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The shop will be open from 12:00 pm - 4:00 pm FRIDAY Dec. 29 and SATURDAY Dec. 30. We will open for regular business January 3rd. Seasons greetings and have a fabulous New Years! 
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 Today is my birthday and call me foolish but I’m quite relieved. Probably no one is ever happy to age, to reach 59, one year shy of the big 60, but this chick is doing a happy dance and I’ll tell you why.
Since I turned 58, I’ve had a rough time mentally. The back of my mind constantly taunted me with the fact that my dear mom passed away at 58. The fact that I was born in 1958, and how things always happen to me in threes, that number kept haunting me. 58, 58, 58! I thought it might be my time to kick the bucket and it made my cup that is usually half empty, down to a quarter full. I’m not alone. Several people have told me they were a little apprehensive making it through the same age when a parent died, and worried that the same misfortune would prevail.I’m not usually so negative that I willingly bring disaster on myself, but my over active imagination has a mind of its own. There are dark crevices filled with deep, black rivers that leak into my thoughts now and then, whisper in my ear, telling worrisome tales to remind me how my life is as fragile as a robin’s egg. My mom and I lived totally different lives, lowering the chances that we would follow the same patterns, but we are genetically linked and that’s pretty powerful and therefore concerning. Fifty-eight was so young for her to leave, a terrible loss, and it knocked me off the high horse of invincibility, slapped me in the face with my own mortality and taunted, “You’re next!”. Most of us walk around avoiding that kind of thinking, and usually so do I, but 58 kept up a mantra in my head, if it could happen to my mom, it could seal my fate as well. So this morning when I woke up 59, I silently rejoiced, breathed a sigh of relief and jumped out of bed with a bit more enthusiasm than any time in the past year. I certainly don’t want to die young; I have so many things I want to do. I have so many plans I can’t leave just yet. So now my head is silent, the Reaper’s whisper is gone, and I’ll be okay until I reach 67. Of course, I might still be struck down in my prime, but it’ll not be a self-fulfilled prophesy through worry. Sixty-seven was when my dad died and the next emotional hurtle to pass. I’m not greedy, I don’t need to live to be 100, I just hope for the privilege of more time to accomplish a few more things……  I recently chatted with a friend whose hubby brings her coffee in bed every morning. I laughed to myself as I destroyed any chance of that happening in the Little house years ago, but then coincidentally I was served coffee in bed this morning.
It could be me, a receiver of royal treatment, but I rebuked earlier attempts by my hubby who is a wonderful morning person, up with the first beep of the alarm and smiling to greet the day. His cup is not only half full; sometimes it just overflows, splashing all over my waking grumpiness. They say opposites attract and hubby and I are living proof. No matter what time we go to bed, midnight to five in the morning, he is as happy as a lottery winner when he wakes. He’s happy to be alive with a whole new day to explore while I curse the sun and chirping birds outside the window. When we first moved in together, as the alarm beeped and the sun peeked through the cracks in the blinds, he greeted me with a lively “Up and at’em sweetie, it’s a new and beautiful day!” His voice was melodious, filled with happiness and the promise of a whole new day of possibilities, happy to be in love with me and our new life together. Happy, happy, happy, oh blessed joy. Is there anything more annoying? When a relationship is building in the first quarter and the ring isn’t on the finger to cement the relationship so it doesn’t crumble when the truths come out, there can be a little deception going on to put forth one as lovelier than perhaps one is. Day after day I was assaulted with this cheery optimism, clawing away at the finish on my deceptive morning veneer. My smile grew thinner and faker, my lips pulled back baring teeth like a junkyard dog as his jolliness plucked the string of my very last nerve. I think I managed a month without snapping, newly in love I was happy to see the sunshine in his smitten eyes but then a particularly sleepless night destroyed the ability to keep up the charade. I turned on him, akin to the possessed girl in the exorcist; I think my head even turned 360. With teeth clenched and only my lips moving, I hissed. “Stop with the cheerful crap…don’t ever say up and at’em again!” My face was mean, my words audible poison. With eyes barely open, I acknowledged the hurt and shock in his. I knew I had to come clean with an explanation. “I’m just not a morning person sweetie”, I cooed, trying to smooth things over with my little girl, cutesy voice, “I need eight hours or I’m just a little cranky” I added. Truthfully, he was 50% responsible for my lack of morning glory. Considering we never went to bed until at least one, if not two in the morning when I had to get up at 7:30 for work. We are a couple of reincarnated cats, when midnight hits we're ready to prowl. Considering I was riding a sleep deficit every night, I’m not sure how I managed a whole