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Update on my Honey

8/23/2017

I’m sitting here with my coffee as distant rumblings of thunder tell a tale of things to come. It’s a bit of a grey day, dismal really, but they can’t all be sunshine and roses. Our lawn is fried to a crisp so we could use a bit of rain.

Lately the weather doesn't predict my mood, Honey does. If she faints it taints the day, if she makes it to bedtime without passing out, its glorious. I’m not deluded, things will get worse before the end, but in the meantime I’m working two steps ahead of every scenario to keep her safe. Every faint brings her closer to the inevitable and I’m not ready to face that just yet. I probably never will, life without my precious girl will be less brilliant for a very long time.

I have noticed she's slowing down a bit, but she's still happy, she eats, and she wants to play although I have to put a stop to that. Any excitement sets her off, her heart beats wildly, her blood pressure drops and then so does she, wobbling on four legs and then crashing to the floor in a sickening thump, as limp and lifeless as death itself. I have dreams of her in my arms, falling limp and lifeless, her head hanging down, her tongue dangling past her lips, her eyes loosing that spark, the essence of her. I know what it's like; my Louis passed away and I held him in my arms, I still feel the ache of it.

I wake up with heartbreak crushing my chest, it’s almost like a cruel practice for that terrible day when the dream becomes a reality. I’m not sure why I’m tortured so, other than my thoughts never stray from her illness, it’s the main focus of my life, every second of every minute of every day. No wonder it haunts my dreams. I love my animals deeply, they mean as much to me as any human life, they are a part of me and I am a part of them, the bond we share is stronger than steel.

Usually she’s in my arms when she passes out. The second I see the telltale signs I’ve grabbed her up to comfort and help her through it. I’ve gotten very good at detecting them, it’s like I know instinctively when it will happen. A mother’s instinct is a powerful thing and I am her mother in every sense of the word except genetically. I’m so afraid she’ll pass out if I’m not there and just keep going into the dark night. I truly believe I help her heart to start up again by stimulating her with caresses and hugs and my gentle voice telling her she’s loved and special. Sometimes after a particularly rough day of spells, I even tell her she can go if she needs too, I’ve heard the stories of animals lingering for their humans so I tell her I’ll be okay even though I don’t mean it. Obviously she isn’t ready to leave me just yet.

She’s nowhere near the end of her life, she’s a happy little peanut, no one’s told her she’s got an iffy ticker. She goes to work with me each day and does her bit at the shop, schmoozing and playing cute. Everyone stops to talk or pet her so she’s soaking up all the attention, especially from men. She’s always been a floozy, loves the male gender and makes the extra effort to smell them and get a few extra scratches on the head or belly. It’s funny how four legged and two legged animals interact with that kind of chemistry. The bond a son has with his mom and the daddy’s girl scenario seems to apply with dogs and humans as well.

So today has started well, no faint yet. My goal is to have three days in a row without an incident, but we haven’t been able to rack up more than two. In the meantime I don’t leave her side. It’s been almost seven months we’ve been joined at the hip. No eating out or socializing unless she accompanies me and no complaining about it either. She’s my number one priority right now. I left her once for groceries when it was too hot to leave her in the car and she fainted from the excitement of my return even though I parked in the driveway and literally ran to the door, let myself in and swept her up in my arms. Fiz, the barker of the family had warned the pack that a car pulled in and had the pups whipped into frenzy before I’d even gotten it in park. Fiz sits in the window like a sentinel and keeps the pack updated on bikers riding by, kayakers in the harbour, cars coming and going at the neighbour’s, she’s a nosy, gossiping, busy body so I’ve since learned to earned to keep the curtains closed.

So we live from one day to the next with fingers crossed. I awake in the morning and see her smiling face and thank her for hanging around another day. I wake up a dozen times through the night to touch her in the darkness to feel warmth and breath coming from her tiny body. Her birthday is September 11 and our wish is that she’ll live to see twelve candles on her liver cake, then perhaps another Christmas......

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Mahone Bay through the camera lens...

8/21/2017

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I must admit I was a bit disappointed in the eclipse. All the hype and there was little to see in my neck of the woods. Of course I wasn’t prepared to look up at the sun so I really couldn’t say what actually did occur, but the brightness of the day didn’t change from the view of my living room window. I relied on the internet to show me the various observations from across North America. Some were spectacular, giving folks a great front row seat; I think we were more in the nose bleed section missing the show. I hope everyone played it safe, no eye damage!

