come in during the year so I’m not left at the end December with my paper pants down. Year End Brain won’t have power over me ever again! Now to focus on the fun things!

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A hamster on a wheel....

1/16/2015

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I’m so tired I could drop.   Every day there seems to be three to five appointments or things to do and then invites out for dinner. Yes, I do see the ridiculousness of the words I write. Who doesn’t want to be invited out for dinner? All I’m saying is, way too much is too much. All we do is run from pillar to post, all year end related crap which is finger in the eye stuff. I’m begrudging not being at the shop, there are things I’m bursting to get out. I have a fun idea for the twelve months of the year, not another contest, something else.

Yesterday, the whole work day was shot and we pulled into the driveway about 5:00 p.m. and I turned to hubby and made him swear, no more of anything this week. I go to work period, no dinners out, no appointments. I could barely lift my leg to leave the car knowing that a dinner invite would take be back out into the cold in another hour or so. I would have killed for a nap on the sofa and a night in by the fire.

I have a new fun thing I want to launch at the shop for the year but haven’t had time to put pencil to paper. I still have inventory costs to come up with and my accountant wants it all yesterday. Year end is hectic and we’ve been running back and forth Bridgewater for appointments. We’ve had company since Christmas Day, renovations to do on an apartment. I feel like I’m on an out-of-control merry-go-round that’s spinning faster and faster. OMG, stop and let me get off!

And all of a sudden, now when I need rest more than ever, insomnia crept in and is torturing me. At the hook-in on Wednesday, someone mentioned that their husband snored to the point where they have to sleep in separate bedrooms. I mentioned that my guy used to, but infrequently and only a light buzzing. Then, that very night, for no other reason than to make me out to be a liar, he sawed several cords of wood that vibrated the bed and not in a good way……

I tried reading to quiet my brain and block out the insult to my ears but I was awake for hours until I crawled out of bed and dragged my tired butt into the spare bedroom. Honey and Jake both jumped ship with me, possibly frightened for their life from the noise. So yesterday I was useless, slow moving and lethargic and today no better.   At this point I would donate a kidney to stay home and sleep so I can be bright-eyed and busy-tailed in the morning. I have a self imposed deadline of tonight to finish my accounting so I can kiss 2014 good-bye and begin the romance of 2015. I have a feeling it's going to be a fabulous year!

I didn’t know where we are going for dinner last night. No one could make a decision and I stayed out of it. I feel like two of the Seven Dwarfs, Sleepy and Grumpy, and I’m tired of making all the decisions; I’m not some controlling matriarch so stop looking at me for everything. Make a decision somebody!   I never have trouble making up my mind, you ask me where I want to eat, I’ve got it, but after making several suggestions which either received no response or a yuck, I thought figure it out yourself. I don’t care where we go, I just want to sit down and try not to yawn through the entire meal. So I laid down and had a nap, when someone made a decision they could phone me, we’ll meet up and we’ll eat.

So it was decided to go to the Atlantica Hotel, my auntie’s treat. Five of us, hubby, auntie, Shane and Ashley and yours truly were the only ones dining all evening. We had the place to ourselves so I could yawn with abandon. It was cosy with a big fire in the fireplace and we were noisy so it was good that we had the place to ourselves. It was Thursday, generally a night to eat out, so I guess others were too tired to leave the comfort of their homes as well. The meal was nice and the company fun but it was good to get back home, discard the shoes and put up the legs. Hubby and I fell asleep watching mindless TV on our small sofa with pups on top of us. We were literally too tired to get up and go to bed. At 1:00 a.m. we roused and made a sluggish move upstairs but that stupid little nap totally ruined any chance of falling back to sleep.   This morning, my eyelids were at half-mast and felt like they’ve been rung out like a dish rag. Two cups of coffee in and I don’t feel any more awake. Hopefully tonight will end this feeling of being a hamster on a wheel; I’ll get sleep and be back at the helm tomorrow looking forward to the year ahead in the shop!

