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I need to work less and play more.....

3/9/2021

As I was cutting a kit the other day, I looked around the studio with wonder. I certainly am proud of this accomplishment and appreciate the perfect team that makes it all possible, but at the same time I feel a little sad that I’ve somehow let the passion for pulling loops fall by the wayside. Last year with COVID it was insane with orders coming in faster than a conveyor belt of chocolates in an episode of I LOVE LUCY. By days end, there was nothing left in me to even think about rug hooking after being immersed in the work end of the craft all the day long. It’s like a worker in a potato chip factory losing their taste for chips. A year had gone by and I hadn’t pulled a loop and I need to remind myself why I started this business and find a way to mix a bit of play in with the labour.

I think most craft entrepreneurs suffer this problem in varying degrees. The love we have for a particular fiber art leads us down the retail path thinking it would be euphoric to be immersed in our passion, eat, sleep and dream it, but truthfully, it can be too much. The work part of it can take over your life, with no separation for personal time as it all blends into one big overwhelming fibrous ball. I’m sure some think it would be awesome to be in a 24/7 rug hooking experience as it gives them a sense of artistic purpose. Heck I used to be that way but now after two decades have slipped by faster than a ball of wool unraveling, and my house has only two rugs on the floors hooked by me, how sad is that? That’s all I have to show for hooking for twenty-two years? Sure, I’ve hooked many items for the shop, which was fun, but again that’s all part of the work.

Somehow what attracts us to a fiber art in the first place, the excitement of it all takes a back seat to the business hum drum and in my particular case, the manufacturing of product. It’s a labour intensive and time-consuming process producing the items we sell in the shop. It’s work anyway you view it. People tell me I do it because I love it. But what is it that I love? It’s not the work that takes me into the wee hours of the morning, driving home while the town is in darkness and folks are all nestled in their beds?

I do love sending out the finished products, knowing rug hookers will have the very best experience with our top-quality merchandise but I wish elves would work throughout the night creating our wares so I can put my feet up and enjoy the benefits of the trade while sitting in my studio wingback hooking my latest design. I have this crazy dream, I would love to hit send on an order form and have finished goods arrive on our doorstep, but the reality is, we make the bulk of our products, take raw materials and create our patterns, dyed wool and kits.

Several times Shane has commented on the laughter coming from the shop that is adjacent to us. They are always having a merry old time over there, their laughter permeating the walls, their retail shop is like an open-door party. He said he wished our studio was that much fun to work in. I said sweetie, they don’t make their inventory, it comes delivered by UPS. We could all laugh our bloody arses off if we didn’t have to work over hot steamy pots, eight simmering pots are so loud conversation isn't even possible let alone be laughing at someone's funny. Drawing patterns until our hands are tattooed black from the marker and our backs are protesting, inhaling wool dust and wearing out our shoulder sockets as we crank on cutter handles, cutting kits for HOURS on end. We have more than one kit that takes a day or two to dye the wool and five hours to cut it, imagine the fun in that? It’s not heavy labour like digging a ditch but it’s still exhausting work. And cutting wool for that duration means the entire shop is covered in a light coating of wool fiber, we are slipping and sliding around the cutting area, our shoes like skates on ice, a work hazard for sure. Then having to vacuum every surface in the vicinity. Glamourous? I think not. The work we do isn’t pretty, only the end result is.

Sure, we could laugh it up too if we only had to chat up customers and put the latest merch on our shelves, unpacking boxes as they arrive like Christmas presents full of glorious product. The laughter would ricochet off our walls like ping pong balls. Our work isn’t difficult but it is still work and we are hustling as well, always on the move rushing to get orders in the mail as soon as possible. Some days you can cut the stress with scissors as we work to a deadline to make it to the post office Friday by 3:00 pm. No laughter there. We’re basically assembly line workers, minus the assembly line and we’d all rather be sailing…..I mean hooking.

In retrospect I should have picked up knitting needles and fallen head over heals for yarn. Completing wholesale order forms and filling the shop shelves with luxurious wools from around the world, rainbows of rich colours and textures that are available because someone else did the work. One my way to work each day I look through the windows of Have A Yarn and think what a beautiful shop. All that gorgeous inventory they didn’t have to dye and spin, just label and display. Oh, how I would love to stock product I didn’t have to make and then sit in my comfy chair to knit away while I look out over my little empire of yarns for as far as my eyes could see. Ooh la-la.

But I met and fell in love with rug hooking. It’s been a good marriage and after 21 years with Encompassing Designs I’m still in love, but I am courting the comfort stage of the relationship. All the thrills and excitement are dulled from two decades of the daily grind. I still get a thrill designing patterns but I don’t have a lot of time to do that at the studio so it spills over into my evening at home chewing into my personal time. Now I might sound like I’m complaining, and maybe I am but fortunately I still look forward to going to work and that feeling I get when I first walk in the door and see that beautiful rainbow awaiting me, well it’s pretty incredible and I wouldn’t trade it for anything. It’s like the movie Groundhog Day. I get a little tired each night and wonder why I still do it and then when I wake the next morning, I’m ready to go again. Entering my shop door takes my breath away every single day. I am not ready to retire, I’m still on this journey and I’m excited to see where it all ends up and I thank you all for making it possible. Yes, I do complain about making kits but it’s bitter sweet, I don’t like the assembly and cutting but when I staple the bag topper label on the finished product, I feel rewarded for a job well done and I know the customer will admire and appreciate the above average quality of their purchase.

What I need to do is get back to the grassroots of why I started Encompassing Designs. The love of hooking! I am capable of so much and I want to fill my home with labours of love. Isn't that the big reward, the frosting on the cake, the raison d’etre, the creative joie de vie, the fuel in my tank? So, lets hope 2021 means my hook gets a bit of wear, my scissors grow dull while my creative juices sharpen, after all that’s what its all about.

I did hook a Hit & Miss pillow topper in January and that old passion bubbled up like hot molten lava. At that point, I hadn’t hooked in a year so I took on an easy project to break back into it, one that didn’t require a lot of thinking to make sure I hadn’t lost my technique. It was thrilling and I was almost giddy with excitement. As the rug evolved beneath my hook, I fell in love all over again, so much so I couldn’t sleep that night thinking about what my hands had created. Thank goodness I’m not in a loveless craft relationship, drained from years of toil. Thankfully it can still make me smile and give me a few thrills like it did when we first met.

Last week I finished my Sea Monster, another riser for the shop stairs. That was pretty exciting too. I hooked it in my favourite #3 cut, so it took a bit longer than usual but I enjoyed working with the colours as they brought the monster to life, why he almost swam away from me! I only have five more to do to complete 15 and I'm in a bit of a quandary because it's difficult to decide which designs to pick. So much choice and I want to do them all! It sure feels good to be back in the saddle and I hope to stay in it, hopefully not falling off the horse again, at least not for awhile.

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What's new for you!

3/9/2021

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We are selling the remaining Swatches for the book Past & Present Antique Colours & Spots because the book is no longer available. Regular $55, they are going for $30 a set. Few left. If you have the book and always wanted the swatches this is good value as these sets were expensive to make.

Deborah, Shane and I have been doing a bit of COVID designing. Below are some of the new designs we offer on the website. Some were requested while others just popped into our heads.

Gingerbread Houses Ornaments

Sugar & Spice Ornaments

Homeward Bound

COUNTING ON YOU LINE OF 16" X 16" RUGS FEATURING NUMBERS (4 MORE TO COME)

Gourd-geous

Eeeekk...!

Iconic Mahone Bay

Flying Formation

Inception

9 new additions to our Nautical Riser Line All are 5" x 29"

Octapus's Garden

$and Dollar$

Deep six

Dory Dozing

Ebb Tide

Waves

Sunken Treasure

Whale Tale

Regatta

Adirondack Chairs

Vintage Suits Riser

I'll Be Gnome For Christmas

Dragonfly Coasters

Put Your Right Foot In....

My Dear Donkey

Quatrefoil

Criss-cross

Frosty's Family Tree-Skirt Mini

Roundabout

Fandango

Bordertown

Roundabout

Christmas Ornaments III

Christmas Ornaments II

Gnome Cones

Stay The Blazes Home

We Rise Again

Home for the Holidays

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My Chipmunk Teacher

2/4/2021

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Over the summer of 2020, I befriended a sweet little Eastern Chipmunk. It only took a few days to win her trust so that she ate out of my hand, allowed me to pet her and followed me about the yard. I know she only tolerated me for food, but I’ll take that and call us square because she gave me much more than I gave her. She cracked me up with her antics and when she headed home and hopped high over a fallen branch, it tickled my heart and I laughed out loud every time. Da dump, da dump, da dump played in my head when she ran and jumped, her little legs soaring through the air and tail pointed high.

I researched chipmunks to understand their dietary requirements and it encompassed a bit of everything. Unfortunately, I had been giving her mostly sunflower seeds that are high in calories that could have caused her to over indulge and become ill. So, I thought I’d go to the Farmer’s CO-OP in Bridgewater to buy food that would suit her. I donned my mask and entered the store and I’m immediately overwhelmed by the seed selection so I queried the cashier, “What is the preferred food for chipmunks?” She kind of smirked, then shared a hint of an eye roll with her co-worker then tells me that she’s never had that request before, that most people come in to find out how to kill them. “Oh”, I said. That thought hadn’t occurred to me although I can understand why. Chipmunks are considered pests by many, members of the squirrel family (Sciuridae) within the order of Rodentia, yes rodents and close cousins to rats. To me they are just one of the little four legged creatures that go about their business, hoping to live out their natural life span without being killed and eaten, they reproduce and take care of their babies while hoping to live in relative comfort, not unlike the rest of us…..

I read the labels and helped myself to a seed mixture that would be suitable for my Chippy and the birds I’ve been attracting to the feeders and placed it on the counter. The cashier smiled and proceeded to tell me the story of a tamed chipmunk in her youth, so she did understand after all.

Chipmunks have a varied diet, and love most seeds but they will also eat bird eggs and small snakes if their dietary preference is not readably available. I suppose feeding her a regular infusion of a plant-based food will help spare other little creatures in the yard. Hubby says I’m only encouraging her to have more litters, that Chipmunks are rodents. He doesn’t think I should be feeding wild creatures of any kind, that I’m upsetting the balance of nature but hey, I’m okay with that. Of all the crazy things people do in this world, to animals, themselves and one another, feeding one cute little chipmunk can be my bad and I’ll live with the consequences! I’m calling myself Mrs. Dolittle, I love animals and I do talk to them, my surname is Little, just sayin.

There’s also a couple of red squirrels I am getting to know. They don’t hibernate like the Chipmunks so I’ve been feeding them daily. I know where each of them lives and as long as they are not taking up residence in our attic we will get along. My yard is teaming with wild life and its an interesting and exciting place to be for this aging empath and introvert. But there is a limit to my communing with nature, as long as I’m not attracting bears, I’ll be fine.

Chippy always came when I called her if she wasn’t already waiting on the back step when I arose in the morning. I have a metal measuring cup that I use to scoop the various seeds and nuts to dump on the rock wall beside the house. Then I’d tap the cup on the rocks. Ding, ding, ding and she darted out of her burrow and ran across the driveway to get to me; a Pavlov’s response I suppose. I’m noticing the yard fills up with birds as I ring the breakfast bell for Chez Little’s take away. The number of feeders I put out has exponentially grown along with my interest in birding but that is story for another day.

I prefer it when she is waiting for me because I’ve been noticing how watchful birds can be and if my tapping means a quick meal will be scurrying across the yard, something bigger and more ominous could be watching from a tall branch.

Chippy practices caution. Her instincts are well honed for survival. She takes different routes to her burrow and she mixes the times for each trek. For instance, one route she’ll go directly under the car and stop there for a moment to check her surroundings and then scoot across the driveway and down her burrow hole. Every third time, she’ll travel all around the back of the garage along the boulder wall and my favourite, crawl along the slate rock wall behind my side garden and then scoot across the driveway and home. She knows that patterns can be followed and put her in peril so she’s mixing it up to make sure she can ride the gravy train as long as possible.

When she is in my hand or on the rock feeding, certain bird calls, like ospreys and hawks, make her freeze in mid nibble. She’ll listen until she doesn’t see any threat and then continues. Chipmunks only live about three years, and I’m not sure how old this one is but I’m hoping we are in the budding stages of our time together. When she is near and I watch her, I feel a calm envelope me, my heart slows, stress melts away and the world is a glorious place. There is something serene in watching her eat or when I feel her warm little body in my hand, her tiny feet lightly scratch as she crawls up my leg to sit on my lap. An interesting tidbit, a chipmunk has four fingers on her front paws and five fingers on her rear feet. Such a tiny, vulnerable creature sharing an unlikely bond with a human. How amazing. It’s humbling and sweet, the need to be needed fulfilled in spades.

