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It’s early morn.   The sun is unwrapping the darkness, all I see is a narrow golden ribbon around the horizon.   A new dawn bringing a new day. Boxing day. I was lying in bed wondering what that meant. After experiencing 55 of them, I've I'm only now wondering what it means, what is the origin for the term. To me, boxing implies a barbaric sport of men duking it out in a ring, or someone working in a shipping department.   I asked my encyclopaedia of a husband and was surprised that he didn’t know so I left the warmth of my bed to Google it. I couldn’t lay there another second without knowing, even if it meant cold feet because the woodstove would have long since gone out.   I’ve always been inquisitive, as a small child my mother called me nosy, tiring of my zillions of questions, but I just like to know things, store away interesting facts. I may not be a Jack of all trades, but I’m certainly a Jill of some.

Boxing day is traditionally the day following Christmas Day, when servants and tradesmen would receive gifts, knows as a “Christmas Box” from their bosses or employers.

The exact etymology of the term "boxing day" is unclear. There are several competing theories, none of which is definitive. The European tradition, which has long included giving money and other gifts to those who were needy and in service positions, has been dated to the Middle Ages, but the exact origin is unknown. It is believed to be in reference to the Alms Box placed in places of worship to collect donations to the poor. Also, it may come from a custom in the late Roman/early Christian era, wherein metal boxes placed outside churches were used to collect special offerings tied to the Feast of Saint Stephen, which in the Western Church falls on the same day as Boxing Day.

In Britain, it was a custom for tradesmen to collect "Christmas boxes" of money or presents on the first weekday after Christmas as thanks for good service throughout the year as early as December 19th, 1663. This custom is linked to an older English tradition: since they would have to wait on their masters on Christmas Day, the servants of the wealthy were allowed the next day to visit their families. The employers would give each servant a box to take home containing gifts and bonuses, and maybe sometimes leftover food.

When hubby and I first got together I marveled at the extent of his knowledge. He might be the smartest man I’ve ever met and it's a very sexy feature. I like to learn new things, be stimulated mentally by a mate and he certainly fits the bill. Except for the Boxing Day question, I don’t think I’ve ever asked him for information that he couldn't respond to. Once I joked and said, “I don’t know if you're bluffing your way through this to impress me or you really know?” but over time I've grown to respect that my guy has a mild form of genius and accept his explanations as fact. Evidence supports his intelligence considering he married me. Through osmosis, I’ve definitely grown smarter since we married and this reminds me of a funny little story.

About two decades ago, an encyclopedia salesman knocked on the door. Home computers were in vogue offering the world at the tip of a finger, making the need for cumbersome, space hogging volumes of A – Z archaic.   I said upfront I wasn’t interested but he persisted, as they sometimes do, that his new set of Britannica, which came with a hefty price tag of $1000, was top of the line, leather bound with gold embossed covers, and came with a yearly volume of updates to keep up with the changing times, for an additional fee of course. I leaned up against the front door and listened to the spiel with a glazed look in my eye knowing, my lunch was getting cold! Finally I said, “Like I said, I’m not interested in the set. My husband is the smartest person I’ve ever met and he answers all my questions for free….and then added, and he’s updateable from year to year!” The man looked at me and laughed, said that was the first time he’d heard that and left.

Yup, my hubby has a very good brain. He reads books I’d choke over or consider using as doorstops. Books I’d have to read with a dictionary handy. I make no bones that the smarts I have come from life experiences, the school of hard knocks so to speak, but I do have a natural thirst for knowledge, I just don’t need to read the entire story, just digest the interesting highlights.    Why do I have to understand the theory of relativity when I find the fact that Einstein was a sailor and never finished high school more interesting? Making a person real, instead of struggling to understand their insights is more appealing to me, the human interest kind of angle. Let the brainiacs digest the hard stuff.

Hubby reads books on philosophy, history and natural sciences, dummies it down (my terminology not his) to laymen’s terms and fills me in on the highlights. He reads the book and I get the summarized book report. My speed, books on hooking or a juicy murder mystery might fade in comparison in the knowledge department, but I don’t need an interpreter to explain it.

They say opposites attract and it’s very true in our case; hubby and I came together like a couple of magnets. He's obviously the brain of this marriage and I'm the some other word. My specialty is that I collect interesting facts, condensed versions of stories, the sensational stuff. Right now hubby is reading “Let History Judge”, about Russia and Stalin, I can’t even read the print it’s so small and the book size is far too weighty for me. It would be a life sentence to read it, but I look forward to the summation that I’ll get at the end. The five books Santa brought him for Christmas are yawners, and would take me five years of Sundays to read. In his words, “Sometimes it’s tough slog…I read them for the general information. That speaks volumes for his diligence for continued education. For me, reading is work unless there’s enjoyment, once boredom sets in the book is unfinished and forgotten.  Maybe I have the attention span of a knat, but maybe I just want to have fun.

And speaking of work. The shop won’t be open until Saturday December 28th. After two days of cooking, company and going out, Friday is a day to put up my feet, stay in the jammies and rest.   I’ll see you Saturday!

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Letting go.....

12/24/2013

This Christmas is wrought with change and a bit of sadness. I'm experiencing delayed empty nest syndrome considering my son left the roost decades ago, but he always came home to unwrap his Christmas presents and I liked it.

