Category:

Who'da thunk?

3/14/2016

Thursday of last week, while under the weather, my phlegm soaked brain was roused from sleep by hubby shouting that they were talking about Mahone Bay on CBC radio. The show is called, “Under The Influence” with Terry O’Reilly and This particular broadcast was titled Live and Let Buy: Where you live dictates what you purchase. Check it out for the full podcast. http://www.cbc.ca/radio/undertheinfluence

The postal codes don’t lie, according to online sex store, Pink Cherry, Mahone Bay with its population of under 1000, buys more BDSM (Bondage, Discipline, Submission and Masochism) products per capita than all of Canada. The larger cities barely make the list so I guess the rural communities are having all the fun, says Terry. And then Kentville, population of 6094 got a mention for ordering the most sex toys per capita than all of Canada. So there’s a lot of folks in Nova Scotia “gettin a bit of kink on”.

Terry O’Reilly mentioned that he should call a random number in Mahone Bay to ask what they think of this claim to fame. You could hear the phone book pages turning and then they dialed a number. It rang and rang. No one answered. His assistant’s comment? “They must be tied up”.    Ha ha very funny!

I live in Mahone Bay; been here all my life. I’m not sure how I feel about this designation although it was a chest busting moment when announced that we’ve been voted one of the five best places in Canada to live.   Exciting stuff considering our size, don’t blink going through our town or you could miss it!

I’m not one to cast stones, nor do I live in a glass house, and neither should anyone else considering the pension for rough play around these parts.   Although I really don’t care what consenting adults do, I’ll admit my curiosity has peeked…. I’ll be looking at people a bit differently, wondering how much whipping is going on behind closed doors, and I don’t mean finishing rugs.

My, my….little ole Mahone Bay and Kentville; what’s with Nova Scotia and sex? Is something in the town water system?

FYI - Hubby and I are on a drilled well....just sayin…..

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A little of this and that......

6/17/2014

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First, I wanted to share the view from my house at 5:00 am this morning. Usually I'm not conscious until at least 8:00 but Henri had to go outside. When I woke to him nuzzling my cheek, the room was flooded with pink. What beauty the world beholds!

Exciting news for rug hookers and wine drinkers, sometimes one of the same! Mary Doig's design, Mahone Bay Three Churches was selected to grace the a 2012 Marechal Foch wine from the Petite Reviere Vineyard!

Another new design hot off the drawing table called Better Idea. I'm not one to man bash but it's cute. Someone gave me the saying and asked to make it into a pattern. So here it is! Click the link for pattern details. http://www.encompassingdesigns.com/new-designs.html

Another cutey designed for Jean Wentzell. A whole lot of whimsey. Called Winter Games, it's all about snowmen fun. Skating, skiing, snowshoes and a toboggan. One guy wiped out and is face down in the snow. The trees are like candy canes. There is a lot of chance for colour here. Frosty's coat and all the funky houses. To view details click this link to my Seasonal Designs page http://www.encompassingdesigns.com/seasonal-designs.html

Working on V in the Initially Yours line of patterns. It's going to be more monochromatic this time with a hint of lime for the little motifs. It's going slower because of gardening till dark, leaving fewer hours for hooking.

At tomorrow evening's hook-in I will be serving the homemade doughnuts for those that couldn't make the daytime hooking last week. There were several complaints! So...one more chance to do the doughnut dance....then I'll shut up about them! Near or far, everyone is welcome!!!

Animal update - my little family of birdies are doing swell. They have feathers now and will probably leave the nest in about a week? Then I can tackle the weeds that are growing taller than the Peonies. I worked around them last night and momma scolded me the entire time. She's a great mom!

And Jack and Robert, my step daughter's Pomeranian's have both been adopted, I believe to the same home. Good luck sweeties!

Some pictures of the fruits of my labour!

This is the area where the nest is so the weeds and grasses are growing taller than the plants!

And I'll end with a bit of fun. Eileen Coady's version of Sue Cunningham's design "Beached". Great job Eileen, I especially love the bubbles/polka dots on the border to tie in the bathing suit. To view Sue's designs click the link: http://www.encompassingdesigns.com/sue-cunningham.html

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Am I really a control freak?

4/16/2014

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I've been accused of being a control freak a few times, maybe even this month! I like to think I have a passion for excellence, not that I have a need to control my universe. Some call me anal, but I take that as a compliment. Who wouldn't? It means I care about what I do and then do it to the best of my ability.

My son likes to pick and sometimes the joke is lost on me, same old stuff rehashed. He thinks I could let go of some of the mundane jobs I do at the shop, to free my time for the more important aspects of the business such as design and marketing. And he's right on that front. Heck, I would dearly love to do this, come to work every day and pump out a new design, maybe sit and hook it....well golly, that might be a preview of heaven.

My problems is the need for quality in all things. I strive for it and can't compromise in any way, shape or form. Not to the point where I become obsessive, sweat and wring my hands in a nervous way, no, but I do like being on the good side of perfection. In an age where the attention to detail is being flushed down the drain, along with patience and manners, I can't seem to get off my high horse to step down into mediocrity.

I have two new employees who are in various stages of training. One gal pretty much does patterns full time but that's because she is here for only a few hours a day, 10:30 - 2:00 and patterns are the stock I need most. She's fast and can pump out patterns quickly and we are getting orders out with a fast turnaround and stocking the back room for this years tourist boom.

The other gal works from 10:30 - 5:00 and because she is here for longer hours, she has been getting trained in different aspects of the business. She's a pouched employee from the Post Office so she's now in charge of mailing out our parcels, praise the lord. I sure handed that job off willingly, no tight grip on those reigns! She is also trained to do patterns. That's one of the biggest and most important jobs around here and labour intensive. They have to be transferred, then darkened, then the information needs to be written on and then sewn.

And this leads to my point today. All the sewing is done on my grandmother's machine, a hand-me-down that I covet and handle with kid gloves. My granny's initials are carved into the metal base, it's a very special hunk of metal!

It's a heavy duty Stylist, Singer machine, perfect for sewing the zig zag on burlap and linen. It's a busy machine too. Her motor is roaring for at least 1/2 - 1 hour a day, sometimes even more.   I have her maintained once a year, an ounce of prevention and all, because we couldn't go a day without her. So I'm protective and anxious about letting anyone use her except myself or Shane who is now too busy in the dye kitchen to be fiddling with sewing.

But we are so busy, I have to relax and trust that others will show the old gal the same respect and gentle touch. After Michelle made about a hundred patterns for kits this week and the sewing part loomed up, I groaned at the thought of having to do the job. So I decided it was time to hand the chore off. First we went through sewing 101 and she worked on a few scraps for the end bin and then she was off. It isn't rocket science; only a repetitive thing that needs a gentle hand. I kept an ear to the machine, I'm the appliance whisperer around here and like it when a machine purrs. My son dubbed me that because I can tell even while upstairs if the vacuum bag is too full or if the motor is running hard. I might have made a good mechanic if I didn't mind the grease under my fingernails, instead I opted for dye and marker stains.