One day she didn’t come to the porch when I called and called and called. I grew worried, she was so prompt every day for weeks. I went over to her burrow area and was horrified to see that the entrance had been tampered with, the hole was larger and there was a pile of fresh dirt thrown back as if something was wildly digging to get in. My mind travelled to dark places and I was certain my Chippy had fallen prey to a weasel or a fox or some other predator. I made myself sick with grief, ask Deborah how much I moaned at the shop that day. I went through the motions at work but my mind never drifted too far away from her. I rushed home at 5:00 and called her again but she didn’t show. My life seemed to stand still as all hope drained away. I was so desperate to see her I fiercely pounded the rock with the metal cup, enough to wake the dead in the next county.   I read Chipmunks sleep 15 hours a day but I felt in my heart of hearts that she wouldn’t be coming back.

Two torturous days followed and then I saw a chipmunk on the rock under the lilac tree and I rushed out but it was the other little fellow that is usually chased away. She got in a good feed that day without being run off, stuffing her cheeks time after time and carrying the cache back to her burrow.

Three mornings later, I went outside and there she was, my Chippy, sitting on the cement step waiting for me. I almost cried. And then I thought, you silly woman, nature is what it is, I can’t change it and I have to stop mourning and letting it alter my mood and ruin my day. I have to enjoy her while I can and then move on when she is gone. But of course, that’s hard to do. I’ve grown attached. I have feelings for the little twirp to hold me emotionally hostage. I tried to make light of it to hubby, saying she couldn’t come to eat because I fed her so much food, she needed more storage room and had to ream out her burrow. Apparently one Chipmunk needs to gather up to a half bushel of food to survive a winter and their burrows have several chambers for food storage called pantries. They also have a sleeping room, a dump and a latrine, a birthing area and several entrances and exits.   Perhaps she had to turn her little underground bungalow into a condo for all the cache she was getting from me. Yup, she’s movin’ on up! She’ll have more than enough to survive the winter on. Anyway, I’m not sure what happened for those couple of days, all I can do is assume. Maybe the country girl was off visiting the city cousin, and she’s not come consistently everyday since, so I’m trying not to worry and enjoy her while I can.

There is another chipmunk that visits to eat but they are territorial animals and a chase always ensues, with my girl usually winning the race. She’s not sharing and makes that perfectly clear. I don’t like that one gets food while another is left out, so I place fare in different areas so they can both fill their cheeks and bellies. Some would say that makes my girl a bully, but that’s only anthropomorphizing her, it’s instinctual, survival of the fittest in our Darwinian world.

Chipmunks hibernate so I haven’t seen either of them for a couple of months. One day as the temperatures began to cool in early December, as if on que, they both stopped coming to the porch and now their burrow entrances are piled high with snow. They are in for a long winters rest with nary a worry, they are safely tucked away and their pantries are full.   I look forward to the spring so we can hang out again. It will be interesting and entertaining with two chipmunks and the three squirrels all vying for my handouts. I hope to have them all eating out of my hand by summer. Who needs TV?

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We stayed the blazes home.....

1/26/2021

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I took down our Christmas tree on Monday. Maybe later than usual, but then there was nothing usual about the 2020 holidays. I’m not going to rate it as worse or better or anywhere in-between, I think different sums it up. Hubby and I stayed the blazes home alone, no holiday feast or visitors, putting off the traditional family dinner for later this year or if need be, next Christmas. Surely by then we will be edging more to the end side of COVID, fingers, toes and legs crossed.

As far as COVID-19 is concerned, I won’t complain. Hubby and I take it one day at a time because that is all anyone can do. Being introverts, we see little difference in our lives and are happy to be in our home where we are safe and where the heart is plentiful.

I’ve been working at lot at the shop. What we offer is arguably an essential service considering the orders going out the door. We aren’t open for instore business but mail order deliveries to the post office on Friday and doorstep pickups are constant. The lead up to Christmas was wild, and I never even took the time to decorate the shop for the season. Although no one was getting through the door, they could look through the window and see it lacked the usual Christmas charm. As I drove away from the store each evening, I looked guiltily at the bare windows and hoped people would confuse a bit of the Cosmic Hippie flash next door as part of mine.

My home tree, set up in the living room almost two weeks before the 25th sat undecorated until Christmas Day because I was too exhausted to address it. I threw on a few sets of lights, arranging them hap-hazardly so that they were strung irregularly and didn’t reach the bottom branches, but hey, there was sparkle from the middle up and that was the perfect amount. The tree stood in front of our double living room windows, and from the road it was bare and dark on the backside with lights only on the front, but I figured people driving by at 50 klicks, shouldn’t have time to notice. “It is what it is” my son would say. It’s not like anyone was going to be in our house to see it and the dogs didn’t care. By the time I was out of my tired funk, decorating the tree seemed like a waste of time when it would probably get the heave-ho sometime after New Years. It looked a bit sad during the day when the lights are tiny sparks of colour overwhelmed by the mass of greenery, but in the nighttime, it put on a grand performance.

The shop was closed from Christmas Eve to January 4th to recharge our batteries. The run up to Christmas led to working many nights till 2:00 am, and during the day we were rushed off our feet as people called last minute to have things picked up or shipped out. I really think most believe our shelves are filled to the brim like an Amazon warehouse, but in a small, handcraft business reality, we make items as the orders come in. Right now, stocking shelves takes second seat while we are closed to walk in traffic. We have no time for making inventory to sit on a shelf as the demand for kits, wool and patterns have us working like elves day and night to fill orders.
We weren’t there to hear it, but the shop phone rung off the wall over the holidays, messages left on the machine went back to Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, Boxing Day, and everyday through to January 4th, some not only calling the shop but also messaging me on FB and reaching me through emails, wondering where we are. My phone never stopped pinging all through the holidays with questions and orders. Facebook and messenger make it impossible to escape work, and after the Christmas rush, I felt a bit beaten up and needed time to rest and heal. I guess Amazon and social media keeps everyone plugged in and available 24/7 but this gal is an old dinosaur that likes her days off and evenings home for personal time, although that seems pretty much extinct these days. Ha-ha, it’s 10:50 PM and a customer just pinged me on my phone, I’ll be right back…….

We didn’t make a turkey for Christmas dinner. We scaled it down with two chickens to share with the pups. I made dressing and cranberry sauce, our favourites but the rest was regular fare. No fancy dressed table or Christmas crackers either. We happily ate off of our TV trays in front of the television like a bunch of retired old farts.

I chilled over the holidays, pretty much living in my jammies, watched mindless TV, hubby and I completed four puzzles, some lasting into the wee hours of the morning, going to bed at 5:00 AM just because there wasn’t any work the next day. It seemed like a lovely retirement kind of thing and in doing that I discovered a cure for insomnia. Napping throughout the day and staying up ridiculously late. It was a real pleasure not struggling for sleep, tossing and turning and being frustrated. Living the nocturnal life seems natural for me and I never find it difficult to nap in the daytime to make up the eight hours, unlike my bed, I fall asleep in a chair as soon as my butt hits it.

I stuffed my face with Christmas goodies, those treats I buy only at Christmas. Caramel popcorn and chips and dip are a childhood memory I drag into the present each year. I love oranges and grapes by the mouthful, chocolates and fudge, all things that will shave a few years off at the end but I’m not going to worry about it. Life has never held any guarantees and with COVID thrown into the mix, heck, eat the cake first.

Hubby and I ate a lot of fruitcake. It was my mom’s recipe I accidentally discovered while looking through my recipe box for the English Batter card to deep fry some haddock. It’s the same scratch, English batter recipe the Red Buoy used when I worked there as a teenager, long before the add water mix replaced it. It is delicious and because its winter, it’s a good time to inject a bit of extra fat into our diet.

So, I made fruit cakes (recipe is in the previous blog) for hubby and I learned to love it as well, although I prefer it without the rum. Somehow, we went through 6 cakes, a part of one was a gift for auntie and the rest ended up as crumbs in the tin, starting with a slice for breakfast and then kept it up throughout the day and finished the last one this week. I have enough ingredients to make four more and hopefully cache them away until next year. I’m not that optimistic they will survive but if not, I can make more in the fall.

So, its 2021 and I am hopeful for everyone to have a better year, one with diminished COVID, family gatherings, good health and prosperity. The shop is thriving and I’m so lucky to have a great team in Deborah and Shane. We look forward to fulfilling your wants and needs with our beautiful products so y’all can hook on!

Take care, be well.

The above design is available on our Seasonal Designs page as a pattern, but it made a cute card as well.

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Marjorie's Light Fruitcake Recipe.

12/13/2020

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I've never made fruitcake before but it's been a part of my family heritage for as far back and I can remember. My father's mother made a dark one as black as tar and looked a lot like papa's chewing tobacco. My mom always made a light one that was always a part of the menagerie of Christmas baking that delighted me. Mom has been gone a long time now and grandma even longer and over the years fruitcake drifted off my radar, breaking the chain of that family tradition.

For some reason, I thought they were hard to make, so I shied away from even giving it a try. For years, I've been bringing home the supermarket ones to my hubby who loves fruitcake. He sprits them with rum so how bad could they be although I always felt guilty about him eating that much mass produced, factory made cake. I always cook and bake from scratch so I felt a bit ashamed about it even though I was the enabler bringing them home. So a couple of days ago I declared that I was going to look up a recipe on the internet and bite the bullet. The very next day I accidentally came across my mother's recipe for her light fruit cake. I don't know the origin of it, perhaps it was passed down by her mom, I like to think that anyway. Coincidence? I think not. Thank-you mom for guiding me to this lost recipe.

So I gathered the ingredients and created the magic today. It was so easy and quick to pull together the ingredients, a bit of stirring, add the fruit and it was in the oven. The smell wafting in the air evoked fond memories of days gone by. They baked up perfectly and fell from the pans with ease to cool on the rack. We went for a walk on the beach and came home to coffee and the first trial slices of the cake. We both gave it the nod. I think perhaps I might go a bit lighter on the sugar next time, not enough to mess with the balance of the ingredients, but two cups seem a bit excessive and perhaps a bit more of the cherries and walnuts. The rum will help sweeten it anyway.

The recipe called for a tube pan but I also had two loaf pans that I got from my mom's pantry after she passed away so I thought they were more appropriate for her recipe. The pans are approximately 11" l x 4" w x 2 1/2" h. ENJOY!

Marjorie’s Light Fruit Cake

1 Cup butter – room temperature
2 Cups brown sugar
4 Eggs – room temperature
1 Cup crushed pineapple (do not drain)
3 Cups flour (reserve 1/2 cup to flour fruit)
1/4 tsp salt
2 Tsp baking powder
1 1/2 tsp vanilla
1 lb. white raisins
1/4 lb. Mixed Peel (orange, lemon, citron)
1/2 lb. Glace Fruit Mix - mixed colours
1 Cup walnut pieces

Tube Pan greased and floured
Bake 325* oven for 1 ½ Hours

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STAY THE BLAZES GNOME!

12/3/2020

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We now have STAY THE BLAZES GNOME! note cards for sale.
$4.00 ea. Or 4 for $15.00.
All profits will be donated to THE LOCAL FOOD BANK.

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Yuck, gross and OMG!

11/30/2020

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Hubby and I were raking leaves at the apartment building. We weren’t wearing masks because we were outside and not near any people. When working on the front side of the building we were conscious of the passersby on the sidewalk and made sure to keep a good distance as they sauntered along.

At one point a man walked down the street with a cigarette dangling between two fingers. We had to be more than 15 feet away from him so I figured that was enough. I’m actually allergic to cigarette smoke so I avoid it like the plague. I checked the wind direction to make sure the smoke wouldn’t be traveling our way in case he popped it in his mouth for a drag. Well he did and talk about a shifty wind, the fume he exhaled blew right at us and before we could move it was up our noses and, in our mouths!!! We tasted the bitterness of nicotine on our tongues. The smoke that was in our eyes and in our mouths came from breath that had been in his lungs only seconds before. Yuck, gross and OMG!

I have no problem with people that smoke, that is their business, but with the insidious COVID baring down on us, it is cause for concern.

Personally, I’ve always thought 6 feet distancing was a joke, especially when a little breeze can send airborne particles greater distances. How easy is it to walk into another person’s breath, either on a sidewalk or a gym, any place where people breathe without a mask? Something to be wary of as community spread of the virus rises.

