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Treadmills are for the dogs......

2/27/2015

6 Comments

 
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I just cranked out ten minutes on the treadmill.  Pretty impressive considering I haven’t exercised for a while and I managed without struggling for breath.  I need to get a grip on things; I’ve been sliding since Christmas on the slippery slope of denial.  “Cheating occasionally won’t hurt” says the little voice inside my head, but it’s a pathological liar and I can’t believe I fall for it time and time again.  I wonder why we have these voices, why our brain wants to sabotage the very body that carries it around.   Maybe if that little voice whispered, “Hey toots, that chocolate covered, sea-salt caramel might taste good, but is it worth losing a toe over?” maybe I’d reach for the crunchy piece of celery and get a high five from the brain stem. 

I’ve been tempting fate because I look so darn healthy on the outside it’s difficult to fathom the turmoil on the inside.   Elevated blood sugar is a sneaky disease, you feel perfectly fine, look totally normal.  If only a big, festering sore would magically materialize and explode every time I cheated I might be inclined to keep my hands in my pockets instead of stuffing the gaping hole of my mouth with the forbidden.   Maybe people wouldn’t be so quick to push sweets at me, saying “one won’t hurt” if they had to stare into a volcanic eruption of puss hanging off my face.  My friends said, “Don’t use the puss word Christine, its gross”, but calling it a simple pimple doesn’t push the point.   Also, please don’t think I’m blaming  others for corrupting  me, I’m perfectly capable of self-destructing on my own,  I’m only saying it would be nice to have help with this struggle over temptation.      

Anyway, back to the treadmill.  I’ve always wanted one and a friend mentioned she’d like to liberate her bedroom of hers.  The price was certainly right, free, but I hesitated knowing that it’s probably another piece of exercise equipment that starts out with good intentions and then becomes a dust catching space hog, then end up out in the garage keeping company with the Elliptical trainer, an Inverter, the Trampoline, bench and weights.   

As for the size of the machine, I didn’t give it a lot of thought.  I remembered seeing it in my friend’s bedroom, looking like a small boat on the horizon but what I hadn’t taken into consideration was her ballroom sized boudoir because once the beast was transferred to my closet sized house, it became a cruise ship.   

When it came through the door it was as massive as our kitchen island and wouldn’t fit up the stairs without being dismantled.  The three middle aged guys, hubby and friends, had to take the back door off to get it over the threshold, voted to leave it in the kitchen until I arrived home to make the ruling.  I’ll bet that was a hasty retreat. They are all familiar with women and their propensity for changing their minds.   Try it here, move it there, how about over in that corner, why can’t it go upstairs or worse, take it back to where it came from!   

So it sat in front of the basement door for about a week slowly becoming a hanging rack and after tripping over it several times, squeezing between it and the island, I mentally prepared myself to make the move to a better location because it was now trapped in the house until  spring.   

From a gym’s perspective she’s a beaut. Large, sturdy, all the major functions, quiet to run and in mint condition, but, and I mean no offense to the manufacturer, big and ugly fits in with my décor about as well as the before mentioned skin lesion would look on my face.  That’s why I wanted it upstairs, a sore eye sight for my gaze only.   I hate anything plastic like electronic equipment. TV’s bum me out as they are so big and black, where does that fit in with antiques and a traditional interior?  Our TV is only 28 inches and that is still too big for my liking.  We have a tiny living room space so it sits in my antique corner cupboard as mismatched as oil and water and can be seen from the back door as you enter the house.  Open concept shows everything, bearing all like a naked body and no walls to hide the warts.        

So we shifted the living room, making it even smaller as the treadmill displaced a chair that needed to cram in somewhere else.  I resigned to the fact that getting fit was going to hurt physically and aesthetically.   

At first, the desire for a treadmill wasn’t for my fitness.  I wanted it for the pups, but as time wore on, I kept looking at the beast, getting familiar with its presence.   It sat in the corner, sort of sad and pathetic, feeling useless and unable to realize its potential, fulfill the reason for its existence. This big black hunk of metal and plastic wanted to make friends but I resisted its charm until guilt began to set in.  I’ve mentioned before I feel empathy for inanimate objects, I project feelings on them, get attached, try to put myself in their place. 

The big worry was my iffy knee.  Would it sabotage any attempts at rigorous walking?  That voice again, that saboteur, filling my head with excuses as if my body would suffer from breaking a sweat.   Why do we undermine ourselves so much?   Anyway, I finally jumped on and did a couple of miles the first night and went a bit farther each evening after that, walking until my knee started to ping and then stopped.  The pups gathered round me as I walked nowhere, looking up at me as if I was loosing my mind.  

I watched a video on YouTube and saw that training a pup to use a treadmill isn’t difficult at all. My dogs are smart and they trust me so that’s half the battle.  My vision would be to have two of the smaller pups on it at once.   They all come over when I’m on it and that first time Henri looked as if he was warming up, doing his stretches with paws on the edge of side rails.  I wanted them to see me on it a couple of times to show there was nothing to fear.  He looked as if he might jump up while I was hoofing away.  Henri’s the most skittish of the four so I started with him, working my way down to the more amenable, fearless one, which it turned out, was the slowest to catch on.

