The other day was show and tell at the shop with visitor Sandy Bruce, who vacations in Oakland several weeks of the year.  She is most known as a Duck Toller Retriever breeder and several friends have pups from her litters.  Lovey dogs, right Lorraine? 

Sandy came in totting a bag with finished rugs so we did a little photo shoot for the blog.  Two of the rugs hooked are my patterns and three are Deanne Fitzpatrick's.  It's obvious that Sandy loves colour  and each mat was a delight. 

Changes is one of our staple patterns that comes in a vertical as well as a horizontal shape.  This was the first time I've seen the vertical one hooked.  Lacking a proper picture I took the horizontal one that Mary did and worked a bit of computer magic to show it elongated but it fell short a bit on the borders.   

I love Deanne's houses.  The whimsy of them always brings a smile and a bit of professional envy for not thinking of them first!  My friend Sue hooks a lot of her designs so I get to see first hand how fabulous Deanne's designs can be.  The photo really doesn't do them justice.  In the smaller house and flower garden the oranges are far more yellow and the greens are electric, and blues a perfect match, making for a wonderful palette perfectly blended.  The sheep are adorable with their curly coats and posing faces.  No one is camera shy in this one....the trio look as if to say, "Whatcha doin?"

Mary would be delighted to see her Scottie hooked is such vibrant colours as well.   He's a handsome dude surrounded by stripes and squares! 

Sandy Bruce started rug hooking by taking a class from Carol at Spruce Top in 1995.  She was scheduled for a root canal and decided she needed something to do while recovering.  So with the class under her belt, she bought herself a Bolivar cutter and headed back to Toronoto.  To date she's designed most of her own pieces but when she sees something whimsical she goes for it. 

There was an hiatus when she put her hooking away and then got back into it a year and a half ago and is now going great guns.  She hooks mostly in #4 and #5 cuts. She likes to dye and has all of the equipment but these days would rather buy so she spends more time hooking that preparing to hook.  She still uses a hoop, likes the mobility of it and loves to hook on burlap. 

Sandy owns and operates Redland Kennels and if you would like to check out her site click the link... www.redlandkennels.com

I downloaded this list from the internet...I thought maybe someone might like descriptions for the various wools we come across. 

Wool Fabric Types

Beaver cloth is a heavy woolen overcoating, napped and pressed down to resemble beaver fur.
Botany/Merino wool is a fine wool fabric made from worsted wool yarn.
Broadcloth is an all woolen or worsted fabric with a velvety feel.
Challis, a light weight soft wool fabric in plain weave, has a printed or woven design or flowers.
Cheviot, usually Scotch wool is a soft, fine wool that is heavier than serge.
Chinchilla cloth is a heavy, spongy woolen overcoat fabric with a long nap that has been rubbed into a curly, nubby finish.
Donegal was originally a thick and warm homespun or tweed woven by Irish peasants in Donegal, Ireland. Donegal now describes the wool tweed that has colorful thick slubs woven into the fabric.
Felt fabric is a compact sheet of entangled, not woven wool or fur fibers. The felt is produced by processing a mat of fibers with moisture, heat, and pressure.
Flannel wool is a soft, lightweight fabric with a nap on one or both sides.
Gabardine is a tightly woven wool twill with a high sheen. This fabric is excellent for tailoring and wears well.
Glen checks are usually seen in menswear and originated in Scotland. It is characterized by a variety of small, even check designs.
Harris tweed is a hand woven fabric from Scotland with a soft feel.
Heather Mixture describes tweeds and homespun’s that have colors of heather and sand of the Scottish heather fields.
Herringbone wool is woven in a twill that is reversed at regular spacing, creating a sawtooth line.
Homespun is a loose, strong, durable woolen woven either by hand or machine with a coarse feel.
Houndstooth check has a four pointed star check in a broken twill weave.
Jersey is a knit fabric that is usually knit in fine wool but can also be found in silk, and man-made fibers.
Laine is French for “wool”.
Lambsdown is a heavy knit fabric that has a spongy fleeced nap on one side.
Loden fabric is a thick, soft, waterproof, windproof, wool used in outerwear that has a characteristic green color.
Mackinaw fabric is a heavy double fabric in striking colored patterns.
Melton, a heavy, thick, short napped woven fabric that has been fulled.
Merino wool is soft and luxurious, resembling cashmere. This term is also used to describe the finest wools.
Oatmeal Cloth is a durable, soft wool with a pebbled face.
Panama Cloth, a plain woven worsted wool, sometimes resembling the texture of Panama hat.
Petersham, a very thick, waterproof woolen coating, usually dark blue, is used for men’s trousers or heavy coats.
Pilot Cloth is a coarse, heavy, stout twilled woolen that is heavily napped and navy blue. Used by seamen.
Poodle Cloth is made with a boucle yarn and resembles the Poodle dog.
Rabbit Hair is used in woven wool’s as a substitute for vicuna to give a soft effect in the fabric.
Sharkskin is woven with warp and filling yarns of alternating white with black, brown or blue.
Tartan is a twilled plaid design, originally Scottish.
Tweed is a rough textured wool, originally homespun and slightly felted. This fabric is sturdy with a mottled color.
Worsted is made up of short pieces woven together, 3” or 4” long,      

