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.
$4.00 ea. Or 4 for $15.00.
All profits will be donated to THE LOCAL FOOD BANK.
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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. 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 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…….. 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”.  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!
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.  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.
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! 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/
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…….
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. 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. 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?”  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 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:
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!! 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.
 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.
 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! **************************************************** **************************************************** 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!”
 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"  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
It was incredibly dry today and I was just cutting some kits and when I reached for the hand cream, I thought.... gee I should post this trick. When you are cutting wool with your machine, sometimes the strips stick to the blade and roll under the wheel and back up the inside. Sometimes you try to dig them out and maybe reverse the handle to back up and retrieve it, but then you end up butchering the strips. It keeps happening over and over and you get a bit flustered. All you want to do is cut fast and get hooking! Sometimes the strips are sticking and you try blowing hot air on it and flick it off the wheel but it just keeps wanting to wrap around the blade. Cutting takes forever! Dry winter days are the culprit and even worse, if you've just pulled your wool out of the dryer with a static charge running though it, cutting is almost impossible. Frustrating? Tell us about it! At the studio we cut more wool than most and let me tell you, static cling is aggravating! And then after the wool is cut it keeps sticking to your hands as you try to lay it out straight on the table to tie into a bundle. Yup...we've all been there and will be again, time after time. Oh joy! If only someone could invent a way to stop this madness!! The answer is so simple you'll kick yourself for not thinking of. Before you start to cut, get out a bottle of hand cream and add the teeniest bit on the wrist of the hand that cranks the handle. Don’t get it on that hand as it will slip and slide as you turn the handle and you don’t want a buildup of hand cream there. Now with your fingers of the hand that touches the wool as it feeds through the blade, rub them well into the dob of cream...the palm doesn't matter as it doesn’t touch the wool. I guarantee, the wool will feed straight through without any static charge build-up! Your hand is the culprit. It is probably dry and as the wool passes under your fingers it causes friction and creates a static charge, like walking along a carpet and shuffling your feet. When the charged wool touches the blade, it wants to stick to the metal. No matter what cutter you use this tip will work.  Wool tends to bunch and stick to the cutter blades when there is a static buildup from the dry air of winter or if taken from the dryer.
 Press down on the wool with your fingers, firm enough to keep the wool running smoothly but loosely enough that the wool can be pulled beneath it into the cutting blade rotation. You can see that the cut strips coming out of the blades is straight and not sticking or bunching.
I was recently asked about fraying wool and thought I would do a blog about cutting the various strips and what to look out for. When cutting wool into finer cuts, you have to be very careful how it goes through the cutter blades. When I say finer, I mean #3, #4, and #5. Even thought the #5 is the middle of the road, it is still pretty narrow so if you go across the Warp as you feed it through the cutter, and cut a major fiber of the Warp, you’ll experience some fraying. First of all, unless you cut your wool with the intensity and control of a robot, there will always be a small amount of fraying. We are human and far from perfect, but as long as we pay attention and do the following, we can maximize better cuts and the fraying will be limited. When cutting the #6, #7, and #8 strips they are generally wide enough to keep the wool intact with less fraying but even those can be compromised beyond use if the wool gets cut more on the diagonal or bias than the straight. I once had an angry client that came into the shop and told me my wool was rotten. She said it disintegrated while she was hooking with it. She’d been at a hook-in and goodness knows what people thought of our wool as she raved about its inferiority. She brought in a ball of what she had cut and quite frankly it looked like a rat’s nest minus the rat. She showed me the piece she was cutting from and it had started out as a ½ yard piece, now down to about a ¼ yard and the cut edge was a at least at a 45-degree angle, cut totally on the bias. Every time she put it through the machine it shifted as the bulk of it pulled, what I call drag, away from the cutting area. The wool was cut completely on the diagonal until all of the vertical fibers (the Warp) had been severed through and the Weft had nothing to hold it together. Our beautiful piece of wool was nothing but fluff. Some wools are woven in a looser weave and even washing it does little to felt it tight and that has to come into account when judging what width of strip it will need. Wool should always be hand torn to achieve a straight edge to cut along. Never use scissors to cut a straight edge to put through a machine. Unless you’ve used a magnifying glass and have the steady hands of a surgeon, I guarantee you’ve already compromised it! TORN EDGES ONLY! 1. If you use plaids or textures the weave can be different than the warp and weft of a solid wool and don’t fare as well hooked with the smaller cuts. Now after saying that I should say that I know someone who once cut a herringbone in a #3 and it was perfect to hook with, but she guided the wool through the machine as if she was doing delicate brain surgery. For cutting plaids, I would recommend nothing less that a #6 and only if the weave is tighter than some of their looser cousins. I usually cut plaids and textures in a #7, my go to for backgrounds. 