Here's another icky experience I had at the door of the shop when I answered it to find a woman not wearing a mask. Before I could ask her to back up and give me distance, she spoke and spittle came flying out of her mouth and landed on the bare arm of my hand that was holding the doorknob. Now I’ve never been a fan of spit, or any other kind of body fluids like sweat that can migrate from one person to the next but now with COVID, it turned my stomach. I rushed to the sink and scrubbed my skin raw and then disinfected with more alcohol than I’ve ever had in my mouth. Sure, it was my arm, not one of the portals that allow the virus to enter the body, but yucky all the same. That’s how quick being infected can happen, an imperceivable transference and then the shite hits the fan.

Stay safe everyone, stay the blazes home and for everyone’s sake, wear your masks.

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A Cautionary Tale on the Town's Faux Pedestrian Promenade, Main Street

11/15/2020

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After an upsetting incident a couple of Sunday’s ago, I felt compelled to write about the experience.

Many times, especially in the peak of summer we take the back roads to get downtown to my studio. The normally 50 km route is clogged with traffic slowed to a crawl because of parked cars along the sidewalk side and people walking on the harbourside, shoulder of the road, creating a bottle neck most of the way between the pub and The Moorings condos. Substantially reduced speeds, and at times coming to complete stops, is the only way to get through that congested mile. We aren’t rude but the times we’ve wanted to call out the window “This is not a sidewalk”, well we don’t have enough collective toes and fingers to count them. We say nothing because we want visitors in our town to have a pleasant experience, not leave with a negative stain that curtails future visits. Pedestrians seem to have no regard for passing vehicles when they walk shoulder to shoulder, sometimes three to five people deep, right up to and on the white line. While sitting in the passenger seat of our vehicle, I shouldn’t be able to put my hand out of the car window and touch people along the side of the road but I could if I wanted to.

It is not uncommon to come to complete stops in the middle of Main Street as people are crowding our car, not even turning their heads when they hear an approaching vehicle behind them. And worse, when they are walking toward us, they clearly see the car but don’t bother to move further off the roadway, fully expecting the motorist to maneuver around them. We love our town and we appreciate that others do as well. Its wonderful that they come here to support our businesses and take in the spectacular views of our quaint seaside community. But and there is always that but, when you come here there isn’t a magical cone of safety that envelopes you. You need to be aware of your surroundings, conscious of the dangers and act accordingly so we can all go about mishap free and enjoy our day.

So, this particular Sunday, numerous people were walking on the right side of the road as we headed into town. On the left, cars were parked along the sidewalk creating that ever present bottle neck with people walking along the pavement on the right too close to the white line. Vehicles were stopping one way or the other to allow one car through at a time.

For this incident we were moving at a walking pace. A car coming toward us had pulled in behind a parked car and had stopped, waiting for us to pass so they could proceed. Our left wheels were on the center yellow line to avoid the people walking on our right that were much too close to our car. There were two female adults and one child, their backs to us as they headed in the same direction. The child was on the farthest side of them and not holding the adult’s hand beside her.
Then, all of a sudden, the child perhaps 4 years of age, did a figure eight, darting behind her mother and then scooted between the two women, running around the front of the woman on the left, over the white line and into the side of our car. Because we had been at a greatly diminished speed the car braked quickly. The little girl was barely visible below the side of the car but there had been no bump so we hoped we hadn’t connected with her but there had to have been a hair’s width between us. The look on the women’s faces reflected the horror on ours as we waited with our hearts in our throats. The car hadn’t touched the girl and even if it had we were going so slow nothing serious would have happened but with someone more impatient behind the wheel, there could have been a more ominous outcome.

The one woman, we thought perhaps the grandmother, came to the window and apologized, telling us the little girl was okay while the mother crouched to speak to the child, who was clearly shaken.

Gregg mentioned that there was a perfectly safe sidewalk on the left side of the road, which was for just that, walking, and the woman said they planned to go into a shop up ahead. I must say it put a real damper on our afternoon as what could have happened reared its ugly head. The feeling of dread stayed with us long after our hearts went back to regular beating. The little girl sustaining injuries would have been devastating for all involved, something we’d all have to reconcile and live with.

Perhaps we need more crosswalks along main street for crossovers to shops. We’re stopping anyway for those that wander over the white line, and even if their feet might be inside the line, their shoulders, their purses and the shopping bags in their hands are not. It needs to be safer to sightsee in our town if the onus is going to lay solely at the hands of the driver. And yes, I know the driver is supposed to be vigilant at all times but come on people, this needs to be a collective cautionary approach to your safety. When flesh and bone meet steel, the latter will always win. I’ll bet the farm that there are lots of drivers in our town that can relate to what happened, throw their tales on a heaping pile of incidents and near misses. Perhaps Mahone Bay needs to put up signs that say NO WALKING, or WALK AT YOUR OWN RISK on that side of the road with arrows pointing to the official sidewalk across the street, to protect our community in the event of an injury and potential lawsuit, just like the DO NOT WALK ON THE TRACK signs of railway lines, apparently if you don’t warn folks they are free to sue you for their own lack of forethought. It’s enviable, it’s going to happen, I’m surprised it hasn’t already.

And while I’m having a rant, there seems to be a growing trend in our town of crosswalk infringements. Back when I was young it was drilled into me to look both ways before crossing a street and then walk with intent to cross, not dilly dallying when cars are approaching. I also see, rather frequently, cars that have stopped for people in the crosswalk, especially the one by the Cenotaph heading west, then not waiting for the pedestrians to reach the other side before they continue on their way. In case you are not aware, this happens to be illegal, you are supposed to be at a full STOP until the person or persons have completely crossed to the other side.

When in the crosswalk, be cautious and considerate and get to the other side in a timely fashion. That does not mean you have to run across like a hare, but sauntering like a tortoise is really not safe. I have waited for people to walk across and they haven’t even glanced either way to check for cars. They cross without a thought for what might be going on around them. It’s really nice to have that kind of confidence but crosswalk deaths and accidents are slowly on the rise. A crosswalk is not a place for checking a phone, texting or carrying on animated conversations with hands flailing, laughing or worse, wearing earplugs and listening to music. Being distracted by everything other than what is going on around you, such as 3000 lb. plus vehicles on the move, is a recipe for disaster.

Christine Little
Resident

4 Comments

Giving myself a break.....

11/13/2020

2 Comments

This December I’ll be turning to page 62 of my life story. Mentally, I still feel the youthfulness of my twenties, but I am conscious of my ever-changing body. Almost overnight my skin is a little thinner, like a soft malleable paper with a shiny iridescence of a grayish mother of pearl. It’s interesting; I see beginning of things in the mirror that I witnessed while I worked in a nursing home. I’m not delighted that I’m soaring towards the end of my life, but I won’t be heading into it kicking and screaming.

I really have no problem with aging and the changes to come, mostly I find it all terribly interesting. Growing old isn’t catastrophic or upsetting, it is an unavoidable part of life that I would rather embrace than fret about; goodness knows I did enough of that when I was younger. I wasted my youth thinking I was a hideous freak of nature and now I am riddled with remorse, that I didn’t show my physical body more kindness when it was a magnificent, youthful masterpiece.

I’ve been a sensitive soul my entire life. Perhaps rough beginnings mapped out the years to come after being denied a smooth entrance into the world. Following protocol of the time, my mother’s legs were tied together during a blizzard when a doctor couldn’t make it to the hospital to deliver me. It seemed the world didn’t want me and when a physician finally came to our rescue, walking several kilometers on snow shoes to reach us, I was blue and gasping a last breath. My poor mother, traumatized by the ordeal, couldn’t relax enough to breast feed me when the same nurses that tied her up hovered around her telling her “You can do it”, thence cheating me of the most intimate mother child bond there is.

Then my homecoming was tainted by an older sibling who didn’t like my intrusion and wanted me returned to whence I came. So, the first week of my life was a trifecta of rejection, perhaps helping to form my weak personality. During my first decade I was bullied even before the terminology was popularized and suffered name calling, slaps, pinches and kicks, turning the pain of it all inward, until I felt ugly and worthless and totally unloved. Maybe I needed more attention than some, maybe with more affection and assurance I wouldn’t have felt like a mutant freak, because as early as three, I began to systematically tear my body apart, loathing the various attributes. What preschooler obsesses about their body, focusing on perceived flaws and magnifying them out of proportion? Why wasn’t I in the sandbox, playing with dolls or bumping up and down on a teeter-totter without a care in the world instead of hanging out in my head, conjuring a cruel and unfair reality for myself?
Everything was clouded by a body image that had been planted with a negative seed and then watered and nurtured until it grew into a tangled mess. At the time I thought I was alone, in an exclusive club; but millions of people are insecure and unhappy with their appearance. Look what happened to Michael Jackson. When he was a young boy, a fan exclaimed how huge is nose was and look how that turned out. Plastic surgery is a multi-billion-dollar industry, that’s not a couple of Hollywood starlets spending their entire paycheques, its millions of people getting a heck of a load of alterations, nips and tucks to find happiness. For me it all started with my chin and legs, two taunts that left their mark like a branding iron. To this day I don’t own a pair of shorts after being labeled “Ole Chicken legs”, ha ha cluck, cluck. After being called this relentlessly, I truly believed that my legs were by far the ugliest in the world.

Then came the “Witchchin” moniker which was even worse because I couldn’t hide my face as easily as my legs. Imagine always trying to position yourself so those around you couldn’t see your profile. For some reason I felt I had to protect everyone from seeing my ugliness so I wouldn’t be judged or thought less of from the horror that was my chin and in turn, protected myself from expected ridicule and further berating. I was taunted by my sister with how ‘no boy could ever kiss me because my chin was so huge, his lips would never meet mine’. Throughout my adolescence, if I was forced to wear shorts, I used to walk backwards and sideways so those behind me couldn’t see my barnyard gams, while holding my chin so those beside me couldn’t see my distorted profile. I was an irrefutable mess.

After those two physical attributes were condemned, I began my own self-destruction. I rationalized that if my chin was hideous and my legs were an abomination, how was all else in-between acceptable?    I remember each physical assassination so vividly, each target a nightmare as I tried to overcome them with subterfuge, camouflaging with added clothing and maneuvers as not to show my flaws. Although I still remember each attack and the ensuing stress, the order is blurred, but here’s the run down. My ears were too large, my nose too small, my lips were paper thin, my eyes too wide apart, but then flip-flop, they seemed beady and too close together, my neck was too long, my head too large, my hair too straight and much too thin (I sure wish I had now what I had then), I perspired too much, oh my the sweaty feet, acne, my shoulders were too narrow, my arms were too short for my long torso, my legs were also overshadowed by the long body, but then nothing below my pelvis had any merit, my feet were weird with my second toe dwarfing the big one, I didn’t go outside much so I had the pallor of a creature of the night, my inner thighs were gapped like a tunnel cut through a mountain, my huge knees knocked, my calves were too thin, my breath was foul, my teeth too crooked and my eye teeth too long, there’s that vampire comparison again, and on and on it went. I was an ugly duckling with no hope of a swan transformation and felt like the loneliest, ugliest and most unloved kid in the neighbourhood, perhaps even the world.

Looking back to my twenties and thirties, I regret having the confidence to wear the little spaghetti strap, black dress because my legs were shite and my arms were too hideous to reveal. The latter one really behooves me because my arms are great, have obviously been lovely my entire life. Of course now they are a bit doughy and have a couple of flaps that wave when I do, ironic isn’t it? If only I could have hated myself in reverse, let the loathing escalate as I ascend to the higher double digits after gravity has its way, while beginning my adolescence in love with my firm, youthful self.

I’d spent years hiding beneath huge shoulder pads in the nineties, making my noggin look like a pin head. After that trend petered out, I was even more conscious of their shortcomings and now the fad is resurfacing for another run but I don’t need them now, I really never did!   I look in the mirror and see lovely shoulders. I even bought a few sleeveless tops last year, mostly from being tired of hiding my body under fabric when I deserve to be comfortable in the heat of summer and a hidden bonus, no farmer tan! I told hubby the other morning that I don’t understand why I was so critical of my shoulders when they are perfectly normal and he said “It’s about time you shouldered aside the self-recrimination sweetie”.....my guy, my biggest fan and always the wordsmith.

I’m saddened that my younger self lacked the proper building blocks to break the shackles of insecurity.   My life could have been simpler, what a different person I might have been, relaxed and comfortable in my own skin instead of fidgeting, concealing and deflecting attention away from my person. It would have been wonderful to not care about which side was showing, one only mildly better than the other, or worrying how the sun or room light was highlighting something I preferred to remain unseen. Now that I’m older I look at myself in the mirror and wish I’d been kinder to me, wish I’d appreciated what I had, perhaps flaunted it, shown a bit of cleavage for goodness sake; celebrated my youth and curves with pride.