So yesterday she sewed a bunch of patterns, impressively I might add. So you see, I have no problem letting go, I just want the job done as well as I would do it, shoot me if that's wrong.

Ironically, the machine broke down today, one day after letting a stranger touch her. It's nothing more than a coincidence but wow, what timing! In all honesty, it had been feeling tight for a few days, which I regretfully dismissed as nothing. Something seized in the motor so the running of the needle became a hard pull. She's now out for fixing and we won't have her back until Monday. We're saved by the fact that it's Easter weekend so she won't be needed while the shop is closed.

Here's an announcement I'd like to share.

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Jolly Roger ahoy......Arrrrrr.............

8/3/2013

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Mahone Bay will be overrun with pirates today. Young and old, male and female sporting eye patches, fake swords and growling Arrrrr. I was in the grocery store last evening and a little boy was running up and down the aisles hollering out "Arrr matey" brandishing a make believe sword. All but four he seemed quite familiar with the swashbuckler's jargon.

I usually try not to share opinions about things like politics and hot button issues so I don't offend or appear to take sides. For blogging I stick to topics that relate directly to me and massage it with self deprecating humour but for some reason I can't seem to hold my tongue about the pirates. I don't know why they irk me so. Maybe I'm a direct descendent, possibly of a sea admiral, overpowered, bludgeoned and thrown to the sharks by these ocean going savages. Even driving into work this morning I saw a bunch of made-up pirates hanging around the wharf and for the life of me, I just don't get the appeal of this frenzy.

Pirates were dirty, thieving, violent cut throats, probably the reason the coin was phrased. They are a very black part of our history, raping and pillaging their way through the centuries without an ounce of conscience.   Pirates made death an occupation, roaming the seas obliterating anyone that crossed their path so they could take their possessions. Why is that honoured?....really I wish someone could explain this so I understand. These blood thirsty villains were worse than any serial killer or possibly all of them combined, but we won't ever be having a Ted Bundy day! Well, I hope not! Why the pirate is glorified I can't fathom. Maybe I'm just a stick in the mud who doesn't know how to have fun, and I don't know why I take such verbal offense because I'm usually just sitting on the fence minding my own business.

I suppose Johnny Depp had something to do with the craze, but truthfully I didn't get those movies either. Cover that handsome face and what is left? The violence and body count in that movie had to be in the thousands. Why do we want to pretend to be the blood thirsty and the immoral. What does that say about us? Even amongst the pirate den of thieves there was no loyalty, shiver me timbers alright, one had to be afraid to turn their back or there might be a knife stuck in it.

So I'll admit I'm a killjoy over the topic, so tie me to the mizzenmast and let the sun bake me bones and gulls pluck out me eyes Rrrrrr. In a time when people jump on a soap box protesting violent cartoons, giving Wile Coyote a hard time because he blows things up on the hunt to catch the road runner, well, all I can say is at least he's after food, not killing for the sake of killing, or worse, for something as trivial as a farthing.   Somehow the pirate has managed to worm his way into favour, with that blackened toothed smile and rum soaked breath. I don't find them sexy, they don't turn my crank....."Ahoy matey, no matey with me!"

So I've tried to put my feelings aside and get inspired for the festival. I said to myself, "Myself, who am I to rain on the pirate lover's parade?" If pirates are fun to the masses, maybe they know something I don't and you have to be open to new things.   So I designed and hooked a Jolly Roger to commemorate the event and made up a few kits for the skull and cross bone enthusiast. And I'll say Arrr...but it's more of a sigh. I'll keep my mouth shut so people don't say, "Thar she blows! "

There I said my peace....hope the town doesn't make me walk the plank for having a contrary opinion!

Arrrr...a basket of Captain Kit's treasure. Hook me if you dare!

Arrrrrr...the sheep have gone over to the dark side. They're tired of being peed on and the next dog that lifts its leg, the owner will be forced to walk the plank! Argh!

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Cancelled Hook-in this Wednesday June 5th

6/4/2013

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Sorry gals....my eyes are still not right and I don't want to push myself any longer than working days. Evenings I rest, eyes closed and horizontal. Every day is an improvement though.   I hope to be right as rain soon!   I know one thing....no coffee for a week!

I just can't help myself....I need to share. My yard wafts of the sweet scent of summer. Lilacs, a perfume that teases the olfactory for a couple of weeks every year with it's heavenly bouquet. Of course I love the purple ones best, a feast for the eye as well as the nose, but I think the white ones are just as lovely, elegant and regal, reminding me of nuptials and weddings and all things pure and good.

Although I love them on the tree, I always pick some and bring their potency inside. It soothes me like a warm, sudsy bath, transporting me back to childhood days and the grove of trees dripping with clusters of flowers that I played among. The lilac tree will always remind me of childhood, a door to the past always open. They remind me of my mother but for different reasons. She never liked them. Argued they smelled way too strong and were too full of bugs. But when I picked her little bouquets she would put them in a vase because they were a gift from me.

My mother always disliked lilacs in the house because in her time they were used for funerals. Years ago the recently departed were laid out in the parlour and the heady scent of lilacs mingled with the pong of death, so they always brought negative memories to the front. I am so thankful I can enjoy the precious lilac without sad memories to taint them; so happy to welcome them into my home like an old friend. So pretty, so sweet, so utterly divine.

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New bags and resident artist!

5/31/2013

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This fabulous gold foil label was designed by Meg Craig-Weins of Sailor Studio.

Ah…what an evening. No rain and sunny skies. It doesn’t get better than this. I was even compelled to do a bit of weeding in the garden after a lazy meal of cob salad and barbequed steak.

All of a sudden summer seems possible. A sail sloop, the first for the season tacked its way into the harbour while we sat on the back deck and admired the view. They gave us a show by taking down the mainsail right in front of the house, it flapped in the wind and the sound was music to our ears, a true song of summer!

The rhubarb has already gone to seed and that might be normal for this time of year but I just seem to be behind in my thinking. Maybe we had so much rain this spring that I’m finding it difficult to catch up.

My new sticker has arrived for our sales bags. As shiny as a new penny they are classy and high end looking. The contrast of the embossed gold foil on the navy and red bags is s showstopper. The shop also has shopping carts to pick up at the door and stuff full of wool!

I had two classy guys sticking the labels on the bags. Hubby in the back with my bro-in-law Terry. Cheap labour...works for wine and chocolate.