2. Cutting straight on the Warp as the wool goes through your cutter is paramount. Never use too wide a piece of wool as it will create drag and want to fall off the edge of the machine; pulling it away from the blades so that you need to keep adjusting it and that action causes the wool to snake back and forth and goes through the blades like a Cape Breton highway. My rule is never put pieces of wool through the machine that are over 3 inches wide. If cutting smaller cuts like a #4 or #3 I put though an even smaller width. . 3. If you go a bit wonky when cutting, then turn the wool over and cut the other side. If you want to check to see how your cuts are doing, take one cut strip and pull both ends and see if little fingers of wool spring up on the edges; that means you've cut it across the grain and expect some fraying. Seeing one here and there is fine. 4. The most important tip to cutting wool in a machine is having hand torn edges that are straight along the Warp. Then even more important, is paying strict attention as it goes through as straight as possible as it is fed through the blade. I press the wool to the flat surface of the machine enough that it stretches the wool a bit but still feeds out from under my fingers into the blade. My hand doesn’t move so the wool generally keeps its straight feed along the edge of the flat surface and into the blade. If I go off a bit, then the next set of cuts will be off as well, so I correct it right away either by turning the wool over to the other torn edge side or by tearing the piece down the center of the wool and cutting from these inside straight edges. 5. Hooking can also mess with the integrity of wool strips. Holding your hook like a pencil can directly impact how your wool survives coming out of the hole. If you hold it like a pencil and go down straight and pull the loop straight up through the hole both sizes of the strip rubs the backing and it will fray from both sides. To minimize fraying, you can hold your hook like you are peeling carrots and go in from the side and back out the same way. That way it only rubs the one side of the wool as it comes out of the hole, not the piece snugged into the hook. Using a primitive hook for wider cuts will also help to cut down on the fraying as that hand made fat shank will make the backing hole open and allow the wool to freely pull through. It also reduces tugging so there is less stress on the wrist. 6.. Recycled wool is sometimes thinner and will fray more. I feel the best wool on the market for rug hooking is the Dorr wool, it is the perfect weight, felts beautifully and can be cut in #2 or #3 without fraying, but then again, no wool can withstand improper cutting. One tip I used back in the day when I was greener than grass and buying recycled wools from Frenchie’s; if it looks like wool used for summer suiting, even if it says Virgin 100% Wool, is not for this craft. No matter how much you wash it in hot water or beat it up with jeans or sneakers in the machine, it will not thicken up or felt. Worsted wool is not great either and my mantra was always, Worsted is the Worst! Selvage – When purchasing wool on the bolt or roll, the selvage is the finished edge of the fabric. It runs parallel to the grain or ‘Warp'. (after the selvage is removed, this is the edge that goes through your machines) Warp – The lengthwise grain that runs along the entire length of the fabric. It is the strongest grain with the least amount of movement. Weft – This is the grain that runs the width of the fabric and has a bit of movement or stretch to it. Bias – The bias is at a 45* degree angle on the fabric. This grain has the most stretch.  Selvage Edge
Looking back at 2019, we’ve had a busy year at the studio, with lots of familiar faces and new ones discovering what we already know, that hooking rocks! I was delighted to hear that a group in BC just had an Encompassing Designs day where they displayed all the rugs they hooked from patterns purchased from our studio, while working on their current Encompassing Designs pattern projects. How cool is that?! I couldn’t be prouder and more pleased, except maybe seeing some pictures....hint! We’ve had a number of bus loads of rug hookers at our doorstep in 2019 and we look forward to more in 2020. You can’t imagine how proud that makes us feel and such an honour that we are selected as one of the highlights on a rug hooking tour of the province. We are nothing without you, the wonderful customer, and we work hard to please. There is no greater reward than to hear positive feedback. Deborah, Shane and I work with you in mind, first, last and always. I can't help but see Encompassing Designs through rose-coloured glasses this year. With a number like 2020, it can't be anything but perfect vision ahead! I have plans for this year and I hope to bring them all to fruition. One step at time though so stay tuned! So we hope to chat with you this year either through Facebook, emails, blog comments, on the phone or walking across our threshold. If you get the chance to visit our colourful studio, there is a rainbow hug awaiting you! My slogan this year is Aahhh....the possibilities! I'm making a stencil to paint it on the wall with a hook for the exclamation mark! Cheers!   The holidays were a mixed bag of joy with a bit of the blues thrown in. Hubby was out working in Alberta and didn’t get home until December 30th so I put all of the celebrations on hold. His brother and wife arrived from Ontario on Christmas Day to keep me company. Being alone for the holidays was going to be a downer and I so appreciated their presence, their love, and all the laughs.