Now he has a stable relationship, one that will undoubtedly go all the way to old age and rocking chairs. He tells me he's 34 now, and I smile.   He'll be my boy no matter how old he grows but I have to respect that he's building a new life independent of me, one that might only accommodate me on occasion because his heart and future is invested elsewhere, and so it should be.

And don't get me wrong, just because I'm whining doesn't mean I don't understand or even appreciate the change, I'm infinitely happy that he's settled and is writing new life chapters with a lovely mate. My hubby says the change is an indication of his moving on to a successful relationship and we rejoice in that. It's just that I'm an old dog that's grown accustomed to the traditions we made since Shane was a boy. I like having him around to see his face when he opens his presents. To me that's the real gift of giving, to see the expression of joy on the receiver....well, that's the desired reaction one hopes for. Discovering treasures under all the foil paper, ribbons and bows is not a commonplace event, it's a special bit of love waiting to be unwrapped.   This year, my son will start building traditions in his own home with the woman he loves. I'm happy for him, but like the mother holding her five year old's hand as he embarks on his first day of school, letting go is bitter sweet.

And to his credit, he told me that if I really wanted him to come to our house Christmas morning to open his presents he would, and I loved that he is kind enough to offer....it's unspoken proof he loves me and that's the greatest gift I could ever receive.  So we worked out that he and his girlfriend are coming by Christmas morning for breakfast but they will start their own tradition of gathering together with their two pups and two cats, under their very first tree as a couple, to unwrap all their goodies....except the one momma held back just so I can see that smile!

Merry Christmas all, keep safe and have fun!

2 Comments

The day before, the night before Christmas.......

12/23/2013

I’ve been delinquent with writing but there’s a good excuse. The shop has been really busy this season, thanks for supporting us! And then there’s Christmas preparations for home, shopping and the dreaded holiday housework that I crammed into just a few days. So, I over did it and my knee launched a revolt and then I couldn't sit at the computer without an icepack or pain and I wimped out. What a friggin time of year to go gimpy! The pains of old age I guess and at the risk of sounding too negative, I just had a birthday and I’m resenting this 55 year old designation. Watching those big numbers creep up is disturbing.

With Christmas looming there was so much to do. Work all day and then shopping, shopping and more of same. It was hard to fit everything in and by nightfall I was exhausted but no chance to rest, because the darn housework needed doing. I had to scour the place and even with hubby helping it took several evenings to beat her into shape but now it's official, you can eat off of any corner, of the house, as opposed to the usual of finding something to eat in every corner, at least for a mouse.

My house sparkles when it’s clean. I’ve polished the silver and scrubbed the cupboards and washed all the dishes. We have doorless cabinetry and open concept shelves, so cooking grease tends to build with time on the dishes above the stove. A bit of soap, a scrub and a buff and now they’re brilliant, sparkling china bling. With my red living room walls the house is perfect for Christmas and all the twinkling lights and exquisite glass ornaments make me feel like I’m in a jewelry box filled with diamonds and pearls.   A place that exudes great comfort to an old fashioned crow like me.

I’m looking forward to resting for a few days over the holidays, putting up the feet while lounging in my jammies. I’ll rest up the old leg so I’m right as rain for New Years, whatever that might bring. I don’t think I’ll be dancing on any tables this year…dining on lobster might be the the biggest excitement on the itinerary. No dancing for me, until this knee is better. I’m thinking my problem might stem from tight fitting slacks. Maybe my straight legged jeans are too constricting and are pressing on the nerve. Maybe the days of tight fitting pants are over, maybe spandex is my new friend, stretching to accommodate my collapsing curves, move when I move and massage my thighs instead of choking them off.    Maybe I need a track suit or god forbid a polar fleece sweat suit, loose fitting to move when I do. Sigh…..why does growing older have to come with penalties....bifocals sort of sent the pace and now what’s next, hush puppies and depends?

Winter sure hit hard and fast. Mother nature destroyed our plans for the annual Hook-in Christmas party on Dec. 18th. Bad timing, and as upsetting as it was, it's better to be safe than sorry, I sure wouldn’t want my gals out on the road in slippery conditions. It’s really too bad about our year end extravaganza, we have so much fun but there is a plan to reschedule some time in January. I pouted and whined in the usual way, I’d worked my butt off to clean the house for entertaining, but as I sulked on the sofa, it hit me that it was my birthday. All the work for the party trumped my special day…I pretty much completely forgot about it! Too bad I couldn’t forget the aging part that would be a nice little prezzie to myself.

So I’m now 55, a bit older and hopefully a lot wiser. And with this bigger number I’ve been enlightened; apparently this special age comes with a senior’s discount ticket. I almost said, geez, keep the discount, I rather pay full price and keep my youthful pride, but then I thought, well heck, a penny saved is a penny earned. But I ask, is the age lowering? Wasn’t a senior 65 a few years back? Hubby says it’s just a marketing ploy to entice the people with money to spend. We baby boomers apparently have the dough so we’re thrown perks to convince us to spend it. But golly, if they keep dialing back the numbers, at this rate, you’ll be an old fart, discount carded “senior” in your senior year at high school! Be honest with me people, how could I be a senior when I don’t look a day over 39…..well maybe 45….right?