We’ve had company for the past two weeks. Hubby’s brother and wife and this maritime holiday isn't just for site seeing or mulling about, Carenie is a professional artist and has been working upstairs in my studio sketching and painting. Friends stopping by to meet her have been photographed and sometimes sketched as future models for her work. It is amazing to watch her work and see a blank canvas or piece of art paper transform into a piece of art, full of character, colour and thought provoking splendour. You can check out Carenie's site at http://www.clittle.ca/

She has inspired me to begin mental preparation for the project I have in mind. I bought a canvas at Michael's this past week and previously bought all new brushes. The oil paints I had moons ago are still fresh and soft in their tubes. I plan to paint something for the shop along the hooking theme to hang over the mantel in the new addition. Probably two friends hooking. I used to paint and remember the smell of the oils, it will be like a trip down memory lane to a childhood home. I have no expectations so I shouldn't be disappointed so that only leaves room for surprise.

It was fun having company and they cooked and washed dishes. Those are the kind of house guests to have so I asked when they planned on coming back!

Carenie does these amazing sketches. She just starts in a spot and adds to it, finding a story on the white paper. Everywhere you look there is something new to discover. Truly amazing. She traded the finished piece for some computer work by Shane, he was happy!

My sister-in-law Carenie, a professional artist from Ontario.

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Dumpster diving on Mother's Day.....

5/13/2013

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Now I don't flatter myself in thinking I would look this good head down in a dumpster, I might be more inclined to be rubber suited from head to toe. There must be something pretty darn good in that bin to risk breaking one of those pretty red fingernails.   The word that comes to mind when I look at this picture?  "Push."

I found the most fantastic thing in the garbage outside of a shop in town. If I'm honest, it wasn't a dumpster I dove into....it was just some castoffs along the side of the road. I just love those words, DUMPSTER DIVING!  I like the way it sounds, how it rolls off the tongue. It sounds like a fun thing to do, minus the smells, rotten food and the yuck factor.   It's amazing no one has pitched a TV show called Dumpster Diving with Martha or something to that effect.

Big dump day is tomorrow in Mahone Bay. A chance to clear out all the junk one accumulates.   We are crapless at our house, so to speak; we've purged over the last several years until there's nothing left to chuck. Our clan harboured a pretty serious hoarder and there is always that niggling fear that I might be carrying the gene so I go out of my way to purge on a regular basis just to prove I can.  My auntie was just as bad, if not worse, than some you see on television except she limited her collections to the inside of her house so managed to stay under the radar and appear normal. Well, I'll use that term loosely, she had a whole bag of weird tricks, maybe where I get it from.   Witnessing that kind of madness leaves a lasting impression so I go out of my way to throw, give away or burn anything that I haven't used in a five year period. If it's been sitting around that long you can live without it and once it's out of sight you never miss it.

So I was heading to work this evening and there on the lawn of a shop was this fabulous rack. It was raining so we pulled up close and hubby jumped out and threw it in the trunk and we sped away, hopefully unseen.  It's a well made, very nicely appointed display rack. A lazy Susan style (is this politically incorrect?...it's rather offensive to the Susan's of the world)  Anyway, it turns 360 which is perfect for the dye cards I plan to design for individual spot formulas and possibly pots as well.   Cards with a single formula, instructions and a sample of the wool it creates. We have so many new formulas that we can't keep up with books so I thought it might be nice to have individual cards.

It is a bit of a law breaker to pick through another persons garbage and morally repungnant, or that's what I used to think before I became a member of the trash collector's alliance. There's actually a bylaw in town prohibiting it, but it's never enforced probably because it costs the town less for removal. I've always wondered who would do this sort of thing and what they might be looking for. Guess now I know first hand. I know I've thrown out some pretty lame things in the past; real bona fide, absolutely useless garbage and it's all gone by morning. I wonder if those people are hoarders?

So I had a rather strange Mother's Day. My son presented me with a large vase of pink tulips and wonderful card yesterday and we thought we might go out for dinner this evening but I had to work so we postponed it until Monday. I was very bad Saturday evening and stayed up late with friends and watched a movie, Parental Guidance, a funny little thing with Bette Midler and Billy Crystal.    After the movie we chatted until late and after they went home hubby crawled on the sofa and nodded off and I headed for the computer to jot down  a few thoughts for blogs.  The next thing I knew the sun was coming up so I figured it was time for bed. A bad way to start my only day off!

So I slept in until noon, got up and felt like crap, had a coffee and yawned and moaned for the next few hours that I didn't want to leave the house. I lounged around in my jammies and finally made breakfast around 4:30, wonderful muffins and the fact wasn't lost on me that I had to make my own breakfast, but in hubby's defense I'm not his mother.   So by the time I got out of my own way, showered and dressed it was 7:00 pm and running out of time to get the work done that was necessary for a customer to pick up tomorrow.

So I'm at the shop and the tunes are rocking and I'm working at a pace reserved for marathon runners trying to beat the clock and get home before midnight. I love working in the shop late at night, all alone with music so loud it changes the beat of my heart. Music pumps me up and I work like a demon under its influence. If people looked in the window they would have caught me bopping around and singing my heart out, probably heard me through the plate glass windows and through the cracks in the doorjamb. I don't care or I would have been wearing makeup!

Music makes me feel young, the good kind of young, like a teenager. I've always wanted to sing in a band and I've flattered myself into thinking I would be good enough to try.  If I ever get the time I want to take a few singing lessons so I can realize the dream to act in a musical play. I'd even try Karaoke but I'm never anywhere that might happen. Just a few of my bucket list items that need to be scratched off.   I can carry a tune but that doesn't mean anyone would want to listen so a few lessons would help......or at least be told the truth, "Stick to the shower!"

When I listen to rock and roll, the old stuff of my time, it turns me into a wild thing. I just want to run out the door and head to the nearest bar to dance my heart out. I can't imagine my life without music. I would rather loose my sight than my hearing. I also know, can guarantee, that when I'm 80 or 90 I'll be listening to loud music, especially if I'm partially deaf...... I will never be an old fart that can't stand the loud noises of the youth. If I ever say, "turn that down" or "I can't hear myself think sonny", I'll be ready to pack it in. Music moves me more than any other stimulant. Tonight when Van Morrison's Brown Eyed Girl started playing I swooned.   Maybe it's good I don't go to dances or hang out in bars, the music might make me fast and loose, probably try to make out with the drummer or lead guitar guy.

I'm always up for dances but none of my friends care. No one wants to have that kind of fun anymore. The joints creak and no one can stay up late. Yawning and dancing is like oil and water, it doesn't mix. I guess I'm a 54 year old teenager at heart!   Most think I'm a stick in the mud type but when I get revved up and break loose I'm a force to be reckoned with. If I'm lucky enough to make it to a dance I'm up on the floor for every number, all by myself if need be. I've been called a dancing fool and say "Thanks!"   Gee, the last dance we  attended must be a decade ago, Joe Murphy and Waterstreet Blues band, a zydeco, blues group that played at the Petite Reviere firehall. How sad for me!   I'm really no good at dancing but I love the way music makes me feel and I need to match the beat with gyrating, jittering motion, I couldn't stand still if I wanted too.    If music is playing I'm moving....it's an automatic reflex.   Maybe I need some hip new friends! Young ones with a sense of adventure or older gals young at heart, with working sparkplugs and dancing shoes.