So, on a lighter note, the hook-in Wednesday afternoon, although small in numbers was high in show and tell. Sue is starting a new pattern called "Charlotte", one I designed a few years back after a dear friend passed away. A beautiful sewer, she loved paisley material and couldn’t pass it by without adding more to a stash that would rival our wool. She even named her cat Paisley so I designed this piece in her name but forgot to post it on the website. Sue snatched up the one in the shop and then it got forgotten.   This is an experiment for Sue, dealing with achromatic "without colour" planning and she is rising to the challenge beautifully.

Teresa is working on Percy’s Geometric. Patsy is finishing up the whipping on her piece and Heather is closing in on finishing her velour and wool geometric as well. I sewed up my remaining Cone Santa, hooked before Christmas. I now have a family of little guys that will greet potential buyers as they come through the door, hoping to be taken to their forever homes!

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Talkin trash......

1/14/2015

5 Comments

I often marvel about how lucky I am. Not in the sense of having creature comforts but how things come to me when there’s a need. There are limitations of course; I’m not so hot at playing the lottery. I’ve never won anything more than ten dollars and a couple of free tickets. But over my lifetime, if there was a need or a serious want, it seemed to avail itself to me.   It’s like calling parking spaces. If I think of where I wish to park, there is always a free space when I get there.

Ninety-nine percent of the time when I go into the post office to mail a parcel, there is no one ahead of me but after I arrive, people seem to pile in behind me. At times when I was a young mother, and in need of cash to purchase a necessity, the money would miraculously find its way to me in different ways. And rain, it can be pouring down, cats, dogs and horses, but when I need to go outside it stops, enough to get to the car without getting wet. It happens far too often to be a coincidence and hubby jokes about my being a princess. What other explanation could there be?

One day last year while my mother-in-law was visiting we decided to give her a tour of the surrounding countryside. I announced before we left the house that I wouldn’t mind checking out a few buy & sell places for a cabinet for our downstairs powder room. This tiny room barely affords enough space to turn around or change your mind in, but I felt I could squeeze in a surface to put our reading material on and store some extra toilet paper. We hopped in the car and headed Lunenburg way and ended up taking a leisurely drive to Blue Rocks.

As we motored by the small picturesque houses built on a landscape of rock, it was apparent a big dump day was coming as there were piles of garbage all along the roadside. People had thrown out old mattresses, small appliances and broken bric a brac.   I’m not a dumpster diver or one of those pickers who comb the countryside looking for stuff to haul home and sell in a yard sale, but my eyes were captured by the piles of broken housewares and children’s toys that had seen better days.

The view in Blue Rocks is breath taking. It was as sunny day so the sea was especially blue with white caps breaking on rock shoals, but my eyes were glued to the refuse, the antiquer in me looking for a diamond in the rough. There were a lot of broken pressed back chairs, a sad sight; a Duncan Phyfe coffee table with one leg missing and a top so warped the veneer was flaking off....even sadder. As we drove along the narrow road, a quaint detour along the shore, one mound of debris was crowned by a small smoker stand with the most delicate turned legs. The top was missing and rusted hinges longed for its absent door, but the legs looked intact and sturdy. I knew someone who would be able to turn this trash into a treasure, so I screamed stop, jumped out of the car, chucked my find into the trunk and we sped off like a couple of kids ringing doorbells and dashing away.

I could see the beauty in this derelict. Not only was this little cabinet perfect for the space, it deserved another chance. I have this thing for inanimate objects, I get all emotional over them and I don’t like to see things abused or broken. I get this trait from my mother who polished and shined her stove and fridge until you could see your unborn children in them. She kept all her furniture waxed and buffed and cried when a scratch or a ding stole their perfection.