Despite the birthday, life is good. I’m blessed in many ways. I guess the bad knee is needed to balance out all the good stuff and keep me from getting too high and mighty.   I sure do have a wonderful hubby, a swell son, good health, good friends, a hobby I love and the best darn four pups in the world.   Right now, nostalgic Christmas tunes are filling the house with memories of my childhood, there's a lovely fire in the wood stove, a grain fed turkey in the fridge waiting to fulfill its destiny and the tree is especially beautiful this year. Shortbread cookies are in the tin and butter tarts are cooling on the racks along with my special homemade cranberry sauce. The house is tidy, my babies were just groomed and smell like a breath of fresh air…life doesn’t get much better than this…...

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Hook-in Wednesday Dec. 18th!

12/17/2013

Hook-In December 18th

Wednesday afternoon will be our second
daytime hook-in at the studio.

In case of stormy weather, call ahead to make sure we are here on our toll free line 1-855-624-0370
Time 1:00 pm - 4:00 pm
Coffee, tea and Christmas goodies will be served. Hope to see you!

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IPhone, IRobot, I text.....I think?

12/16/2013

I’m going to play one of my woman's prerogative cards so I don’t hear any “I told you sos”. The soap box took a beating as I argued the over use of cell phones and this texting obsession that has taken over the world. Plastic appendages with their vibrating, incessant ringing that draw you into someone else's life.  This techno junkie mentality doesn't allow for any down time, to be alone for a second, when there’s important chat about what you’ve had for lunch, what time you awoke or god forbid, waste a random thought.

I’ve rebuked the Cell phone and its evil ways, except of course to be used as an emergency link to CAA or 911, the really important people to converse with.   I’ve had a cell phone for when I’m on 2:00 am rides to the airport, in dense fog or snowstorms, somehow that little piece of plastic and metal provided peace of mind.  Except for work, no one knows my number and I liked it that way. When it occasionally rang I ignored it, knowing it had to be a nuisance call considering the only people who phone me were with me. Yes, we had a great relationship my little phone and me, in that we had none.

So now I’ve crossed over to the dark side, a 180 upgrade to a phone that does things that has more purposes than a Swiss army knife and is way too special to be underutilized.   It talks to me and does my bidding and makes me feel all techie. In the past I’ve been adamant about not being one of those people who carry their phones everywhere, actually promising to “eat my shirt if I ever texted”! Well, quick… pour me a glass of water so I don’t choke on the fabric!

It’s been my opinion that Texting is a form of impersonal communication that borders on rudeness. The latter comes in to play when you ignore the real, flesh and blood person in front of you and finger chat with someone else. I sat in a restaurant once, watching a two men and one woman all tap, tap, tapping their fingers, texting a person or persons unknown. Not a word was spoken until the waitress took their orders and then back to the phones. Once the meal came the phones were put down, a bite was taken and the phone picked up again. The entire meal went, bite, text, bite, text, not a word was spoken. I couldn’t help but wonder why these folks were dining together, why weren’t they out with the people they really liked, the ones they were texting.   My son once told me that people at a party he attended were texting one another while sitting on the same sofa so maybe the restaurant trio were communing nonverbally with each other. It baffles me and I’ve pledged I wouldn’t be caught dead doing it! Which of course is a ridiculous statement…you can’t text when you’re dead!   So I’ll wipe off the egg and get on with it, maybe learn to never say “never” and keep an open mind about newfangled technology. I do promise though....I will eat my shirt if I'm ever so rude as to ignore the real person in front of me to text another on the phone.

I’ve sent my first few texts and decided I would like to do more but don’t have anyone to message other than one friend and my son. On the way home from the phone store I nonchalantly sent Shane a message to ask if anyone had been in the shop and I wished I was a fly on the wall to see his face. He probably thought, “where’s my mother, what have you done with her?”   Now I have to build an entourage of Texters so I can send and receive messages, now that I've been converted I want to play.

The antiquated cell phone I deserted was solely used as an emergency security blanket. I told this to the clerk at the phone store and he shook his head when he looked up my expired contract discovering it had been running for 82 months, I gathered by his expression, I’d set some sort of record for being stupid and uninformed.    They told me I could have done this or done that, offering suggestions about plans but it was like listening to a foreign language. I paid a monthly bill and used the phone for emergencies, pretty simple. I didn’t know I should have bought a phone card with minutes and not been paying monthly fees. I’m not a stupid person so don’t mock my ignorance, if I’m not told these things, how do I find them out?   The company might have been amiss taking my money without offering me options, but I have to take some ownership for it as well.

My conversation with the clerk has now drawn attention and they have grown to three in number and then the boss came over and I became the entertainment of the day. So I worked it and told them I was buckling to peer pressure at 54. We all laughed, maybe me more than them. My son and friends have Apple products, so in the end I opted for the IPhone 5C, and “C” being for Christine, I thought it fitting.

It was interesting, as I am making my purchase I’m told that none of the employees of the store have IPhones, that they aren’t liked, most had something called androids, which to me meant R2D2. I kept quiet on that one. My hubby seemed to follow them but I thought it a strange sales pitch to dis the product the customer was buying. They did say the phone was easy, even a dummy could use it so I said “sold”.