Sorry I didn't post a blog today (Friday).  I was up so late last night (Thursday) preparing for my tax appointment today (Friday), I ran out of time.   Pretty much missed all day at work...sorry to the customers who came to the shop to find me gone.  Shane was there for the first time on his own...he has a lot to learn but he's a quick study and definitely smarter than a five year old. 

I'm pretty exhausted and mentally whipped by dealing with a week of numbers, so much so I couldn't deal with words.  After a  good night's sleep I'll be back to work on Saturday bright eyed and bushy tailed...happy to have 2012 put to bed, and eager to fully embrace 2013.  It's going to be a great year!  Lots of new things for the shop...more space, more stock, hundreds of new designs, new dye colours, innovative ideas and writing.  Stay tuned!



  

In July, 1951, the first Hooking Bee was held on the green at Storrowton Village in West Springfield, Mass. It was supervised by Mrs. Winans.  Imagine the work it took to make this day happen; this history in the making; maybe even a record.   One thousand plus women and apparently, one man, all gathered together in the name of rug hooking.   Mind boggling!
           

What an incredible masterpiece!  Imagine the time and effort to dye for and hook a rug of this size.  I see very little quick and easy background.  This rug is plastered with one delight after another, scrolls, flowers and stylized leaves.   The dedication!  This woman had to have a few burly men to help carry this piece to the hook-in!

I know for a fact that years ago, women were weren't shy about tackling the big rugs.   In our little town of Mahone Bay, many ballroom sized carpets were hooked by local woman for Percy Inglis, who designed the most amazing patterns.  He is the former owner of the Suttles & Seawinds building, and what used to be one of the largest single family homes in the area.  In my time we called it the Quinlan property, for Clara, the proprietor, lived there alone.  I'm not sure of the family history or how the name changed from Inglis to Quinlan but she is obviously a descendent, maybe a niece?  

When we moved into the house on Cherry Lane when I was ten, there was the remnants of a small convenience type store in the front.  I'm not sure if memory is serving me correctly but they might have sold material and threads and that sort of thing.  But there were also boxes of cereal and canned goods on the shelves.  By then no one did any shopping there as everything was old and stale. 

My neighbours kept an eye on her and ran errands so I would sometimes visit when my friend dropped off the mail or groceries.   We were always rewarded with candy, how many decades old is anyone's guess but I was warned not to eat it.  It was dried to a tooth breaking lump that flavour had long since abandoned.  

Clara always wore floor length dresses, big and full that fell off her hips and cascaded outward, possibly the result of a crinoline.  She was a big woman making it difficult for her to get around but I remember the swishing of her dress as she laboured from one area to another.  Her hair was always up in a bun, swirled around and fastened with hair combs.  I remember the way she looked at me, piecing me with her stare, maybe wondering if I was one of the little devils who taunted her.  Most kids were afraid of Clara, she was one of those mysterious recluses that kids dare one another to provoke.  She made me nervous too, the place was always dark and dingy, never any lights on at night except for this one small stained glass pane and during the day all you could see was her head in the large store front window as she warmed her daytime perch. 

Walking through the door was like taking a trip back in the past.  Nothing had changed except the accumulations of dust and grime.  You could smell the burning dust in the heat of the summer as light streamed through the unclad windows.  There was also talk that she never changed her clothing since the era they were sewn in nor had any familiarity with bathing.  There was a distinct pong that carried out the door on the wings of summer breezes and was present for every one of my visits.   When Clara was moved to  a nursing home they sold the contents of the house and the auction drew people from near and far. 