Despite not being wowed by today’s monumental event, I don’t have any complains where I live and the word to sum up my feelings would be “blessed”. If the stork dropped you off in Mahone Bay, and you managed to stay to an age where appreciation for our spectacular harbour view and quaint little town is coveted, you’d feel like me, that we live in paradise.

In our fast-paced lives sometimes we forget to look at how much beauty surrounds us. Sometimes we don’t see what’s right in front of us or take the time to really drink in what our eyes perceive. Like how we stop seeing our homes, until we go on vacation and come home after a couple of weeks. How they feel different, smell different, seem fresh and bright, as if seeing it for the very first time.

Through their camera lenses, there are a couple of photographers that are helping to remind us just how much our town shines. During early morning jaunts and dusk travels, two have really made it their passion to showcase picturesque Mahone Bay, and it’s abundantly clear our town doesn’t have a bad side. Lloyd Westhaver and Betty Meredith remind us of our fantastic sunsets and rises and sights about town and on the water. “We love the beauty around us and welcome you to share it” is on signs at both ends of the town to welcome visitors to our little patch of the world. I’m sure a lot of folks leave envious of our good fortune and some have decided to call the Mahone Bay home. We call them CFA’s, come from away’s, but really they should be called LSS, lucky so-in-so’s. I know I thank my lucky stars I never moved away. Many moons ago I felt embarrassed not to have spread my wings and flown the coop, but now I couldn’t imagine perching anywhere else......

Betty Meredith photo

Lloyd Westhaver photo

Betty Meredith photo

Lloyd Westhaver photo

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A rough morning....

8/15/2017

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I awoke to a pulsating, ear piecing wale. If a noise can be described by a motion, it was like waxing a car, the hand moving in a circular fashion over and over to buff it to a brilliant shine. The smoke alarm was singing its mournful tune, its blare cutting clean through to the bone, round and round it went, if not for the fact it is deafening, it could almost be musical in its deliverance. Although momentarily dazed and confused, I’m up off the sofa like a shot, the grey cells quickly assessing my surroundings. I smell and see the smoke, billowing out of the stove-top like dark clouds rolling in before a storm. The liver! The dog’s breakfast!

Pieces of organ meat are charred beyond recognition, cremated under the glass lid. Not only is the meat dead for a second time, my new Paderno pan is toast.

My biggest concern is for my pups, especially Honey, and the high pitched squeal that must be wreaking havoc on their sensitive ears. Surprisingly, the noise frightens them into silence, normally they’d be barking their arses off, but this hullabaloo is bigger than any commotion they can make. Unlike the sound of the wind gently banging the screen door on its frame or the hooves of wandering deer crunching on the gravel outside, this din is big, perhaps dinosaur sized and coming for them.

I grabbed the pan by the handle, it’s hot so I set it down on the cutting board, leaving a black imprint, the heat of its bottom searing into the wood like a branding iron. Wrapping a tea towel around the handle I head for the door, throw it open and set the pan on the ground, taking the offending trail of smoke with me. Then I run back into the house and start throwing open windows and doors to air out the house.

I know the fire department will come, they always do, and now that the house is safe, my concern is for my appearance. I’m still in my nightie, everything loose and flopping beneath. My hair is greasy and my face has red blotches that I would die if someone should see.

The alarm is still blaring and I grab the tea towel to swing in front of the smoke detector. That doesn’t work so I attack the panel, pressing buttons with abandon. The phone rings and I run to answer it, see that its ADT so I get out that I burned the dogs breakfast but we’re cut off because I’m still trying to kill the alarm at the panel. Protocol is to let it run, answer the phone, explain that it’s not a life threatening emergency and they will shut it off from their end. Now I know I’m screwed as I hear the fire truck siren start up in the distance, I know they are coming for me......

So I abandon the phone, happily the alarm is now off, perhaps they heard me explain how I burned the dogs breakfast before we were disconnected, so I run upstairs to throw on a bra and clothes, the siren blaring closer and louder as the pumper truck barrels towards the house. My hair is unfixable so I don a ball cap, about as unnatural looking on me as a hat on a foot. I smear on foundation to cover the broken veins and red bulbous nose and from a short distance it will suffice, but up close it would be an embarrassing paint job, like an old lady putting on rouge.