We humans are strange creatures, although my story is extreme, it’s not that uncommon. Thankfully, I’m no longer that self-destructive, foolish girl that was hell bent on hurting my feelings. Thank goodness we grow older and become wiser. By the time I’m 90 and time is slipping away like pennies in a pocket hole, the vessel that carries my mind around will be soft and supple, a casing perfectly matched to the contentment I feel inside.

We only get one chance in this mortal frame and I foolishly screwed up the first two thirds anguishing over it, but I don’t have regrets; they won’t serve any purpose now.   So much wasted time, worrying and obsessing about absolutely nothing, at least nothing that mattered.   If there was one thing I could go back and change it would be to love the younger me, embrace my flaws whether they were real or perceived.   All of the energy that went into hiding and camouflaging and avoiding social contact could have been used to power a city for an entire year.

Anyway, such is life. Now that I’m older I shake my head and even laugh at my foils but where do I go from here? Well, I’ll not shy away or cheat myself of life’s experiences because of my body. It is what it is and if truth be told it’s pretty amazing, a miracle of biology really and will be till the very last wrinkle settles into the vast desert of my skin and my very last breath sustains it.   I am unique and formidable. When my breasts are flattened to my chest and tucked into the waistband of my pajamas, and the skin on my knees is resting on my shins, when the cracks and crevices on my body can hold a snack, maybe my keys, when I’m almost bald with a bad comb over or perhaps a wig, when my ears have grown as long as my face and my eyebrows are like bristles on a wire brush, I will be beautiful……..

2 Comments

Misunderstandings

9/3/2020

16 Comments

Since COVID-19, I haven’t been blogging very often. Not because I don’t want too, but with the shop being so busy and working here on my own, I didn’t have time to play with words. But, after a comment was dropped on my Encompassing Designs FB page by a disgruntled person that came to the shop, I can’t help but present my side.

Last week there was a knock on the shop door. A woman was standing so close to the door I couldn’t unlock and open it to see what she wanted. Several times I motioned with my hands for her to step back, I even tried to shout through the door, asking her to backup so I can open it. She just looks confused. Our big 32” wide door opens outward and pretty much covers the entire step; it is impossible for it to sweep out without knocking someone to the sidewalk.

And here is where it degrades….there is a pandemic happening and you and I both need 6 feet of distance….I not only need it, I want it for your protection as well as mine. I see you have two children with you standing to your left and not getting the response I need for you to step back; I go over to the window and tap on it where there is a sign that says I am closed due to COVID. My intent was to get you to move to the window away from the door so I could open it to see how I could assist you. But it seems the tapping on the sign instantly pissed you off and you shot me a hateful look and then hustled away with your children in tow. I was rooted to the spot trying to process your anger or I would have run back to the door, opened it and hollered to get your attention but that old doormat inside of me, that bullied child and battered wife of a previous life, wouldn’t allow my feet to move. I’ve written about this before, how rudeness and anger paralyze me, I’m pathetic I know, but old crap surfaces fast when prodded.

My shop is not open to the public. This early in the pandemic, I don’t believe that it is safe for Shane, Deborah or me to allow people in the shop. If I can’t protect them, I can’t in all conscience be the catalyst that exposes them. I know the entire province seems to be opened up, pretty much every business in my small town is, but I believe it is premature. Just because the virus hasn’t infiltrated our town doesn’t mean it isn’t coming or perhaps it is already here by way of asymptomatic carriers. There are so many visitors in this town walking around, with license plates from across Canada and the US parked along the streets. There is sometimes no room on the sidewalks to pass and people almost touch shoulders. No one steps back or moves to avoid complete strangers. I sometimes people watch from the shop window and I shake my head because I really don’t understand. Very few, a small percentage wear masks while walking around and they only don them because it is a rule to enter stores. I realize that a very small percent of people die from the virus but all it takes is that one untested asymptomatic carrier to meet up with the right person and a statistic is made.

This woman’s reaction ruined my afternoon and I lamented to my husband and Deborah who has been helping me catch up on pattern orders, working in the back room and respecting each other’s space. It took a while to calm down, and then I started wondering why I am even doing this when most of the door experiences have been trying. I’d say 85% of the people that knock on my door, tourists as well as rug hookers, don’t adhere to the rules of the pandemic. Some aren’t wearing masks at all, or pull them out of a pocket and put it on only because they see I’m wearing one. How are these people protecting themselves or me with a mask crumpled in their jeans pocket or purse and not handled with sanitized hands? I’ve watched hundreds of shoppers putting masks on and taking them off after browsing every shop, handling them over and over, are not these mask covered in whatever they’ve hands have touched? How is this protecting anyone?

Some grab the door knob as I open it, almost pulling me out. I’ve learned to grasp it tightly as I ease it open. If they step back as the door opens, they jump back on the step becoming almost face to face with me. Others pull off their masks to speak to me as if somehow, we are both safe because they know me? I know its difficult speaking through fabric but I'm willing to raise my voice to for clarity. The masks sometimes dangle on one ear providing no protection at all or the best one, the mask is below their nose only covering their mouth. The majority of people don't want to step back to the sidewalk or on the grassy area in front of the window but the few that have, made for a very pleasant experience and gave us time for bit of a catch-up with their lives.

Customers sometimes come in groups, or with husbands or children. What happened to one person per family like at the grocery stores? If I open somewhere down the road there will be a one person rule at a time in the shop and there will be guidelines to follow so we don’t have to disinfect the entire store between customers. I haven’t figured out a way to do this with selling such tactile products and I don't want the shop to look like my mother's living room sofa, wrapped in plastic so we can hose it down.

I believe we are in difficult times; I believe there is a pandemic and I believe the numbers reported. Worldwide, 275,00 people, on average, are infected daily and on average, 6000 people die each day. As of Sept 3rd, there are over 870,000 deaths worldwide and that is only what is reported. And the daily infections and deaths rise every day as the virus picks up momentum. Just numbers eh? Well let me show you something. Here is a photo of a stadium that holds 3000 people, I’ve put two of them together. This is how many people (on average) die daily from this pandemic worldwide. Seeing the numbers as people is unsettling and mind blowing and its what keeps me being vigilant with caution. That’s a lot of loved ones, friends and family......

When I open the door and tell people I am only open for curbside pickup and mail order, I always ask if there is anything in particular I can help them with from the doorway. Sometimes people request products, but many times I’m told no, they just want to get in and browse. Or when assisting a customer at the door with items they wish to see, they are always too close and sometimes reach out and touch the products I’m showing them before I can react, enough that I now say, “no touchy.” That seems to annoy people, everything I do seems to annoy some people because they are frustrated doing business this way. We are frustrated too. We are all in the same row boat, whether we make it to the destination or sink all comes down to how we handle the oars.    I would love to throw open my doors and allow the summer trade in, that's what I rely on to support me through the winter. These are uncertain times for all businesses. We are all hurting but doing the best we can. When the dust settles many will be gone, some will prosper but most will limp along until they can regain a foothold.

As for me, I’m sorry but I can’t risk my health on a wool sale. This shop is not my life. I have not opened up the bubble that my husband and I float around in. We haven’t gone anywhere and no one has been in our house since February, absolutely no one, I even had to give up having my house cleaned, hopefully only temperately but I fear I may have lost my spot. Having my house cleaned was my gift to myself, and we love Larry. If my husband and I see fit to continue to isolate it is our choice and the right one for us.    I hear “you gotta live” in reference to our lack of socializing or eating in restaurants. and I say be my guest, do as you please, go anywhere you wish. I can respect your decision and the way you live your life even if I don’t agree but please respect that I don’t feel the same.

I make allowance for this behavior because I know we are going through unprecedented times. But it makes me uneasy when I am working to protect myself. I know we are all trying to deal with the pandemic the best way we can to ensure a happy outcome.   I know I’m fodder around the proverbial water cooler, many think I am wrong to not open my doors to the public or allow friends in our home. I too, hope I am wrong, that the experts are wrong, I really, really do. I will be the first to admit it if I’m proven wrong. But in the meantime, I am listening to the scientists, the doctors and the pandemic experts and keeping a watchful eye on the world reports.

I’m sending parcels out all over the world. I’ll bet every one of my customers like and appreciate that I practice a high degree of caution, so their items are coming from not just a perfume and smoke free environment, but a a COVID free one too.

I’ve seen so much since the outbreak, a lot of negative attitudes and people being hollered at and called names as the unbeliever’s bully and persecute the believers. It’s a very strange world we live in right now and it will probably get worse before it gets better. We really need to be kind to one another no matter what side of the fence we sit on.

This latest incident has prompted me to make a sign that says (Please Step Back From The Door 6 Feet). This should solve the problem of opening the door.

Anyway, this is my viewpoint and I promised myself a while back to stop preaching about the pandemic, no one really wants to hear my opinion. But I don’t like to be judged unfairly or have anyone assume I was being rude when it couldn’t be further from the truth. I appreciate all my customers and I want to keep us both safe and well. My mother always said, “don’t believe anything you hear and only half of what you see”.

16 Comments

The Pillow Fairy

8/14/2020

3 Comments

A while ago a parcel arrived in the mail. I hadn’t ordered anything so it was a real mystery. I opened it to find a darling hooked pillow. I was thrilled and I must confess my heart skipped a beat and my eyes misted as I read the note.

This awesome gift was from Brigitte Webb, a household name in the art of rug hooking, when she was chosen in 2019, as the International Rug Hooking Artist of the Year by the Rug Hooking Museum of North America. Before that, she was known for her talent in many rug hooking circles and a friend to all that met her. Her smile could lighten any room, and her delightful Scottish brogue cast a spell on us all.

I knew Brigitte, the lovely pillow fairy, from many moons ago when I first opened my rug hooking shop. It was hardly a studio in those days, just one small room with nary the inventory I have today. Brigitte placed a few kit orders at the beginning of her rug hooking foray, then developed her own way of doing things as her talent blossomed and the possibilities became endless. She told me that she was the only rug hooker in Scotland at the time and was in a group with other fiber artists, but I’m sure she’s changed that with her infectious enthusiasm for our craft. I remember her telling me she loved visiting Nova Scotia and enjoyed Tim Horton's coffee so I sent her a can of their ground beans along with one of her orders as a taste and memory of Canada.

She is a friend to many on Facebook, the social media tether that keeps us all updated on our lives and projects. I see she’s been a busy beaver hooking and sending out pillows to various friends and fellow fiber artists, I know they must have been as thrilled as I was to receive one. I feel quite special to have been gifted with an original Brigitte Webb, knowing that she lovingly hooked and crafted one of her special rugs to send to me. Wow, its such an honour. She knows how much I love my beautiful boat and hoped it would find a home there.

Of course, I thanked her immediately, but there were not enough words to describe what it meant to me and how it came at such a tenuous time in my life, when I needed a boost of confidence and a smile. I always planned to write about the gift, but I really wanted to take it to the boat first, and photograph it in the place it was made to be. In the meantime, it adorned a living room chair, where I would look at it think of Brigitte and that very special moment when I opened the parcel and read her message. It’s the stuff good tears are made of......

Brigitte calls her pillows small mindings. Pillows she creates and sends to folks who she values and cares about and who have been a great part of her life over the past number of years. She enjoys what she does, and it keeps her brain ticking when sharing a bit of herself with dear friends.

Because of COVID-19 and being so busy at the shop filling orders, we were a month late launching the boat this year, but finally, our girl is bobbing up and down on the mooring ball. I took my precious pillow on board and positioned it in a very special spot that can be seen from the companionway and every corner of her beamy cabin. The colours and design are nautical and it fits like an old friend.

Brigitte so cleverly designed, colour planned and created the perfect gift for me. The photo doesn't do it justice so let me describe it. She used a mixed media of wool, sari silk, velvet and sparkly infusions of ribbon in the star. The rich navy background is full of sparkles, like twinkling diamonds in a night sky, so perfect for a crow like me.

A star might be the focal of this darling little pillow, but Brigitte is truly the brightest star of them all. Thank-you again and many hugs from Mahone Bay!

About 20 years ago, Brigitte hooked our Scrap Mat pattern and sent this photo of it finished.

3 Comments

A close encounter of the COVID kind.....

6/16/2020

23 Comments

I’ve heard about it from others, I’ve read about it on FB, I’ve heard it on the news, read about it on Google, and now I’ve witnessed it first hand. Some people don’t believe that COVID-19 is real and think we are being fed a load of bull.

I was at the shop dyeing wool and ran out of vinegar so I took a parcel to the mail and while masked up, went to the Independent Grocer to buy a few jugs. I was at the head of the outdoor line-up in my usual garb of gloves and mask when a man got out of his vehicle, walked directly toward the store door and was stopped by the duty guard, who told him to go back around the barrier and get in line.