There was apparently an IPhone even newer than the one I ended taking. Something called the 5S but that seemed to have way too many bells and whistles for someone that had been dipping their toe into the shallow end of the pool and was now deciding to jump into the deep end in one swift plunge. Either choice put me in way over my head but in the end the biggest selling feature of the 5C offered no money down, just the monthly plan whereas the 5S came with a $250.00 price tag plus the plan fee. I wanted to walk away as painless as possible although in the end with extended warrantees, top of the line case, and this and that it was a $300.00 drop.   They sure get you by the short and curlies with all those extras and hidden costs. Ironic because the only reason I was in the store in the first place was to buy a cover for my archaic Nokia that was apparently so worthless they didn’t sell anything to protect it. I went to every store in the mall and all I got were head shakes and looks of pity. I’m told I had to put it in a zippered pouch, something clumsy to fumble with and drop. The phone’s gone flying many times, the slippery devil was like a greased torpedo and after having the back fly off and the battery sail across the room more times than I care to admit, I figured I’d better get it a cover. So not wanting to stuff my phone in what seemed like a black cadaver bag, the dazzling displays of new phones tempted me. They had such pretty cases to choose from and I’m all about the pretty.

If I’m being truthful, the biggest objection to cell phones is that I’m not a great converser with gadgets, it’s like eating dry, stale bread; I choke. I’m one of those people who never have the perfect spontaneous reply, it comes to me later after it’s too late. I read somewhere that introverts don’t like talking on the phone and I said “Bingo”, that’s me! For business I manage nicely, but at home I avoid the phone like the plague, sometimes not even answering it, letting it go to the machine and returning the call when I'm in the mood to talk. For years I thought I was weird but now that studies have been conducted and I have a bonafide excuse for my anti-social behavior, I’m delighted.   I’ve analyzed why I’m like this and don’t think it’s solely the talking, it’s the out of the blue ring that puts me off. I need time to prepare for conversation, psych myself up, think of clever things to say, do some editing and be ready. Being caught off guard causes unsavoury pauses that bring on awkwardness and a fluster of meaningless jabber that embarrasses me.   No, I need time and preparation to be my witty, alter ego, extroverted self, dazzle you with charm and clever retorts.

So texting just might be the answer and now I have the phone to do it.   I can plan my response when ready, no out of the blue conversations to struggle with. Maybe I’m weird, but I’ll bet my friends will tell you I’m special….and that they love me anyway….

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Looking for a hooker........

12/13/2013

I checked my Facebook today and noticed a kid, a young boy, ‘LIKED’ my Encompassing Designs page. His wall photo was that of a very muscular man, say 25, sporting bulging biceps and a rock hard six pack, posing as if in a Calvin Klein underwear ad. The young lad's photo showed a pimply faced pubescent boy, a stark contrast to the Adonis he obviously admired. The question, why would a teenage boy, probably not knowing anything about rug hooking care about my page? I mentioned it to hubby and he said. “Maybe he was looking for a hooker?” We laughed, and a funny story popped to mind.

When I first opened business back in 2000 and got my first website up and running, I had the ability to keep track of the daily stats to record the hits to the site, how many people found it through a search engine, etc. Each day I noted 12-25 visits. That was thirteen years ago and pretty good attention for the times, whereas today that’s peanuts, expecting 500 – 1000 visitors per day. The program also told you where the hits were coming from, whether US or Canada, and showed the internet provider the search originated from. Like planting a bean and watching it sprout and grow, I checked it daily to track how popular the site was becoming and who was showing interest.

So this one day I looked to find 600 hits! 600 people visited my shop in one day! 600!!!   I almost fell off my chair! So I did the reasonable thing, I sharpened my pencil and waited for the phone to ring. Surely that much interest would result in an order or two because I’d obviously hit the big time baby!

Hours ticked by and nothing happened. So I went back to check the stats origins. I peeled away the layers to discover there must have been a naval ship in port because every hit came from the ‘US Navy’ from a server in Halifax. Sailors, on shore leave, were searching for a little hooking action and the meta-tags directed them to my site. So, I didn’t get any calls, obviously my kind of hooking wasn't the handwork they were hoping for……

2 Comments

Sharing a bit of eye candy.....

12/12/2013

5 Comments

Cabbagetown or Ville des choux

Sent in by Kris Murdock. Sue Cunningham will be pleased to see a second version of this this delightful pattern hooked.

Cabbagetown is a neighbourhood located on the east side of downtown Toronto, Ontario, Canada. It comprises "the largest continuous area of preserved Victorian housing in all of North America", according to the Cabbagetown Preservation Association.

Cabbagetown's name derives from the Irish immigrants who moved to the neighbourhood beginning in the late 1840s, said to have been so poor that they grew cabbage in their front yards.

Sue cleverly featured the top parts (attics) of the decorative Victorian buildings, a more interesting and artistic approach.

Giddy Up!