Henri is a miniature poodle so it was easy to keep him on course with my knee close to his side for guidance.  Henri didn’t need a lead to start but I used one for the other three.   I held his sides for a few seconds and there was a brief scratching as he was concerned about the movement but he settled in nicely and was a pro within fifteen seconds.  The trick is not to give up.  If they resist and you let them off, you’re screwed for the next time you try.   They have to remain on until they get it and calm down through the walk and only get off with your permission.    You aren’t hurting them so don’t feel badly for a second or they will sense that and feed off your emotions.  Keep calm and set the pace, literally. 

You want to keep the first few times short, maybe a minute or two and then stop.  I had Henri up to a dog jog for about 15 seconds, his little tongue came out so he was getting a bit of a workout.  Baby steps will ensure they won’t become overwhelmed.  I wish I had a picture to backup this story, but they are new to this and I need to stay by their side until they are more relaxed.   At some point I should be able to sit beside them and read while they take a walk and never leave the house. 

Dogs love to walk, its pack instinct and it balances them.  If you have dogs that don’t get along, take them for a walk and they’ll work it out.   The theory is that they will find it enjoyable  and bark to go on it.  That’s the plan anyway.   So far they all seem to like it. Such smart little hairy kids I have.      

6 Comments

Twenty Five Shades of Grey....

2/25/2015

4 Comments

 
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Twenty five shades of grey might be a little less provocative than fifty, but I'm sure you’ll agree it’s as stimulating….. 

Speedy Gonzales has done it again.  Sue Cunningham has whipped up another wow piece.  I designed Charlotte a couple of years ago but forgot to post it on the website.  Hawkeye was in the shop, spied it on the rack, snatched it from the hanger and said, “shades of grey!” There are 25 to be exact. 

Sue’s hooking speed reminds me of the Late Susan Leslie’s machine hands.  Actually, sometimes their standards, ideas and enthusiasm seem to cross pollinate as Sue displays the same passion for rug hooking that Susan had. They would have enjoyed one another. 

Charlotte comes in three different patterns, two smaller ones utilizing each end of the big one.  Several have suggested I rename the rug following the pop culture sensation that is out in theaters right now.  I’m not sure if that would be legal with copyright rules, but we could change it up a bit and call it 25 shades of grey, the exact number of textures, plaids and solids that make up this fabulous paisley rug. 

I originally designed and named it Charlotte after a dear, departed friend who loved her paisleys.  She couldn’t pass up a piece of fabric sporting the design and even gave the name to her cat.   It seems disloyal to change it after all this time, the only way I would be comfortable taking her namesake away would be to design another paisley, maybe one even more incredible befitting the complex woman that she was.  So there, I talked myself into it; the official change is Twenty Five Shades of Grey I, II and III.   Of course that means Shane is going to have to work his Photoshop magic and finish the two smaller ones by taking the elements from the large.  I don’t think I could talk Sue into hooking the other two!

Of course this pattern would be super if hooked with colour.  Imagine reds, blues, turquoise, greens with gold accents.   It could be a humdinger.   I’m sure you’ll all agree, anything paisley is nice.....including Brad...:)

Sue whipped this rug off in record breaking time.  She’s a force that girl, and in between the couple of weeks it took her to complete this 27 x 79 1/2” pattern she re-purposed  more furniture for her business “Perfectly Imperfect” to sell in the Come By Chance Antique Barn this summer.  If I had her energy I’d be swinging from the beams, there wouldn’t be any jobs left undone and I’d have a house full of hooked goodies.   I’m never jealous of others possessions but darn it if I’m not green over the endless energy they have.  Curse you damn sluggish thyroid!

At the shop yesterday, I overhead Shane telling Michelle that I haven’t hooked a rug for him.  I felt like a bad mom for about 10 seconds…in  my defense, I don’t hook for myself either, everything is for the shop, which is indirectly for him.... providing a job and therefore a roof over his darling head!  Someday when I retire I’ll hook my boy a rug and fill my house to the point where they’re piled in trunks waiting for their turn on the floor.  Yup, that’s the goal, I have all the ideas, inspiration and visions of rugs that float around in my head, only the time is needed to bring them to fruition for my home.   Someday……. 

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4 Comments

Winter is getting me down.....

2/20/2015

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I think I’m suffering the winter blues.  I feel icky and want to crawl in a hole and nap until spring.  Maybe the scraggly chin hair discovered while checking out the dry skin this morning are creating a Rip Van Winkle vibe.  Why didn’t someone notice and tell me, give me a head’s up?  I promise I’ll be the first one to let you know, I’ll say,  “Whatcha doing there honey, cultivating a bit of handy dental floss? 

The air is so dry my face is cracking.  My hands look like they belong to a 90 year old who lives in the desert.  I can’t seem to drink enough water to keep my body moist.  I’m slathering on the moisturizer and I still feel like a dried prune.   The cracks and crevices of dry skin run deep like ruts on a dirt road so it feels more like spackling than applying cream.  This winter sucks.  And I’m told Alberta is doing swell with plus temperatures, sometimes even double digits. How lovely for them. Somehow Mother Nature did a switcheroo cause it’s been cold and crappy around these parts.   Usually I’m the one bragging how nice it is to my poor hubby who suffers Alberta winters for his work.   

Maybe the five to six foot wall of snow around my driveway is depressing me.  I’m so sick of shoveling.  I think I’ve lost my bliss in a snowbank cause I‘m feeling lower than our Canadian dollar.   

We also have snow four feet up the windows of my shop, leaks in the ceiling of the dye kitchen and bathroom from the ice melting on the roof.   Can it get worse?  Well, yes, I’ve seen horror stories on TV of roofs collapsing that would be a nightmare with a capital N.  Surely I’ve accumulated enough brownie points so the universe won’t plague me with that concern. 