So that was my fabulous mother's day. I suppose it was typical for me, in that it wasn't typical.

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Que Sera, Sera Whatever Will Be, Will Be

3/21/2013

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I was driving by this building early spring of 2007 and a voice in my head said, "You should buy that building and move your shop into it." The voice sounded like mine but it was a strange experience, enough so that I pulled over to the side of the street to think about it. Now I'm no stranger to talking to myself but I don't usually hear voices, and a voice it was, as if someone was sitting next to me. It was weird!

I looked at the building as if seeing it for the very first time. I'd driven by it almost daily and never gave it a second thought.   It was old, ugly and tired looking, nothing to inspire warm thoughts and being familiar with renovating it looked like a money pit. It was on the market for years and no one even cared to look because of the work involved to bring it up to code and give it charm. It wasn't cheap but for location, location, location, it was an excellent deal and one of the few remaining fixer upper commercial spaces in town. I called hubby and he said go for it.

The building had worn many hats over the years. When I was very young it was a Honda Shop, before my time it was the town grocery store, and over the years it has been made into apartments, commercial spaces and finally a junk store, new to you trash and treasures.

I had a bit of personal history with the building. Back in the day when it was made into apartments I had my first kiss in one of the units. A very popular boy, several grades higher took a fancy to me and we made arrangements to sneak him in while I babysat. After a bit of hand holding, TV, conversation and acting gooey eyed, I had my very first kiss. I was 14 years old and knew nothing about love, but my heart went flippity flop. The kiss was gentle and tender and I marveled at the softness and warmth of his  lips.

Truthfully, I was amazed this guy liked me. He was so handsome and popular and I was a wallflower of grand proportions, not popular and kind of geeky. Since I turned 13 I was in full blown loathing mode, systematically picking my body apart and finding fault with everything. My ears stuck out; my head was too large; my feet were too sweaty, my arm pits too; my hair was too thin; my eyes were too far apart; my chin gigantic; my nose too small; greasy skin; zits galore; legs like a chicken; scrawny, stick-like arms; I had so many moles I could play connect the dot, and breath that seemed worse than the average bear. Yup I was a mess as my body started to morph into a woman so who would believe this handsome guy gave me a second glance, let alone wanted to kiss me.

If I close my eyes I can still remember the way he looked at me. As I walked toward him, down the long hall at school, it was as if I was the only person alive; an incredible butterfly-in-the-stomach experience. We hung around for awhile, kissing and holding hands but it never went further than that. We saw each other on the sly, mostly at school, as my parents weren't keen on any dating before I was thirty. They had me on lock down most of the time so I couldn't go out and hang with the gang so our budding love slowly fizzled out.   But I still remember the way he looked at me as if he could see into my soul. What a lovely trip down memory lane!

By the time we bought the building it was condemned and rotten. Surprisingly, the structure was still solid but I swear there is only one old board left in the place. If this building was a body we would have stripped it to down to the skeleton and then rebuilt it, better than ever. Every window, door, piece of trim, flooring, walls, ceilings, plumbing, insulation and wiring is new. It turned into exactly what I thought, a money pit!

When we tackled our first renovation, the house we live in now, we watched the movie "The Money Pit" and we laughed our asses off. So bloody funny we thought. Well, we learned first hand there's nothing funny about throwing money down a sink hole. We learned the hard way that a renovation is nothing but deep pockets and patience. And Murphy's law haunted us, as one thing got fixed two other things broke down and we were constantly begging for loans and increases in our line of credit. The week we took possession of our house, the well pipe collapsed and things went down hill after that. It's a good feeling to save a building from being torn down, and it's a lovely piece of real estate, but you have to go into it with eyes wide open and account for cost overruns and unrealistic estimates or you'll be bankrupt. But, like labour pains and childbirth, you quickly forget all the angst, pain and suffering and are willing to try your hand at it again whenever opportunity presents itself.

What a lovely building for my shop. The interior was designed specifically for my studio so everything is laid out and built around my requirements. We gave the plain outside a facelift, making it look as traditional as possible. As you can see in the middle picture we stripped off that salon style front facade and continued the roof line in a slant. The window sizes remained the same but everything you see is new construction, new clapboard, shingles and windows etc.

We painted the building in primary colours, my favourites, but also to reflect all the dyeing we do. It was supposed to be an eye catcher from the monument to entice the visitors to town to come up the street, hopefully saying "hey there's some good stuff up here too". Normally the traffic follows the left route down through the center of town, and that is fine. I don't need 6,000,000 people through the shop...just a comfortable 10,000 will do!    The buildings next to it, a green residential home and then the dog shop are all colourful eye catching buildings so we are a draw for foot traffic up to this part of town...and then of course we lead to Suttles & Seawinds, a long established retail outlet that's a must see.

You'll find this hard to believe, or maybe that's just me, but at first the colour choice was met with opposition. People were offended by the two tone building and we were told frequently that we should rethink the colour scheme. I had a vision and felt their opinions weren't founded in any kind of sense, so we went ahead and did what no one in town had ever done, split the building into two colours with a golden yellow to pull it together.   People would walk by and drop a comment, like a hit and run car accident, leaving "Yuck" to resonate in our ears.   One woman said as she hurried by on her way to church, "If I had known you were going to use those colours I would have suggested you stick with the gray primer." Really? Well, halleluiah to you too!

So, we went ahead and painted the building and now that it's blended into the street scape and grown on the closed minded, we get compliments up the yin yang. We've been on the TV show Haven, providing a colourful backdrop to a few scenes and tourists stop and take pictures all the time. Now, we are told we should receive an award for cleaning up the neighbourhood, saving a piece of Mahone Bay history and painting it so attractively. Like fungus, things just need to grow on some people so just blaze the trail and do the wait, they'll come around to your way of thinking.

I love my building. When I walk in the door it feels like home.  I have the entire left side for my business. Upstairs is my teaching/workshop area and an office. There is a place for my rack of backings and a wide staircase that is not original to the building and sports an antique newel post and railings purchased from a local antique store. I made the steps extra wide so I could use it to display all of the frames we sell and also to make it grand like a Gone With The Wind staircase to over compensate for the plain one in our house.  To me the staircase is the backbone of a dwelling, it should be grand and over the top. Our home will never fill that need in me so I designed the shop to pick up the slack elsewhere in my life.