I attended that auction in the eighties, interested in crockery and a flax wheel listed in the paper and had my first insight into the mastery of hand hooked rugs.  I stood in awe to see men climb to the top of step ladders to hold up large rugs and unhooked patterns that Percy Inglis designed.  Back then, I didn't even know what rug hooking was all about but I can remember being suitably impressed as a succession of WOWS escaped my lips.   The auction left a lasting impression and when I started rug hooking I able to connect the dots to an even higher level of respect.  

One of the rugs displayed had  an amazing scalloped outer border with an abundance of intricately shaded roses and posies.  Cabbage sized roses in the center with magnificently hooked, curled leaves and scrolls, so much to see a few moments, the rugs were heavy to hold up and the bidding was swift, so there wasn't a lot of time to take it all in.  The finished rugs fetched high prices and now I know why.  I remember someone commenting that people had attended the auction specifically for the rugs. The large patterns sold as well.  I remember thinking I should buy one but I didn't know what I would do with it.  They were just so pretty, little did I know that in just a few decades, rug hooking would be a huge part of my life.   I'm wondering if any of the rugs or unhooked patterns are at the Settlers Museum here in Mahone Bay or at least pictures thereof.  When they open I'm planning a trip to check it out and I'll pass the information on. 

They also sold off box lots of pattern pieces and design elements that Percy was working on.   One day, a customer came into the shop and said she bought one of the boxes and asked if I would like to have it.  I was delighted and snapped it up and I've been able to adapt some of them into fantastic designs.  Percy's Geometric, Percy's Posies and Percy's Tulips to name a few. 

Patterns of yesteryear were done differently than we do today with red dot, at least this was Percy's way.  They used cut outs to trace around for simpler motifs and for larger clusters, the perforation method.  They glued layers of newspapers, magazine pages and tissue paper until it was thick and durable to work with for repeated use.  They put some sort of wash over the top to thicken it, a varnish perhaps, or maybe oil?  You can see the staining it created in the picture below.  Then they would draw the design on the side with the tissue paper and do perforations every quarter inch or so along the drawn line so when they use their marking element, I assume it was some sort of ink,  it would bleed through to the backing and then they would connect the dots for a filled in pattern.  Can you imagine how long it would take to create a pattern on a rug of size by first making all those holes and then dipping some sort of ink pen into each one to transfer the pattern and then connect all those dots??????? 

In the box was also patterns for large scalloped borders such as you would see on those full room sized rugs,  and templates for oval inserts of varying sizes.   If you would like to see more of the items I can take more pictures.   There are bags of small items, pieces of roses, petals, stems, geometric pieces, Chinese letters, animals and various shapes.  It is also interesting to have his handwriting on a lot of them, his thoughts for colour choices and placement.   Percy's past is a part of my town's history, and generations later he and I are connected by our love of rug hooking. 

Back about 24 years ago I was dabbling with oil  paints, trying to create the great masterpiece that would catapult me into the art world. Most of the stuff I created ended up in the basement to scare the mice away but every now and then there was one that was worthy of a frame.  

I really liked the style of William De Garthe and tried my hand at ships coming out of the mist and men fishing off the grand banks but my painted oceans left little to be desired.  And then I discovered Joseph Purcell from Lunenburg who became my mentor even through he never met me.  I tried to  duplicate the haunting realism in his waves of the deep.  His slashes of a palette knife created surf that left me breathless.  The light shining through the pipeline of each wave curl, the frothy crest and the motion of heaving and rolling as if the sea was a living, breathing entity, captured my soul.  Tela Purcell, his wife, told me that women usually don't like the floor to ceiling painting of her husband's deep ocean masterpiece. She said they aren't comfortable staring into the face of so much water.  Well I don't know about the rest of the female species, but I loved it!  I could feel the motion and swells as if on a swing, rising high and then falling.  I was head over heels in love, but the huge painting had a  $39,000 price tag, so I decided a little crush was the better way to go and bought a small 8 1/2" x 11".  After a quarter of a century I finally had an original Purcell.  I don't know why I'm so drawn to his work and mesmerized by his oceans when I can't  swim a lick and have a life long fear of being in water  over my head.    

