Blog Archives

Initially Yours "B"

6/30/2014

What a glorious Sunday. So full of possibilities, a real summer’s day. If hubby was home we would have been out on the water for a sail, joining all the other boats. But of course he is away and I am left to my own device. I had the itch to go out, maybe to the nursery to buy another orange Cone flower, a divine little plant that’s my pick for the summer. I don’t know how long they’ve been around but I just discovered it on a recent trip to Oceanview and I must have more!!! They make great cut flowers and compliment blue arrangements beautifully.

I hummed and hawed, should I bathe and go out? There’s also a table cloth in Lunenburg I need; a gorgeous blue and yellow floral for my outside deck table but when it came right down to it, I just couldn’t leave the pups, my yard and my hooking for driving on blistering hot pavement and shopping in the sun.

It was stinking hot which isn’t my best time of the year. I’m a spring and fall gal that isn’t comfortable in extreme temperatures. Yesterday was extreme. The heat attacks me physically and I swell up like a boiled wiener with puffy hands and feet. Today I can’t even get my rings on because it’s sweltering outside. I turned on the heat pump for some cool relief but it wasn’t working, all it pumped out was warm air and I already had plenty of that! So I have a call in for a repair and I hope they arrive today as it will be nasty sleeping upstairs tonight!

I dragged out and blew up the pup’s swimming pool so they would wade and cool off. They love it and got their bellies wet and lay on their backs with feet up on the deck to cool off. It was way too hot to play ball with them so we waited until 8:30 pm as the sun was beginning to go down. The black flies were out on the back hill but we kept moving, chasing the ball so they couldn’t land and bite.   Due to a bum knee I’m not a big walker so this is their exercise. I play then hard for about ½ hour chasing the ball and when one catches there’s a parade while the others follow at their heel. They never tire of fun.

I spent most of the day hooking on my next Initially Yours letter and I must say I love these fun colours. Six down and only 20 more to go. I hope I can keep up the momentum!   At first I had a yellow over-dyed hounds tooth for the background but the solid lemony yellow worked better. If not for all the tearing out and redoing the background I would have this one completed but a few hours tonight should do the trick. At first these colours were slated for the letter “O” but for some reason they didn’t speak to me so I opted for the B. B is for my grandmother Beatrice and it also stands for Bird, my father’s mother’s last name. The colours would really work for Baby too!   So far this was the most exciting to hook. I love how these beautiful colours work together. I couldn’t put it down and spent most of the day working on it with a fan blowing on my face. I took short breaks to water my annuals, pull a few weeds and let the pups romp in the pool. A very lazy day!

In the end I stayed home. It seemed like too much bother to shower and dress for a jaunt in public.   It was comfortable to stay home and my pups never care what I look like. Gardening in the heat is never attractive. The heat in my rubber boots was torture and I ripped off my T-shirt and weeded in my bra. Fifteen minutes at a time was about all I could take in the blistering heat. We are pretty secluded in the back yard from prying eyes but when I’m that hot modesty flies out the window.   Someone arrived unannounced to pick our rhubarb; we offer it to anyone for the taking. Luckily I saw the car coming so the pups and I hid in the house.   I didn’t need four dogs running to meet her with me screaming for them to come back. What a scary thing for her to see, my greasy hair, makeup less face and bra….I was more sour than the rhubarb.

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The ABC's of rug hooking

6/27/2014

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So I have an idea. I would like to do a poster for the shop. It will be called Encompassing Designs Presents "The ABC's of Rug Hooking". It will feature the alphabet consisting of 26 letters and two of the Companion pieces, one to start and then one to end the grouping to make it even. That will make 28 hooked mats, four across the top and seven down for a nicely balanced poster. I won't hook any two the same so the poster will be very diverse in colour selections and could be used as a reference for colour planning.

I'll have the poster designed and as each Initial is hooked I'll add it until all the spots are filled. I'll share the progress as it evolves. I have almost five completed, at one a week I should be done by November. The patterns are 16" x 16" and only take two to three evenings to hook so I might finish sooner, but shooting for one a week isn't unreasonable. Anyway, I'll see how it goes and I'm not apposed to a little help! Am I crazy to take this on??????

Maybe I'll not put a time frame on the project, I'll just make it a bit of fun. Unless everyone hates the idea and then I'll just pretend it never happened. Like a bad perm.

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Not all wool is created equal!

6/26/2014

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I’m frustrated. My V project is going slower than water running uphill. I barely see the progress and it’s a turn off.   And the reason? Crap wool! Every night the Initially Yours V stares at me from the back of the chair, calling me to pull loops and finish the rug, but that nasty wool makes me turn my back and forget it.

I’m not good with inferior; I’m allergic to anything below standard. It’s a silver spoon problem; the stork’s GPS got mixed up on the way to Buckingham palace and dropped me here, but the taste for all things excellent is in my genes. I guess that’s why my favourite colour is blue….it’s the colour of my blood!

I never use inferior wools. Nothing but the best for this princess. I had a yard of light coloured plaid from moons ago that I hoped to use in this latest project, thinking it would be okay. I over dyed it with turquoise and although I cut a #8, the blasted wool fell apart like spaghetti squash. Stringy bits kept coming off as I hooked it; the back was matted with them. My hook kept getting snagged in the strings. The loops even pulled poorly and I had to work each one to get it flat across the top. Because of the extra tug the wool kept falling apart. It slowed me down and that came with a bus load of frustration. Generally I hook fast; being reigned back is not my style.

This was my first experience with crap wool and now I understand some of the complaints I hear from tourists who drop by the shop when I ask if they are rug hookers. Many hooking wannabes have bought kits, elsewhere I must add, that had recycled and poor quality wools and awful backings. They say they were so frustrated they never finished the project and don’t ever want to hook again. That kind of product is not exactly doing this craft any service.   Like I tell my beginners, it is always best to start with quality, get the technique under their belt and then go for the recycled and wool that takes more work.   It gives the experience a smooth take-off, makes you want to do it again.   If you have to deal with wool disintegrating in your fingers it’s a turn off. So now I know the feeling and will be able to sympathize more.   Our kits are top notch, the best hooking experience you can have; we pride ourselves in offering the very best.