I was the only one in line and he trudged up behind me. I turned to make sure he gave me some distance, because he was breathing hard and grumbling and I couldn’t gauge how close he might be. I could tell something about me pissed him off by the look he gave me, probably adding to his annoyance of being told to wait in line.

He started shouting.

“You are all nothing but sheep! You are being led to act like sheep! You are sheep in a herd! If you all put down your damn phones and turned off the TV and got out and started living you would be better off! He paused to catch his breath and then continued. If it weren’t for listening to the media you wouldn’t be acting like sheep.   The media is the problem! They need to be shut down!

He was shouting as loudly as possible, screaming at my back and the female staff guard. The hair on my neck prickled as I turned around to face him. I had to ask.

“Don’t you believe there’s a pandemic happening?”

He screamed. NO!

I said, “You don’t believe, as of today worldwide, the virus has killed 435,000 people?

“NO!” he screams. Then goes on to say, “That many people die for all kinds of reasons!

“But this is different” I said and before I could add to my statement, he screamed, “They’re blaming every death on the damn virus now, car accidents, heart attacks, you name it! There’s no damn virus! You are nothing but sheep!

He was getting even louder, if that was possible. I turned away from him to mind my own business, like I should have in the first place and an uneasy feeling grew in my gut. He continued to rant, directed now at the guard.

“I don’t have to go through this crap anywhere else I go, waiting in line and herded like a sheep!” The guard said he didn’t need to be here if it wasn’t to his liking.

My spidey sense was tingling, anyone that angry had to be wound tight and ready to spring. A woman came out with her groceries and the guard motioned for me to go into the store. I hesitated only a moment and then thought I’d better skedaddle. I didn’t like him being that close to me, his shouting was assuredly sending spittle my way and I know from experience what turning my back to anger can do. He was clearly a person comfortable with verbal aggression and I didn’t want it to escalate at my expense.

I’ve read about conspiracy theories and the length to which some people go to refuse to wear protection. It’s against their civil rights they say, but to deny the actual existence of the pandemic is another thing altogether. The entire world has basically shut down to halt its spread, that's a pretty big lie to carry out.

When I finished shopping and left the store, the guard had a male employee sitting with her and she told me the man had come back out sputtering off again and was loud and abusive all the way to his vehicle. I said I was worried he might attack you but she seemed unbothered and said she’d like to see him to try.

A customer that phoned to place an order told me that when a woman got really close to her in a line-up and was kindly asked to back up to six feet the woman told her to f#%! off. And several others have told me that they have encountered rudeness and anger in stores and line ups and people that crowd them or push them out of the way. Someone told me that these sorts of life altering dilemmas bring out who a person really is. It is sad we can’t agree to disagree and be kind to one another in the process of coping in this difficult time.

23 Comments

A rescue and an education.

6/8/2020

4 Comments

I had an unusual experience I’d like to share. Well perhaps it wasn’t that unusual or weird in the world of animals, but this human hadn't witnessed anything like this before so it was educational in the ways of bird social lives and dominance hierarchies.

We were working at the apartment building and hubby noticed a baby robin sitting on the outside stairs on the north side of the building and then spied another on the ground close by. Strange he thought, and then noticed two pigeons hovering around and dipping down close to the babies. He called to me to watch the birds while he went to get a small box. One of the pigeons, now sitting on the roof next door was watching me while the other swooped down to the bird on the stairs so I clapped loudly and shooed it away. Then the other soared down in a raucous furry to attack the bird on the ground and I clapped once again and they both squawked their displeasure and flew away.   I stood to the side of the building watching and waiting to see if momma robin would come around and she did, swooped in and landed next to the baby on the ground. Now this wasn’t the strange part that I hinted at. I’ve rescued baby birds before and happened on nests around our property. All pleasant experiences filled with wonder and amazement for life of the little creatures around us. What I found puzzling, perhaps even on the side of disturbing, was the actions of those two pigeons.

After I scared the little terrorists off, within no less than two minutes, they returned with a dozen of their friends and they seemed in a hyper state of excitement, not unlike coyotes when they surround and kill prey. The mother robin saw the flock overhead and flew away, positioning herself in a tree close by and was calling out in a frenzied cry. Poor thing, she sees me as a threat as well as the flock of pigeons that violently disrupted their lives.

I could hardly believe my eyes. Those pigeons went off for reinforcements to come back to gang up and attack the baby birds! I mean really, they had to communicate their intent. That takes a certain level of intelligence and communication. What did they say to one another? “Hey guys, we found two baby birds to torture and kill. Let’s go!” I still find it hard to believe really, it was so evident they were on a mission to destroy the babies. They took the nest apart, it was shredded and hanging down from the rafters above. I’m not sure if the babies were pushed from the nest in the frenzy or they flew away to escape the danger. They were fairly developed and one actually flew/hopped away from my grasp a couple of times before I caught it so I could tell they were soon big enough to leave the nest. They probably glided to the ground three stories down and was the reason they landed without injury.

So the pigeon gang is scrutinizing me, the human spoiler between them and their fun. They all landed on the neighbour’s roof, watching me as intently as I am watching them. I played the waiting game, staying as far away as I can from the babies as not to freak out the mother, but ready to pounce if I needed to defend them from a swarm of bully’s dive bombing from the sky.

A few minutes went by, then two of the braver pigeons swooped down, each heading for one of the baby birds and I rushed forward and clapped harder and shouted loudly, waving my arms and appearing as menacing as possible. The message was clear, they needed to go through me to get to those babies and their bird brains decided it wasn’t worth the risk!   They regrouped back on the roof peak, there was a bit of squawking and then they all flew away. I asked hubby why the pigeons would do this, do they eat baby birds? He said sometimes its territorial and they want to take over another bird’s nest but they had torn it apart so it was useless to them. Later I researched on the internet if Pigeons ate other birds but couldn’t find any thing on that topic. But apparently, they can be little shites, as witnessed. I didn’t realize one species of bird will destroy another species for no apparent reason. If this wasn’t territorial, what was the motive? How did they even found the nest hidden up under the rafters of the staircase is a mystery, perhaps they stalk birds and see where they go and then do a home invasion? Are they entertained by killing a baby bird? Bored and out for a little gang related violence? Perhaps there is a pecking order, pardon the pun!

So, we couldn’t leave the baby birds unattended, I figured the pigeons could be watching to see if we leave and then come back to finish whatever it was they had started. The babies were vulnerable and defenseless so we put them in what we could find, a plastic milk carton with a towel for padding, and we hung it in a nearby tree about three feet off the ground. If we took them home, momma wouldn’t have been able to find them so we hoped this was a good solution to their problem. I covered the area with Japanese Bamboo that grows close by so they were well shielded from prying eyes. They were crying out for momma and their mouths were open wide and greedy for food. I then sat without moving a muscle a safe distance away and watched to see if momma would hear their calls and came back. I’d used gloves to pick them up, worried she would abandon them with my scent all over their bodies but hubby thought perhaps that was just a myth and he felt confident she would find them and life would resume as before. If she didn’t return, I was prepared to make a trip to Hope For Wildlife.

I didn’t have long to wait. She returned with a mouthful of grubs and very cautiously made her way to the new digs. She was skittish and it took her several zigs and zags and backtracking to make her way to the edge of the carton and then inside with her babies. We hoped they were okay there for the night, it was clear, but rain was coming the day after, so we decided we’d construct a better nest so they wouldn’t be cold and laying on a soaked towel. We wanted something that would drain and be padded with dried grasses and twigs.

I checked on them in the morning and they were huddled on the towel looking up with mouths open thinking I was coming to feed them. That evening we built a new nest using a wooden Clementine box, that already had holes for drainage and he built up the sides so they wouldn’t fall out and tied it back to the tree, a little higher this time.   I transferred the birds to their new home. They looked ready to leave the nest, developed feathers intact and of a decent size. I felt very maternal for them, already attached to my little wards.

That night it rained and I worried they would be wet and cold, but I know birds make nests in trees that don’t have roofs over their heads. The next morning, even before breakfast, I drove to the building and crept up quietly to peek inside the nest and was surprised and a tad disappointed to find the baby birds were gone. There was a bit of poop to indicate they had been there but they must have been more developed than I realized and maybe momma figured it was best to move along from the meddling humans who forced them to move twice in two days. Perhaps she moved them to the ground, under a bush somewhere. I don't know their fate for certain, so I'm sticking to this assumption with all my heart.

I checked around for feathers, an indication they might have been ousted out by other creatures in the night like a cat, raccoon or flying predators, but nothing indicated there had been a scuffle so I like to think my little baby birds are out there making their way in the world.

4 Comments

Happy Victoria Day 2020!

5/18/2020

5 Comments

I’ve been lax lately with writing. At the beginning of the COVID-19 scare, when I laid off Shane and Deborah, I planned to do great things. I envisioned painting the shop with a fresh coat to hide the years of wear and the floor needed sanding and varnishing too, a great job to brighten up the place. I hoped to make some videos for the website and Facebook, various topics I’ve been thinking about. I hoped to finish my book and actually started it enthusiastically but then as the orders poured in, I put it aside. Then I planned to go through all the odds and sods that have piled up around the shop waiting to be utilized, those projects that the day to day routines never leave time for. We are a busy shop and always in sell mode, getting orders in the mail and stocking the shelves so there is little time for extras. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining, being busy is business and this means I might survive for however long this goes on and we will probably come out still standing when the virus is behind us!

So, I’ve been delighted and amazed and I can’t lie, sometimes even overwhelmed, at the amount of support you all have given me in this time when businesses are failing and people are frightened for their financial future. I’d like to send out a heartfelt thank-you for keeping us in your thoughts and emailing and dialing in your orders!

Most of you realize that I am working on my own these days so orders aren’t getting to the post office as fast as when the entire crew was working and I am so grateful for your patience!   Not only do I have to make the orders but then it takes almost a day to wrap, weigh and take them to the post office. Except for two days of being home when sciatica flared up, I have worked for the last eight weeks straight, seven days a week and usually till midnight each day getting orders out as quickly as I can. I’ve been at the helm dyeing wool, drawing patterns and constructing kits. I will never be so happy to see Shane and Deborah back when it is safe to have us all together in the studio, but in the meantime I do work fast, my years of short order cooking have trained me well and I work like a machine when I get into the pace needed to pump out product.

But, I selfishly took Sunday off and because today is Victoria Day, I took that off as well to refuel and recharge my batteries. The on switch had been draining them, so these past two days I’ve had time to rest and concentrate on my gardens which is the best therapy in the world. I could have laid around on the sofa, but I worked my arse off outside getting rid of last falls debris and throwing down mulch. Working with the earth is soothing and calming, even the ticks that tried to drive me back into the house didn’t daunt me. There is nothing like playing in the soil to connect with the earth and nature. This is the first time this spring I’ve been out working on the yard; my days have been all about the shop and I come home to eat and sleep with little time for anything else. Thankfully hubby has been cooking and doing all the dishes to help me save all my energy for work.

For those that think lifting restrictions is a good thing and want to get into the shop, that won’t be happening for a while. We haven’t had the second wave yet and it’s coming, historically second waves are always worse than the first so I won’t be open to the public any time soon. I am surprised to discover while chatting with people on the phone that they don’t realize the pandemic isn’t over and lifting restrictions only means the hospitals are equipped to handle more cases because more people will be infected and deal with that fate. Restrictions and isolating is only to keep the health care workers from being overwhelmed all at once, so this is the way to loosen the tether of temporary freedom so more people can be infected and allow the virus to work through the public bit by bit. I have diabetes and from all the news you hear that seems to be one of the main determinations of how you process the virus. As much as I love my job, the shop and our customers, I’m not about to get sick or perhaps die for wool. So, mail order and curbside pickups will be the norm until things improve. Although summer sales hold us for the winter, there won’t be much tourist traffic this year with border restrictions and social distancing so opening to the public won’t matter much as long as I continue to get mail order business and curbside pickups. Pretty please and thank-you! We will discuss opening to the public at some point with restrictions like one person at a time by appointment and with adequate protections etc. But that will come later so no need to think about that now. I would love to be wrong about my predictions or personal opinion, but that's what the scientists say, and in the meantime, I will wait and see how things go in the coming months to make decisions about the future.