I've had a few experiences with near drowning.  Once at  the Mahone Bay pool in the early eighties.   I could do a bit of froggy paddle in the shallow end but watching the kids spring off the diving board into the deep, pop up and swim to the side in mere seconds gave me a false sense of ability.  So I dove off, sunk to the bottom and stayed there for what seemed like an eternity.  Apparently I have the floating skills of a rock and it wasn't a good time to find out.   I heard the whistle blow to clear the pool as I began to slowing inch my way to the top and by the time my head breached the surface I was just about gone.  There was more water in me than the pool and I was choking and spitting and thrashing wildly.  They threw in a life preserver which I had the where-with-all to grab and was hauled to the side like a beached whale.  It was family swim and all the little kids and moms were lined along the edge looking at me as if I was some strange, deep bottom creature, never before seen.  To add to the humiliation, I was lectured by the guard not to pull that again in front of an audience of preschoolers....not one of my finest moments.

Those who don't study their history are doomed to repeat it so one day at Sweetland beach I paddled a bit too far out over my head so when I tired to set my feet down, the distance between the bottom and the surface was over my 5' 7" height.  The depth  was probably only an inch taller than me but I  panicked and start drowning yet again.   I'm trashing around and screaming as I bobbed up and down totally ignored because I was so close to shore, but on my third trip under someone finally realized I wasn't fooling around and dove in to save me, well he actually just ran in a few feet.    Another one of life's embarrassing moments but hey, another story to tell.   

Out of three kids, none of us can swim.   Our father being the classic worry wart, who suffered debilitating cramps in cold water, never allowed us to have the full beach experience.  Any time the water reached our knees, he would be shouting from the sand, "Don't go out any farther, you'll drown and I won't be able to save you!!!!!"  The panic in his voice set up a mental block that water was dangerous so that ended any chance of learning to swim.  I know it's fear and not a lack of physical ability that impedes my aquatic skill because during the stupid teenage years, I had a few beers and was able to comfortably swim back and forth to the Clearland Lake raft.  I was like a stealth missile, smooth and confident, steering toward the target with ease. Now I don't recommend water spots while under the influence but I was young; just making a point that  psychological bonds can hold you back even though you are more than capable of breaking them.

Like all good parents, mine sent us for swimming lessons but they were taught in the early morning in the  freezing saltwater of our harbour and on top of that, or maybe I should say at the bottom of that, was a filthy brown sludge that oozed up between our toes.  All of five on that first day of class, as the murkiness and jelly fish surrounded me, I asked the instructor....."Julie, what's that brown stuff?"  She spared no feeling when she  simply replied "Shit".  Back in the day before our sewage treatment plant, all the toilets  emptied into the harbour.  Well that was it for me!   So later when the instructors at Brownie camp tried to throw me out of the boat to get my swimming badge I screamed and bawled like a baby until they rowed me to shore.  That was pretty much my last chance at swimming lessons.  So I'm a life jacket kind of sailor, with a heavy respect for the water.  

Being content to be an observer, I tried my hand at creating its beauty through paint.  Try as I might, I just couldn't manipulate the paint to express the wild energy the ocean exudes.  So I decided maybe landscapes would be easier and took up painting farm scenes, trees and houses.  The above painting was called "Old Milk Cans" after the two rusted cans in the foreground next to a broken down wooden wheelbarrow in front of a deserted homestead with broken window panes and missing doors.  I painted in oils so I had several days of editing before the drying set in so I played with it until I was happy.   I also painted a scene with a rusted  abandoned truck living out its days in a field called "The Last Run".  I wonder what ever became of this as I have nothing to show for those days when I sniffed oil paints for a hobby. 

There was a charity event for a $200.00 and under sale at the Lunenburg Art Gallery and on a lark I submitted my painting.  I never intended to sell it, or maybe I just didn't think it was good enough, but I thought the experience would be fun, maybe rub a few elbows of real artists and learn something through osmosis.  So  I attended the fanfare of opening night without any expectations.  No purchases were allowed  until the show was  officially opened but prospective buyers had been hovering around their choices as not to loose out.  So as soon as the curator of the gallery completed his speech a man pretty much ran to the wall behind me and grabbed my painting.  Everything was pretty much a blur after that. 

The man, Mr. David Crouse, said he was in the evening before during the preview and fell in love with it.  I was flattered beyond words and posed for the local paper to take pictures but it didn't seem real, thank goodness this picture exists to prove it happened.  Now, I don't want to take away from my shining moment but I did notice that my painting was the largest one hung in the gallery.  The other seasoned artists brought smaller pieces, like in the picture below my painting, a size to fit the price tag.  For the $199.95, my larger piece was darn good value as the frame had cost me $55.00 and the gallery took a hefty cut for charity, but that's okay, I was happy and got treated like a real, honest to goodness artist for the first time in my life.  It was a taste of things to come and I liked the flavour. 