So I tore out all the nasty wool and will rehook with our herringbone over dyed with turquoise. The rest of the crap wool will go in the garbage, I wouldn't give it to my worst enemy...unless of course they wanted it to wash their car. The herringbone wool hooks like slicing a knife through butter, a dream wool like I’m used too.   Now maybe I’ll finish my project. I doesn’t take much to turn me off, I’ve been saying I couldn’t hook because of the gardening but there is three hours of darkness left in the day that meant I was inside wasting time in front of the TV or doing house chores when I’d much rather be hooking!

I've pulled all the crappy wool out. It looks like a rat's nest!

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Wednesday

6/25/2014

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A busy day today. Today was hubby's and my wedding anniversary of 23 years. He is away so I had lunch with Patsy and Heather joined us later. Then we had a hook-in, the first one for the 4th Wed of the month. The gals decided there should be two daytime hook-ins so we will hold them on the 2nd and 4th Wed of every month. The 1st and 3rd are still on for evenings.

There wasn't much time for writing so let's make it an eye candy day! These are some of the rugs sent in or posted on FB in the last few days. Not everyone is on FB and it's fun to share. Except for Lucille's rug, all patterns are available on the website.

Fran King hooked our design Tutankhamen 29" x 37"

Kicking Up Your Heels hooked by Marjorie Duizer

Crocks & Jugs hooked by Adena Clark

Mermaid Mosaic hooked by Harold Conrad ----- Sharla hooked by Rhonda Musgrave

Ladybugs I hooked by Barbara Taylor ---- Ladybugs II hooked by Adena Clark

Sisters Linda Ruth and Lucille (right) posing with Lucille's masterpiece. With permission she hooked a Adam Young painting called Brown House. Absolutely breathtaking!

Blue Rocks hooked by Judith Lewis

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Gardening is war!

6/24/2014

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Except for a brief trip to the gardening center in Chester, I spent my Sunday digging in the earth. I am slowly gaining ground, literally. Last year the shop was so busy I didn’t get much done so the weeds have muscled out some of my precious perennials and every square inch of bare soil is now inhabited by a foreigner. It doesn’t help that the earth is the most nutrient rich I’ve ever worked with, fertilized yearly with compost and seaweed by the previous owner of the property. It’s richer than Oprah and attracts plant life like iron to a magnet.

I love the feel of the cool earth and would prefer not to wear gloves but my hands would be ruined and probably scare the customers. The dirt settles in the cracks and sucks the moisture out of the skin and there isn’t enough hand cream in the world to replenish it. I wear the kind of glove with a rubber palm to prevent grass leaf cuts as can be knife-like to pull, thence the term blade of grass.    The dirt still gets inside the glove, just enough to need a manicure but it’s all part of the experience and nothing a nail file and a bit of soaking can’t fix.

After a couple of hours clearing the dense undergrowth in the garden behind the house, I sat on a rock for a break, daunted by how much was left to beat back. It’s a slow advancement to do a thorough job. After the top of the weed is removed you have to dig deep to get the entire root or it will be back by yesterday. It's like a jungle back there, I’d hauled away three heaping wheelbarrows full of vegetation with at least two more to go and this part of the garden is small, maybe eight feet by twenty feet!

My body was sore, I was sweating like a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs and I’m spitting dirt that always becomes airborne in a tug of war with a particularly stubborn weed. As I shook the dirt from my bra that always manages to get down my top, a thought hit me. Gardening is war.   I was in the trenches. This was a War of the Weeds! It certainly has all the elements of combat. Aggressive invaders fighting over territory, landowner fighting back to protect and preserve, hand to hand combat, first with the left and then with the right to pull the weeds. Maybe I was too long in the sun but I started thinking of all the parallels and play on words to use for a war theme.

Some weeds put up one hell of a fight. They travel deep so you have to get out the heavy artillery to shift them…..enter the spade, my weapon of choice. Some roots are dreadfully long and deep, seemingly bound for Japan and don’t give up their posts easily.

I also have the scourge of a sticky weed that attacks with a vengeance.   It sticks to the plants and has some sort of toxin causing a burning rash when it comes in contact with bare skin. Chemical warfare if you ask me! If you give this weed an inch it takes the whole yard, and if you let it mature, it shoots its seeds around for next year’s crusade. The seeds are sticky and attach to your pant leg, boots and the pups, so they get transported around the yard to infiltrate virgin territory for next year's battle.

I won’t have to fence in the peony patch this year. Their blooms are top heavy and droop to the ground without support. I couldn’t weed that area because of the bird nest so now the grass is dense and tall enough to hold the plants vertical. Grass is my biggest foe. It doesn’t fight fair. It gets right into the middle of the root of the plant and then sends shoots all over the place to come up everywhere. You pretty much have to dig up the entire perennial and pick through the root system and then replant it.   And oh the slugs this year, as if sprayed from an automatic gun, leaving holes in precious lily leaves but interestingly doesn’t touch weed foliage.

Weeds can camouflage themselves. Chameleon interlopers sidle up to plants they resemble in an attempt at a covert mission, confusing the real plant from the spy. I can’t make them confess, it’s a fifty chance of getting it right.   It's kill now and ask questions later.

To keep the victory you can't turn your back for a second. You have to be on guard, pick off every new shoot that pokes its head out of the ground. You can’t let them settle in; they have to be struck down to keep the numbers from rising up against you. There is no Geneva convention in gardening. Weeds must die, no questions asked. Hunt, seek and destroy is the mission.

Then there is attack by air. Little black, blood sucking bombs, probably in cahoots with the weeds to drive you into the house to help stop the slaughter. You have to wear a suit of armor and helmets with nets, or be eaten alive. Being attacked from above by kamikaze no-see-ums....yes, war is hell!

Fighting over land and beating back the advance of unwanted invaders, hell bent on overcoming and subduing all the domestic occupants is a full on war, one that I will win. My yard is ruled by dictatorship; I am the Weed Nazi. I have weapons of mass destruction; the spade is mightier than the sword. Weeds may take the Hostas but I take no hosta-ges.