Our birthdays were the week before Christmas, mine on the 18th and hubby’s on the 19th. It seems for all our special occasions, birthdays’ anniversaries etc, he’s never home and then as time passes, we tend to forget them, but this year, once he was home, we celebrated with a carrot cake and toasted the new numbers with a great Pinot Noir. Then New Years eve followed on the 31st and we brought in the new year together. We dined on turkey on January 2nd. It was a whirlwind couple of days but joyous and exciting. This year Christmas blind sided me. It snuck up and caught me unprepared so I was beating the pavement a few days before Christmas doing last minute things. I’d put out the effort for our annual rug hooking Christmas pot luck on the 11th but when that was over, I quickly lost momentum. Perhaps feeling down about being alone sabotaged any desire to get things done. I didn’t even do any Christmas baking which in hindsight was probably a blessing. The mood I was in I might have eaten it all, instead I occupied my time reshaping the sofa cushions to fit my widening arse with little concern for much else. I dulled my mind with a slew of British renovating shows and food competitions, meaningless distractions from my disappointment. I kept saying it could be worse, no one died and I took comfort in that, but I think I deserved the right to feel a bit sorry for myself, there are so few things to celebrate and Christmas is the biggest and last hurrah before the end of an old year. When my sister-in-law phoned to say they planned to arrive on Christmas day, my spirits lifted like a helium filled balloon. I’d been playing Christmas tunes as if it was a cure for all that ailed me. The sparkling tree lights burned day and night in an attempt to levitate my spirits but did little to dent my ebbing enthusiasm. Company was the pill I needed to get out of my funk. I put the tree in by myself for the pot luck party and it was a challenge. It’s a man’s job, heck anything that you can break a fingernail over is a man’s job, and this one was awkward and pressed my buttons. I had to cut a foot off the stump to fit the tree in the house and that’s when I discovered the darn trunk was like the leaning tower of Pisa. The struggle to hold it straight in the stand straight while I tightened the bolts exhausted my vocabulary of swear words. The tree was as crooked as a ram’s horn and the branches on one side were a foot shorter than on the other with gaps between them too large to fill in with ornaments. I’m not sure why I picked this one, it was cold that day and I didn’t want to be a bother to the people who offered to drive me to a lot in their truck so I took the first one they stood up for me. It was an ugly ducking tree that I did my best to decorate into a beautiful swan but it ended up somewhere in-between. The dogs weren’t impressed as I struggled and mumbled a blue streak. They were watching me with big eyes, that asked ‘who are you crazy lady and where’s mom?’ By the time I was finished and satisfied it wouldn’t fall over, I put water in the trough. I was covered in sticky sap and needed a nap on the sofa. Then there was the ladder to the attic to contend with and hauling down the boxes of ornaments and lights. Once again, a man’s job, dangerous on my own schlepping all those containers and bags from the tiny hole in the ceiling while balanced on a small wooden ladder. It was exhausting so there was napping in-between trips up and down. By the time I got around to decorating the tree it was 1:00 AM. And that’s when I realized I hadn’t remembered to buy new lights. Last year some of the sets gave up the ghost and I forgot to buy more. I like lights, lots of lights, like hundreds of twinkling stars in my living room, but all I had were three sets of 50 each, hardly enough illumination to be seen from the moon. Last year I started something new. I ran a string of coloured lights down the trunk of the tree, wrapping them around the core. Then I used the white lights to do the outer branches. With only three small sets there wasn’t enough to cover the tree so the upper part didn’t have much sparkly. If you look at a tree through squinted eyes with the room lights off, its clearly noticeable how the placement is. Fortunately, the top of the tree is where the coloured lights show through the most so it hid the white light shortage but I clearly had more tree than lights this year. It’s wasn’t the best tree we’ve ever had but far from a Charlie Brown, and for some reason I hated to take it down. It lasted till the end of January sparkling up the place and filling me with blingy joy and it would shoot out its essence filling the room with a scent of spruce everyday as if to say thank you for keeping me around. I’ve never had a tree up past New Years day but there aren’t any rules to follow or break, it gave me joy, enough said. I kept our grain fed, free range turkey on ice until hubby arrived home. We decided to wait until after new years for the feast. We partied hard ringing in the new year, downing Dark & Stormys like it was a cure for old age and played games and cards with friends and family until the wee hours. We lit expired boat flares at the midnight hour and the sky radiated a pink glow. In lieu of lobsters that were in short supply, we opted for homemade pizzas which might be a new tradition, or at least an alternating one. They were deliscious and I discovered that the local pizza place sells raw dough and I bought two to make 16” pizzas for $3:00 each which eliminates messing around with dough at home. We only ever do turkey at Christmas and there is no better homey smell wafting throughout the house. I’m not a big fan of the meat, I find it dry, but it’s a tradition of my childhood that tugs on memories of mom and the incredible feast she always placed before us. It was tough not smelling it on Christmas, its part of the total magic of the day, but considering we basically treated it like any ordinary Wednesday, I got over it. We made butter chicken and a salad for our Christmas meal with lots of wine to wash it down that helped obscure my view of the empty chair at the other end of the table. When hubby arrived home and walked through the door, we locked eyes and smiled, hugged ever so tightly and once again, all was right in my world.  