We used wide mouldings that would normally be found in buildings from that era and real hardwood flooring that needed to be sanded and varnished, none of the prefinished click clack stuff. We paid attention to every detail, not scrimping or cutting corners to give the building a facelift deserving of it's time. Would we do it all again? You betcha. We have a hunky bit of real estate in a wonderful little town.   She's a pretty building and an added attraction for sure...although I could be a bit on the bias side. So Que Sera, Sera, whatever will be will be. It was obviously meant to be, that little voice told me so.

This is the one old board that remained after the renovation. The date on the newspaper is December 21, 1868.

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Why in blazes can't I sleep?

3/14/2013

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Written Tuesday evening........

Well it’s started again. My old nemesis insomnia has come a calling. Is it a full moon or something?   I had a brief reprieve but its back with a vengeance. I made the mistake of having a wee nap after work, not intentionally, just fell asleep after dinner and that might be the culprit, we’ll see if it repeats itself like a belly after beans.

Not being able to sleep is like having a broken blind. No matter how much you tug on the cord it won’t close.   You play with it a bit but to no avail and finally give up trying. Then all of a sudden it comes crashing down and hits the window sill. At last sleep. But then of course you can’t get up in the morning, cause that’s when the body decides it’s time for rest and the body gets what the body wants.

So I tossed and turned and rolled around like a chicken on spit until I thought screw it, got up and went downstairs for my computer. It’s called a laptop and although I’ve never moved it from the dining room table I figured it was time to serve the purpose it was intended for. I purchased one of those things that keep the computer from overheating and burning out the motor from your lap heat and it comes with a mouse pad and a wrist rest, rather comfortable for typing actually…I see more writing in bed in my future.   So I spent from 5:00 am to 6:30 am throwing down some thoughts and then decided if I could grab two hours before the alarm went off that would be enough to get me through the day. Well, the alarm went off and I was so deep in sleep I didn’t hear it. It runs for two hours and then shuts off automatically and interestingly I awoke after the booming voice stopped....I guess the stark quiet disturbed my brain. Luckily Chelsea is in helping me out a bit this week so the shop is open, but that’s a luxury I won’t be able to count on when I’m back to being a onesy. Aw well, maybe this is the time to take a breather as there’s a lot of year left ahead of me. This just might be all the vacation I get this year.

Earlier in the evening after my nap, I was watching a PBS broadcast about yoga for arthritically challenged people. There were lots of testimonials on how yoga is saving their bodies from atrophying.   Older women in their late 80’s say they have no stiffness in their joints, no pain in their fingers even though they are disfigured with arthritis. I do believe in the benefits of yoga and might give it another chance.

I signed up for a local class a couple of summers ago but being a newbie I didn’t know the moves and hurt myself a bit. We were told not to force it or go further than our comfort level but I wasn’t instructed on the proper position of each move, thought it was fine, overdid it and was pretty sore. I would like to be shown how to property construct the moves, not be left to flounder on my own and figure it out by spying on the person next to you while trying to keep up. The instructor never left her position at the head of the class and that was okay for all the experienced people in the room but I didn’t know yoga from a hole in the wall and could have benefited with a bit of instruction.   So my first experience with a class left me a bit cold but I am willing to give it another go with another instructor. There is a morning show on our local cable station that I should tape to try. Not being much of a morning person and not wanting the stress of the 7:30 deadline I'll just set the magical Eastlink cable box to record the show and watch it at my convenience...just like I do with my favourites.

I’m a fan of Coronation Street and watch it every evening with dinner, it records daily so I don’t have to be home at 7:30. I’ve been watching the show as long as I’ve been hooking, introduced to me by Mary Doig all of 14 years ago.   I’m a bit disappointed that the show is now on par with England’s broadcasts as in the past we have been almost a year behind so there was always the ability to read ahead to get the skinny on what might be happening. Now you just have to wait and see. Like Christmas presents I always like a little sneak peek, especially if a story line is particularly juicy and I don’t want to wait for the next episode. Someone in England writes a blow by blow account of each episode and you can go online and read all 40 years’ worth of shows. Corrie fans are everywhere and in the past, our prime minister has postponed calling an election until after the show as not to pre-empt the broadcast and piss the country off. No politician wants disgruntled Corrie fans when they are after votes. Funny, to know the popularity and long running history, I can't seem to find many people who admit watching it.

For those of you who don’t know anything about the show it’s been running over 40 years and is nothing like regular North American soap operas. This is a show with a fast paced plot, if someone is murdered on Monday you pretty much know who did it by Friday. No year long suspense as the storyline is dragged out to infinity. Mt attention span likes the quick turn around but what attracts me the most is the clever comedic writing.

The past few years the show has seen a lot of change, taking a few hits to the older characters as they are either dying (sometimes in real life) or being replaced to attract the younger audiences. I
know things can’t stay the same forever but all the kids and on the show might make it more appealing to the younger viewers but I’m not a big fan of teenage drama. I’d prefer a few more murders on the street, maybe the offing of whiney Gail Platt. After all the losers she’s married you’d think one of them would have successfully bumped her off, because it's not from the lack of trying. She just doesn’t inspire any sympathy in me. She’s a nosy interfering biddy, the kind of neighbour I would hate in real life. Her sanctimonious attitude is what irks me but if the truth be told, her character is obviously doing something right to evoke that kind of annoyance so she's playing the part well.

She just got duped by the guy her mother was in love with and let me tell you, I’ll bet all of England cheered as she got her comeuppance. But she’s a flexible one, little less than a week later and her feathers are ruffled and she’s all righteous again. My mother always said, a skunk smells its own hole first, but she never does, somehow her own faults are lost on her. Now she’s hell bent on telling a secret that will destroy her children’s lives.   Rich coming from someone who bends the rules for convenience, hers that is. How many women would try to run off with the love of their mother's life?   She's pretty selfish on the loyalty scale, but God forbid someone else makes a mistake or she's on them like fleas on a dog. Yup, someone could bump her character off and I wouldn't blink.

Every now and then I swear I’ll stop watching the show and a couple of years ago I did for a year when we cut the cable in pursuit of a more active life…it was that or have the sofa surgically removed from my arse. I was becoming a pretty dedicated couch potato, wasting my life away while my brain turned to mush. I was wonderfully productive during that cableless period and I truthfully didn’t miss it. Like any addiction, remove the enticement and your focus is shifted elsewhere. But, somehow the cable got turned back on, someone must have phoned and had it reconnected…..

One aspect of Corrie I’ve always found amusing. No one in England, at least not the ones who have visited my shop will admit they watch it. During the first couple of years in business, I stupidly asked anyone with an English accent if they were fans of the show. Well, talk about getting the head bitten off, I was put in my place in no uncertain terms. One woman was so indignant she stuck her nose in the air and loudly showed proclaimed, “I’ll have you know that England is nothing like that!”