There will be war wounds.   Gardening is not for the weak or faint of heart. Scratches and bites, twisted ankles, sunburns, sore backs and aching body parts. And just as you think you’ve won the war, and can sit back for your victory drink to enjoy dominion over the back yard, you have to start the quest all over. More troops come in the night, over land, sea and air. Like man, weeds don’t learn from their mistakes, they keep fighting a futile war.

It’s always a tactical strike. In the spring, Nature sends in the foot soldiers, the dandelion, easily sighted with its large yellow head although never a coward among them.   They pop up with abandon all over the lawn to distract you from the other cavalry advancing on the gardens. You focus on a preemptive strike before they turn to seed and send spores parachuting all over the rest of the yard; next year’s troops. Dandelion roots grow deep and pop up faster than a Whack-A-Mole at the Exhibition.   There are special sniper tools to pick them off but it’s a full time job and you have to man your post day and night.

After the Dandelion invasion, then come the buttercups with their deceptively sweet looking flowers but pack tenacious root systems that put up a real fight. I don’t know all the names of the different weeds; the unknown soldiers of the garden war, but they come in wave after wave to distract and keep you busy while the grass roots send leaders underground to move in for the kill in your flower beds. Grass is my biggest enemy.   As long as it stays on the lawn I tolerate it, but grass knows no boundaries, it creeps over the borders into no weed's land, my garden.

In all wars there’s collateral damage. When the rubber boots accidentally stomp on a tender shoot of your precious perennials or you sit and flatten something that won’t recover this year, or cut off a flower that accidentally got in the way of the pruners. You mourn the loss of each fallen comrade. And the big loss, grab a weed and pull the perennial out with it. Yup, there’s a lot of friendly fire on a mission to beat back the forces, of nature.

Sometimes I wonder why I do this back breaking chore. Why don’t I just plant shrubs or fly the white flag and let the grass take over?   It’s simple really. I love the beauty of a well-appointed garden. I love cutting fresh flowers for my vase. And of course, we all have to do our part to keep the gardening centers in business, where else will we find new little gems to plant each year. New plants to dote over and protect.

Gardening sure is back breaking, dirty work, unless of course you are Martha Stewart who seems to be able to weed wearing Battenberg lace gloves that stay white in the face of dirt. My new yellow rubber boots have taken a hit. Scratched and banged up they no longer look pristine. More collateral damage of this war I am in.

At dusk I surrendered for the day and crawled into the bunkhouse with enough dirt under my fingernails to plant potatoes. Now on leave, I knew there would be a long soak for this General in the claw tub before bed. I'm down temporarily but not defeated, I'll be back at my post tomorrow filling the wheelbarrow with more casualties. I'm a veteran, in it for the long haul, until I surrender the need to garden.........

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Children's art makes fabulous rugs!

6/23/2014

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By Guest Blogger Nancy Hare

I am fortunate to have inherited my creative abilities from my mother and grandmother. Over the years they were always doing something crafty - from quilting, sewing, painting and the list goes on. Fifteen years ago some friends were taking a rug hooking course, so I thought that would be fun to try and I’ve been hooked ever since.

My husband and I have three boys and over the years I’ve accumulated many of their artistic drawings. I decided that it would be nice to save some of their work by making it into wall hangings. The two older boys, Jacob and Jesse had one large sheet of paper to draw their picture and Lucas had regular 8 ½ x 11 sheets which I then arranged into a 28” x 36” mat. I hooked the mats using wool fabric on a #4 cut.

I’ve also use my sons’ drawings for other things such as purses. I wear one that my youngest son, Lucas who was five at the time, drew with bees and flowers. Even still after several years of using my purse, I receive many compliments.

We had a pet house rabbit named Bugs and she was the inspiration for the bunny checkerboard. Since I also do some wood burning I thought it would be nice to make wood burned rabbit checkers. Someday I envision an antique pine chest in my living room with the checkerboard and pieces as a tribute to Bugs.

Between children, animals and being surrounded by beautiful countryside I’m sure I’ll never run short of new ideas for the next rug hooking project.

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Laundry on the line....a thing of my past...

6/20/2014

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Mary Doig's "Clothesline" design. Hooked by Mary.

Is there anything sweeter than crawling into a freshly made bed? Well truthfully, there’s probably lots of better things, but the moment you are sliding between a crisp set of sheets, it’s divine! The sheets are tugged tight and smooth as glass, they feel pristine and starchy clean. They touch only the high points of your body, draping over you like a canopy, not settled around you like when they’ve been used and tousled about.

I take great pleasure in a well-made bed. My hubby might tell you a different story as far as the day to day maintenance is concerned, because after the first time, I could care less if it’s made or not. After that first time, I like to crawl into a soft bed with wrinkled sheets that settled around you like a cotton hug.

When I strip the bed of the old and put on the new, I take great pains to do it right. My PCW training kicks in and I fold those hospital corners and hand press the wrinkles to the flatness of a pubescent girl. I had that experience last evening and an ahhhh escaped my lips as I slipped between the covers. I lay there cocooned by 60 thread count softness with a big ole smile on my face.

I love the aroma of sheets from the closet. In our house they smell of wood, drawing from the materials used to build the shelves. I didn’t paint them for that reason. We don’t use detergents that have scents so they derive their fragrance from their surroundings. I would prefer clothesline freshness but in our house, that invites pollen indoors that is better left outside, and I’m not that much of a work horse. In my mother’s time she hung laundry outside weekly except of course for rainy days that would preempt the Monday washday to the next sunny day. Even winter, with frozen digits and cold wind whipping at her coat, she stood at the line and hung our clothes. I remember watching her from the window, seeing the steam rise from the plastic laundry basket. Each piece of apparel would rise from the pile limp and by the time it was hung it would be as hard as a board.   She would later bring them inside, slacks would stand alone, shirts with unbending arms and we would fold them to hear the snap and crack as they groaned against the pressure. I never understood the reason for hanging wash outside when after the thaw it seemed as wet as when it was hung. Was all this just for the delicious, fresh scent that only outdoors could bring? Then mom would hang the wet wash on racks in front of the stove to dry. Back then, doing laundry with the wringer washer was an all-day process. Then the hanging on the line, taking it all down and ironing took her well into the evening.   I do remember the smell of the outside filling the kitchen. Freshly pressed shirts hung on wire hangers, towels folded on the table, socks for a family of five paired and neatly stacked. The heat of the iron as it steamed each garment smelled like fresh potpourri.