Weirdly, it was the very last time I painted. I guess life got in the way or maybe starting out on top was a good time to make an exit.  I didn't have the self esteem I have today, and maybe deep down I felt it was a fluke and I didn't want to sully my new found fame with a line of failures.  It was convoluted but confused thinking.

I met my husband shortly after and life became filled with couple things, so the oil tubes and brushes have been gathering dust. I'll have to be content to enjoy nature in the flesh, in the flowering of my garden, and ocean view of my window....

This pattern is available on the website for purchase under Christine Little Signature Designs
The Size: 24 1/2" x 32"     Burlap - $41.95   Linen - $56.63

I just found this blog in my draft folder.  I'd written it awhile ago when I was still puffed like a threatened cobra.  I've pared it down and cleaned it up and left just enough to get the point across without all the venom I felt when it happened.  Every now and then a good rant cleans the pipes. Life is filled with ups and downs and when you're in business sometimes you see a bit more of the shadier side of life.  
 
Two customers came into the shop and spent an hour looking at every pattern in the store.  Not to buy, to copy. Once they found "the one", they wanted to get the feel for the size before they went home and copied it off the internet.  I was listening to their comments and I gathered from their conversation that between them and one another partner in crime, they'd recently copied at least seven of my designs.  One of the three was on her third copy of a particularly fetching pattern, hooking one each for every child and was  now considering doing the same for the grand kids.  I'm not some ostrich with my head in the sand, I know people are copying my designs, but how many grey cells do you have to lose before you say it in front of me like it’s perfectly natural to pass them around like a free for all?  

I felt pricked, as if they stuck my soul and every bit of passion for this business drained out of me. After they left I stood in the middle of the shop  deflated, wondering,  why the hell am I doing this?  I  swear I try to think of all the wonderful customers who are honest, and I try not to let the negative ruin all the positive energy you’ve helped me build but.....and there's always that damn but....for some reason this drags me down into a pit so dark that I just want to slam the door shut and post a note that says,  Closed!  Good-bye!  Adios!  Hasta la vista baby!  Sayonara! Les adieux!  Au revoir!  So long!  Farewell! Auf Weidersehen!  And good bloody night!! 

So I stomped upstairs, sat at the computer and wrote down my thoughts.  Hoping for a bit of release from the lump expanding in my throat.   My fingers were like bolts of lightning, hitting the keys with contempt as I poured out my heart and anger all over the screen.  Let me tell you, it was scathing!  When I finished I felt as if I'd run a marathon.  I was exhausted! 
  
I read what I'd written and something said, don't post, step back, wait five minutes until the boil turns to a simmer.   Don’t be too hasty as people don’t want to hear anything negative about rug hooking.   So I walked away from the keyboard like a smoldering gun and managed to get on with the rest of my day.  
 
You are probably wondering what I said to those women?   Well, I'd like to say I kicked them out and  asked them never to return...but surprisingly I said nothing and I'll tell you why.  I can read people and these weren't women to educate or mess with.   They may have been seniors and I could have taken them both with one hand behind my back, but they had a collective chip on their shoulder that I wouldn't have been able to knock off.   The one bickered over paying the price for a $2.50 scrap of burlap and the other one accused me of trying to rip her off when she asked for a yard of linen and I said it was $32.95.  She eyed me suspiciously and said, "How come my friend was just in and she only paid $16.00?"   It was said like I was some kind of crook, making up prices as I went along.  I told her that it was probably burlap, not linen.  She didn't apologize for her  sharp tone, just said a begrudged "oh" and then hummed and hawed over paying the price for linen.  Her friend said, "Linen ain't rough, ya know ya hate burlap."  So she handed over her credit card and we completed the sale and she grabbed up the bag haughtily as if the entire experience offended her.  

I could tell  my little copyright speech would have gone in one ear and out the other, not making an ounce of impact and I also sensed I might have come out at the shitty end of the stick.  They had an edge like the world was out to get them and they were ready to come out guns a blazing if someone crossed their path.    And they  both acted like they could cut the head off a chicken without blinking and I was out numbered......  I think their last names might have been Hatfield and McCoy?   
 