I’m so full of gloom I find it difficult to think let alone come up with something clever to say so I’ll just go home and have a nap and then pull out some hooking and lay down some loops.   If the house had a fire going and the smell of something cooking on the stove, I’d rush out of here with a bit of gusto but there’s a cold house and any pot in the cupboard is only full of pity.

I'm not alone in thinking enough is enough with winter, there are millions out there who will agree.  I'm having a bad day is all and tomorrow will be better, after all I'm a Nova Scotian who is used to all kinds of weather. 

I saw a funny video on the internet of a woman coming home and parking with barely enough room to get out of her car because the snow was piled so high on both sides.  She gets out and sees a snowman her kids have made and as she walks by it, swings her briefcase and sends Frosty's head flying about ten feet away.   That's how I feel today!   I wasn't able to attach it but view if you like by clicking the link below. 


http://www.theblaze.com/stories/2014/02/27/brutal-winter-getting-you-down-heres-a-clip-thats-sure-to-fire-up-your-funny-bone/
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Old Rugs Never Die, They Just Fade Away.....

2/18/2015

13 Comments

 
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How sad to spend time making a rug and not have it withstand the test of time.  You expect antique rugs to bear witness to the rages of temperatures, dirt and wear but a rug that hasn’t seen its first decade, not so much.

Of course I didn’t know what sunlight exposure would do to a rug, without experience to learn from, it didn’t even cross my mind when I hung it in the shop window.  I have noticed red houses and red cars have a tendency to fade faster than other colours.   With the exception of course of Santa Claus’s clothing; still gloriously red after all these years!

Other colours also fade to varying degrees.  Yellow, not a strong colour fades but is less detected as it turns to a creamy white.   All color absorbs wide spectrum or light from the Sun. The red color fades faster due to the red color components absorbing the blue ray, which in fact has a higher energy so that makes the red color molecules change (degrade) from time.

Blue has a shorter wave length, therefore higher energy. If you look at a rainbow's color spectrum, red is the complete opposite from blue or violet. From that, we can see that red will be the first "victim" among other visible color.

Red pigment molecules are larger. So, as a layer of large rocks will let through more light than a layer of sand, a layer of red pigment molecules end up having a lot more space between them and that's why it can take so many layers of paint to achieve full coverage.

Red can be a trickster when dyeing wool.  No amount of mordent will afford complete confidence with permanent colour.   I have a beautiful Persian carpet in my living room and every time it gets wet, either from Christmas tree water or a squirt from a pup, the paper towel is pink after absorbing the moisture.  The wool we dye at the shop seems much better as far as colour fast goes.  I’ve experimented earlier on when the question popped up.  We spin dry together all the dyed wools of the day and they come out clean, but then of course, we aren’t washing with soap, just spinning it dry.  Every new home maker suffers the horror of a red sock in a washing machine full of whites. 

So keep your beautiful rugs away from the sun or suffer the same consequence.  I was sick when I first noticed it.  I’d hung it in the window at the shop and left it there for a month, my windows face the north side so it get very little sunlight.  Other rugs have hung there without any repercussions but they didn’t have red in them. 

I tried to be clever and doctor the loss by painting more dye with a sponge applicator on top of the faded red but it only muddied it down further.  My mistake was that I should have applied straight red dye, not mix the formula that I had originally used over the dull red. I wasn’t starting with a base of white or natural so it just got darker and duller. 

The option of pulling it out and rehooking the apples, maybe green this time, a Granny Smith look, is a thought but I have so little time to do the new rugs that inspire me, I hate to take a step back.  And besides there has to be a bushel of apples there, a lot of hooking! 

Some say they like the antique look, but they’re my friends and tell you things to make you feel better.  Maybe I should keep this rug around to remind me of a lesson learned.  I’m a loon, always feeling sorry for inanimate objects; it’s such a sad little rug now.    I suppose, no rug is worthless, it can always be used as a good example of what not to do. 


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The reddish spot dyed wool I used for the leaf veins has also faded.  All the colours have faded in varying degrees but the apples tool the biggest hit and the yellow of the pineapple second but I can live with that as they are not that bright in real life, nor do they have the lustrous polished skin of an apple.  The apples feel bruised when I look at them.  Poor little Mackintoshes! 

And yes, I know I haven't sewn on rug binding yet...shame on me! 
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13 Comments

When life gives you lemons, make patterns....

2/17/2015

1 Comment

 
Written Monday Morning after Sunday's storm...

My life’s  so bright I gotta wear shades....yes, it’s pretty  darn good,  but right now I’m talking about the blinding snow.    It’s windy and cold as heck but the sun is shining and looking out the window is like witnessing a nuclear explosion, burning the retinas right out of my head.   

In this calm after the storm, I do appreciate the sun shining after yesterday’s dumping of snow but I’m thankful it’s accompanied with cold temperatures.  We don’t want any quick thawing or this town will be revisiting a time back in the late 50’s when row boats were the mode of transportation on Main Street.   

I’m not one hundred percent sure, but I think this is the most snow we’ve had for decades.  Town space is getting smaller and the roads are narrowing as places to stack the white stuff disappear.  I don’t know why they don’t dump it into the harbour considering that’s where it’ll end up after melting.  Yes, there are environmental rules to follow but someone didn’t think that one through considering it ends up there as run off. 