When I was much younger, I tried the wash line route but icy fingers are painful.   Struggling with clothespins when your hands are too numb to feel was a huge turnoff. Thank goodness for modern convenience.   The dryer just might be the best invention since sliced bread. My mother was a hard working woman who kept us scrubbed clean and neatly pressed….her lot, not mine.

In her day she ironed everything. From dish towels to the cotton bras, underwear, sheets and she starched the heck out of my father’s work shirts. His pants had a sharp enough crease to cut butter. He went to work every day immaculate as if a model for a men’s catalog. His shirt gleamed white, his tie a smart contrast, the result of my mother’s pride for her white collar guy. We went to school as neat, only a hair or two out of place after one of the frizzy perms.

I iron nothing. Only the clothes I put on my back in the morning gets a lick and a promise pressing. Items folded as soon as the dryer stops is pretty much good enough for me, and if they lay there for a time, so be it; I’m not offended by wrinkles in a tea towel.   If I had extra time in the day to perform domestic perfection I’d do something else, like throw a ball in the backyard for the pups.   No one will ever comment on my domesticity after I’m gone, unless it’s to express their horror at sights seen they can’t forget.

Sue Cunningham's "Coastal Quilts" design. Hooked by Pat Rushbrook

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A gift of heart and hand.....

6/19/2014

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I arrive at work the other day to find someone had left a gift for me.   Not just any gift, but a handmade, hand stitched quilt, a priceless treasure.   I was confused as I took it out of the bag. Shane told me Ginny brought it in and then I recognized her artful handiwork but wondered what it meant. Ginny is one of the Main Street Hooker gals who have been hooking with the group for as long as I can remember. She is not just a fabulous rug hooker, she is a master crafts person. Every medium she lays her hand to is immaculately conceived; completed with so much perfection you’d think a machine made it.

I was stunned and not quite sure what to think, what to say or how to act from this random act of generosity.   In all the days on this planet, no one has ever given me such an amazing gift. This quilt was a time consuming, labour of love that Ginny would have endeavored over for months, possibly years, created from thread, cotton and care.

My hand kept caressing the softness of the material while I admired the beautiful pineapple motifs. I started to tear up and ran to the bathroom to check the degree of redness on my face. I'm an ugly crier, turning a blotchy beet colour and wouldn't want to scare anyone. When I came out of the bathroom still sniffling, Ginny had dropped back in. I’m generally never at a loss for words but I was speechless. What can you say, even a very sincere thank-you padded with jewels and pearls wouldn't seem like enough. I lack experience on the receiving end of things and it makes me awkward and shy.   I didn’t want to bawl like a baby so I swallowed hard to beat back the river. There really aren’t enough words to convey what was in my heart at the time, but believe me when I say it was beating double time to the tune of gratitude. I hugged her and she said she knew I would give it a good home and she is so right! I will cherish her gift for the rest of my days and pass it down to my son on my deathbed. Of all the treasures I’ve accumulated this quilt is the piece I would grab if someone yelled fire, second only to my pups.

Ginny has a wicket sense of humour with stand-up execution and we’ve had a lot of laughs over the years. At one time she was taking a break from rug hooking and finishing a quilt, maybe the same one she gave me. I commented that it was the most beautiful quilt that I’ve ever seen. I can appreciate the colourful quilts but I’ve never been drawn to them, they just don't fit into my subtle décor.  I'm one of those freaky matchy, matchy people, that needs to coordinate. I love what Ginny created in soft ivory, the only pattern is in the stitchery.   This quilt that would fit any bedroom in my house and steal the show with its classic beauty.   Ginny, Ginny, I thank you so much for this precious gift, you are one in a million to me!

The photos do not do this quilt justice. You will have to take my word of its beauty!

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A little of this and that......

6/17/2014

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First, I wanted to share the view from my house at 5:00 am this morning. Usually I'm not conscious until at least 8:00 but Henri had to go outside. When I woke to him nuzzling my cheek, the room was flooded with pink. What beauty the world beholds!

Exciting news for rug hookers and wine drinkers, sometimes one of the same! Mary Doig's design, Mahone Bay Three Churches was selected to grace the a 2012 Marechal Foch wine from the Petite Reviere Vineyard!

Another new design hot off the drawing table called Better Idea. I'm not one to man bash but it's cute. Someone gave me the saying and asked to make it into a pattern. So here it is! Click the link for pattern details. http://www.encompassingdesigns.com/new-designs.html

Another cutey designed for Jean Wentzell. A whole lot of whimsey. Called Winter Games, it's all about snowmen fun. Skating, skiing, snowshoes and a toboggan. One guy wiped out and is face down in the snow. The trees are like candy canes. There is a lot of chance for colour here. Frosty's coat and all the funky houses. To view details click this link to my Seasonal Designs page http://www.encompassingdesigns.com/seasonal-designs.html

Working on V in the Initially Yours line of patterns. It's going to be more monochromatic this time with a hint of lime for the little motifs. It's going slower because of gardening till dark, leaving fewer hours for hooking.

At tomorrow evening's hook-in I will be serving the homemade doughnuts for those that couldn't make the daytime hooking last week. There were several complaints! So...one more chance to do the doughnut dance....then I'll shut up about them! Near or far, everyone is welcome!!!

Animal update - my little family of birdies are doing swell. They have feathers now and will probably leave the nest in about a week? Then I can tackle the weeds that are growing taller than the Peonies. I worked around them last night and momma scolded me the entire time. She's a great mom!

And Jack and Robert, my step daughter's Pomeranian's have both been adopted, I believe to the same home. Good luck sweeties!

Some pictures of the fruits of my labour!

This is the area where the nest is so the weeds and grasses are growing taller than the plants!