So I gave it to my guy Steve, the chap who makes most of my frames and hooks, and told him to give it a door and a top deserving of the style. I planned on handing it off to Sue Cunningham for a decorative paint finish as she is a dynamo with a brush. The dark wood would have dominated the bathroom, so a painted finish would blend better with the white sink and john. I handed it over and said, slap something embossed on the door and work your magic. Sue has a business called Perfectly Imperfect where she re-purposes sad and neglected pieces into functional and beautiful.

You would not believe this beautiful cabinet was ever doomed to be crushed in the jaws of the garbage truck and tossed in a landfill. It sits in my little bathroom as if it was created for the space. Sue embossed a decorative motif on the front of the door and distressed it perfectly, showing rubbed areas that would have naturally occurred from years of use. Now I have an heirloom to enjoy for many years. I couldn’t have designed a more perfect little cabinet.

I still find it strange how I called it. Wanting to find the perfect piece of furniture and doing just that. Is there a horseshoe in my nether regions?     The chances of ending up in that little seaside village on that very day, at that very time, a place I visit less than once every couple of years, I really wonder about life’s strange little coincidences.

5 Comments

January Workshop

1/13/2015

0 Comments

Phone Heather at 902-640-2369 to register or email the shop clittle@tallships.ca

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Life's Complexities

1/12/2015

1 Comment

Carenie Little

My brother and sister-in-law spent the Christmas holidays with us. Two weeks flew by like a soaring eagle and in what seems like a blink of an eye we were driving them to the airport to return to Whitefish, Ontario.

Terry, is a carbon copy of his brother right down to their winter Tilly hats. Intelligent, gentle of character and very helpful in the kitchen. We “Little” women scored big in the hubby department. Our guys are handsome and handy! I brag on my guy so much I joke there will be a long line of single women bringing casseroles to the door if I croak before him…..especially rug hookers, with an eye on all my wool, a great guy and four fabulous pups…...a very attractive package indeed.

Terry’s wife Carenie is a very passionate artist who lives and breathes her craft. Although Carenie paints mostly in acrylic, she incorporates collage techniques, using layers of fabric as background and texture. Her love of painting is only superseded by her love of drawing and sketches.

One of her most influential mentors is Brian Ateyo, a highly respected artist currently displaying works at Harbour Gallery in Toronto. Brian has praised her unique portrayal and interpretations of human emotion. He writes, "You are truly one of the 'ONES"......your reasoning and analysis is bang on." We are very pleased to receive a painting for Christmas and now have two so we can brag we have a private collection of her work!

The above piece is called Life’s Complexities. I asked for an interpretation and this is what she said.

“Life is very complex. For instance, if you see an ordinary, everyday person you may assume they have a relatively ordinary life. Then you meet them and you discover that their lives are very complex and it changes your outlook of that person. You stop viewing them in an ordinary way. You realize that they are very complex so I paint an ordinary person in a very complex way.

If you wish to see her work, click this link to her website page http://www.clittle.ca/ and you can follow her on Facebook. https://www.facebook.com/pages/Carenie-Little/475224425879866 Carenie teaches workshops out of her studio in Whitefish, Ontario.

Friendship

1 Comment

There's a fly in the contest ointment.....

1/9/2015

8 Comments

Well, I feel compelled to address an issue that’s been raised concerning the Pattern of the Month Contest. My decision to post the entries for the Pattern of the Month Club on Facebook and on my blog for you to vote for your favourite has turned sour. I’m writing this for the opportunity to explain why I changed the rules from in house judging to farming it out to social media to determine a 1st prize.

The change transpired due to the fact that the contest participants dwindled down to only three to four entrants, the bulk of which were either people from my hooking group or friends.   Then it became really hard for us to pick a winner without bias and I couldn’t send it out to my hooking group when some were playing. Even with blind judging I didn’t think the group would be comfortable with commenting when one to two of them had entries and I certainly didn’t want to risk favouritism. I really try to do everything right, but there always seems to be a fly that squeezes through a hole in the screen and swims around in the ointment. I didn’t see a problem coming, I think my joy over the entries and the fun of picking the monthly winner blind sided me. I never dreamed people would be uncomfortable judging or consider that I was setting up participants to feel like losers.