The pups have been out on the back deck for pee breaks and although out of the driving force of the wind, it’s finger-numbing cold.  If we were forced to go out on the other side, the unprotected North Pole side, beaten by ice pellets that  make exposed skin feel sand blasted, I think I’d let them pee in the house.   The high winds delivered a whipping equivalent to an S&M master which didn’t inspire me to leave the warm house to go outside to shovel.  The wind would only blow the tossed snow back in my face so I procrastinated until the clock struck 5:30 pm.  I was running out of time and daylight.   

I’m still strong like ox, but  I’m creeping up there so I play it smart and always phone Shane to say I am going outside and give him a time when I should finish and call him back when I’m safe inside.  I’m not paranoid about heart attacks but why leave anything to chance.  I would lie out there a heck-of-a-long time before anyone would miss me.  I had an uncle who had a heart attack while in the outhouse and tried to crawl, in a snow storm,  to the front door of his house but died just a few feet from it.   A little prevention is always smart, part of my “what happens next life code”.  A gentleman in town died of a heart attack a week ago; they say it was from shoveling snow.  He was 22 years my senior but there’s no age limit on a coronary.   

That was quite the storm.  When I crawled in bed Saturday night it was cold and clear and I woke up to white hell Sunday morning that continued all day and well into the night.   After dark, I had candles burning in case the power went out.  I don’t know why it didn’t, it was windier than a three hundred pound man sitting on a whoopee cushion.  It came at the house like a battering ram; some of the blows shook the foundation.  The wind ripped and tore at the shingles howling like the hounds of hell, dropping snow that barred doors and windows until we were trapped inside.  We live by the ocean so it’s always extra brutal here.  Last evening the wind was so strong when I went out to the windy side to get the shovel so I could clear the deck on the sheltered side for the pups, the wind grabbed it and effortlessly blew it into the air like a balloon on a string. The gusts beat on the back door like an angry fist; if it hadn’t been hooked it might have been ripped off and blown away, landing on a pair of red shoes somewhere.   The dogs were constantly barking from the banging against the door frame so I had to turn up the TV volume to drown out the noise.    

If I’m storm stayed I have enough food to last until Wednesday.  After that the pups will have to go vegetarian.  I joke a lot about being the first to perish in a natural disaster.  We eat fresh from the store, we don’t stock packaged food and rarely have cans of anything except stewed tomatoes. Once the eggs and fresh vegetables are eaten, I’ll be on a permanent diet until rescued.   

I have enough cream for one more coffee.  Funny....I’m certainly not a slave to the beverage and I usually sip a few mouthfuls and then it goes cold as work distracts me, but now that I might be denied the experience the hankering begins.  Even if I could get to town, today is a holiday and the stores will be closed.  Strange to be trapped by a habit that I don’t even own. 

As I look out my window I can’t help feel a bit persecuted and a whole lot frustrated.   One can only hope this is the last of the snow for this year, but then you know what they say about hope, “it’s a turd covered with icing” and really, that’s just more white stuff.

So when Mother Nature gives you lemons you stay home, safe and warm and design patterns.  I worked on three more Christmas stockings.  I bragged I’d have 50 by the end of 2014 and fell a bit short.  I looked around my kitchen for inspiration and thought dah!   For all the Blue Willow fans, here’s one for you! 


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Blue Willow Stocking
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Candy Cane Stocking
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Clowning Around Stocking
1 Comment

New year, new designs!

2/13/2015

2 Comments

 
I have to keep reminding myself that there are more of you following me here than on Facebook so I am going to list some of the new designs available at the studio.  To view these new designs click on these links. 

Christmas Stockings 
http://www.encompassingdesigns.com/seasonal-designs.html

Other designs - http://www.encompassingdesigns.com/new-designs.html
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Paisley Stocking
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Give A Hoot
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Trailer Park Bugs
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Trailer Park Bugs Chair Pads - Lady Bug, Daisy & Bee
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First Day
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Mermaid Welcome
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Dream Cottage
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Charlotte III
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Charlotte II
2 Comments

Free Scissor Bling with orders of $50.00 or more!

2/11/2015

3 Comments

 
From my heart and hands to you!  

February is the month of love.  Valentine's Day is soon here so treat yourself to a little piece of handmade bling, made by yours truly!   

Place a mail order or pop by the shop and receive a free scissor bling with purchase of $50.00 or more. (excluding shipping and taxes)

Promotion from Feb 12 - 14/2015 (or while supply lasts)

Each Scissor Bling contains a Murano style foil heart or lampwork bead and either a heart or a love related charm.  The lanyard is perfect for clipping to your rug hooking scissors so you can identify them quickly at hook-ins and gatherings.  The blinged scissors are also easier to locate when they fall between the
cushions of the sofa.

Each piece is slightly different, no two are exactly the same.  Made with 24 lb break Flex-rite, 49 strand nylon coated wire.  Crimp beads are covered with caps. 

If you wish to pick a specific one, count from left to right and let us know the number.  There are only twenty and once they are gone the
promotion will be over.  
(Value $12.95)

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3 Comments

"Welcome to the 3rd Dimension! workshop.....