In the meantime, I will be wearing my mask for trips to the post office and grocery store even when all those around me don’t. I am rather dismayed that more people in my town don’t wear them. I’m lucky to see one person when I’m out and about and we nod to one another as if we share a secret, a knowledge that others don’t. I appreciate seeing them, and I hope they me, its as if we are in a private club. Just because we’ve had no cases or death close to us, doesn’t mean it isn’t a real problem when 300,000 people world wide have died, which to put into perspective, is almost one third of the 970,000 population of Nova Scotia. These people were someone’s loved ones and friends. They mattered to others; they are not just faceless numbers to be ignored because we didn’t know them personally. It’s absolutely tragic. That being said, I will be protecting myself until the very last person tests positive or until there is a working vaccine.

So, after that gloom lets lighten it up a bit. As I was standing in line at the post office the other day I was thinking about the positives of a mask, besides the protective factor. As my eyesight deteriorates, those chin hairs elude me so now I don’t have to worry about a rogue hair bobbing up and down while I talk, grabbing the attention of others that can’t focus on my words from the shear absurdity of it flopping around.   And one can save a fortune on teeth whitening, let their smile go for a few more months before blasting another round of toxic cleaner.

Another perk, I like not wearing lipstick everyday. I never wear the kind that have some sort of epoxy in them that stay all day even through eating and kissing. Mine brand pretty much dissolves as soon as it’s applied so I am constantly re-coating to keep my lips red to detract from the broken blood vessels of my reddish cheeks. Even though my brand is a mild form it still comes with a slurry of chemicals so I am happy to give my liver and breasts a break from absorbing it all.   What you wear on your face is found in breast tissue and liver tissue.   Sorry just had to throw that in there to spread awareness. Yes, these COVID-19 days are creating a healthier body for me in many ways.

So, I am back out in the garden, trying to stay ahead of the ticks and feeling the sun warm my face, a sign that summer will soon be here. The deer have been down earlier than normal, perhaps less traffic and people outside have made them braver. All my Solomon’s Seal have been gnawed off like shoots of asparagus and most of the day lilies are nibbled to the ground but I can’t fault them for being hungry and work around the destruction. These plants will have less than perfect leaves but life will go on, and they will continue to grow, perhaps a metaphor for us with the pandemic.

We watched the mooring guy drop our ball today in front of our house. We hope to start working on our boat soon and will decide when and if to launch. We will keep an eye on the virus and see how things are in our province for an end of June splash. I would be disappointed if we can’t this year but will accept our fate and plan for a 2021 summer on our teak womb. In life, like being on the water, one must learn to roll with the swells.

Take care and be well everyone!

5 Comments

Recessing the Ignition Panel

5/11/2020

0 Comments

Winter is the time to undertake more ambitious projects while the boat is on the hard. Considering the weather-beaten look of the instrument panels, in 2017 Chris Ouellette, Nonsuch Felina and my hubby Gregg, Nonsuch Catalyst II, decided to recess them for protection. Another added benefit to this project, was nothing to poke into your back while lounging around in the cockpit.

On Catalyst II, the exterior moulding of the instrument panel had been broken sometime before we bought the boat, so this was the perfect time to rebuild the edge. Gregg used epoxy and fairing compound to rebuild the corner using a masking tape dam so it would cure flat and have little sanding. Then he painted it black. (Fig. 1) The acrylic transparent cover was crazed to the point that you couldn’t read some of the instruments and later I found a replacement on the internet with the proper configuration we needed for the glow plug and starter button on our boat.

The first job was to cut the hole in the cockpit combing with a jig saw. Gregg used a rasp to clean off any rough fiberglass on the backside of the combing where the new recess frame edge would be glued to the inside. They took measurements of the openings on each boat then got to work building a thin plywood frame. (Fig. 2) On our boat there were two openings, one for the instruments and the other for an external speaker. They used Fiberglass and fairing compound to strengthen the plywood and then used more fairing compound and epoxy to smooth the corners and edges.

While waiting for the frame to cure, they both cleaned up all electrical contacts with a wire brush. An important tip, when they removed the instrument panel, all of the wires were labeled for easy reconnection. (Fig. 3)

When the new frame was cured, they trimmed the excess fiberglass around the holes and tested the fit with the instrument panels. (Fig. 4 & 5) They took the boxes to the boat for a dry fit. Take note of the lower right-hand corner on (Fig. 5) showing the broken moulding that was subsequently repaired.

Next, they applied epoxy to glue the recessed frame in place. The three screws held it while the epoxy set and then they were removed and fairing compound filled the holes. (Fig. 6, 7, & 8)

Fairing compound was added to produce a flush surface for both frames and then the following day they were sanded smooth. There was a lot of sanding involved to remove all of the blemishes to make it flawless and ready for painting. It really helps to have an onboard vacuum! (Fig. 9, 10 & 11)

Felina 30’s new recessed panel after painting and installation. (Fig. 12) The finished housing on Catalyst II before the instruments and speaker were added (Fig. 13) and then installed and working. (Fig. 14) Great job guys!

Christine Little
Catalyst 33, #22
Nova Scotia Nonsuch Group Secretary
Nonsuch Musings Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/nonsuchsailing/

Fig. 1

Fig. 2

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Fig. 5

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Fig. 11

Fig. 12

Fig. 13

Fig. 14

0 Comments

COVID Couture

4/7/2020

8 Comments

I must say I am enjoying having the shop all to myself. There is a serenity there that envelopes me into a blissful state. I’ve often described walking through the door of my studio, seeing all the colour and feel as if I'm getting a hug from a rainbow. I do miss Shane and Deborah, that goes without saying, and I look forward to the pandemic being behind us so life can find a new normal and reunite the team. In the meantime, I’m making lemonade with this COVID-19 lemon and I’m thrilled to provide our products to those who wish to pass the time rug hooking.

What I like best about being alone in the studio is that I don’t have to fancy myself up to go to work. Not that I ever did, I’ve never been a splashy dresser, although I clean up well when I have to. I am most happy in old paint clothes so splattered with all the colours I’ve used over the years that people ask if I got any on the project I’m working on. I’m calling my new everyday attire my COVID Couture! I get up an get ready for the day and throw on crap clothes, no ironing, not worried about wrinkles so deep I could hide candy in the creases.

Ironing seems to be my nemesis and doing laundry is not on my radar until I’m short of something, so most of my good clothes generally lay on the laundry room floor. Good planning means that we have dozens of towels, thanks to Costco bulk buying, and many sets of bed sheets, and hubby and I have plenty of intimate wear and renovating clothes, so we can go quite a spell before I have to shovel a path through the mountain of laundry to get to the washing machine. Right now, hubby is wearing a pair of black faded jeans that have many holes, not the kind you buy purposely shredded, you know, the expensive ones that dictate that the less material the more you pay, no, these are worn thin and dissolving from pure age and being washed a hundred times.

I’ve never been good at keeping up with laundry so I play to my faults and buy enough underwear and socks to last a month or so. The heap sometimes stands as tall as the dryer, and oh I should mention that I have a stacking pair to give you a better idea of the height of those piles. When Larry comes to clean, I tell him not to open the laundry room door, concerned for his safely over the eminent avalanche. But before you judge me unfairly, I'm not a total Pig-pen, the rest of my house is uncluttered, tidy and clean, only the laundry room hides my dirty little secret, both figuratively and literally. I don't get stressed or overwhelmed at the sight of it, I just close the door and walk away, problem temporarily solved. Sometime in the next few weeks when the mood hits me and I'll do twenty loads in a day and feel satisfied. Why feel good in little increments when I can binge wash it all and feel over the moon fabulous. That's the way I roll!

I left the house today without bothering to pencil on my eyebrows. Without highlighting them, they are practically nonexistent, like Doris Mann's character played by Shirley MacLaine in Postcards From the Edge, when her daughter Suzanne Vale (Meryl Streep) draws on her eyebrows while she is in the hospital after being in a drunk driving accident. She tells her daughter, when I die make sure you don’t let anyone see me without my eyebrows. One of my top five favourite movies!

My blond eyelashes don’t show either, quite frankly I look like an albino with my pale skin especially wearing the black T-shirt I slept in last night that I’m wearing at work. I don’t have sweat pants but I’d wear them if I did and feel fabulous. No one sees me at the shop and I’m not the type to dolly up to put out the garbage so wearing loose, baggy and shapeless clothes, perhaps no bra, is an exercise in freedom I rather enjoy. Quite frankly, I’ve not been washing my hair every day either, every second day seems to be fine, and I’m loving this break from all the chemicals I usually put on my body every day from creams, shampoo and deodorant. At a time when we need an optimal immune system to fight the lurking virus, less product can’t hurt. So, give your bodies a break and go au natural, it’s healthier. I might look a fright but I feel wholesome and that dang virus doesn’t care what we look like, why fix ourselves up for it. (I will fix myself up for trips to the post office, I do have my pride) Another perk to wearing renovating clothes ensures I don’t have to worry about marker ruining good clothes as I draw out patterns or dye splashing all over me when I’m playing with wool.

You should see the state the shop is in. I put nothing back after I’ve used it. Shane would be shaking his finger at me but in my defense, I’m working at warp speed to get the orders out, so I’ll worry about the trail of patterns, wool dust, markers and piles of wool later. There are enough linen threads on the floor to weave a shawl. I feel absolutely no guilt, I’ll clean it later, as a matter of fact I’ve read somewhere that mess is a sign of genius……

My fella has been taking care of me. Last evening, I came home to roast chicken, dressing and various steamed veggies. He’s feeding me and does all the dishes so I can concentrate on working on the orders. I’ve been the canary in the mine for us for the last several weeks, making the trips out for provisions and to the shop while he hasn’t left the house in over a month. He keeps the firewood stacked and all of us warm. I like having a house hubby, I figured only one of us should go out, use the car, buy groceries. When I come home, he opens the door for me so I don’t touch it, and then we wash everything with soapy water. I wash up as well and clean up the car, my phone, my keys. It’s a lot of work but necessary to do our part for our health and community.

Yesterday I could have used a burly man to help me haul the load of parcels to the post office but what doesn’t kill me will make me stronger, well maybe in this new normal I shouldn’t use those words because it could kill me. Truthfully, I get a little nervous in the post office with a lot of people coming and going but I’m very careful. Touching nothing, including my face, wearing gloves to remind me not to touch my face, and washing everything down once back at the shop.

The Post Office now has a facial shield up between the public and the clerks and they have large red circles stickers with white footprints on the floor to show you where to stand six feet apart. They remind me of the bunny prints that used to be on the floor in Bill’s Store leading to Toy Land. Remember? Most folks abide by the rules but I hear some don’t. I’m really not sure why they think they are impervious to COVID-19 or why they don’t abide by the procedures, surely at this stage they’ve heard how serious it is?   The pandemic is a test of our character, it will show everyone who we really are to the world and we will remember the good, the bad and the ugly after it is over…….

8 Comments

Is wool an essential?

4/1/2020

7 Comments

I’ve been thinking about what quantifies as an essential service. Sure, food is a given and apparently toilet paper fits the bill considering the frantic buyout across North America. I suppose having to worry about being isolated for months, the thought of running out of bathroom tissue is a bit disconcerting, especially when the leaves aren’t out yet.

Its easy listing all the main essentials, the items that we need to survive like food, medications, furnace fuel, soap, propane, etc. but what about the needs to nurture our minds? Isolation can take a toll if we can’t find things to occupy our thoughts and our hands. Keeping them busy we are less likely to experience cabin fever, a term that originated from the pioneer days when the long winters confined people indoors resulting in irritability, listlessness, and other similar symptoms.

Crafts have always taken our minds off of our troubles, wiling away hours, dissolving malaise into thin air as we knit, stitch and pull loops. A quilt, a scarf, a hooked rug, something to show for our time and effort that might have been wasted on less meaningful things.

During this humanitarian crisis, don’t we need our crafts more than ever? Won’t they save our sanity as we struggle to get used to this new normal?   Some are alone, feeling even more anxiety than those that have family members for company and support but creative people won't be alone, they are so fortunate to have a rich gathering of like minded, social media friends so they can interact and feel connected in this trying time.

I hear people say they plan to clean their homes, but how much housework can we accomplish before we go stir crazy?   Who are we doing this for? We can’t invite anyone around to see how diligent we are with the vacuum cleaner so why bother? So don’t fret about cleaning, we need to express ourselves in meaningful ways, through our art in whatever medium we chose. We need to create!

If I couldn’t design, write and hook, my life would have less meaning. What is the point of this existence but to explore the creative? They say, happiness is the best medicine, and every crafter knows that our passions allow us to blissfully dwell in a happy place. Perhaps when we are occupied with creating, we are less anxious to go out and risk public appearances or disregard self distancing out of boredom.