And I'll end with a bit of fun. Eileen Coady's version of Sue Cunningham's design "Beached". Great job Eileen, I especially love the bubbles/polka dots on the border to tie in the bathing suit. To view Sue's designs click the link: http://www.encompassingdesigns.com/sue-cunningham.html

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Hook-ins and doughnuts!

6/13/2014

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Too bad there isn't a scratch and sniff function!

I seriously believe I should cast off the hooking hat and open a coffee shop in Mahone Bay. Most folks around these parts wouldn't know what a real doughnuts tastes like and I'd like to educate them. Those just add water, poor facsimile doughnuts bought at the chain stores don't know the meaning of flavour.

People would come for miles around to sample my wares, and enjoy a cup of java. There's nothing better then dipping one of my doughnuts in a glass of milk or coffee.....it's one of those 'die and go to heaven' experiences. I believe the word orgasmic was mentioned the other day.....that ought to tell ya how good they are! I'll make them for next Wednesday's hook-in so all you gals that groaned about not being here, not to worry!

Sue is hiding behind her new project Celtic Snowflake Rug. She is using variations of teal solids and plaids. It's going to be stunning!

Aunt Audrey above is the daughter of my grandmother who had this delicious recipe for doughnuts. Thanks Nana Marguerite Bird!

Sandy Bruce was visiting and joined the hook-in. She had a sweet show and tell bag. A little sculpted birdie sitting on a branch that follows around the back to the other side to show his house. Sweet or is that tweet? She loves birds and is currently hooking my Hummingbird Tree-O design.

Heather was working on Penny Rug medallions.

Sue having a bit of naughty fun. I threatened to post it and she said okay.

Patsy is breezing right along. She is the newest member of our group and fits right in like a comfy pair of slippers.

Full of doughnuts and hooking away! You can almost hear the arteries clogging! I somehow missed taking a photo of Armenia. She's hooking the Initially Yours letter C for Corkum, or Cookie, her nickname. How could I miss my sweet Armenia??

I've started my next Initially Yours pattern, the letter V, for my maiden name Veinotte.

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Cheryl, my friend.....

6/12/2014

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The cold wind whipped my shawl as I left the warmth of the car. I hurried toward the Spitfire Arms pub, chased by a spring gust that felt like winter was holding it hostage. Chilly winds battered my clothing and I regretted packing away the winter garb. I was draped in a wool shawl but the weave was loosely woven and drafty so I clutched the wrap, twisting it tightly under my chin and headed across the road. Once again fashion overruled comfort and I chastised the decision to wear sandals. It might have been the middle of May but it felt more like the beginning of March; not the best day to introduce summer footwear.

It was vanity that made me dig around in the closet for a black sandal to match my purse. I wasn’t dressing up, but I’m old school and still pair the bag and shoes. All this mismatched stuff is unsettling, along with the new permission to wear white after Labour Day! The sandals had a nice height to the heel, adding a few inches to elongate and camouflage my widening body. I wanted to look my best on this momentous day.

Usually Sundays are for sleeping and here I was up and bathed in the early morn and out the door before noon, a testament to the eagerness for what lay ahead.   I was meeting a childhood friend that I hadn’t seen in 40 years, and today, along with lunch, we would serve one another a condensed version of our lives, filling in forty years’ worth of blanks.   I've thought about and waited for this moment for a long time but now that it was finally here I was nervous. Past conditioning doesn’t allow me to walk into a situation unprepared so I focused on the shoes to ground me. No matter what the day would hold, the shoes matched the purse and that glue would hold me together!

This reunion was down to fate; a happenstance that blows my mind. I truly believe the universe brought us together, how else could it be explained? Months ago, in a nostalgic mood, I wrote a blog about my school days and friends that made an impact on my life. Number one being Cheryl Benedict. I’ve thought of her a lot over the years, wondering where she might be and what she might be doing. Other classmates didn’t seem to know what happened to her, or they had incomplete information that didn’t pan out. It was a mystery, a puzzle with missing pieces that I longed to gather.

The trauma of my first marriage messed up a lot of memories and for the life of me, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d talked to Cheryl or the reason we drifted apart. My recollections are fuzzy, comparable to Swiss cheese, more holes than not. I’d left school in grade ten to marry and give birth, barely in that order, and was under the thumb of a very controlling, abusive man. Constantly trying to dodge bullets, it left little time to pursue friendships or outside interests.

In 2014, after trying without luck to find her by internet search, one weekend, I dusted off a few memories and wrote a story about my friend. On a Monday, I posted the blog and the next day I was floored to receive an email from Cheryl Benedict!   I couldn’t believe it! An old school chum living in the US saw the post on Facebook, followed the link to my blog, read it and forwarded it on. She wrote that she hadn’t gone by her maiden name for some time and coincidentally said she had been thinking of me that past weekend.   I think the universe was at work here! We messaged back and forth for a basic catch-up on Facebook and knew we would meet for a face to face in the near future.

Cheryl planned on a visit to Nova Scotia this summer but a family emergency prompted flying in from Calgary early to help with her mom’s medical affairs. We connected briefly at my shop and when she walked through the door, I recognized her instantly. She was exactly as I remembered; I could have picked her out of a lineup blindfolded. She was with her mother so there wasn’t much time to talk so we said we would connect later and then scheduled a meeting in the valley for the following Sunday afternoon.

It was interesting to note that our lives seem to be running a parallel marathon. With similar experiences under our belts it never felt like I was talking to a stranger, even though that is what we were. Four decades is a very long separation, but I was transported back to our childhood; she was the same girl I hung with all those years ago. Her facial expressions and hand gestures were so familiar it was difficult to believe that almost half a lifetime had passed. I always liked the way her fingers brushed away her hair, I don’t know why that stands out but it does. I’ve always noticed fingers and hands, I find them fascinating.