2/10/2015

0 Comments

 
This workshop looks like a lot of fun! So many fun techniques to being your own project to life.  Come by and see the actual rug hanging in the shop for inspiration! 
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There might have been a bit of confusion if you have been looking for this pattern. to hook for the workshop above.  The original clearly stated on the pull out pattern, March/April/May 2014 which is the issue with the lady in a yellow dress on the cover.   However – the magazine made a mistake.  The article appeared in the July/August issue which has a green and yellow geometric on the cover.  You can use this pattern if you have a subscription to Rug Hooking Magazine or have purchased a copy from a shop.  The pattern can be personalized if anyone wants to change the wording or some of the design elements.  
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Also, I have designed two patterns that would encompass all the design elements for Heather's workshop.  Here are the paper drawings for now, I will have them traced to linen tomorrow for a better view.   I also need to make some changes to the word Welcome on the Cottage one....stay tuned.
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Dream Cottage
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Mermaid Welcome
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Pattern of the Month Winners

2/9/2015

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October Pattern of the Month Winner 
 
Janet Delo!

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November Pattern of the Month Winner

Rosemary Malone!

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Only December left before the Grand Prize.  
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The skinny on burlap...

2/6/2015

5 Comments

 
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Primitive Weave
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Fine Weave
I’ve been avoiding this topic for some time hoping the situation would rectify itself but it hasn’t so it’s time to make an announcement. 

Burlap.  I no longer have any.  The supplier that stocked all the Canadian shops and possibly some American ones has gone out of business, taking with it the manufacturer’s name based in Scotland.  I’m assuming as much, considering it’s called a Scottish weave.  You would think a bit of searching on the internet would yield a prospect but I’ve spent hours  trying to find that source or one that might produce a like quality. We’ve been accustomed to the 75” wide primitive weave but I’d take whatever is available. I never liked that width anyway as they folded the burlap in half to make shorter rolls, so there was always a crease to work around.   Dragging the marker in the channel, it would sometimes jump going over the bend making for a black mess. 

During another evening of searching, I got lucky and found a supplier in India.  It sure looked promising and I fired off an email and they replied to say, yes they ship to Canada.  I asked for samples but nothing ever showed in the mail.   I sent another email and didn’t get a reply.  With the increasing costs of shipping, duties and tariffs, buying from that distance away would be costly, maybe price itself right out of the market.  Who wants to pay a linen price for burlap?  Maybe it’s time to let it go?  

I know there are those who prefer burlap for others reasons; I’ve been in that camp myself but for sure it isn’t the smell, no one has ever said they buy it because it’s sprayed with a petroleum preservative and yum!  My nose will agree, it reeks like diesel fuel when it first comes off the bolt.   When I first started rug hooking I was so allergic to the smell it made my face burn like fire.  I sat with a fan blowing across my head to push the chemical smell away from my nose; it was that or wear a mask that made my face hot and brought on breakouts.  The fan was cold, especially in the winter but eventually it bothered me less and less because I learned to take a yard off the bolt and let it sit to off gas before I used it.  The burlap straight off the bolt and the marker smell combined still bothers me today so I appreciate not having that job anymore. 

The fuzz of the burlap has never bothered me although I hear complaints from others.    You can trim it or leave it on to be walked off.  It was really only a pain if you were using black as a background as that highlighted the fibers through the colour variance.    

My reason for liking burlap was the stiffness of it.  When hooked, my rugs were the same shape as the pattern dictated, no roundish corners, no pulling to the side.  I found linen a bit stretchy and too soft.  Now I will have to like it or lump it, along with everyone else so grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change and move on....it’s over, the fat lady has sung.  No more burlap.  

I’ve emailed the supplier that closed shop and asked for their contact information, surely the company in Scotland would appreciate continued business for their product but I’ve not heard back.  If anyone out there in rug hooking land knows of this Scottish connection I would love the option to stock it again if the price hasn’t gone through the roof.   As a business owner, one who is conscientious about the service and supplies we offer, it devastates me to have to say, sorry we don’t have what you want.   

So we are down to linen, which is not a bad thing.  It’s like saying we no longer sell hamburger but still have plenty of Prime Rib.... not a real hardship.   Most of my sales are patterns on linen; I get very few requests for burlap especially from the United States.  We do have burlap patterns in stock though; ones drawn before the last yard was pulled from the bolt.  If you wish a pattern on burlap we may have it made up and hung in the back room, just ask us to check.    

And I should add having burlap wasn’t always happy time, maybe I should keep remembering the angst it caused, quite like forgetting the pain of childbirth and wanting another child.   The last ten bolts or so came with flaws, some serious.  The quality had dipped as there was a hole that occurred every two yards or so that we had to cut around and if we overlooked one, someone got upset with us, and rightly so, who wants to have to make repairs in a new rug!

In a couple of bolts the hole was close to the selvage edge which didn’t impact on the design because we have a generous allowance on our patterns.  It was the ones in the center that caused the grief with the losses due to cutting around the waste.   Hooking one of my Initially Yours patterns there was a hole that I had to fix, it was annoying but I fixed it and moved on. 

So linen is the present and the future of rug hooking.  There are other backings such as rug warp and Monk’s cloth but predominantly the choice is linen.  I used to sell Monk’s cloth and Rug Warp, but that supplier went out of business a couple of years back and because there was very little request for it, I didn’t bother searching out another source. 

Linen comes in various widths and colours.  Bleached or natural.  Both have extremely strong fibres, unlike burlap strands that break with a good tug.  Linen is usually hairless now but some still have the fizzy bits.  Linen will last longer, has the longevity for your heirloom rugs to be handed down for generations.  Linen rugs can be washed if a stain occurs whereas burlap is never supposed to get wet after the steaming on the completion of the rug.  Burlap will rot over time if the conditions are damp, nor does it like the sun so don’t leave your unhooked patterns or work-in-progress pieces exposed to sunlight near a window.  Dried fibers will become brittle. 