Therefore, wool just might be essential for our mental health and well being, presenting a good argument that our crafts might be as important as food is for our physical health. I know a woman that would crawl naked over glass to get their hands on nice piece of wool….oh wait a minute….that’s me. Another important point, wiling away time with crafts reduces time that we will obsess over the state of our communities, our country and the world. We need to be informed but not inundated so our hobbies provide an excellent distraction.

I’m in a double risk category, over 60 and Diabetic, so at first, I panicked over the pandemic, but now I know that with care and by following the rules I should be safe. The more education I receive the more confident I have become and I adhere religiously to all the guidelines suggested. That being said I am no fool and once it hits this area the trips to the post office will cease immediately and I’ll be home with my feet up rug hooking like the rest of you.

I am so impressed with social media taking the place of social interaction. This safe forum allows people to share their projects, checking in with friends and loved ones, swapping recipes and telling their stories, sometimes sharing in grief and loss, connecting with people all over the world. What a fantastic way to keep in touch and stave off the loneliness of isolation, being a part of this world wide community of fiber artist.

So, who is to say that I don’t have a good case to work behind the scenes and service the needs of the right brained experience? Sending out hope and happiness with each parcel I wrap and take to the post office. I personally know of a few thousand rug hookers that would make a case for wool being an essential. Should I start a petition?

For as long as possible, I will work at the shop filling orders. I am diligent about practicing self distancing and keeping my hands away from my face and washing has become a constant habit. Because we don’t have walk in traffic, I won’t keep regular hours, arriving sometime between noon and one. I've been working late in the evenings so I need the mornings at home spending time with my pups. Both Shane and Deborah have been laid off so I am now the dyer, pattern maker and chief cook and bottle washer at the studio. I can be reached by email and the phone, if I don’t answer, leave a message and I will phone you back. I also hope to spend time designing new patterns over the next few months, I too need to be creative. We will be fully stocked and ready to serve you as soon as the bans are lifted and life adjusts to another new normal.

Boredom is a modern day curse. Our attention spans are shortening and we live in a world where we crave constant stimulation, but now, we will all be challenged to find ways to change our way of thinking or the isolation will be excruciating. We need to discover and indulge in the creative thought process and keep our hands from being idol. Nothing good ever came from being left alone with nothing to do.

7 Comments

How to make your frame work with backings that don't fit.

3/30/2020

3 Comments

How to manage a backing that is too small for the hoop or frame

Backing pulled tight on three sides instead of four will still hold very well. Just make sure you protect yourself from the exposed grippers!

Have you ever had a situation where the piece of backing was smaller than the top of your frame or hoop? It’s a common complaint, especially when pattern producers are chintzy on the excess border. In this case Gripper frames are less problematic because you can do a bit of maneuvering, but with a hoop there is no recourse but to sew material around the outer border.

As long as you have a flannel gripper cover or some means to protect your arms and hands while you hook, the pattern does not have to fit the frame perfectly. You can adjust the piece off to the side and pull it tight on the top bottom and one side, to hook away happily as in the picture above. Once, thinking I was finished a project, I trimmed off all the tiny frays, steamed pressed it, zig zagged around the edge leaving 1 ¼” border and cut out the rug before I realized I wasn’t happy with one of the colours on the border. So I slapped it on the one end of my frame and hooked the change easily.

Sewing strips of wool along an edge to extend it enough to put on a gripper frame or in a hoop works nicely but when sewing you should use a zig zag stitch because of the loose holes in the burlap or linen backing. Cotton Monk's Cloth is tighter holed so sewing with a straight stitch will work and rug warp is fairly tight as well.

Sewn on piece of wool. I find wool works best as it's fuzzy and grabs tight for less slipping.

Sewn edge to place backing in hoop.

Panty hose is a quick fix. Of course you won't be wearing them after the fact unless you're going for the shabby and not chic look. Just make a large hole in the backing with a primitive hook, fold the panty hose in two and pull the loop through. Then put the two ends through the loop, snug up and then the two tails will stretch over the grippers for a superman hold. The hose can be used over and over until they are picked to shreds.

Panty Hose, not just for legs anymore! Stretched over the grippers they hold tight and stay there.

3 Comments

Something to make you smile!

3/26/2020

3 Comments

I have a funny story associated with our “QUEEN OF THE SEA” pattern.  Funny in a sad, pathetic, kind of way. I have to wonder about some men.....

A while ago, I was in the studio just finishing up a new design, when a middle aged man comes in to browse the shop.   He saunters over to my work space and looks down at the drawing of a buxom mermaid, sitting on a rock with a baby mermaid in her arms.

I kid you not…his forehead broke out in tiny dots of perspiration. He kept staring at the mermaid’s over-endowed chest for an uncomfortable amount of time, mouth agape. The appeal was lost on me. First of all it was a drawing, thin marker lines on white paper and the breasts were very discreetly covered with starfish.

It was terribly awkward standing there so I did the only thing I could think of to do and asked him. “Do you think they’re big enough?”

I tell no lie…he replied, “Ooohhhhh yeessss”. It came out breathy, soft and slow, almost a whisper.

And then I just couldn’t resist and asked, “What do you think of the octopus?”   Referring to the big, two foot long octopus directly below the mermaid.

His reply? “What octopus?”

3 Comments

The shop is closing until further notice.....

3/24/2020

22 Comments

To our loyal customers.

Shane, Deborah and I had a meeting today and with a heavy heart we feel it is best to shut down the shop for mail order. This means the last trip to the Post Office will be Friday March 27th. As the virus continues to spread, it is only a matter of time before we are forced to close as a nonessential business. Not that any rug hookers feel we are nonessential, our wool is pretty important to us but our health and welfare have to take precedence. For as much as I am saddened to close the shop, my loyalty is to all the people in my community, province and country. We all need to work together to conquer this scourge.

The Mahone Bay post office has been struggling with people returning from trips who refuse to self isolated for 14 days. The staff know who have been away because they’ve been stock piling their mail. Unfortunately, when they return from holiday, some are walking through the door to collect it, showing a blatant disregard for the guidelines in place to protect us. At this point no one can claim ignorance and there is absolutely no reason for them to be abusive to the staff for trying to enforce the rules and protect themselves, but some are. It’s people like this that endanger us all. For this reason, I can’t in good conscience, send Shane, my son, to the Post Office to mail parcels nor do I wish to go myself being in a high-risk category, so Friday will be the last day parcels go out.

I would like to take this time to give thanks to the courageous folks on the front lines trying to keep the postal services flowing, as well as the grocery and drugstore cashiers who deserve our highest respect and gratitude for all they do. They are true heroes.

We will honour all of the orders we currently have on the board and we are all working together to make the kits, draw the patterns and dye the wool to fill them. If any new orders come in, we will check to see if the items are in stock and if they are, we will accommodate them, but we won’t be able to fill orders of custom kits or any dyed wool past Thursday.

For anyone desperately needing supplies for a project during this lengthy home stay, I can offer you a curbside pick-up service. I won’t be hanging around the shop each day but If you phone me at home or email, I will prepare the order and then you can pick it up, prepaid, on the door step at an arranged time. I’m sure once the pandemic hits our province hard, we will all be staying close to home but in the meantime as long as I am able, I will help in any way I can.

We are lucky to be able to connect on social media to share our thoughts and our projects and stay in touch for news in this tight community we’ve built as fiber artists. It will certainly help to stay the cabin fever as we are isolated in our homes.

I am certain the business will survive this trying time and we will be back at the helm as soon as possible. Like yourselves, I will be hooking at home to fill the days, maybe even finish that book I’ve been working on. While secluded at home, don’t worry about house work, no one will be coming by to see if you let things go. It's time to play and be in that happy place!

It’s time to create my friends, create!

May you, and all your loved ones be safe.

Christine

22 Comments

Be smart, do your part!

3/21/2020

1 Comment

I suppose it can be difficult to be optimistic in these difficult and scary times but we must keep our spirits up. We must smile and hope for the best. Someone said on Facebook that we shouldn’t worry about quarantine, stay home and work on our crafts, we’ve been training for this our whole lives!   A good chuckle when we need one.

The only certainly now is uncertainty, as we move forward blindly. We can do the basic to protect ourselves but there’s so many people willing to play Russian roulette with the virus but instead of a self-inflicted wound, it could impact all those around them. Pretty much all of the cases in Canada are the result of people returning from vacations, infecting those in near proximity in public places. I don’t want to make every blog I write about the pandemic, but I feel the need to warn and advise when I don’t see enough people adhering to the warnings and suggestions made by our Prime Minister and those in the know. Turn into CBC Radio One daily for updates around 12:30 pm. Another piece of good advice, don’t watch the news all day long, give yourselves a mental break from all the devastation. You need to be informed but not inundated!

I know of seven people who were traveling and came back to Mahone Bay and didn’t immediately self-isolate, made trips to the grocery store and at least one went to work before being told to stay home and I’m sure there are others. Just because we aren’t a hot spot for the virus doesn’t mean we can be complacent in our efforts to keep it at bay and out of the Bay!

Its disconcerting that very few people are wearing gloves in public in our town. I’m not sure why after so many warnings but I’m not sure they understand the ramifications. Sure, the gloves are to protect you, that goes without saying, BUT it also protects others if you are a carrier or sick and don’t know it yet. You are touching items in the stores, door knobs entering and leaving buildings. Expecting cashiers to wait on you in the post office and grocery stores. I was told of a case of a traveler had returned and went to the post office and was told they should be home in self isolation and the gentleman got angry with the person behind the counter.

Any time during the 14-day self-isolation after returning from a trip can present symptoms, just because you are good on day one to five, doesn’t mean it isn’t brewing. So many people have traveled and don’t self-isolate when they return home. They go to work and stock up on groceries in the stores. I can’t quite get my head around it but then I know not everyone is informed or listens to the right radio stations or television, some actually think it’s all Tom foolery. It’s going to be a hard lesson to learn when potential death comes knocking, and even if you are lucky enough to survive, what have you done to others you’ve been in contact with, to friends and loved ones? How can you be so callous with other’s people’s health and welfare?

And one of the main reasons to self-isolate and self-distance is not to overwhelm the medical system. If we all get sick at once more people will die because there won’t be adequate equipment or hospital faculties to take care of the masses. In Italy right now they have announced that anyone over 80 will not receive help because they are so overwhelmed. How very, very sad. I feel for the doctors that make decisions on who lives or dies, how horrific! These brave souls are putting themselves in harms way to save others and to date, six doctors have died in Italy caring for the ill. How many nurses? Protect yourselves and stay home for the health care workers who are fighting and dying to keep us alive!

Another thing, pay attention, you’d be surprised how many times you touch your mouth, eyes and nose every day without thinking; COVID-19 enters your body through the orifices of the face. Don’t touch them if you’ve been in public! Stay at least 6 feet away from people so if they did cough or sneeze the virus will fall to the floor instead of torpedoing towards your face.

This is no time to be selfish or thoughtless. It might be early days but prevention needs to start now, not when the bodies are piling up. We need to help one another. We are in this together come hell or high water so act accordingly and do the right thing!

Gloves are only effective if you:

Put them on in the car before entering the grocery store/drugs store, etc.
Opening the store doors holding an antibacterial wipe.
Wear while in the store to select items, us to touch the cart.
Leave the gloves on to drive home, if you picked something up they and the bags you’ve carried are compromised.
Take the purchases into the house, wipe or wash everything immediately before putting away in the fridge or cupboards, with the gloves on.
Standing over the garbage can, now take off the gloves by pulling the wrist part down and off the hand and dispose.
Use wipes or a soapy rag to clean the cupboard door in front of the garbage can, knobs on the entrance door, INSIDE AND OUTSIDE and surrounding areas of your house both inside and out. Start keeping tract of things you touch to cut down on over sanitizing. Now they even say to wash shoes as they can walk on sneezed contagions and you can carry it home, put your feet up on the coffee table and there it goes!! Threat you body as if you are a detective at a murder as not to contaminate the scene of the crime!
Go back outside and wipe the car door handles, clean the steering wheel and anything you may have touched. And don’t forget to clean the car keys whether a remote starter or a key, they have been touched with those gloves.

People who say they keep hand sanitizer and wipes in their car after leaving a building don’t realized they may have already infected the car door handle and probably the wheel before they get the sanitizer on. Same as the sanitizer stations in the stores. Getting in and out of the building you have doors to deal with. Another thing, pay attention, you’d be surprised how many times you touch your mouth, eyes and nose daily.

And one more tidbit I feel I must pass on. This is something I discovered when I had environment sickness and did a lot of research into what knocks out the immune system. If you plan to go out in public, don’t drink alcohol or drink pop for up to 24 hours before. The darker colas and root beer etc., are very cloudy when produced and the clearing agent they put in it to make it clear suppresses the immune system for about 24 hours. Statistically, Pop drinkers tend to get more colds and flues than others because of this. Alcohol does the same. So, plan your sips; this is no time to be running around without the only natural defense we have. Stay safe all!