I truly believed putting it out to a vote was a fun way to pick a winner and I feel the majority of voters enjoyed being part of the contest…something fun to do with rug hooking because who doesn’t like to see different hooked versions of the same design? To me it was no different than a juried show at an exhibition. Someone gets the red ribbon, others do not. I never considered those who do not receive a prize to be losers and never dreamed that others would worry that participants might feel this way. Personally, I think in terms that one is chosen and the others are not.

I would also like to note that in October’s group of four submitters, one of the rug hookers had won one prize previously and three of them each won twice before…..so they are by no means losers.   The rugs were all lovely and all worthy of the wool prize, but it was a contest that dictates there has to be a winner; that does not take away from the value of the other rugs.

I’m not sure what will happen if I remove the post from Facebook, it has tentacles that reach beyond my knowledge, but I’ve deleted it from my blog and I will find impartial people to vote independent of the shop for October’s prize. I also received an email stating that people have been making comments that there was vote padding and that it was becoming a popularity contest.   Whether this really happened or was just perceived I don't know, but now that it was brought to my attention I can’t disregard it. Like I said before I am fair to the point of boring so the only way to settle this is to go back to the old system, decide in house and only post the winner. I won’t post November or December monthly submissions for voting or the full rug at the finale.   We will choose and then present the winner after the decision is made.

I certainly have appreciated the few who have stuck with the contest and I would never want to offend or upset you in any way and I hope you all had as much fun as I did. There are only two more months to go before the big finale and I look forward to seeing the entire year of designs together, I might even be more excited than they are and there will most assuredly be tears on my part. Unfortunately only one will win a prize, but that by no means diminishes the rest….you are all winners!

So in closing, I’m very sorry if I caused anyone to be uncomfortable or feel like a loser or if you thought the voting was manipulated. I would rather cut my hand off than offend anyone. This contest was supposed to be all about the fun. There were only a handful of comments compared to the hundreds of people who voted happily, but I know how talk can spread and get out of control. I feel I have to protect the integrity of the contest.

I would like to take this time to thank all the kind folks who have participated in the voting. From your comments I believe you enjoyed participating.   I certainly appreciate your taking the time to help me out and I thoroughly enjoyed reading all your comments.

8 Comments

Farewell to Captain Thom....

1/7/2015

7 Comments

You can't change the direction of the wind: you can only adjust the sails.

Thomas Donald Patrick Lawrence

My mother always said I would be late for my own funeral, a statement brewed from dealing with the tardiness of a child who lived in her head on the corner of Daydream and Fantasy Street.   But alas, my mother will be wrong.   I won’t be late because I won’t be in charge of the day. I’ll be wheeled in or placed on a table, on time, probably before the first guests arrive.   My funeral will signify the first and the last time I am punctual. Maybe for a lark, I’ll leave instructions to be brought in fifteen minutes after the celebration begins, so everyone can be dismayed about my lateness one last time, you know, for old time’s sake.

Although I’ve courted lateness for years, swallowing the stress of it all, risking life and limb to keep within a fifteen minute window of delay, the ceiling to which I aim for, even paying an expensive fine once for speeding, I really did want to be at my friends gathering on time. The fact that I was late makes me feel ashamed, sort of the same disgrace I feel when I make hubby wait at the airport for hours on end after he’s been away for months. I get worse with age; my lateness grows longer than a fish story exaggerated to yard long proportions.

When I pulled up to the Chester Basin Legion Hall, there were others arriving and I did notice a few stragglers that came in after me, but really, I felt ashamed that I couldn’t make the extra special effort. In my defense I was detained at work, a customer came in as I was about to escape and my son wasn’t back from his errand so I had to hang around for 45 minutes more, cutting into the small window of time I needed to race home for a shower, iron the outfit and drive 20 minutes to Chester Basin. I’m not the kind of gal who prepares in advance, the smart and organized thing to do, especially with a history of lateness behind me. I could have explained and asked the customer to leave the shop but that’s about as good for business as suggesting they put their coffee on the cashier counter.