Cheryl is a symbol of all things good from a long line of past troubles. She sort of represents the calm before the storm. I need to revisit a part of my life that didn't have darkness associated with it. Remembering back, her friendship made me feel normal. My parents were always so paranoid that something would happen to me they kept me in a bubble. I wasn't allowed to hang out with kids my age, do the things they did like go swimming over by the bridge, or play inter-mural sports or travel on the bus to play basketball in other schools. I spent a lot of summers in bed or hanging in my room with nothing more than my over-active imagination to transport me past those walls. Mom always said she knew where I was but that kind of seclusion was unhealthy for social growth. There must have been something about Cheryl they liked and trusted because I was allowed to go to her house after school; and she came to mine; a rare permission.   We did do some sneaky things though, as all kids do, like buzzing around the harbour on a cute guys power boat. Dad would have had a stroke knowing I was out on the water without a life jacket and the swimming ability of a rock attached to a cement block. Quite frankly I was scared silly too not knowing what would be worse, my parents finding out or drowning!

Back in the day, Cheryl played the guitar. We both played but she was better at finger picking while I was more of a strummer.   We wrote a song together called Candy Cone Mountain, the title is all I remember and probably the lyrics were as sappy as the name, some foolish love thing for the boy crushes of the time.   We entered a talent contest once and probably sang “Killing Me Softly” a song we practiced regularly but I'm not 100% sure if that was the tune. We didn’t win the contest but the guts to get up on the stage in front of our peers, strumming guitars and belting out a tune for the entire town was impressive. Our combined voices were softer than a whisper, I wonder if the audience even heard us? We played at being detectives as well, that was my second dream, a backup in case the music thing didn’t pan out.   Apparently Cheryl carried on singing but I reserve my talents for the shower walls, they’re much more forgiving and don’t throw tomatoes.

So a couple of Sunday’s ago, we had lunch at a pub and four hours melted away like a Popsicle in summer.  It was difficult to part but my pups were home alone and there was an hour’s drive ahead of me. Cheryl had to prepare and freeze meals for her mom and then pack for the trip back to Calgary the following day. Cheryl is a tenured Psychology Professor at Calgary University.   I am so proud of her accomplishments and definitely not surprised at her success. I wish geography didn’t keep us apart; it would be wonderful to have the occasional girl’s night, talk about our pasts, our present and our dreams for the future but like she says, she’s only a plane ticket away.

We’ve experienced similar joys and weathered comparable trials. We’ve both reinvented ourselves several times through work and in our personal lives. For me, we are no different than those two younger versions of ourselves. I don’t think either of us is needy. We are independent self-reliant woman who can stand alone so I'm confident we will remain comfortably separated until our next encounter. But, knowing she is out there is comforting, hopefully she feels the same. I can see us ending our days together, feet up on a tropical island, laughing our big derrieres off while sipping something for circulation purposes....enjoying our time together until that final separation.......

Cheryl & Christine, together again!

I want to commemorate our reunion with a new rug design; a friendship rug called “Cheryl”. 36" x 21 1/2" Click this link to my New Designs page for the details on this pattern. http://www.encompassingdesigns.com/new-designs.html

11 Comments

Monday was a 'fine' day........

6/10/2014

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I made a very stupid, expensive mistake yesterday.   I got caught in a speed trap doing 29 km over the limit. I’m a squeaky clean, law abiding citizen, I don't speed in rural areas, although at times I grow a lead foot on the open road. Unusually it’s because I’m following a long line of speeders and I'm keeping up, as long as I'm not in the last car it’s pretty safe. But today, and there’s always that but, I was late for an appointment and all caution went out the window, along with my money.

At the sharp turn in Blockhouse one patrol car was pointing the radar while a team waited up ahead to flag down the offenders.   There were several cars pulled out of the line in the Fire Department parking lot and two came in after me so the province did well collecting a bit of extra tax. In those few minutes they probably amassed several thousand dollars in ticket money. Maybe they could use this influx to repair some of the roads in the county; especially Mahone Bay, our main street rearranges internal organs as you bounce up and down over the pot holes.

Anyway, I accepted my fate graciously; smiled and said I was sorry as he handed me the white sheet. He actually seemed apologetic as he removed his hat and wiped the sweat from his brow. He kinda shook his head and then said, "but you were going 79 km in a 50 km area" I shook my head disgusted with myself.

There was a lot of typed stuff on the paper but the figure $291.45 jumped off the page to meet my gasp. Things have really gone up! Imagine the wool that would buy! I could have fed two critters at Hope for Wildlife for a year! It could have gone to the food bank! Momma needs a new pair of rubber boots!   That’s a nice evening out for hubby and I, hotel and meal and maybe a massage!

Ah well, serves me right thinking I’m above the law. The ironic part, now I was really late for my appointment, whereas before it was only a perceived lateness, I probably would have been five minutes early as long as I didn't get caught in every red light in Bridgewater.   It sure was a buzz kill for the rest of the day.

I drove home like an old woman. Sorry, that’s insulting to older women, especially when I’m knocking on that door; but fear of a tiered ticket drove me 5 km under the speed limit, just enough that I wouldn’t get pulled over as an accident waiting to happen, but enough that I wouldn’t show up on any of the patrol car radars that parked inconspicuously along the route. My car was now red hot and not in a good way! It must be catch the bad guy week. I don’t think I’ve seen that much law enforcement in the past few years. They’re out in spades like black flies, lurking in driveways and behind signs along the road!

Foolishly, my hope was that the radar hadn't flagged me and then up ahead the officers were looking inside of vehicles, the backseat of cars and truck bodies. I thought maybe someone had escaped from somewhere. I hoped they were waving my car over because the tinted windows in the back didn't allow quick viewing…maybe they were looking for some hooded character hunched in the backseat welding a knife! There goes that imagination again. No, it was just a routine stop and you can't beat technology, it's indiscriminate, I was caught red handed breaking the law. I’m embarrassed and of course, upset about the money. At my age I should be ashamed of myself. A tough punishment to keep me in check for a bit; make me think with the brain instead of the foot. This is only the second speeding ticket I’ve received in my lifetime of 40 years behind the wheel, like I said I’m usually pretty careful, or maybe I’ve been lucky…..

And I won't complain, it's far better to get a speeding ticket, than to have a ticket tied to your toe for speeding!

Hook-in Wed June 11th at Encompassing Designs Studio!!!