Burlap turns a golden yellow if exposed to the light.  Even in my shop, the edges that are exposed to the fluorescent lighting turn a slightly darker colour.  People who find the deal of a lifetime at a flea market, a beautiful pattern that’s as old as we are, or new and left exposed to damp and light should be concerned about hooking it.  I’ve seen grown women cry as holes explode through their work as the pressure of the metal hook and the packed loops snap the fibers.  Do yourself a favour and copy the design over to a new backing, it is the only time I condone copying a pattern.   

Older burlap rugs won’t disintegrate before your eyes but they certainly won’t entertain the longevity one would hope for.   Most of us like the thought of our handiwork being passed down to future generations; it confirms we were here, creative and ambitious!     When dedicating hours to a project, this work of art and expression of your talent, the extra expense for a better backing will secure the investment you made in materials and time.   

Linen is also softer on the hands and won’t cause chaffing where burlap has been notorious for its roughness and scratching the skin.   Between the burlap and the gripper frames hooking can be a painful experience.  I’ve bled on every rug I’ve ever hooked, signing it with my DNA.   I call it, suffering for my art.

So that’s the scoop.  I’ll leave the burlap pricing on the website in case the future holds a source of inventory but for now, linen is the backing we sell other than the patterns already made up in the back room.  Our linen is top quality for those who appreciate working with fine materials.  We have it in 60” and 64” widths, a multi-purpose that covers all cuts.  We have it in bleached or natural; the bleached does cost a few dollars more for the extra processing but some like the whitish backing to see the marker lines better.  The white or bleached linen is actually a bit stiffer than the natural due to the processing so it might suit the burlap lovers who appreciated that aspect of the backing. 


Of course I could buy burlap, of inferior quality, but that is as iffy as a two dollar bill and I refuse to sell any products that I wouldn’t be caught dead working with.  If I want to cover my shrubs in the winter, that’s about all it’s good for.  Some burlaps have such small holes it’s painful to pull wool through and a lot of the fibers are weak, snap like twigs under foot.  I’ve gone around to various fabric stores and did a little tug test when no one was looking and wasn’t happy with the results.  I guess you get what you pay for, and cheap is no bargain.  I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth but this self-appointed princess likes working with quality!   

5 Comments

Stranger in the night.....

2/5/2015

1 Comment

 
When you have ELIMINATED the impossible,
whatever remains however improbable, 

must be the TRUTH." - Sherlock Holmes
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The night before last hubby and I were watching TV when I looked out the window and noticed a tall, thin male walking along the road heading towards Mader’s Cove. It was after 11:00 pm and the weather outside was clear but deadly cold, something like -19 C with wind chill, so it was weird to see someone out that late and on foot.   He was walking with his back to traffic, foolish for that time of night, especially with dark clothing on. 

These kind of temperatures freeze skin, turn the insides of your nose into hairsicles so the poor guy had to be cold to the marrow.   He was wearing a short coat and a toque, probably gloves but I couldn’t tell with the pole lighting making him a silhouette against the backdrop of snow.  My impression was that he was mid-twenties to early thirties; something in his walk dismissed a teenager. 

He strolled past our driveway, past our neighbours mail box and then turned up their road.   I thought it strange, the woman next door lives alone and who comes a callin that late at night? Hubby had gotten up to make a coffee and I mentioned there was a man walking up the neighbour’s driveway.  We both scrambled to the window to gawk but couldn’t see any movement.  We made the decision to call next door to find out if everything was okay.  She’s a late nighter like us and many times I lay in bed reading to the wee hours and see her light on across the way. She answered and said she was alone and wasn’t expecting anyone.  We told her if there is a knock on the door, don’t answer and give us a call.  She thanked us and we hung up. 

My imagination worked the various scenarios.  Maybe he was a squatter, holding up in her garage for the night.  Maybe he was cold and wanted to use a phone to call for a ride?  Maybe his actions were more nefarious, but I tried not to go there although my mind was primed to enter the dark realm.    Too many forensic science shows and true life crime can give a gal a salted imagination.

I watched her lit window for the next few minutes waiting for movement inside. Outside, the full moon illuminated her backdoor area and up the hill behind her house so I could spot someone moving about easily.   I got out the binoculars and was able to see even better.  Concern was rising like dough in a pan,  but I beat it down, after all, this is Mahone Bay, the worst that ever happens is teenage vandalism, kids blowing off steam, a few tipped tombstones and a slashed tire.   

Tuesday night we put the garbage out for Wednesday morning pick-up.  Usually hubby takes the bags to the end of the road but I needed to do a little sleuthing. I grabbed the flashlight and the recyclables and hoofed down the driveway.  It was bitter outside, not fit for a rock.  Wrapped in a knee length fake fur, boots, hat, gloves and a scarf wrapped like a constrictor around my neck, I was still chilled to the bone.  My face cracked; protesting the frigid dryness as it sucked the moisture from my skin.  I pulled the scarf up over my nose so the warmth of my breath would protect my lips from chapping.  It wouldn’t take much time in this weather to become a frozen, human Popsicle.   