Stress started to bubble because now I would be making my hubby late or horrors, be left behind while he drove our only vehicle to the funeral. He had the greater connection, he sailed with Thom for years, he wanted and needed to be there on time. Thankfully Rene, a past crew member, flew in from BC and arrived at our house in time for a quick shower so hubby hitched a ride with him, leaving me home to play beat the clock with a hair dryer and then drive on my own. That was the fastest I’ve ever gotten ready for anything, arriving fourteen minutes late, just in time to hear Laura Smith, our wonderfully talented Canadian Icon sing her amazing song “I Built A Boat”.

Someone once said that you measure the worth of a person by how many mourners show for their funeral.   Thom obviously had the standing of a well-respected, valuable friend. I wasn’t surprised to see the bulging parking lot and a long string of vehicles hugging both sides of the road, bumper to bumper as far as the eye could see.

The hall, although spacious looked small and intimate from the multitude of friends and family. Like Waldo, there were too many faces to find hubby, so I spied a friend and inched my way toward her. It was a great vantage point to watch the proceedings but standing in heels was an act of torture. The seats looked awfully cozy but they were rewards for the early birds, leaving me on three inch posts that drove the balls of my feet into the floor, especially with 165 lbs bearing down on them. I kept pushing the pain out of my mind, taking turns balancing on one foot like a bird on a perch. I had no right to complain over a bit of discomfort when the room pulsated with disbelief and grief from Thom’s sudden passing, trumping pinched toes and bruised pads.   I could have worn comfortable shoes, but I wanted to make an effort, look nice for a change.

I love music. It moves me more than any external stimulus. My body reacts to it, I sway, I tap and I sing if words apply. The pieces performed were well chosen, starting with Thom’s song, “Into the Mystic” by Van Morrison the prelude to this celebration of his life and was followed with reflections by friends and more wonderful music selections to sooth the bereaved.

Andre Haines performed “I Feel the winds Of God Today” and a pattern emerged of wind and water, the elements close to Thom’s sailing heart. Don Burch played the French Horn, “The Lost Chord”, a beautifully touching sentiment for his close friend.   Joe Carver played guitar and performed “How Great Thou Art”, and brought me back to the days of my father’s strumming and singing in the classic country style.

The duo of Cynthia and Tom Myers sang a blend of “What A Wonderful World” and “Somewhere Over The Rainbow”, Laura Smith took the stage again with her song, “Safe Home, Sweet Light”. She really has an incredible talent, a unique gift that distinguishes her from all other artists. Without fail, her voice sends good shivers dancing up and down the spine and raises the hair on my arms.   Despite the sombre reason for this gathering, Juanita was truly blessed by all the love and talent around her. What an incredible send-off, the words and melodies floating up and out of the building, the energy forever etched on the universe.

You really do get back what you put out and this gathering of friends and family was proof that Thom and Juanita are good people. Juanita is one of those people who are beautiful inside and out, and is selfless in offering her time to those in need. Even though she just suffered through one of the worst weeks of her life, she rose above her own emotions and organized a magnificent send off for her beloved partner. A talented floral artist, she even made all the flower arrangements that adorned the room and tables. Much thought and care went into this perfect, heartfelt goodbye to her Thom.

The after party was something Thom joked about during an outing with a friend. He said, “When I die, prop me up in a corner and have a party!” And party they did. All the Chester Race Week soirees were dry runs, preparation for this final bash. Almost all the crew, past and present were there and they partied like it was a cure for a hangover. At times I could see pain flit across their eyes, as the absence of their friend washed over the celebration like ocean surf. Tears would alternate shifts with laughter as memories surfaced from their time with Captain Thom. Hey, remember the time when......