Tomorrow (Wed 11) is our monthly daytime hook-in from 1:00 pm - 4:00 pm. For treats, I'm making my grandmother's recipe for doughnuts....crispy on the outside and delicious on the inside. I've been talking about them for ages, so now is the time to taste and agree....they are the best! Served with our delicious coffee or tea!
Hope to see you tomorrow!

9 Comments

Gardening versus hooking, hooking won......

6/9/2014

7 Comments

Imagine a giant heading toward you with a shovel in hand. Imagine the giant towering over your home. He sticks the spade in the ground at the edge of your house and with a firm jerk down on the handle, flicks the building up in the air. You and your family go sailing out the windows, do a spin in the air and then drop to the ground with a thump, hopefully falling on surrounding plants and three foot long weeds. Imagine the horror of it all as the giant destroys your home and tosses you out into the elements. Imagine…..

That’s what I did on Sunday to a little nest of birds. Baby birds without a hint of feathers. Transparent skin stretched over big eyes with tiny pinkish bodies. Beak open, hungry and gasping for mom.   Their peaceful world disrupted; shame on me.

I’ve been beating back the tenacious weeds that dwarf the plants. My gentle perennials are no match for the territorial weeds competing for sun and soil. I’m late starting because of the foul weather we’ve had and now the push is on to plant all the annuals I bought on Friday on my way home from the airport.   I wanted an early start Sunday morn but I hooked late into Saturday night so my eyes didn’t open until the eight hours minimum of rest had been met. At 11:00 it was already too hot to be outside and then noon being the highest sun in the sky I had to wait until later in the day. So by the time 4:00 rolled around I figured I’d get in a few hours before dinner and not burn to a crisp.

My technique is to stick the spade into the ground between the plants and push down hard on the handle sending the clump to expose the roots of the weeds. This loosens the ground around them nicely and then I grab the bundle and shake all the dirt out of the roots, then biff the clump of weeds into the wheelbarrow. I had done this twice and had cleared a little area and on the next dig, I pushed down hard on the handle and two rubbery looking things flew up into the air.   It took a few second to understand what these little flesh colour balls were and then the horror hit.   They were baby birds, newborns without wings to keep up the momentum of their projected flight so they dropped back down into the soft earth and vegetation. I fell to my knees and parted the weeds to find the little nest they had been ripped from.    There was one still in the nest and his little mouth was opening and closing in a silent cry. Maybe he thought momma was there with a grub. I could hear scolding coming from the Sand Cherry tree behind me.

I rummaged around in the weeds until I found the two babies that just experienced wingless flight and scooped them gently into my gloves. My fingers would have been less clumsy but my dad used to tell me that human scent on a nest might deter the mother from coming back. So I placed the two babies back into their twig basinet, not exactly in the way momma would have arranged them but I figured she could fix things when and if she returned. I secured the nest back down in a hollow area and moved some weeds closely to camouflage the little home.

I felt a bit ill, worried sick that momma would abandon the nest and was already contemplating a trip to Hope For Wildlife if she didn’t return. I went into the house and watched from the screen door and within seconds momma flew into the thick of the weeds to find out what the heck was going on. I waited about a half hour and then went back out on the deck. She must have heard me and flew out from the area to watch me from the same tree. Perfect I thought…she can take it from here.

I checked on them this morning to find the three little babies curled up tight in the bottom of the nest, sleeping like only babies can sleep. I watched a bit to see mom flying in and out of the area so she is back in charge of her wards. So now I have to wait a few weeks before they are ready to leave the nest. The weeds will be four and five feet high by then, choking out my plants, but really, I have no recourse, anything with a heartbeat trumps a plant so these birds take dominion over my gardens.   On warmer days I might work at bit of the garden on the other end, the mother can leave them a bit if she thinks I’m a threat and the babies won’t get cold. Between trying to avoid the snakes, I found the second one this morning sunning himself in the garden behind the house, and now birds, I’m going to have to get down on my hands and knees to check any area before I stick my shovel in. Even when I occasionally cut an earth worm in half I feel sick to my stomach, but I handle that by pretending they can grow a new tail.

So that was the end of the yard work on Sunday so I took up hooking for the rest of the day. Sitting out on the back deck enjoying the beautiful day with my pups. Boats were going out and coming in, birds were chirping and the guy next door was mowing his lawn. Oh, the smell of freshly cut grass….all positive signs that winter has finally retreated...

So I finished my "P". I'm not as happy as I could be. I think if I were to do it over again, I would lightly dye the background the softest pink or lavender. The ivory herringbone with small flecks of colour doesn't really show that well. I considered tearing it out but then thought, there are other letters to hook, I can do another one with a similar palette with a dyed background.   Why go back.....just march ahead! At some point I'm going to have to stop and sew these initials into pillows...but where's the fun in that?

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Small hooking group but big on fun!

6/5/2014

3 Comments

Patricia Goreavette

It was a small group for last evening's hook-in, but that didn’t mean it was short on fun. We are delighted to have Patricia Goreavette unite with our fold. You only need two things to join our group; rug hooking skills and a sense of humour and Patricia came packing both. Sweet pattern!

We were busy beavers one and all. Charlene was repairing a rug, Pam finished her grand-baby's heirloom; the baby came a month early so the rug is a bit late, although technically it’s right on time. Anne is plugging away on Alice and I hooked the ‘P’ in a pretty pink wool. This Initially Yours pattern is going to be sizzling with brights. Honey joined the group and got in a few licks and hugs. She’s a snugly girl! She likes to be up on the table where the action is.

Pam Haughn

Honey

Anne Holmes

P is for Pink!

Charlene's repair

Charlene Scott (no picture) began rug hooking by doing repairs around seven years ago. She and I connected and became friends when we were renovating the building my shop is in. She’s the landlady of the building two houses up the street. She would pop in to see the progress we were making and chat. She isn’t a rug restorer as in museum reconditioning, she likes to say she repairs edges and holes so the owners can once again use their family heirloom or flea market find on their floors. She doesn’t try to match the colours exactly but does a great job coming close. Personally I think she’s pretty darn exacting, but then she never does anything halfway. She sometimes raids our stash of worms for the right colour.