month without losing it. Somehow each day I managed to wake up, but was sour and I was used to being that way, until Mr. Perky came along. What’s to celebrate when all I wanted to do was crawl back in and sleep until I felt refreshed, then I could be a happy camper, embrace the day with unbridled enthusiasm. It still might someday, we're hoping.....it's on my bucket list..... So that was that, he left me alone experiencing the joy of a new day on his own, slinking out of bed as if I was covered with razor sharp quills. He no longer offered coffee or breakfast, I was avoided like the morning plague I am. To this day I think he’s a little scared of me when I ask him to help wake me up early if I have an appointment. He calls up to me from the safety of downstairs as not to witness my angst and whining. I guess once bitten twice shy. After all these years he’s still perky and I’m still nasty, mostly because we never go to bed before 1:00 AM. Sometime he phones the house phone from his cell, the ringing can pry me awake better than all else we've tried. So this morning I was on the sofa, which was technically my bed for the night. I tossed and turned until 3:00 am and finally said screw it and headed downstairs with my book to quiet my racing brain. A juicy murder can do that believe it or not. I read for an hour then stocked the wood stove and crawled on the sofa under a wool throw so I wouldn’t wake hubby and the pups all nestled upstairs in our bed. So when he placed a hot brew on the coffee table for me this morning, he was technically serving me in bed….and I have to admit, it was rather nice.  This blog is directed to the person that stole a Hartman Hook from the shop this past Saturday. You are despicable, the lowest of life forms, a wart on the ass of society and I’m being far too kind…...
My husband caught you red handed, palming the hook when my dog barked and distracted him. As he turned back to watch you, he said he is 99% certain you took it. That 1% saved your sorry arse from prosecution, but you and he both know you did it. I was busy with another customer and a friend who had dropped by and hubby didn’t want to cause a stink in front of them and by the time I was free, you headed out the door and I didn’t have time to get up to speed, be told exactly what went down. If I had known, the feces would have hit the fan. All the frustrations of past thefts would have bubbled to the surface and I would have made an example of you as 17 years of experience let loose. I would have followed you outside and tapped you on the shoulder for a reality check. The police would have been called and you would have been prosecuted for your immoral ways. Be aware, I have the most incredible facial recognition skills and even though I looked at you for a short time, I’ll remember your mug. Yes a mug, short for mug shot that you should own right now. If you dare enter my premises again, I will kick your sorry ass out my door and let it hit you as I slam it on your backside. If you are suffering financially, steal food, something necessary to support life that can be understood and perhaps even excused by a judge, but a hook? Your mother must be appalled to call you daughter, or perhaps you were here as a tag team to steal as much as possible. How do you feel that I am painting your mother with the same brush, she may be totally innocent but is under suspicion because of her association with you. How am I supposed to feel about her if she ever comes back to the store? You were both in the back pattern room for a long time did you steal there as well? OMG, how you ruined my happy day!!!!!!! You took far more from me than my inventory. Besides the $40.00 hook, this is the result of your selfish actions. My faith in human kind has been tarnished once again. Although most of my customers are honest, wonderful people and I delight in them, the likes of you will stick in my crop all the days I am in business. I will never forget and I’ll be burdened with the memory of you, making me suspicious of other new customers, until I get to know and trust them. I’ll watch people more closely with suspicious eyes and dark thoughts because of you. When someone steals I feel violated, whether I see it done or notice an item is missing that hasn’t sold, it affects me forever. You cause me pain and suffering as surely as if you run a knife through my heart! You took money from a small business’s pocket. You stole wages from employees and food from my mouth. The only thing I’ll eat now is a loss. I’m not a big mogul that has insurance for things like this. You made me feel sick to my stomach for the rest of the day. Once again I have to be aware of the terrible things some people do, how the likes of you has no respect, scruples or consideration for others. Bring the hook back, say you are sorry, and all will be forgiven. I’m not a mean person that holds a grudge after forgiveness is offered. If not, never darken my shop again or face a person that is sick and tired of being sick and tired over the likes of thieves, crooks and criminals like you. Do festivals bring out the thieves? Perhaps they think they can hide their black hearts in the crowds, blend in with the normal, respectful, honest folk? Last week-end, during the first installation of the Father Christmas Festival, a man and his wife were in. A few years back I saw the husband steal a cutter wheel, put it in his pocket so