Thom’s loss will certainly intensify as time passes.   He was the skipper and the core of this sailing group so his death marks the end of a racing era. Every glance at the ocean, every sail on the horizon, every breeze will remind them of their dear friend.

Thom’s ashes rested to the left of the stage encased in a beautiful bronze statue of dolphins playing on cresting waves, the perfect setting to await a summer’s boat ride where he will be scattered on the wind and dance on the water with the shimmering sun, becoming the diamond glints on waves, a fitting farewell for a man who loved the sea.

RIP Thomas Donald Patrick Lawrence, you will be missed.....

Loved Ones
by Merv Mothersell

Loved ones are like the pieces of a puzzle,
They make the picture of life complete and framed.
When death removes one of the pieces,
The picture of life is never the same.

7 Comments

Judy Wearing Her Big Girl Panties....

1/6/2015

2 Comments

I’ve been following Laura Kenney’s work on Facebook for some time, waiting and watching to purchase a piece of her wonderful hooked art. Although a lot of her rugs made me smile, I wanted a piece to speak to me, mean something to me, so   I patiently waited for the right one to come along.

Laura certainly has a great sense of humour. From her “Stay at Home Mom” with the weight of the entire house on her body, “Morning Rituals” of a gal on the toilet, “Weighty Issues” of a woman standing on the bathroom scales to the decommissioned lighthouses being saved by Judy.

A few days before Christmas she listed her latest creation that got snatched up quickly by a savvy buyer. So I messaged her in hopes that she would do one for me and apparently there were others in line, proving great minds think alike! I was told that she would hook one for me and I was delighted.

When I first spied “Judy Wearing Her Big Girl Panties” I laughed out loud, a pretty good indication it was tickling the funny bone. There was determined Judy with her legs spread apart, hands on the hips and feet planted firmly on the floor exuding a "don't mess with me attitude!" Bingo! Connection! This was the rug for me! For those who follow my blogs, you’ll hear that expression from time to time as I whine and lament over a difficult time or ornery person. I’d say, I need to put on the big girl panties and get over it.

Laura shows a lot of character in her drawings. Her pieces have so much life, big personalities and expressions even without facial detail, lending to a unique and easily recognizable style. I love her vibrant pieces with bold colours and mixed media.

I love the colours in this piece. Colour for me is very important.   The same rug in greens would do little for me. Sure it would be cute and I would snort a chuckle, but I wouldn’t be attracted to it like I am with the primaries.    There is something about reds, blues or golds that turn my head. I’m a rudimentary, grass roots kind of gal so why wouldn’t I appreciate the basics colours.

My new rug glows. The colour saturation is bold and brilliant, rich blues, reds and turquoises meld together for a very pleasing palette. I am very happy with my piece of fabric art, thank-you Laura!

I’ve renamed her “Chrissy with her big girl panties on”.   It’s easier than changing my name to Judy.   She’ll hang around to remind me not to sweat the small stuff and let the negative roll off my back.   When you wear the big girl panties you’re like a super hero deflecting the forces of evil.   Of course these large bloomers are just a symbol for being a grown up, saying yes or no and not taking flack or allowing your feathers to be ruffled. Taking charge and being in control like an adult. I won’t be coming to work with size 24’s, the spandex briefs under my jeans will do, but I can symbolically snug the large metaphoric bloomers up, cross my arms and allow my inner superhero to emerge. Panty shields are up against the dark forces of humankind or maybe that should be human-unkind!

At first I hung the rug at home but I believe art should be communicated to the masses and besides, it would do more good at the shop where things pop up every now and then that require those big girl panties. It can hang in the shop and be at the ready when I need a chuckle or a bit of strength, a bit of wool spinach for when times get tough.

Here is the link to Laura Kenney’s Facebook, maybe give her a like. She’s one to watch. https://www.facebook.com/LauraKenneyArtist

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