I went to the bottom of our driveway and starting looking for the man’s tracks in the snow.  I found them as he went off the road to her property edge and traced them up the incline for about five feet.  Then they turned and went back down the other side of the driveway and continued down the road.  His prints were small, slightly larger than my woman’s size 8.  The middle of the driveway had been ploughed and the surface was packed hard and icy so the prints didn’t show there, only the edges where it was softer snow did he leave his mark. So the question is, why this horseshoe side trip? If only I had stayed in the window when I first noticed him I might have seen him turn around and leave, sparing us all a worrisome night.   If he walked up and then immediately down the driveway, what was he doing?  Was he drunk and confused, staggering to the wrong home? 

I read in bed to quiet my mind and find it helps to relax so sleep can come but I kept being distracted by the walking man.  After putting my book down I looked out the window one last time with the binoculars and then took off my glasses and turned out our bedroom light but no sleep for me. It was a fitful night of tossing and turning for hours.   The last time I looked at the clock through weary eyes was 5:00 am.

I woke up 8:00 am, jarred from a coma by the phone ringing.  A repair guy that was supposed to come by at ten to do a job, phoned to say he had to drive his mother-in-law to the hospital and would drop by later.   There aren’t enough words to describe how crappy I felt,  swollen from a lack of rest, with a headache pounding behind my eyes like a tribal drum, all I could think about was next door.   

The rural route mail arrived in the morning and the red arm was up.  I waited for her to walk down and retrieve it, something she does everyday but of course this time she didn’t.  I explained it away, she probably didn’t get much sleep and slept in.   I probably scared the crap out of her. She’s a senior and lives alone and probably sat up all night with a baseball bat waiting for an intruder.   I phoned her to chat and she thanked me for looking out for her. I think she slept better than I did so I was happy about that.  She told me she hadn’t seen the guy so therefore wasn’t that alarmed.  

On my way home from work yesterday I drove past a very familiar shape.  It was a slim man with a red toque, red trim on his black jacket with a pair of gangly legs walking toward the pub.  I knew instantly it was him because of his walk.   Hate to sound boastful but I have excellent observation skills, facial recognition, and I can detect patterns quickly.  I think I would have made a good detective, another fantasy I entertained as a young adult.  I’d bet the farm that is the same guy I saw the night before last.   I asked my cleaning guy who lives further down the road from us and he said he’s seen a guy matching that description walking along the road before.   Mystery solved as for the who, the why is still unknown. 


1 Comment

Cat sitting for Shane

2/2/2015

2 Comments

 
PicturePattern, "If A Cat Could Talk"
I’ve been on cat duty.  Shane and Ashley spent a week in Mexico so I promised to look after his two girls.  He asked if we would not only feed his kitties, but play with them for a bit so they wouldn’t be lonely.  No problem. 

Molly, a sleek, short haired brindle coat, is outgoing, curious and extremely agile.   Shane has beams in his kitchen ceiling that she can jump too and swing like a monkey.  Zoey is a tubby, black and white hissing snake.  The first day there she let me hold her and actually played with a stick that had tantalizing, string ends.  I thought, “off to a promising start”.

Day two I think she was annoyed to have to look at us again and swatted me like a fly.  Those swipes came with lethal weapons at the end of the paw and the guttural sound of a beast from down under and I don’t mean Australia.   Every time we stepped too close to her personal space she powered up and hissed.  Whatever tied her knickers in a knot wasn’t going to be fixed in an hour long visit so we didn’t make any attempts to be friends.  Her loss for sure.  She has the silkiest fur imaginable and I would have loved to caress her, scratch her ears.  Every day she perched on the back of a living room chair, a position in which she could laser stare us with sour eyes.  Picture Grumpy Cat from the internet....there’s definitely a resemblance.   

Molly certainly made up for the unwelcoming Zoey.  She purred and rubbed against us for as long as we stayed, reveling in the attention and she got a daily scratching for anything that might have itched.  She was waiting for us by the door every visit and greeted us with a sweet meow.  Friday evening we stayed a couple of hours, falling asleep on the sofas and Molly lay on my belly, it felt like old times.    

I used to be a cat person.   That doesn’t mean I can’t be both a dog and a cat lover, it’s just that once I found dogs, they filled a deeper need and I never looked back although I rather enjoyed spending time with my son’s little feline family.  
Growing up, we always had a house cat, Sandy I,II,III and so on.  Every time one passed on we replaced her/him with the same colour cat and they inherited the same name.  Maybe it was a ploy to pretend the new was still the old or maybe we lacked imagination.  I don’t know why my poor mother allowed us to keep getting cats.  She did a lot of complaining that she had to do all the work while we had all the fun.  She would threaten “no more pets!” pretty much weekly”.  They say, fool you once shame on me, fool you twice shame on you.  I remember begging for a replacement cat; promising the moon and she fell for it.  Did she secretly love cats despite the fault-finding or did she do it to please me?   I will never know…..but I begged like a panhandler on a street corner with please, please, please until the no’s became a yes.  I’ll feed it, I promise....please, please, pretty please with sugar on top, I fibbed through well meaning teeth!  She must have known they were empty words after each new pussycat landed on our doorstep and nothing changed.  She was left to open the cans and scoop out the food, wash the dish, letting the beasts in and out as they were always on the wrong side of the door.    I don’t know how she really felt about the cats; there was some serious respecting each others space going on during the daylight hours, hopefully there was a bit of cuddling on the sly once we were in bed.  