slick and polished I questioned what I saw. The crime was so blatantly casual my brain wouldn’t accept what my eyes had witnessed. I even saw the imprint of the small round metal wheel in his front pants pocket and the empty space on the shelf and still my brain denied the act. So he came in this past Saturday and I became his conjoined twin, stuck by his side as if pulled in my magnets, turning when he turned, constantly talking his ear off, leaving zero opportunity to be alone to stuff his pockets with my stuff. His wife was once again dressed to the nines. Her outfit, shoes and coat probably equaled the value of my entire wardrobe. She barely acknowledged me as she separated from him and browsed the store. It made me wonder if they were partners in more than marriage, perhaps they were a tag team for a five finger discount. She always makes me wonder if her clothing budget is the reason he steals but then I am only making assumptions because by the look of her he can well afford to buy what he wants. So you’ve had your last bit of fun Mr. Mr. If I catch you again I’ll go bat shit crazy on you both. I’m a nice enough person, kind, honest to a fault, generous and helpful, but the days of being a door mat are over. Just because I design door mats, that doesn’t mean I am one! Something has changed in me since I turned 50. The naive, pushover that began my life is gone, so if you want to push my buttons I recommend you duck…before the bomb explodes.  When Honey was still with me I pretty much quit my social life and going out to restaurants was collateral damage. She was very delicate and I had to keep the excitement down so she wouldn’t faint. Each episode brought her closer to the end so I tried to extend her life as much as possible by keeping her relaxed and safe. I don’t begrudge that time with her at all, she was my #1 priority. Hubby says the food is better at home anyway so how could I ever argue with that!
Now that my girl is gone I am getting used to not being a caregiver. For a long while I found it strange that I had little purpose other than to cater to myself, my husband and my other babies, all of whom didn’t need me to the degree my little patient did. Without my little ward, I’ve learned to once again venture away from home on my own for work, groceries and errands. So two Saturday evenings ago, we went out to Rebecca's Restaurant with friends. I haven’t eaten there since they first opened and I wanted to try their new digs since their move to Keddy’s Landing at the head of the bay. I was a bit down in the tooth, not wanting to go out but pulled up my big girl panties and made an effort to enjoy myself. Holy frig, the food was incredible and exceeded all my expectations! I had the Seafood Pasta and all I can say is WOW! Everything we ate was scrumptious, the starters and the dessert, not only tasted fabulous but looked like it was prepared for a photo shoot in a Gourmet Magazine. Not one complaint among us. I can’t wait to go back for that dish again as the taste and memory lingers on. They also had live entertainment that evening. A local singer and her guitar strummed us through the various courses of the meal. She had an amazing voice, soft at times, but when she belted out those high notes the hair raised on my arms. Her name is Erika Kulnys. We chatted and had fun with her. She also had an entourage that must follow her around, and later one of them joined in to sing with her, it was a like a kitchen party! So life is getting back to normal, whatever that might mean. I still well up when I speak of Honey and I look at the rock on her grave hardly able to believe she is gone. Life continues though, drives right over you and you can choose to get up and shake off the dirt or wallow in it. I just finished a book by David Maginley, ‘Beyond Surviving’ and although it is about people with cancer it was interesting to read how others deal with dying and death, not only themselves, but others. David happened into my store a few weeks back when I was feeling lost and vulnerable and we chatted. I thought the timing was orchestrated somehow, as if it was meant to be. The book allowed me to put a name to my suffering. Apparently I experience Anticipatory Grief; suffering since the day she was diagnosed; knowing the inevitable was inevitable. It didn’t prepare me or take away from the intensity that I felt after her passing, but that glass half empty kicked in and I couldn’t appreciate the time we had when it was tainted with knowing she would be taken from me. At times throughout her illness I thought I might be losing my mind, so I was grateful to discover that I wasn’t alone, that many people deal with the dying of a loved one the same way, enough so as to give it a name. When the time comes for my pack of three to be reduced to two, I might be better able to cope with the impending loss and not feel so utterly alone, better for them as well as me….. |
Christine Little has been ranked #5 out of the 60 top rug hooking bloggers by Rug Hooking Magazine!
 
Max Anderson, Australia, recipient of my Nova Scotia Treasures rug. An award of excellence for promoting Canada through his writing.
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Shop Hours: Monday - Saturday 10:00 AM - 5:00 PM Toll Free: 1-855-624-0370 Or: 1-902-624-0370 498 Main Street P.O. Box 437 Mahone Bay, N.S. Canada B0J 2E0 |
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