WASH YOUR HANDS AND CHANGE YOUR PLANS!!

1 Comment

Same boat, new look!

3/18/2020

0 Comments

When Gregg brought Catalyst II, Nonsuch 33 #22 home from Newfoundland in 2015, she needed a lot of work. I worked on all of the things you could see like the like cleaning, bright work and waxing while Gregg worked on the systems and all the other things you don’t see but are equally important.

She was almost 30 years old but I was determined to make her look like a shiny penny so I decided the stern name needed refreshing and a bit of a downsize. The letters were large and splashed across the transom making the boat look small by comparison. I knew it was only an illusion but if I was going to redo it, I wanted it to look balanced and not dominate the entire back end. The current decal had tears in it, small center pieces were nicked away showing the white gelcoat through the royal blue letters and there were various tears along the edges. So I scraped off the old name and ordered a new one from the local print shop.

The name Catalyst itself was of a decent size but the large roman numerals that accompanied it were unnecessarily large and I didn’t think they needed to be that prominent. I also changed the Font for a thinner letter and cleaner lines.

Under the old decal the gelcoat was fresh and whiter, protected from the sun baking down on it for years. Although I scrubbed and rubbed the entire transom, I couldn't blend the two shades so it will be there for life or until the sun blends the two. This is one thing to remember when changing the name of a boat, the ghost of a former name will still haunt you. Gregg say we have to work on the 20 foot theory, all boats look great at that distance and he's right because our stern looks fabulous with the new lettering, and I only notice the ghosting when I'm up close and personal when waxing in the spring.

So, we prepared the surface properly and installed the new decal. We took our time and did everything right but it’s not as easy as it looks even with the proper tools. We had a few bubbles here and there. The larger ones I pricked with a needle ever so gently to deflate them and the smaller ones shrunk in the sunlight by the end of a week all is flat.

I couldn’t be happier with the new look. The II is smaller and we did them in red just to be different. We painted a red stripe at the bottom of the boot stripe just before the bottom paint. I really liked the way it looked and it really stands out and we find its easier to tell how she is sitting in the water at the mooring from the road. We also painted the cove and the faded red stripe beneath it for a fresh look. I rolled on the paint and Gregg followed with a dry brush tipping. From twenty feet the boat looks like a shiny new penny and quite frankly an entirely different boat which makes her feel like she belongs to us now!

Catalyst in Newfoundland before the trip to NS, you can see how faded the red stripe is.

On the way home from Newfoundland. Gregg's brother Terry in the stern. The brothers said it was a trip and a thrill of a lifetime!

Taping off to paint the stripes. The red had faded to a dull pink, not good enough for our gal! The tape was a bit of a pain to remove after sitting there for two days.

All cleaned and ready.

There's a lot of rubbing but no genie.

The new decal is applied.

The beginning peel.

TA Dah! The smaller letters sure made her transom look bigger!

Looking good. That second red stripe is perfect! Last year I installed II over the cats tail.

0 Comments

Attention to all our customers......

3/17/2020

5 Comments

In leu of what is happening in the world and on our doorsteps with COVID-19, I hope you are safely celebrating St. Paddy's day!

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We have been closely monitoring the situation surrounding COVID-19. At this time, we have made the decision to close the shop to public walk-ins until further notice. Hopefully, this is a temporary measure as we all do our part to keep the community, the province and the country safe.

Each of us has a critical role to play. Isolating ourselves not only helps to prevent personal infection but it will also slow down the spread so it doesn’t overwhelm the medical system all at once. We only need to read about the devastation in Italy to realize that if we don’t practice social distancing, we put everyone at increased risk and more people will succumb and face the danger of not having enough medical treatment facilities or equipment to save them.

It was a difficult decision but the right thing to do. We don’t know who will come through the door, where they’ve been or who they’ve been in contact with, so we need to protect ourselves as well as you, the customer.

Deborah, Shane and I have always worked tirelessly to provide the needs of the rug hooking community and are will remain committed to our valuable customers. We plan to offer mail order service for as long as the Post Office remains open and we remain healthy!

For locals, we can do up phone or email orders, have you pay by credit card and then you can pick them up at the door by arranging a time and we will set them on the outside step when we see you drive up. We can smile and wave to one other through the window!

We can be reached on our toll-free line 1-855-624-0370 or local 902-624-0370 and if there is no answer you can leave a message or phone me at home to place an order at 902-624-6411. Of course, we will be reachable anytime by email and through the contact form on the website for requesting PayPal invoices.

We are facing scary, uncertain times with this insidious contagion. We don’t know who it will affect, who will get sick and if there will be help if we need it. As we self isolate, we at least have the gift of our crafts to help us get through these trying times.

And in case you didn’t know, the US Exchange Rate keeps rising. This morning it was 1.41, making this the perfect time for our American customers to place orders for substantial savings once the credit card company does the exchange from the low Canadian to the high US dollar. What a perk!

We hope to be able to ride out the Pandemic. Many businesses will close and not be able to reopen from the financial strain. We hope to be here when the dust settles so your continued patronage at this time, is greatly appreciated.

I will blog during the coming days, weeks and months, who knows how long this will go on. I thought perhaps it would be fun if you could send photos of our patterns that you have hooked that we might not have seen before, eye candy for all the rug hooking shut-ins that are waiting out the virus. Social Media is really going to help us communicate and sharing photos of rugs, might bring a smile to those that are feeling the stress, fear and boredom of being isolated. So please share with me and I will post them on Facebook and my blog.

To all of our wonderful fiber art, kindred spirits! Please be safe!

Christine, Deborah & Shane

“WASH YOUR HANDS AND CANCEL YOUR PLANS!”

5 Comments

Memories from the past revamped and anew

3/13/2020

5 Comments

Even as a child I loved neat things; interesting antiques and items crafted with character and charm.   If I saw something and became smitten, I’d hang on to it knowing someday, it would become useful in ways that weren’t clear at the time.   When I was ten and my family moved to the house on Cherry Lane, it was a trip back to the past with none of the modern conveniences of the sixties and seventies. My naivety was greatly affected by how people from the dark ages lived, no inside toilet? The house was definitely a fixer upper to bring it up to the current standards and dad picked away at the priorities to make it a cosy home.

Because the house had stayed untouched with plaster, lath and wood plank exterior walls, that was all that separated us from the cold outside making warmth and comfort the top of the list with winter coming. Dad had Burgoyne’s Heating install an oil furnace that would warm every room, ceiling ducts in the upstairs and floor registers on the main level. Up until then the only heat source the house had ever known was a small wood stove in the kitchen that surely had the previous occupants clad in thick sweaters and long johns in the other areas of the house. There was evidence that sheets had been hung in the doorways that led to the hall and back porch to keep the heat in the kitchen where they probably hung out during the day. Until the furnace came, only the kitchen offered comfort and we huddled there dreading going upstairs to our icy beds.

Although the little wood stove was small it churned out a lot of heat. It was so adorable with its ornate casting and craftsmanship that we no longer see today. Everywhere you looked there was a decorative swirl or detail on its curvaceous girth. There was an amazing ornate skirt that probably had a chrome plating and a domed finial top, now void of chrome and painted gold. The mica was still intact which was surprising from its age. I used to stare at the small silvery windows, mesmerized by the flickering flames that danced behind them.

Dad was going to chuck the old stove to the road side after the furnace was up and running but I begged him to let me have it. I don’t know why he indulged me, it was heavy and had to be lugged to the basement where it would only sit and rust in the dampness. I must have presented a pretty good argument because we stored it until I got older, moved out and took it with me. I dragged it around for years, in and out of a first marriage, various apartments and finally to my current abode with hubby number two. I never knew why, I just wanted it because it was unique, old and full of character.

So, when we renovated the building that my shop is in now, I bought an old mantel surround, painted it red and put the stove there, fashioning a fake pipe out of an aluminum vent and painted it flat black to match the stove so it looked like it was hooked up to a chimney outside. It was a sweet element of the past for the studio, fitting in nicely with the antiques I gathered for displays and the gorgeous antique staircase railing and newel post that we installed that had been harvested from an old house.

I could have sold that stove many times over the years as people noticed it and wanted the history. It was built in Sackville, New Brunswick at a place called Chas. Fawcett and some folks were very familiar with the foundry that made it. They all agreed it was a good call not to discard it.

One of the interesting features of the stove is a decorate crown that pivots to the side to expose a two-burner top for double duty as a cooker. Considering the lack of an electric range that had clearly never been installed in the kitchen I would imagine many a meal was heated on top of the old faithful wood stove. It had seen its day and wouldn't be wet certified now but with a bit of welding to replace the back plate and some new fire bricks it could be used, maybe outdoors with a stove pipe through a sheltering roof.

The other item in that house that piqued my curiosity was a large oil cloth that covered the bare floor boards in the back-storage room. Every time I went in there to fetch a canned good for mom or steal a cookie out of the tin, I marveled at the colours and the Jacobean flowers printed on the cloth. The softness and blend of earth tones really filled my budding artist soul. After my parents both passed away and the house was cleared out to be sold, I took a number of photos and gathered up several large pieces as it was cracked and falling apart, thinking perhaps, well I really don’t know what I was thinking, it was long before my hooking days, I just knew that I wanted to preserve it somehow. Perhaps I would paint the image on a floor in a future home.   Over the years as I lugged it from pillar to post the pieces began to crumble so I threw them out. As long as I had the photos it would serve whatever purpose I would undertake.

So, when I opened the shop, I thought of that old oil cloth and I dug out the pictures and saw immediately what a handsome rug pattern it would make. Well over 100 years old, I wasn’t worried about copyright and I manipulated the pattern motifs to create an enclosed area so the outer area around them could potentially have a different colour to the interior field. Someone loved the pattern but wished it had a border, making it more traditional. No problem, I added a border using the elements in the center design and named it after the woman that requested it. The first version with just the center and an edge around it, was called Beatrice after my Springhill nana. I’d previously named a rug after my mom so her mother’s name was perfect. Beatrice is an old-fashioned moniker that suited perfectly the antique impression that the pattern relays, but now I think it should be renamed Cherry Lane and use Beatrice for another design.

Yesterday when I opened my email, low and behold there was a photo of Ruth Anne beautifully hooked and it just about blew me away. Excitement coursed through my body as memories flooded me of the old house on Cherry Lane where I spent most of my childhood. Thank-you Marten Doornekamp for sharing it with me. What a fantastic heirloom you've created. I love it!

The palette Marten chose was similar in feel and has that earthiness like the original cloth but different at the same time. The thing I love best about owning a shop is seeing how rug hookers interpret my designs and bring them to life with exquisite colour, often eliciting tears from this sentimental old fool.

Ruth Anne hooked beautifully by Marten Doornekamp
48" x 80"

5 Comments

Introducing Emperors Gold by Guest Blogger Heather Gordon

3/12/2020

9 Comments

Emperor’s Gold is the latest addition to the amazing wall of colour at Encompassing Designs. The dye guy has outdone himself once again.

Last year I ran into a little roadblock when planning a design to celebrate my latest trip to China. After looking through about 1,500 photos of exotic landscapes and considering several possibilities, I realized that none of them would work. Instead of a street scene or landscape, I decided to celebrate the spirit of Chinese culture.

I was starting to pack for a move and did not really have time to create a new design or to do any dyeing. Fortunately, I had an old Michelle Micarelli pattern that I bought at a workshop at Encompassing Designs about 10 years ago and a huge stash of fabric. Inspired by the rich silks and embroidered textiles of the ancient Chinese emperor’s robes, I gathered a bundle of Terra cottas, blues and greens and looked for an elegant gold for the background because only the Emperor was allowed to wear gold and those old robes are magnificent. Nothing in my stash came close to the elusive colour in my mind. I couldn’t find it in my rings of dye samples or even among hundreds of choices on my collection of paint charts.

It was time to meet Shane to transform the colour that was in my head to an actual dye formula that was always just a little different from any of the shades available and of course, he accepted the challenge and produced a gorgeous new colour.

The mat is now on the floor of my new apartment where I can enjoy it every day and Emperor’s Gold is available for all of you to add an elegant touch to the design of your choice.

Heather Gordon
Pattern designed by Michelle Micarelli called Doily
Whipped with Shane’s dyed Briggs & Little and bound with Terra cotta

Close-up detail of the sculpted flowers and leaves.

Whipped with rug binding attached.

9 Comments

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Same boat, new look!

Attention to all our customers......

Memories from the past revamped and anew

Introducing Emperors Gold by Guest Blogger Heather Gordon

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