Hi Christine
I'm happy to say "Giddy Up" is all finished, except for the binding tape, which will go on soon. This mat was so fun to hook, as there were no expectations. I guess I should explain that. I was the lucky winner of this pattern and all because I guessed the right number in a contest. As I hooked this pattern, I didn't have to think what color would be suitable for the future owner, all I had to do was hook what I liked with what colors of yarn I had in my stash. We never had a rocking horse at our house, but there were teddy bears and balls. The ball in this pattern reminds me of those rubber balls we would get to bounce outside come spring. So thank you Christine for the pattern. It took me down memory lane and was so enjoyable and playful to hook.
Merry Christmas and Best Wishes for 2014
Sandra Sampson

Really enjoy your Blog! Read you every day. My friend and I stopped by your wonderful shop a few months ago and you took quick photo of my "rug in process". Now working on a set of stair runners for my daughter. Keep up your writing. Your site is one of my favorites. Best regards, Dick Barr, New Hampshire

Dick Barr holding up his work in progress on a visit to our Studio during the summer.

Coastal Quilts design by Sue Cunningham

Picked this pattern up at your shop two summers ago and finally got to hooking. Thought you would like to see it finished. I love the Hudson Bay blanket that made its way on to my clothesline. Always enjoy a visit to your shop,
Pat Rushbrook (Oakville, ON. But ex-Pictou County)

5 Comments

I've screwed up big time......sigh.....

12/11/2013

“Your most unhappy customers are your greatest source of learning.” ― Bill Gates

Well, it’s winter no matter what the calendar says. The ground is white and the roads are slippery. There’s a chill in my bones that I can’t seem to shake. Hubby keeps the home fires burning but I spent the evening wearing a coat under a blanket on the sofa with teeth chattering. My feet were like ice even though I’ve worn heavy wool socks all day. I hope I’m not getting sick. At work today I was sluggish as if a weight was pressing down on me, if someone yelled fire I may not have made it out! Maybe I knew something was about to derail me?

I screwed up and sent a parcel to a customer’s home address instead of the work one and spoiled a surprise for her step-mom who must have opened it. There’s nothing I can do about it except say I’m sorry but that probably won’t make any difference. I hope I'm forgiven but customers have boycotted me for less. I take great pride in doing things to the best of my ability but I do make mistakes because I’m human but when I mess up I can’t shake it off. It's not that I berate myself for making the mistake, I'm not perfect and have no delusions about that, but I don't like letting others down when they depend on me, and really who wants people to be upset with them....so the self imposed punishment begins.

It happened because I was in a panic to get the mail out and parcels don't wrap themselves and Christmas is coming faster than a freight train at warp speed. A mail run is always a race against time and I was frantic trying to get as much out as possible in between the phone ringing and people through the door. The sweetheart that he is, my hubby offered to help and I was grateful but I’m in charge and the mistake happened but I'm not passing the blame, as the person in charge, the crap ball lands at my feet. I could do everything bang on perfect for a year, and then do one thing wrong and it would negate all the good stuff that came before it. When I make a mistake I just want to close the shop and stay at home in my safe little cocoon. Pathetic I know but good or bad, that’s the stuff I’m made of.

My life would be simpler being a stay at home person with hubby, pups and hobbies, not making any impact on other people’s lives. I know I can’t please all the people, all the time, but I sure do try and when something bad happens I let it eat away at me like a disease. Wish I could just shrug it off, it's not like I did it on purpose, but I always have to ingest a side dish of self-loathing before I rebound.

Anyway, it’s done and I can’t take it back. My hubby knows how I get so he says, "You know sweetie, thousands of children died today of starvation or malaria, a parcel to the wrong address isn’t life shattering, try not to let it ruin your day". He’s’ trying to make me feel better but the person who placed her order in good faith maybe thought it was earth shattering. I spoiled a Christmas surprise. I put myself in her place and I would be annoyed too, so I’ll drag this new baggage around with me for awhile before I let it go. That’s the way I roll, good or bad I wear my emotions on my sleeve and on my face and those darned slumped shoulders.......

2 Comments

New Book Bling and another stocking....#25 and counting!

12/9/2013

I've been making jewellery for a couple of years and that led me to these whimsical bookmarks. So much nicer than a piece of paper or a turned down book ear. I can do customer work as well. Tell me what colour of beads you like and I'll string them together. The top is a lovely mermaid bookmark with a sand dollar charm. The main focal bead is an etched lamp-work lentil and matching rondelle. They are matched with Swarovski crystals and complimentary glass beads.

The rose is love with two lamp-work beads and matched to glass pearls and Swarovski crystals. The bookmark is silver tone and the charm is a locket for a loved ones picture. To view out new bling click the link:

This is my latest Christmas stocking idea. Carousel Stocking. A good one for bright colours for sure. I see the pole in a candy cane stripes and the jewels on the carousel top hooked to appear faceted. If I could find some plastic jewels I'd glue them in place for a bit of bling! The horse might be gold or blue, we'll see, but I am definitely hooking this one!

I'm off today. Off as in not quite feeling the best. Can't seem to rub two words together to come up with a sentence. I've been dragging my butt all day and working with the enthusiasm of a cadaver. Yesterday my right leg was killing me and I stayed home to rest while all the Father Christmas Festival folks walked by a dark shop and locked door. I wasn't too upset as historically I am not busy on Sundays during a festival. Everyone pretty much came in for the tax free sale on Saturday. Last week the Festival Sunday was very slow, no more than a dozen people though the door so I don't think I missed much and if I did, sorry! I only have two legs and although they wouldn't win any awards, they're all I've got so I have to take care of them.

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Tax Free Day at Encompassing Designs!