Anyway, I’ve been complaining for years I don’t make enough money to pay myself a salary.  The business has overhead and employees to support so there was never anything leftover for me.  So I can't help thinking.....if I had all the money for the patterns that have been copied from the website or duplicated and passed around off legitimately purchased ones, I might have been able to financially compensate myself for all the hard work I do.  And maybe my husband wouldn’t have to bail me out at year end because I’m in the red again.  My accountant says, I always cry when I get my taxes done even though I don't have to pay in....well I would give anything to pay a crap load of taxes to the government…it would mean I'm making profit!!!!.  

The rug hooking business might look glamorous and pardon my bias, my shop is beautiful beyond words, but in thirteen years it hasn't afforded me any kind of monetary gain.   It’s a craft business in a small population based area, not a large center with unlimited people crossing the threshold.  If I wanted to work 24 hours a day and do everything myself maybe I could draw a pay cheque but I can’t physically do it all so I work for the occasional slap on the back and please know I'm not bitching about this, it is what it is and I love my shop and what I do!   
  
Anyway, this is the scaled down version, edited until unrecognizable from the initial, internal explosion.   I couldn’t let the incident go by without ranting a bit but I tamed it for those who still believe the glass is half full.  I'm in retail so I'm on the slightly jaded side of things after thirteen years in business witnessing curl your toes moments......maybe I'll slip a story out every now and then just to be scandalous but not mentioned any names to protect the guilty and least deserving. I always tell it like it is and can’t stop now and even though I get upset when something happens I still like to make it into a humorous story because that's the way I compartmentalize stress.  Isn't that how most comedians get their shtick? 

So I would like to take this opportunity to appeal to anyone who has done this, plans to do this or knows someone who does this....please, please, please…if you are copying my patterns or anyone's for that matter, please stop!  The shops can only survive in this business if they are supported.  Every pattern copied is a shovel of dirt on their company's grave.    To those of you who come by patterns legitimately,  every rug hooking shop and designer salutes you!

And then low and behold, a gentlemen emailed me the other day to ask what I would charge if they copied some elements of one of my designs and incorporated their changes.   I almost fell off my chair!!!  This was the first time anyone in thirteen years had asked the question.  I was floored and didn't respond for two days because I had to get my head around his complete and utter honesty.  We chatted and settled on an arrangement,  and then believe it or not, two days later someone else contacted me with a similar question.  Maybe being on Facebook and writing these blogs is making me more of person than a faceless retailer.......maybe in this case familiarity breeds respect.       

There it lay, sandwiched between a math text and a book on etiquette, a very special book indeed, one that  would become my constant companion. Sadly, I can't recall it’s title, but it was hard bound and covered with a blue material.  The pages were filled with  popular children’s stories of that time which aren't politically correct for today.  To name a few, The Three Little Pigs, The Little Red Hen, Chicken Little, The Story of Little Black Sambo, and my all time favorite,  The Tale of Peter Rabbit.  With only minimal assistance I was able to read the simple wording while my eyes drank in the wonderment of the brightly coloured artwork that adorned each page.  At night, while I was supposed to be sleeping, I would read and reread each story, either huddled under the covers with a flashlight or by squinting with the aid of the moonlight streaming through the bedroom window. Before long, I was able to recite each story by heart, never tiring of revisiting each tale and the  surprises they held.  While I slept, my precious book rested with me, hidden under my pillow with my picture of George (story from a previous blog) to ensure that they would both be the first things to greet me in the morning.

Through constant handling the pages were dog eared or torn, and my older sibling ripped off the front cover in one of her tirades, leaving the book in a sad state of repair.   It was old and worn but still held the wonderment and magic to enchant me.  I can't remember what fate it might have succumbed to but it probably got thrown in the garbage as its condition worsened. I dragged it around like a tattered old security blanket so it was probably weaned off me with a quick chuck in the bin.  Unfortunately, mother is gone now, and with her the answer to my question, but the wonderful memories of reading those fanciful stories will always be with me.  

A few years ago, I searched for a copy of this children's tome in every antique book store I came across and spent many hours on the internet trying to track it down.   The  search was difficult when I couldn't offer the actual name of the book, only the stories between the covers.  And then, one night my search landed a result on Little Black Sambo.  Someone on EBay was selling a close representative of my beloved book!   It was slightly larger in size and it was covered in a green cloth instead of blue with a picture of kittens on the cover, but inside, the artwork was the same, the stories were the same, except for the addition of The Kittens Who lost their Mittens but let me tell you, I wasn't quibbling over an extra story.  I bought the book on the spot and haunted the post office until it arrived. 