Every project I take on, I try not to make it one of those Make Work projects. I look for simple solutions and fast results, without compromising on quality. I took on our 15 Ornament pattern last year and got most of them hooked before the holidays but then Christmas came and went and New Years brought the business owner’s nightmare of inventory and year end and soon, they were forgotten. This year I picked them back up, determined to have them finished by Christmas and true to my word, they are hanging on the shop tree as of the 21st of December. That’s cutting it close but hey, they are done and will look fabulous in the shop all year long as a demo for the pattern on how great they are. (I also have drawn another 30 ornaments that will be ready to go after the holidays so in total there will be three patterns, each with 15 Christmas themed designs on the backing for a total of 45 lovely adornments for your tree, or gifts to give away. Stay tuned! I’ve been asked how I planned to finish them so I took photos along the various steps to share so here goes. There are other ways to do this job that require sewing and any time I can avoid the needle, which seems to go hand in hand with blood and swearing, I’m good. The first thing after any hooking project is completed is to steam it flat, especially for these small decorations to ensure that they will hang without curling. Next buy a super tacky, fabric glue that dries clear, flexible and fast. Not all of them do, I bought one that said quick drying but it took hours to be at a stage where I could cut them out. Price seems to be the factor; the bottles were priced from $1.97 to $4.97 and I should have doled out the cash for the higher priced one. The $1.97 bottle proved you get what you pay for, didn’t follow the promise the label offered of a quick dry so it took longer to complete the project. So, along the backside, glue around the ornament right to the edge of the outside row of hooking and smear it over the unhooked linen that surrounds it. You can smooth out any thicker clumps of glue so they don’t squeeze out when pressing the backing to the ornament. Keep a wet cloth handy for wiping your sticky fingers. After the glue dries take a sharp pair of scissors and cut out the ornament, up close to the edge of the outside row of hooking. Don’t worry, the glue will hold the backing in place and the outside edge of hooking won’t be compromised or fray. Work from the back side and angle the scissor blades slightly outward as not to accidentally cut into the loops. Once the ornament is cut out you can apply your hanger with glue. Use a decorative string, ribbon or jute hanger, even a strand of linen or burlap will do. The length you choose is a personal choice but keep in mind that you would need larger for longer needled trees and less length for shorter needles. Once that dries you can cut the backings for each ornament. I chose a complimentary piece of wool to match the main colours used in the ornament top but it isn’t really seen so a fun Christmas colour like red will do or perhaps a seasonal feeling plaid or velvet. You need to put the ornament right side up on the material and then trace around the edge with a pen or fine marker, angling it so the drawn line is close to the backing edge. Remove the ornament and cut out the pattern, trimming off the marker line to guarantee that it is the exact size needed. Now put glue all around the ornament edge on the backside. Do not leave gaps where the material won’t adhere to the ornament. Also add some of the glue to the inside of the back of the ornament so the material will fit snug everywhere and not bag or sag in the middle. Press firmly so it all sticks together, pinch the edges to make sure they are well adhered. You see a bit of the core of the backing along the edge sandwiched between the loops and the backing but it is hardly noticeable and does nothing to take away from the ornament. Of course, if you like to sew along the edges you can, just cut the material slightly larger around the shape of the ornament and then catch it along the edge and the edge of the loops and pull the thread to tug both sides together to close the gap. I opted out of doing it this way because the ornament had different colours along the edge and sewing the wool along it would show the areas where the colours didn’t match. And of course, there is that sewing thing that I struggle with. A person told that me you can glue a thin piece of ribbon along the edge of the ornament to hide the backing but I really don’t think it is necessary as once they were hung on the tree the eye is too busy admiring the beautiful front than traveling to the lack luster edge. The glue dries very quickly so I hung mine as soon as I had the backing on. They look fabulous and a Merry Christmas to the shop tree!
Adhering the decorative hanger before the backing goes on.  Cutting off the excess edging, angling the scissors so they don't cut the loop tops on the other side.  All cut out and waiting for the next step.
The shops Christmas Tree is now adorned with lovely little seasonal ornaments.
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Christine Little has been ranked #5 out of the 60 top rug hooking bloggers by Rug Hooking Magazine!
 
Max Anderson, Australia, recipient of my Nova Scotia Treasures rug. An award of excellence for promoting Canada through his writing.
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