After several, much the same, responses, I kept my mouth shut. So much for trying to build a common denominator with a customer. Apparently no one over there watches the show, nor do they in Mahone Bay. The same thing happened when I queried some of the local imports. Once again, no one watches the show, and it’s an insult to be asked.   I asked a neighbour and she totally dismissed me, but in a very lovely accent, and later when I asked her husband if she was in as I had something for her, he told me that you couldn't pry her from the TV with a crowbar when Coronation Street was on, so come back later. So I've uncovered yet another closet corrie fan.   But why lie? Where’s the shame? I’d be more ashamed to admit I watched Honey BooBoo (and I don't!) Corrie’s a classic, the oldest running soap opera in the world, with very clever writers. Why lie?

It’s like country music. No one will admit listening to it but it’s boosts the highest grossing sales of all the music genres. Turning defensive as if listening to a bit of George Jones makes you an inbred, county bumpkin. I think there are worse things in life than worrying if someone will find out you enjoy a bit of twang. I’m not ashamed to admit it, I love country music, like Barbara Mandrel I was raised on a steady diet of country. The old style, turkey in the straw, hurtin kind. The old joke what do you get when you play country music backwards?…you get your wife back, you get your house back, you get your truck back, your dog back….

I grew up in a house of music. Every Saturday night there was a jam session. My father was a self taught, amateur musician who played a bit of honky tonk piano, guitar, mouth organ and fiddle. He played by ear alongside Fiddling Jim Hamn, Little Buddy and Austin Younis with his steel guitar and accordion. Our house vibrated with a country hum. I would lie on my belly till the wee hours of the morning watching the party through the register vent in my bedroom. Too nosy to miss a thing, I would linger until my body was numb and I’d inhaled a cartons worth of
cigarette smoke. Adults had so much fun back then, kitchen parties, dancing, drinking and singing to the old time favorites and laughing like there was no tomorrow.

I got my first guitar for Christmas at age 12. My father gave me my first lesson which yielded the basics to play Tennessee Waltz, Bouquet of Roses and then Please Release Me Let Me Go. You can play a lot of songs with a magic trio of G, A7 and D. I was a soft strummer, quiet and shy just like my personality. It was evident that I wouldn't be blazing any blue grass trails but my friend Cheryl Benedict and I both played together and sang in a talent contest at the Legion. We wrote and performed a tune called “Candy Cone Mountain”, I can’t remember any of the words but it was probably hokey and love related. Being two wallflowers, neither of us had any experience with boys or with romantic love so maybe the title of the song was the only good part. We didn’t win but we had fun and there’s a picture somewhere to commemorate the evening, The other memory is wearing the brand new pheasant blouse hot from my mother's sewing machine.   I often wonder where Cheryl is these days, I think of her often. We were best buds for a couple of years; if I close my eyes I can see her face as if it was yesterday. If she walked in my shop today I would recognize her step and her voice.

So I started out with a bit of insomnia and then jumped to yoga, then touched on Corrie which led to country music in just a few sentences. Now there’s a weird bridge. That’s why playing with words is so much fun; one word leads to another and a whole bunch more and all of a sudden you have a story.

I've come a long way from the blue leotards and a green vest. Thankfully my colour planning skills have improved! Here I am at age 12 with my new red gee tar! This must be just before I got my first pair of glasses.

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I'm back to work and on the mend!

3/8/2013

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Well, I’ve crawled from my bed and see the light at the end of the tunnel. I'm at work today but it's a slow deal. I coughed so hard last night I did something to my hip so I'm a bit gimpy and maybe a tinge grumpy. The simple cold with the odd sniffle and sneeze of our youth is no longer what's attacking us.....this was full on war. Like some sort of political germ warfare. I wouldn’t offer this to my worst enemy. Well, maybe just one or two…...

The nose has stopped dripping but remains plugged...thickening means there’s an end in sight. Yah! I’m coughing more than sneezing now, and I've been watching for signs that it's traveling south to my lungs, so far so good. My throat is as rough as an unpaved road so I sound pretty gravelly when I speak, like a hard core, 100 year old smoker. I’m drinking copious amounts of water to hydrate my poor chapped lips and flush this crap out of my system and I’m downing green tea with Lemon like there's no tomorrow.   So that's where I am health wise.

While convalescing I watched a bit more TV than normal, there being nothing else to do. And now I feel compelled to rant bit. I guess that's a sign I'm on the mend.

Off and on, in between naps on the sofa, I would awaken to shows in progress. Things that would normally not appeal to me but I didn’t have the grey cells to concentrate on anything I had to follow closely. One of the channels had a series of attention getters, giant tumours, a man with only half a body, the Bubble Man and other medical abnormalities that people have to endure. I like being informed but this sort of programming always makes me a bit angry. I just wish they are done for more altruistic reasons, instead of being about shock value and ratings. I’ve always felt the main reason for these documentaries and the so called ‘reality’ shows is exploitation. Cheaply made shows where they don’t have to pay actors to fill time slots.

They search until they find the strangest misfortunes, stomp through their lives and then walk away. Sometimes there's the benefit of surgery to improve or save their lives and other times not. Regardless of the outcome, these a whole lot of homing in on the suffering and focusing on the abnormality; showing the same shots over and over, zooming in during the operation to show all the bloody gore, finishing with a shot of the result and then you never hear of these people again. If there was an update on their condition down the road I might have a better opinion as to the reason it was done in the first place but there never is.   These people are mainly used for our shock and entertainment and quite frankly, I’m angry where television is going with its peep show mentality.

Just like all those true crime shows, they are meant to shock without much regard for the grieving families of the victims.   We live in a society that is fed a steady diet of infamous serial killer’s but not one of us know any victims names. Times have changed; it seems we have become so desensitized by violence and death that we need even more gore to be put off our popcorn. Another show I watched was “Criminal Minds”. When the show first aired I used to be a fan, until I got grossed out as they wrote in more sadistic plots and showed dead bodies ripped and mutilated. Now I know they aren’t real bodies but they are fairly well done and can sometimes cause a shudder down the spine and a quick check to make sure the doors are locked.   Also, what happened to the code that women and children are never defiled or killed? Everything is fair game in a crime show these days, its a no holds barred, no taboo world.

And speaking of children, they no longer have the strict bed time cut offs that were enforced in my generation. Teenagers and God forbid even younger, impressionable minds are watching these shows…what kind of message we are sending them?   Maybe in a few years cutting the eyelids off of a woman, and legs sawn off one body and sewn on another won’t bother me, I’ll be so desensitized I’ll need a higher level of depravity to turn my head away. There is no longer a story for the sake of a story; it’s just patches of unimaginable gore to hold our attention while less interesting filler plugs the gaps in between.   Maybe I’m cynical but I’m growing tired of paying for cable when it offers little in the way of real entertainment, just show after show of frightful murders and dismembered bodies.