She likes to keep the cost down for the customer because if she has to dye wool and go through the process of a perfect match, the price would go up. Most people don’t want to spend a lot of money for the use of a rug they paid pennies for at an auction or yard sale. Usually people just want a practical fix so they can utilize the rug in their home and partake in its beauty for the rest of its days.

Charlene’s repairs are very meticulous with hand sewn patches and she hasn’t had an unhappy customer yet. She always brings in the rug she is repairing to show me a beauty of the past. I am always amazed how wonderful these older rugs can be when the rug hooker had limited resources for materials. It shows our ancestors were clever artists being able to make a purse out of a sow's ear using grandpas’ old long johns and thread bare cast offs with simple dye techniques using plants and vegetables. Now-a-days we are spoiled with the availability of unlimited choice. Great Granny today would do headstands visiting a rug hooking shop with all its wools and colour.

This beautiful rug was well worth repairing. I love the design and the faded charm. The back is really not much deeper in colour so the materials used had been a bit faded to begin with, probably all kinds of recycled bits from around the home. As for the design, sometimes the simplest patterns are the most eye fetching. This is basically a hit and miss but with angled ends and a wider pattern and is absolutely charming. I would love to have this treasure in the upstairs hallway of my home. It reminds me of something you would see in a grandma's bedroom with the waft of Avon talc in the air, surrounded by floral wallpaper and a bed full of faded, well washed linens........this rug is so soft and inviting like a hug from a nanna……

Where's Waldo? Can you see the repair?

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Pattern of the month club winner for March submission!

6/4/2014

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Rosemary Malone!

I'd like to say thank-you to all of the participants. Once again it was a great job done by all!

Rosemary was also last month's winner and three more yards of Dorr Natural will be on the way to her door. Shane was one of the judges....he said "Of course I'm going to vote for the one with the women hooked naked". Love the shoes!

Remember, anyone can play and you can jump in anytime. April's submissions are due by June 30th. Play and Win for Wool!!!!! See the contests page for details.
http://www.encompassingdesigns.com/contests.html

There are two blogs today so scroll down to see my finished "E" of Initially Yours.

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Glor-E be!

6/3/2014

9 Comments

Another Initially Yours pattern hooked....only 23 more to go! Hopefully I get a little help from you all out there who have purchased your special letters because I won't be able to hook them all. In the meantime I'm having fun. I used a shop plaid for the background #072 and #010, a lovely light teal, for the vines. Bittersweet Three Value was the orange influence and Anjou Pear Three Value for the gold.

All dyed wools are on our site: http://www.encompassingdesigns.com/wool.html

Once again, I hooked all the colour using a #6 and all the plaids in a #8. This brown was so fabulous I didn't even have to wash it to felt it. The weave was very dense and I was in a hurry so I cut it as is. I'll be using a piece of this as the backing for the pillow this rug will be made into.

I hooked the E a bit different this time. I needed to use the middle value Bittersweet against the darker background of the brown plaid as the third and darkest value, the herringbone, didn't stand out. I like the effect. There is so much you can do to make these letters sing!

I also hooked the Anjou Pear flowers with the lightest value to the outside for more contrast as well. The E represents my father's name, Earle. I know he would have loved these colours. I only wish he was here so I could him this pillow........

So the P is next. I see pinks and purples and swirling delights. Can't wait to get started!

9 Comments

Mind Bloggling......

6/2/2014

5 Comments

Sometimes I am amazed at how small the world is, the six degrees of separation, mathematical relationship, seems to be getting smaller as the internet and social media shortens the bridges.

I am floored at the numbers of people who read my blog each month. It’s mind bloggling to say the least, (I think I just made up a new word)!   It is really incredible knowing the readers come from the four corners of the earth and consist of more than just rug hookers. To name a few areas, people in Russia, Turkey, England, France, folks in Japan, several down under in Australia, New Zealand, Iraq, Qatar, Ireland, Nepal, Greece, Saudi Arabia and probably Mars! And, to think that someone reads and remembers the stories, the rants, the weird and wonderful, tips and techniques, is a compliment in the biggest way.

Last week, a woman and her daughter entered the shop with smiles that lit up the room. Sue Angus from North England (right) with a delightful accent to back it up, came into the shop and said she follows my blog every day. Sue hooks with a group called Rug & Rabbit, apparently rabbit means to talk. She is also a rug hooking teacher and sells the pieces she makes. Her daughter Tara Brothers, who now lives in Nigeria, was with her.

She called me Christine which was cool although per the usual I was a bit shy about it all. My normal response is to hang my head as embarrassment spreads across my face like a brush full of red paint.   Some of the things I write are personal and can make me feel a bit naked at times, like standing in front of a glass window without clothes.  But that's the nature of the beast I guess…putting myself out there means people are going to look! And of course, the other half of me is thrilled to the toes, knowing that my time and effort is appreciated, so as long as folks are reading I’ll be writing.

So this lovely lady tells me that they just came from an antique store down the road and discovered ‘Linda Ruth’ there.   Sue said she follows my hook-in blogs and recognized her from the pictures I post. How cool was that? She said a conversation about rug hooking ensued and Linda Ruth showed her the last rug she completed and said, “I just finished this big bulldog rug”.    And Sue says….Yes, that’s Humphrey!” I would have loved to be a fly on the wall to see Linda Ruth’s face.

I had a good chuckle and made a comment about how small the internet makes the world, when Sue said she also saw all the sweet little Scottie Dog rugs in the antique barn. I said, yes, my good friend Mary hooked those pieces and she said, “Do you mean Doig?”   (Mary’s last name). Let me tell you I was impressed. To read what I write is one thing, to remember the names of those I feature is another.   Wow! She told me that I sure do get some weird people in the shop and commented on the woman who tried to sell me a stolen ring, a story from last winter.

So what’s next? Maybe the future will be like Star Trek with teleport rooms, so we can beam from place to place to attend hook-ins all over the world in the blink of an eye. Wouldn’t that be grand? Hook with the ruggers down under and be back in time for dinner! Hey, and you could all pop into the shop to say hi, fondle the wool and maybe hook with me a spell……

Scottie rugs are for sale at Come By Chance Antique & Rug Barn
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Come-By-Chance-Antiques/560002370773977

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