So the pups and I wait for the boys to arrive. The dogs look at me like I might be crazy, flying around the kitchen trying to tidy up the mess from last night’s meal. I might be careless and burn stuff, but I’m proud and don’t want anyone to see all the rib bones and remnants of vegetable peelings, wrappers and debris lying about.

I’m worried all the firemen will set Honey into a tailspin of fainting and seizures. Yesterday she fainted three times, once while lying in her bed and one of them was followed by some sort of seizure, a new, unsettling development in her illness. Her tiny body thrashed around, from one side to another while her stiff limbs pointed straight up. She collapsed when the repair guy came to the shop to have a look at our heat pump. She jumped down from the chair and danced around his legs for a pick-me-up before I realized what she was doing. Next thing she’s on the floor and I fell to my knees to help while she fainted, then came to and seized before I could pick her up. A new development I’m not prepared for. I had a rough and trying day yesterday, several appointments and emotional stresses and I was exhausted.

So that was why I had to nap shortly after getting up this morning. I put their liver in the fry pan, and I knew I should have put on the timer for 10 minutes but my fog rattled brain was too busy directing my body toward the sofa to lie down while it cooked. I always put water in the pan so it steam fries, but it was medium heat and went well over an hour so it dried then burned to a crisp, scorched the hell out of the cover and the fry pan and then the alarm went off.

I’m still in a fog, my eyes mere slits even though the excitement of the morning should have jarred me fully awake. The acrid smell of char is strong, a constant reminder of this morning’s event. I’m still so tired I want to crawl into a hole, close my eyes and sleep, but there is chicken cooking on the stove now, the replacement for the liver. I’m trying to stay awake by writing. No one wants a repeat of earlier this morning more than me and the pups want their breakie....then perhaps a little nap......

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Reinventing the stair riser......

8/11/2017

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Our Nautical and Country Risers aren’t just for the stairs. People are coming up with all kinds of interesting spots to hang them. I love it when I’m presented with clever ideas and hooking our riser patterns to hang over doors and windows is a fabulous suggestion, capping off a normally forgotten area with a lively decorative feature. The only downside is looking up to take in these fiber art beauties and tripping over the threshold!

Adena Clark hooked our Compass Rose Riser for her brother’s newly launched boat that he lovingly built from scratch. How wonderful is that? I see the boat sailing by our house and I’m thrilled that one of my designs is in its cabin! Two designs actually, as Adena hooked the riser patterns Wind & Waves we put together as a complete rug; another great suggestion! I’m in the process of finishing the Wind and have already completed the Waves so they will adorn the studio staircase shortly.

Check out the many Nautical and Country stair riser pattern available on our New Designs Website page by clicking this link:
http://www.encompassingdesigns.com/new-designs.html

So for those of you that don’t have staircases in your one level home, but adore the patterns and groan that they can’t serve you as beautifully as they do my shop steps, here is a way to hook and enjoy your favourite riser design out of the many available.

I’ve always said any item serves more than one purpose; I’m always coming up with ways to reinvent items and add interest to my home, so I adore the idea to hang a riser in areas around the house. One would also look fabulous on a coffee table next to a book or a candle holder, how about a table runner? You name it and it would be a wonderful embellishment for your home. If you can think of other ways to display one of our risers let me know, I’m always interested!

Our Mermaid Riser swimming over the top of our pattern room door.

Above is a Cape Henry 21 design sailboat called "Elvee" built by Ryerson Clark. (Photo by Ryerson Clark) Hubby and I say she is beautiful boat to behold.
Rugs hooked by his sister, Adena Clark.

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Black and blue and happy all over.....

8/8/2017

6 Comments

I've been distracted by boat maintenance and being so tired at night that I fall into bed half comatose, not able to rub two thoughts together worth writing about.