And then I have a beef with all this Reality TV. It offends me in so many ways. It's all riddled with questionable motives and believe me, there isn’t that much reality. Regular lives aren’t that exciting; it’s all scripted for entertainment value.   Maybe the networks should check what the words 'real' and 'reality' mean in the dictionary. Maybe these people aren’t memorizing lines but they are adlibbing their way through the show following a guideline. As far as I am concerned, Survivor, the granddaddy of all this reality craze, was the ruination of TV.

On occasion I’ve joked around about pitching a rug hooking reality show to the networks, but of course it would have to be altered and scripted. No one would want to watch a bunch of lovely, talented women showing passion for fiber art. We could call the show “Big Sister”, a shut in group of controversial hookers held up in a house, stealing each other’s wool, being critical of each other’s work, copying designs, undermining and back stabbing, vying for power, cat fights over a piece of plaid, brawls and trucker language. Maybe let the women out every now and then so they could bribe judges at juried shows, sleep with each other’s fellers or carry a baseball bat to second hand stores to gain the upper hand for a piece of recycled the wool. And all for the big prize, a trip to the Dorr Mill Store for all the wool they can carry…..(Hey, maybe you wouldn’t have to script that kind of reaction for a prize like that!)  So how would that be for a reality show..…just like real life right? Of course not!!! But that’s the only way to grab today’s audience.   No one, except you and me, wants to watch a rug hooking show where everyone is nice to one another, trading ideas and sharing wool, showing support and complimenting each other on their work. That kind of goody-two-shoes pilot wouldn’t make it out of the can unless of course it was a low budget, local cable show that no one cared about.

Reality shows need an edge and most real lives aren’t that exciting, at least not enough to fill show after show, week after week. Without the added spice it would be like watching paint dry.    Real life is now designer TV with edgy, off the wall people, foolish, fame hungry, pot stirring, Hatfield and McCoy types, that’ll slap you as quick
as look at you.

There aren’t any June Cleaver role models anymore. To spin a reality show you have to hunt and kill something…like a gater, blow something up, compete over cakes and pastries; be obnoxious with the table manners of pigs, be a group of spoiled, cosmetically enhanced housewives, scream at chefs to perform impossible tasks under pressure , or be potty mouthed and scrappers. And then all those shows where they take thousands of people and dangle the fame carrot in front of them only to snatch it through a mass elimination. Does anyone give a second thought or care about the people they cut, throw off or send to the box truck baby? All those broken dreams and hopes crushed; collateral damage just to entertain us. Some of those shows feature real people, like you and me, hoping for a break in life, hoping to live the “dream”, but they were all just pawns, used to make money and are then cast aside without a care.
Sure one lucky person always wins, but does that balance out all the pain and devastation of those who lose? When I watch those shows I think of controversial books such as the “The Hunger Games”, and George Orwell’s 1984. Shows like American Idol, The Voice and the X Factor, to name a few, really aren’t all that far removed. Remember the Colosseum? The blood soaked arena? Wasn’t that a last man standing sort of show?

Controversy is what sells TV. Watching these contestants crumble and cry as their dreams go up in smoke is entertainment. They make sure they stick that camera in for the close-up of the dream ripped apart. But interestingly, you usually don’t see the level headed contestant who accepts their fate quietly, no they push the camera at the one who is more likely to punch out the camera guy, chase them down for a comment.   Are we now so bored with our own lives that we have become a voyeuristic society that views the humiliation and suffering of others entertainment?

Sorry, I'll get down off my soap box....maybe it's all the phegm. There's so little on TV worth watching these days....it's a sad reality!

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Different strokes for different folks......

3/5/2013

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Written Monday evening...

Well today was the best of times and the worst of times. I managed to get lots of work done but my nose ran the entire day. It’s hard to be positive when you feel like your head is in a vice squeezing body fluids out your nose. Thank goodness for the invention of Kleenex although I’m not happy at the number of trees that were sacrificed to wipe away my nasal drip.   If you have a few dollars to spare buy stock in tissue immediately as I know their profits will soar until this cold is brought to its knees. Well…enough about the mucus. You’ve all had colds, you know the score but stay tuned for updates from Phlegm Central.

I worked a bit late and came home around 7:00 to forage for food. I wasn't overly hungry but I know I need to fuel my body. I never know which is right, starve a fever, feed a cold or vice versa. Regardless, I have to eat to keep my blood sugar regulated so whether I feel for anything or not, I have to be sensible and eat. At this point it wouldn’t matter what I stuff into my mouth as there’s not a taste bud on duty, so it comes down to what kind of texture I’d like. Something soft and chewy or hard and crunchy. It just isn’t very appetizing thinking of food as texture. I ended up making a homemade cream tomato soup as liquids seem to be a bit more soothing and roll down the throat without having to chew. Who wants lumps of food that have no taste?

Then I plan to tackle and finish that “Do The Hockey Pokey”pattern. I’m not sure how
intriguing it will be to others but I feel it’s interesting. I’m not sure what kind of appeal a rug that has shoes and parts of ankles and lower legs will have. It’s one of those artsy types and a few of those in the collection won’t hurt for those who circle outside the box. Sometimes you just have to design a piece that makes you think.

Speaking of provoking thought, I want to tell you a story without one designer’s perspective that crossed my path. It happened out of the blue via an email and left me with a bit of a dilemma. I’m not the judge and jury of rug hooking so it isn’t for me to say whether anyone’s work is relevant or not. She approached me to display her art so
that allows me to tell the story and give you my observations and here goes.

Not all of us see art in the same way, just as in life we are all different flowers from the same garden and diversity makes us interesting. So a while back I got this email from a woman who wanted me to showcase her pieces in my store. I learned a long time ago, that consignment rugs of other artists don’t do much for business. When a customer sees a fantastic rug and then asks for the pattern I don’t like saying, sorry, no it’s copyrighted by someone else. So I stopped taking rugs on consignment unless they were one of my patterns so I was able to supply the design when requested. So this gave me an excuse to turn the woman down but I also felt I needed to explain why and I did in a very diplomatic way, at least I hope I did.   I felt like saying kids would run screaming from the store but sometimes it's better to bite your tongue.

Her pieces were too controversial for the shop; with subjects that might be considered offensive, if not grotesque.    In this business you cater to a large cross section of the population and some view nudity and racy styles with a furrowed brow. There’s a pattern in my shop called "Temptation". It depicts the garden of Eden, with Adam, Eve and the serpent wrapped around a fabulous apple tree which I designed in a William Morris style with border. Eve is bare chested in all her feminine glory, the natural look before the bite of the apple shamed them into clothes. I’ve heard a few sniggers while people peruse the design racks, an indication which pattern they've just viewed. And I know that Rug Hooking Magazine has blacked out a few parts on a rug featuring a mastectomy scar so you have to tread lightly with certain topics as not to put anyone off.