12/6/2013

Tax Free Shopping!!
Saturday December 7th 10:30 - 5:00

Celebrate with extra savings during the

Father Christmas Festival this weekend!

In store shopping or mail orders welcome!
Christmas is a comin so save like Scrooge!
One day only!

Enjoy a refreshing organic Apple Cider cuppa!

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"Harvest Fair".....anything but fair....it's extraordinary!!!!!

12/5/2013

Janet Boates came through the door Monday morning with a completed Harvest Fair under her arm. Having worked all weekend for the Father Christmas festival ending a 13 day stretch without a day off, I was tired and a bit cranky. Seeing this rug lifted my spirits and I started smiling from the inside out! That's one of the main reasons I'm in the business; nothing rejuvenates my passion than seeing one of my designs hooked so beautifully!

The details were so exquisite I asked if she was a painter, this kind of attention to shading is a dead giveaway of a true artist's eye.

Everywhere you look there is something new to discover. Janet worked mostly in a #4 cut with #3 cut details with all hand-dyed wool of her making. Wider for the kernels of corn. She told me she likes a challenge and this project fit the bill. She's only been hooking four years and if this is any indication of her rug hooking talent, I can't wait to see future work. What a spectacular representation of Thanksgiving to hang over a mantel. The harvest; bounty from the fruits of hard labour.

Although every part of this rug is expertly executed the corn really drew me in. When I designed this piece I worried someone might have trouble hooking the small details of individual kernels. Janet opted to go bigger instead of smaller and it worked perfectly. Each of the wide cut loops look exactly like a kernel of corn. Genius I thought!

Janet hooks with the Nicholsville Rug Rats rug hooking group.

Janet holding up her rug for a size comparison. WOWSA!

Carolyn Coleman is Janet's sister. She's only been hooking one year and considering the very nice shading in Wanda's hair, the two gals have more in common than good looks! Moonstruck Wanda is a fun piece. I like that she used nighttime shades to tell the story. The overall feeling is hauntingly true of the witching hour. Hooked in a #4 cut from new dyed wool and found.

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Stash builders and stocking stuffers!

12/4/2013

Just arrived today!
Five new textures and plaids! Great stash builders!
http://www.encompassingdesigns.com/plaids.html

From left to right - Orange herringbone, Green herringbone with blue and rust lines, grey hound's tooth, an icy pale blue/grey herringbone, coral and grey mix plaid.

Gift Certificates!

Order a gift certificate and we will put it in a
Christmas card and sent it directly to your loved ones with a personal note from you.

New for the shop. Sterling handled hooks...various sizes and pricing.
http://www.encompassingdesigns.com/hooks.html

More felted zippered bags.
Colours: Periwinkle blue, Green, Wine and Turquoise.
http://www.encompassingdesigns.com/extra.html

Blooper Segment.........

I wonder what Frued would say about my error? Apparently we have a new X-rated line of designs at the shop. It's amazing what a missing "r" can do! This pattern was headed for Texas today......imagine opening up the parcel........

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Gingerbread Man Christmas Stocking

12/3/2013

He looks as if he's saying "Yippee"

I like the idea of the Christmas stocking. As a child it was the first thing I saw coming down the stairs Christmas morn.   It bulged with smaller surprises, a prelude to bigger items under the tree.   I’m sitting here wondering if my mother made my childhood stocking and wonder what might have happened to it? Sadly my questions have no answers as she is now gone.

What I do remember is finding a big orange in the toe, a nutritious filler that helped keep the cost down when dealing with Christmas on a budget.   I was a pretty observant kid, probably would have made a good detective because I deduced that the piece of fruit looked very much like the ones in the fridge vegetable crisper. So one year I counted the oranges before going to bed and sure enough there were three missing the morning after. I asked my mother why Santa would take our oranges to give to us and she said Santa liked to make sure children ate fruit. On my own, I figured out that Santa was just being frugal, having to stretch that one, seemingly small bag of toys to last for all the world’s boys and girls. I didn't hold it against him, after all it was understandable why he cut a few corners and of course, I liked fruit. Interestingly, that was the last Christmas we found oranges in our stockings.

My mother scrimped and saved all year for Christmas and we were never disappointed, always getting the one big item we picked out of the Sears Wishbook and a lot of little but very significant things.   There was always lots of ripping and tearing, squeals and laughter. We received practical things like new flannel PJ’s and maybe a new tam and scarf set, socks and mittens. Back then it wasn’t about high-tech presents, just simple things and necessary everyday items.   Things we needed anyway that got dubbed Christmas presents, sort of killing two birds with one stone while saving money.

We didn’t own a fireplace which posed concern, but my father told me that Santa had a magic passkey for homes that didn’t have chimneys, so not to worry my pretty little head. On Christmas eve, we stuck the stocking tab to the side of a stair tread with a thumb tack and set out the milk and cookies, although my father convinced us that Santa was probably fed up with milk and might appreciate a cold beer. In the morning the bottle was empty and the plate had the telltale crumbs of an appreciated snack.

As a child my stocking was made of a thin, cottony, gauze like material. It was red and plain without any kind of Christmas motif. Not as large as the stockings I design but large enough to excite a small child with all the goodies Santa stuffed into them. There were three of us so Santa would leave our names scratched on a piece of paper to make sure we didn't get confused and it was truly amazing how his penmanship mirrored our fathers.