We launched out boat after a week of back and arm breaking work, rubbing on the oxidation cream, wiping it off and then waxing her entire topside, shear agony for the rotator cuff. Then applying the bottom paint and all the mold removal that is typical from a boat sitting under a tarp. My legs still have a chemical burn where I lay on the cabin top in a pool of Spray 9 bubbles, blitzing the mold dots into oblivion while creating red rash dots on my legs. I hoped perhaps the chemical burn would prevent the hairs from growing, avoiding the need to shave, but no such luck as a healthy new growth continues. There’s no easy way to scrub the deck; the space is narrow between the cabin top and the life lines. I can only bend so much and twist my poor body into painful contortions for so long, so I sit on my butt and work from that position, soaked with the cleaner.

If either hubby or I were to end up dead and our corpse lands on an undertaker's slab, the police would be called in to investigate a suspicious death. We are covered in bruises from head to toe, scabbed from cuts and scrapes. We look like we took a nasty beating, punched and kicked in the shins, butt and arms. One of us would surely be sitting in jail for the other’s murder. Boat bites! She sinks her teeth into us as if she begrudges our efforts. We work so very hard to make her shine and she nips us as if we're taking a bone from a junkyard dog.   I suppose it’s bound to happen in tight quarters, so much to bang into or fall over. Maybe we’re a bunch of klutzes, off balance and accident prone, our continuous cry of "ouch" a duet out of tune. We now move like old men, bent at the hips and knees, practically dragging our knuckles on the ground, our bodies sore to the marrow. We grown getting out of a chair, reaching down to pet a pup on the floor, getting out of bed.

This past weekend was the Heritage Shipyard Weekend and hubby is on the committee and when he came downstairs with shorts on I took one look at his legs and gasped. They looked like a dog’s breakfast after a regurgitation, so I got out my compact and covered all the raging redness and scars with foundation. They looked like a new pair of legs, I couldn’t believe the transformation! This way, no one would think he suffered from scurvy or scabies, or some other debilitating illness that turns skin to a ragtag mess, making him approachable for questions or conversation.

Despite being top to bottom, black-and-blue, it’s rewarding work to bring our boat back to her former glory. Like renovating a house, it comes with a great deal of satisfaction, but I’m beginning to understand the joke how a boat is a hole in the water that you throw money into. Luckily we can keep the expense down by doing a lot of work ourselves, and quite frankly, the few jobs we had the so called professionals do have not served us well. Three hatches had their old Lexan changed for new, complete with new gaskets and all leaked like a sieve with today’s rain. A paint job around the ignition panel to cover a previous bad paint job left the surface lumpy and streaky. The paint colour matching was excellent but the technique of applying the finish was juvenile at best. I could have done better with a spatula.

Did I tell you the engine died on our way to Mahone Bay after the launch? I mean what the? We’re still waiting for parts so she sits on the mooring without a motor. We can run it for a short time, enough to get to the wharf but she overheats when taxed and the alarms screech and the bells ring so we can’t go sailing. If the wind were to die, the sail would be useless and we’d have to throw out the anchor and be stranded or dash upon the rocks along the shore.

Although sailing is the ultimate reward for all the work, I’m not bothered too much. As long as I’m on her, whether being on the hard or sitting in the harbour, I find the greatest peace and joy in her surroundings. Laying in her belly on a bunk or stretched out along her cockpit I feel truly at peace. I napped on her Sunday, we were tied up at the wharf so the marine electronics guy who has a broken leg and cast could get on board to install an inverter that converts 12 volt power into 120 volt. Although time at the wharf is included with our mooring fee, it is difficult to get in as other boats pay to hang there, so last year we never got in to run a vacuum on shore power and the boat got pretty grungy. So now I can clean her anywhere. I have lots of sanding to do this year as I am refreshing her teak inside the cabin and clean-up will be a breeze. I must admit having to do so much cleaning was a revelation that surprised me. I thought on the water things would stay pristine but the place gets as dirty as home.

So after the electronics guy left I basked in the sun. Monday was Natal Day and the shop was closed so I hung on the boat all day as well. We stayed at the wharf until they asked us to leave. I’ve not felt that kind of relaxation and total bliss for some time. Honey and I curled up and slept in the cockpit, even though people came to the end of the wharf and saw us. I hope I didn’t drool too much but I wasn’t concerned enough to go below. We were cuddled under a blanket and had the best, deep sleep I’ve had in a long time, rocking gently to and fro as if floating in a mother’s womb.

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Update on my Honey

Mahone Bay through the camera lens...

A rough morning....

Reinventing the stair riser......

Black and blue and happy all over.....

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