The last cat in my life was my father’s.  A promise I made before he died.  It was the first cat I ever had that used litter.   It was quite ill on arrival, riddled with a  bladder infection and peeing problems, was spraying the house yellow and howled in the nights keeping me awake.  She had been spayed, a call to the vet confirmed it, but I was told there might have been a bit of ovary remaining causing the poor thing to go into heat.  They fixed the urinary tract infection and said they could open her up and have a look around.  Dad’s estate paid for the operation and they found enough ovary remaining to be causing the problem.  After that she kept her urine to herself and was quiet at night.  We slowly trained her to go outside and she seemed to appreciate having a good sniff of nature, but did her business and then wanted to come back inside. 

She was a sweet girl, a beautiful calico angora that was undeserving of a name like Pax so we renamed her Princess to fit her royal demeanor.  She acted a bit like a dog in that she would greet you at the door and follow you from room to room.  She was very affectionate and cuddled with us on the sofa.   She was a bit demanding in that she fully expected us to retire early and would head to the staircase around 11:00 pm and start meowing as if to say, you stupid humans get to bed! 

She had a vindictive streak, if a cat can be calculating and vengeful.  Hubby would go away for work and while he was away, I let the cat play.  She could sleep on our bed in the nights.  So when hubby came home he would chase her off the bed.  He wasn’t being mean; he had a light allergy to cat hair so it made for uncomfortable nights….sneezing interrupted the snoring too much.  One time he caught her on the bed and shoed her off.  She waited three days for exact her revenge.  He came home from racing and left his sailing bag by the backdoor.  She crawled inside and peed all over his gear.  It was a spite pee because she moved around and squirted over all the contents of the bag, not just in one spot as a regular emptying of the bladder would be. 

The only way to successfully get the smell of cat urine out of anything is with a pair of scissors.  I washed his gear and duffel bag in the machine four times and hung it outside for two days and I could still detect a faint whiff of her acidic pong.  Any residual odor would mean a future awakening in a summer’s heat and humidity.  Considering up to this point, she had never had an accident in the house, it was a pee bomb, a direct hit for not being allowed on the bed and to let him know she was pissed, pardon the pong…...    

One day I got detained at work and didn’t get home until 7:00 in the evening and she’d been in the house all day.  I worried on the way home that she would be bursting and felt really bad that she was forced to hold it.  Well....she didn’t and decided to go on the newly covered armchair we only recently picked up from the upholsterer.   Maybe the chair reeked of their cats because they had several and he worked out of his home so I’m sure they crawled all over the chair and fabric.  Maybe the smell was unfamiliar; hadn’t been broken in by our family and house smells and she wanted to help that along.  Who knows, but she added insult to injury and pinched a well-placed loaf between the cushion and the arm of the chair that created quite the smear.      

I smelled urine as soon as I opened the door.  It was winter so the heat was on causing the stench to rise and permeate the entire house.  It stung my eyes as I followed the acrid trail into the living room and around the corner of our L shaped room.  The stain was large, spreading until most of the cushion was damp.   I lost it.  I have said many times I like nice things and keep them in top order…this was definitely a wart.  Knowing how hard it was to get the smell out of hubby’s sailing gear, how in hell was I going to get it out of a cushion?  I burst into tears and continued to cry throughout the entire cleaning process.  You would have thought someone died by the way I carried on hubby looked like a deer caught in the headlights, didn’t know if he should run or hide.  I unzipped and removed the wet cover and started soaking it in the kitchen sink.  Over and over I washed and rinsed it all the while bawling and moaning.  I got out the vinegar and soaked the fabric and then rinsed and rinsed again and I could still smell it.  Maybe the stench was burned into the olfactory walls because it haunted me for days.    

Then the foam cushion had to be washed and rinsed, the soap lathering it up until it looked like a ski hill at Wentworth.  So much soap and my hands were pruned and raw when I finished.  I was sick but it was my fault, I’d been gone too long.  I didn’t blame the cat but wondered why she couldn’t have peed on the back door mat or someplace less of a burden to clean?   She watched me the entire time from the arm of the sofa and I wonder what she was thinking…possibly “That’ll teach you to be late Missy Chrissy”. 

That was the extent of our bad times.  Life with Princess was good and she was a connection to my dad.  We bonded and I loved pampering her with all the affection she could stand.  Unfortunately, about two years after she moved in she stopped peeing and the vet told us that her kidneys were in rough shape and she would not last long.  They said I could extend her life with an IV drip, injecting fluid under her skin to be absorbed and flush her system.  I did that for several months.  We got into a routine and she didn’t like being forced to stay on my lap for fifteen minutes every day but the alternative wasn’t great.  She wasn’t in any pain and I didn’t mind treating her at all.  As long as she was happy we both were.  This wasn’t a permanent solution and I could see when she began to fail and had to make the tough decision. 

Once alone, I made a conscious decision not to have any more cats.  Working so much it was best not to have any pets and I was without a furry kid until I found my little Honey, the first of my toy poodles.  It was love at first sight and at that moment I realized how lonely I had been for a four legged baby.    

Once I got to know dogs, they fit my personality better.  You can’t make a cat do anything and are too independent for my liking.  I have strong maternal instincts that need something to fuss over and dogs like attention.  The experts say that dogs have the mentality of a two year old and that’s right up my alley.  I so love the loyalty factor and how they make me the center of their universe. I like feeling special and in their eyes I'm the cat's meow! 


2 Comments
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    Christine Little has been ranked #5​ out of the 60 top rug hooking bloggers by Rug Hooking Magazine!

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    Max Anderson, Australia, recipient of my Nova Scotia Treasures rug.  An award of excellence for promoting Canada through his writing.  
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