I like hooking Christmas stockings. They are short and sweet, usually no more than a three evening project and supply a fun canvas to play with colour. This one took the fourth night because of the smaller #4 cut, mostly for the show that was pixelated to conceal loop lines. I like this technique as it smoothly fills in the area without showing where one row starts or stops. Although simple in its design this piece had a lot of snow to hook and a flat white wouldn’t have given me the challenge I appreciate so it was fun to add the shading to break up the large expanse of white.

The sky was simple, a wash of blue over a piece of Copenhagen/Overcast Sky and hooked straight across but on a curve to match the stocking shape. I thought about doing a swirled effect but then decided to keep it simple as not to compete with the Gingerbread man and the candy cane skis. I didn’t hook the stars drawn on the trees in the initial design keeping once again the focus on the cookie and candy. I guess I took artistic license with my own artwork!

The colours used for the candy cane skis were Heart Red and Green With Envy and natural. The trees were hooked with two different spots, Emerald and Aquarius. The Gingerbread man was done in Walnut medium value and the darker value herringbone for the outline. The hat was Heart Red and the scarf was Green With Envy (lighter value than the candy cane, yellow and orange straight from the bottle for brights).

Because the scarf ends touched I had to use colour placement to separate them. Normally the back piece would have been hooked slight darker than the one in front but for the little bit of wool needed to create the difference I didn’t want to have to over dye the colours darker. I considered doing a painted wash of dye but hoped alternating the stripes would do the trick. It worked, fooling the eye enough to create a separation. If it wouldn’t have worked I would have done the dyeing but it’s only a little stocking, not a William Morris masterpiece and I figured I could cut that corner and pay more attention to detail elsewhere.

I had to be careful with the snow around the gingerbread man’s body because of the white icing piping surrounding his outline. I didn’t want it to appear like a hole through the cookie. Anytime you use background colour in the motif you run the risk of it appearing as if there is a hole in the design where the background shines through. I was careful to add the snow around the guy using the lightest values of a 6 value swatch called Snow & Ice so there was a subtle difference.

A couple of years ago I developed a 6 value swatch for hooking snow and ice. It’s a pale greyish blue that goes from dark to light with the lightest value being just a shade darker than Dorr Natural.   One swatch goes a long way to add interest to snow giving you a gradual shading of dark to light for snow drifts, under bushes, wherever you need a shadow and it breaks up the blaring overuse of too much white. It might just be a little stocking for a child now, but it needs to grow with them into adulthood so the shading offers a bit of sophistication for the grownup.

Contrary to what you may think, snow is not perfectly white. It’s affected by the environment around it. Take a look the next time the backyard is carpeted in white. You will see many shadows around bushes, under trees and the hills and valley of snow drifts will tell a story of light to dark.

The hat trim is Curly Mohair or Mohair Boucle. I added a bit of shading there as well using Sooty Santa, curly mohair over-dyed with a very light black and some seal brown. Santa is only spiffy clean when he’s posing for pictures. On Christmas eve, his chimney detail insures soot staining on his beard and suit trim. Hooking with the Sooty Santa curly mohair provides a more antique old world appeal. I added a bit of this on the bottom of the pom pom and hat trim and then filled in with the natural on top adding a little bit more interest to the gingerbread’s stocking cap.

So I have to decide which one to do next. I’ve drawn off the Celtic Tree and I could whip that off quickly in a #6 cut but more exciting ideas keep popping up. Peacocks seems to be popular right now so I have a design in mind with the tail feathers sweeping into the toe of the sock. Then the idea for a Carousel with a mermaid horse popped up, the curling tail dipping down into the toe.   What a colourful one it could be. I remember the carousel rides as a child, the hard bodied horses and the music, hanging on for dear life while riding up and down the pole in a stomach flopping motion. I see it so clearly in my head that I almost hear the tune that used to play......

Snow & Ice 6 value swatch. Provides shading for snow or ice and the seventh value is Dorr Natural, making for a smooth transition.

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Christmas Daddies, a necessary holiday tradition....

12/2/2013

The first leg of the Father Christmas Festival is behind us and it was nice to see the weather cooperate, crisp but clear. I watched the horse drawn wagon go back and forth Main street filled with red noses and smiling faces, the clip clop of the hooves a steady beat to the holiday music playing in the shop. I was open Sunday and had a few stragglers come in while I worked on a bunch of kits to put in the mail this week. Charlene and Glenna dropped by for a chat so the company broke up the day nicely.

I arrived home to find the tail end of the Christmas Daddies telethon on TV. I’m a big fan of this fund raiser as there was a time in my life when I relied on its generosity to provide a Christmas for my own family. Back thirty years ago, dead beat dads weren’t called on the carpet to support their children. If they refused to pay up they usually got away with it. Now they track you down and garnish your wages, so there’s no escaping your responsibility. Divorce from a spouse doesn’t mean a severance from your children, thankfully the laws have changed. My ex was more of the cut-the-nose-off to spite-the-face mentality and he didn’t think about his children; he was more concerned that I do without. He made it impossible for me to stay then hated me for leaving, blamed me for everything and wanted me to pay. He stopped working, defaulted on the mortgage so we would eventually loose our house and vehicle just so I wouldn’t get any kind of compensation in the divorce. The old "can’t get blood out of a turnip" was his mantra all the way to bankruptcy.   In his warped need for revenge, I don’t think he ever considered his children might be collateral damage and go to bed hungry, but then again, maybe he didn’t care. Diagnosed a sociopath, his main concern was how the world revolved around him so he didn’t play fair.