Once the book was in my hot little hands, it was obvious it was a different printing than the one I had but everything else was the same including the inside cover artwork.  You can't imagine how I felt, rediscovering such an emotionally significant part of my past.  I was gleeful, just like that first time when I discovered it in my uncle's attic. .  I went to bed early and curled up with my precious book and read it from cover to cover, out loud to my pups. wishing I'd had it to read to Shane when he was a boy....ah...maybe grand children someday.... 

The stories were still inside my head and the words so familiar!  I welled up a few times as the memories flooded to the surface.  I remember crying as Little Black Sambo said "Oh, please Mr. Tiger, don't eat me up", and then screeching and clapping as the tigers chased one another around the tree until they turned into a big pool of melted butter for their pancakes. 

I screamed for Peter rabbit to run as Mr MacGregor chased him down, and I so feared the little Gingerbread boy wouldn't make it back home...calling hurry, hurry, hurry home.   They sure don't write em like they used too.......

We have the smallest bathroom ever...I've hook bigger rugs!  But it does the trick and that's all that matters!  The room is so small it was difficult to take a picture so you can't see the beams in the ceiling or the hardwood flooring but now that it's all said and done, we don't know what we ever did without a downstairs facility. 

Although our house has a very large full bath upstairs and an an ensuite off the master bedroom, we didn't have a powder room downstairs.  We're still youngish and hoofing up and down a full flight of stairs didn't raise an eyebrow until my mother-in-law was coming for a visit.  Panic set in as to how we were going to handle the situation when she can't do stairs with her bad knee.  We bought a twin bed that covered the sleeping arrangements but the question of a bathroom facility had to be addressed.  The choice came down to washing up in the kitchen sink and a  commode chair,  a chamber pot or a chemical toilet and although she said it would be fine, none were appealing to me, as they all required some kind of emptying.  How well do you need to know your inlaws?   I've worked in a nursing home so I'm no stranger to cleaning up behind (pardon the pun) the elderly, but maybe that is why I'm more adamant about not doing it now.  So, I called a plumber and a carpenter and in one week we had this little powder room up and functional.  

We have a large L shaped living room and we took a corner of the top of the L, and you would never know that there was a bathroom there.  Friends have come by and couldn't find it.  Our house isn't very large so I was happy it didn't jump out as who wants a bathroom in the living room no matter how cute it is!   The plan someday is to build a downstairs bedroom on and then that part of the house will become a hallway to the addition and it's perfectly suitable to have a bathroom off a hall. 

The layout had to be well planned.  We had a pocket door installed so the toilet and sink had to be the right distance apart to open the door and enter.  I had to do a lot of measuring to come up with the size of 60" x 28" which is the inside dimensions for the room, making it so small you have to step outside to change your mind but enough room to take your elbows in and your knees don't touch the sink when sitting on the john.

Because of the confined space,  I tried several very small pedestal sinks but they were still too big and in the way.  Finally I spied this very expensive corner number that fit perfectly although I found it weird the smaller the sink the higher the price.  And then on top of that, the facet had to be a certain size and a one holer, so that turned out to be rather expensive as well but you only go this way once and it's only money.  

We don't have any wallpaper in our house but 22 years ago I found this delightful blue and yellow print that I hoped to fit in somewhere and bought three bolts of it.  It was a perfect match to the Blue Willow themed fabric I'd been holding on to for the last few decades so it was time to bring them out of storage and get our money out of them.  The paint on the wainscoting was a match to one of the blues in the skirt.  Paint samples can sometimes fool you.  I tried three different cans of paint before I found the perfect match.  They  all looked good on the sample but on the wall it was three strikes and out! 

The little Blue Willow pattern cross stitch pieces were done by me once again, twenty or so years ago.  (I get the feeling I was a shopaholic in my thirties)  and I dug them out and had them framed. Small room big art.  The mirror was the only  one that would fit over the high chair rail.  Once again it's an oversized piece for the area so that makes it work even better.  It pivots like a Cheval mirror, doesn't have a frame but is beautifully beveled.  A yellow and blue tassel completes the look.   I wanted the wainscoting extra high because of the size of the room.  Exaggerated elements  fit better in  a smaller space.   My opinion and I'm sticking to it!

I looked around for an antique wall cabinet to house the toiletries but there was nothing that could be modified to fit the space so I design what I wanted and had a chap make it up.  I painted it a soft yellow and then crackled the outside areas with white paint over top.  This was my first attempt at crackling and I think it turned out very nicely.  I bought some large knobs from Lee Valley that matched the colour theme. 