I’ll never forget the day my son opened the fridge and the only item filling the empty cavernous space was the bright light and half jar of peanut butter. In a panicked little voice that shattered my heart he asked. “When are you going to buy groceries mommy?”    He never saw my tears but it left a memory that never went away. The experience scarred me and I blame that lean period on my overeating today, harkening back to that feeling of going to bed hungry, never having enough. We are all products of our past, good or bad and I believe that’s why I cry like a baby when I see the homeless, especially young people pan handling on the streets for survival. My family only had to brave having nothing for a few months, some people make a lifetime of it.

I can’t describe the feeling of hearing my children’s little bellies grumbling protest not having enough to eat.  Waiting on social assistance was a long and tedious process and in the meantime we existed on handouts from kind neighbours, who risked their own welfare to help us. My husband went on the warpath and smashed picture windows and car windows of those who got involved, offering rides us to town or giving us food.   I felt so guilty for bringing the plague down on them for their kindness.

I'd become more afraid to stay than to leave and although I had no expectations of a future, leaving was worth pursuing even if it turned out badly. It was a dark and terrible time, wrought with fear and worry. I lived on the edge, hardly sleeping, waiting for the attack that might end my life and there were moments when I almost caved and went back just to end the tirade of his wrath. For years I’d lived on the wrong side of the fence, a grassless, hopeless place to be, but we took it one day at a time and somehow we survived.

Although I appreciated the financial help, there was a part of me that wasn’t happy receiving assistance. I wanted to be independent, stand on my own feet, pave my own way, so I accepted the cheques while I went to school to improve our lives and situation. I graduated with a Clerk Typist certificate so I could get a better job and started out in an accounting office. Ironically, the job actually paid less than what I received on social assistance after all the deductions were taken off, but I was on my way to a new life and never looked back. I can’t say it was easy, I was a single mom and life was filled with hurtles but I had my self-respect, a roof over our heads and enough to eat, that was all we could ask for.

I’m not a fan of commercial Christmas and in our home we don’t participate in presents and shopping. Christmas belongs in the dreams of children, especially ones who struggle from broken homes or lower incomes. They need a bit of brightness and Christmas Daddies provides smiles from those generous donations. I remember having nightmares before the holidays of not having money to buy a present for my children. It was always Christmas eve and I would be wondering the streets, going from store to store to find something, anything, to buy. The stores were always empty, the walls looked like the houses after the Grinch stole Christmas, bare wires hanging and paper on the floor, nothing on the shelves except broken toys and dust where the good ones had been. I’d wake up in a sweat, panicked that Christmas morning would arrive and my children would be disappointed.

The year I left my husband, well, actually escaped with my life, I held up at Bryony House in Halifax, the home for abused women, to get custody of my kids and start divorce proceedings while under their protective eye. Once those wheels were in motion I came back home and was awarded custody of our matrimonial home until it was sold and we lived there without money to pay the bills or buy food. It takes months to receive provincial social assistance; they give you bare minimum for the first months through a municipal stipend until you're established in the system. The oil in the drum was rationed so we’d wrap ourselves in duvets to stay warm and used the heat sparingly, turning it off after a cycle and then back on before we saw our breath. I watched the fuel gauge constantly, hoping the heat would last until the next cheque arrived. In hindsight, I should have left sooner; in the summer months when heat wasn’t a problem.

Until that first allotment arrived we relied on the handouts of caring people. The first cheques are very lean, with barely enough to survive on so that meant nothing for Christmas that loomed ahead. I was devastated that my boys would suffer the harsh realities of life when they deserved better.   I wanted them to believe in Santa for as long as possible but how would I explain the empty stockings and lack of presents?

And then a miracle occurred. A week or so before Christmas a cheque arrived in the mail for $150.00.   It was like winning the lottery. To a person with pennies in their pocket it was a fortune. I was able to fill their stockings, and Santa left toys they’d longed for from the Sears Wishbook.   If not for Christmas Daddies, there would have been nothing.

A couple of days before the holidays I was in the grocery store wondering what I would make for Christmas dinner when the owner called me aside to say that someone in town had donated a turkey to my family. I had tears in my eyes as I went to claim the bird, wondering who would have done such a thing. My tumultuous marriage was fodder for town gossip so everyone knew the rough life we’d been living. I never found out who helped us, but I looked at people differently always wondering who the kind soul was. We cut down a tree from the backyard, a Charlie Brown variety that wouldn’t have won any prize, but it was the most beautiful tree we’ve ever had. The generosity of others provided us with a happy and almost normal Christmas. Not only did we dine on a fantastic Christmas feast but it provided hot meals for the next couple of weeks.

I believe in giving back. My life is so blessed. I generously donate to Christmas Daddies knowing that there are families out there that will feel what I felt when that miracle cheque arrives before Christmas.

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Father Christmas Festival in Mahone Bay

12/1/2013