If you lift the sink skirt you'll find reading material and a waste paper basket.  There is a cute little stool next to the sink with an antique blue and white  chamber pail that also holds an extra roll of toilet paper.  Speaking of which, the room was too small for a wall dispenser so I bought one of the free standing ones and it's tucked nicely by the sink. 

When my mother-in-law arrived she was so surprised and probably relieved.  Of course it wasn't painted or pretty like it is now but it functioned beautifully and all she had to do was roll out of bed and there it was.  And in case you are wondering what she did for showers, we took her to the pool every second day for Aquasize so she used their facilities for bathing.  At 94 she exercises at the pool three times a week at home in BC.  She believes exercise is key to optimal health in older age and she's living proof it works, accept for that troubled knee she's in excellent health!  

Original design by Cheryl Rafuse called Edith On Wash Day....for her mom who loved doing laundry.  

Inspiration comes from many places. People ask all the time if everything  I draw comes from my head?   And although I would love to say yes and have an avalanche of adoration reign down on me, I have to confess that more times than not, I do use references.  

It seems like a lifetime ago when I used to draw dogs and children's portraits and I always felt that I was cheating using a photo as a reference.  Dogs and small children don’t pose well, so a photograph freezes a frame so you aren’t waiting on a still moment. But for some reason, I felt that I  should have been able to look at the moving subject and freeze it in my head. 

I assumed I was a no talent kind of artist, a shameful duplicator; until many moons ago when I signed up for a life drawing class at NASCAD.  (Nova Scotia College of Art & Design) The priceless bit of knowledge I took from the class was that all the great artists worked from references; consisting of multiple sketches, models and the world around them.  Not that I'm comparing myself to the greats, but hey, if it's good enough for them, it should be good enough for me, right?   I learned it was okay to use a reference for perspective or detail, so I felt maybe I did own a bit of raw talent after all.    

So where does inspiration come from?  Sources are everywhere, maybe in a greeting card, one that maybe has a marvelous sunset, and then you see a magazine ad with a wonderful tree, and then there’s this building in town that has always peeked your interest so you incorporate that as well  Now these elements are forming a picture, pieced together to create a unique design.  Each element on its own might have little appeal, but together they are the building blocks of an heirloom!  You work with these inspirations and make something original to call your own.  
 
This leads me to my friend Michael Wilson, who introduced me to the world of antique wallpapers and borders.  Back in the 17th, 18th and 19th centuries grand rooms and halls were adorned with the most spectacular paper art imaginable.   Some of the geometric borders were phenomenal and not only was the main focal paper art in itself, but then they added multiple borders and corner pieces to make the ceiling and walls a monumental showpiece.  Layers upon layers of complimentary design and colour gave Victorian parlours a taste of opulence as if royalty dwelled there.   Michael knows I love to design and he brought these borders to my attention to use and create patterns for rug hooking and because copyright no longer applies, I developed this particular border into a pattern with an Oriental flare. 
 
Janet Delo colour planned and hooked Tudor Rose.  She dyed the colors to match the decor of her home.  Great job Janet!

If I remember correctly this border was from the 17th century and the one that inspired this pattern called Tudor Rose.   I moved borders and mirrored the design. The moment I saw this picture I formed the design in my head.   This design can be made smaller by removing some of the horizontal sections.  Contact me if you wish to have the design adapted to suit your requirements.     

Over the years I’ve been asked to adapt and personalize already existing designs with university logos, family crests and all manner of emblems that mean something to the recipient.  Here are two examples of adapted designs that blend a bit of tradition with a personal touch. 

Katie Morrison graduated from Dalhousie University in Halifax, NS with a Bachelor of  Commerce in 2009.  The gift of this rug is such a great way to commemorate all her hard work and I'll bet it caught attention well before the framed degree on the wall. 

This pattern is one of my designs called Tip Toe Thru the Tulips, a play on words inspired of course by the choice of flower and Tiny Tim, a singer from the 50's until his death in 1996, who delightfully entertained us with a high falsetto and a soprano ukulele. 

This design was a great choice for an adaptation.  With permission of the University, we applied the crest in a central position and then added the wording just inside the  border.  The center circle was a perfect nest for the Dalhousie crest, leaving the intricate floral border intact.  The background is interesting with abrashed grey and charcoal squiggles and then black for the border.  This rug is striking.  Another great marriage of a rich blend of colour coupled with a very balanced design, makes me believe that if perfection did exist, this rug would be a candidate.