Along with the email, the woman had attached a few pictures of her work and even though I am generally unshockable, I must say my lower jaw dropped into my shoe. The woman had a very interesting outlook and her pieces were thought provoking to say the least.   They were incredibly graphic, and I got the feeling that the artist would take that remark as a compliment.   I found her website and quite frankly, the pieces she sent me were tame. She’s a bit angry at the Ontario Craft Council for rejecting her submission for funding and the ensuing piece she created resembles revenge......it's spiteful, pornographic and dark.

I will admit, the women’s hooked faces had personalities; although I’m not sure if they are expressions of anger or fear or maybe both?   Cartoonish squared off mouths and teeth, told a tale of strength though hard knocks and I don’t give a crap attitude.   I think her stuff would have been well received in Gotham City but in little ole Mahone Bay, not so much. I would like to post the pictures but I’m a little weary of the reaction. I’ve already been chastised for telling the truth a while back.   I don’t intentionally set out to upset anyone, I’m just writing about my experiences, that’s all I have; my truth. Besides, I wouldn’t show her work or name her without her permission, although I can’t see the harm in describing her work with words. If you are faint of heart sign off now.

The boldest of the group of pictures was a rug with a woman on a table giving birth. The child’s head was out and there was a great deal of blood over the table and on the
floor. There was something about the way the legs were parted and the look on the woman’s face that drew you in and made you wonder what could have happened in someone’s life to use the beauty of childbirth as something ugly, at least that’s how I felt.  The infant was scary, had the same strange expression, more of the squared mouth and teeth. I sort of felt like the baby was packing heat and the next push would expose a cash of weapons. What do I know? It’s just a feeling. Quite frankly I’ve never seen anything like it but maybe I've lived a sheltered life.

Another one was of a nude woman on her hands and knees with nails along her spine and both of her hands were tools, hammers I believe.  No explanation came with the piece and I could assume but I would have been wrong. I saw on the website she calls this one “Work” so I was off the mark completely. I really can't see the relationship it might have to toil, but I admit, I'm obviously not qualified to follow this script.

Another piece was a woman, once again on her hands and knees and her back was a table set for dinner with tablecloth, cutlery and plates. She had what looked like a stick of dynamite in her mouth and one sticking out of her back end, both had been lit.   I wasn’t able to get a read on this piece either but I’m sure there was a story behind it, no pun intended.

One piece was a woman with half a head of blue hair, the other side blond, with the same squared mouth and teeth. She was staring right at the observer and giving the finger.   It dripped rebellion and anger but that’s just my take on it.  Unless art comes with an explanation the meaning becomes the interpretation of the observer and that’s what I saw.

After she emailed me I thought crap. Now I have to deal with this.   Being raised with manners, I needed to reply, say something, but all I could think was how I get into trouble doing absolutely nothing. Like I have time for this.   So I dealt with it as kindly as I could and I didn’t hear back from her which was absolutely okay. It takes all kinds to entertain and impress the world. I’m not sure who her target audience is and target might not be the best word....but I don’t think she’ll be president of any rug hooking guilds any time soon.

So I mentioned my design called "Temptation". It depicts the garden of Eden and the first sin.

Designed in the William Morris style. The apple tree could be a visual feast with pops of red throughout the multi-green foliage. The serpent is wrapped casually around the tree trunk whispering to Eve in an attempt to facilitate the first temptation of man. Adam is arriving at the tree just in time for this pivotal moment.

Adam and Eve in all their naked resplendence, except for a strategically placed leaf to cover the part.   Good practice piece using flesh tone values for realism. Notice the absent belly buttons....not created by natural child birth I thought it more interesting to omit them.

This design continually speaks to me, all those leaves and apples dance around in my thoughts. I know I will have to hook this design as I have hooked it several times in my head and need to see it come to fruition.  Also, I look forward to working with flesh tone values to breathe realism into their bodies.

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I'm sick and cranky!

3/3/2013

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Well, salt has been added to injury. I now have a cold! The question is where did it come from? I haven’t hugged anyone lately or shared a beverage. I’m very careful that way. So somehow an invader has wormed its way into my system and manifested itself by stuffing up my nose, bringing on spasms of cold chills plus a dense fog clouding my fevered head. It started with a bit of sneezing yesterday but waited for today to completely show itself.

I should have known something was up. I dreamed last night; vivid, creative dreams, something that has eluded me since I learned to cut down on my anxiety. I call the loss the collateral damage of stress reduction. My dreams were always like a free trip to the movies.    Back in the day when I dreamed prolifically, I hated to wake in the mornings, interrupting a story line that held me intrigued enough to want to finish it. Lately, my nights have been black as pitch, nothing except sleep when it finally hits so I’ve been waking up bored and disappointed. It’s now obvious that mucus is a trigger.

I’m feeling insulted that this could happen. I’m kind of arrogant that way because I live clean and healthy. I guess that fall the other day set the stage for a string of events and I’m hoping this is the final act. My taste is off, my smell is down to less than 5% and I just want to crawl to the sofa and get horizontal with my misery and maybe sleep a bit. Being sick is almost peaceful if not for the interruptions of violent sneezing fits which make me wish I stocked Depends!

I optimistically brought work home for today. Two patterns I’ve been playing around with. One is called “Do The Hokey Pokey”, a bunch of right feet around the perimeter of the paper.   I don’t know how old you’d have to be to relate to this childhood song and dance, but maybe it’s still current…I’m not up on what kids do today but I do know things go around and around.   My friends are more in the grandma stage of life; working on the next generation of wee ones.

The other rug I’m designing is all about hats and will probably be called “Hats Off To Ya!”. All kinds of hats, all shapes and sizes, to go along with the other fashionista pieces recently designed of purses and shoes. After that I’ll draw colourful socks and possibly mittens, who knows where this will end.

If only I brought home some of the Keurig Green Tea KCups I just bought for the shop. A bit of tea and lemon might take the edge off my misery. Of course I could make tea from scratch, we have a jar filled with several selections of bulk leaves, but that would require a bit of labour and I’ve grown quite used to the easy style of my beloved Keurig…and then there’s the squeezing lemon bit…..sigh, it’s not going to be a great day! You are probably getting the idea that I'm not a very good patient, and you'd be bang on. I don't like being sick or down for the count and I whine like a little girl.   So I'm not wearing the big panties today out of fear of wetting them in a sneezing fit.

I don’t usually blog on Sunday but what else is there to do. No one here to talk to, the TV is boring and I ache all over.   Too funny, I just saw that ad on TV for Nyquil….Pam…Pam…call my mom?  I used to think it was hilarious but it touched a little too close to home today and I seem to be more in the guy's camp...…poor fellow with that insensitive wife throwing the bottle at him! No matter how big you are, when you’re sick you need your mommy! Well that won't happen in my case, but right now I’d settle for anyone capable of cold compressing my head and squeezing a lemon.    I’m posting the ad for those of you who haven’t seen it….it’s criminal the way she treats that poor man!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0umLwBBypYM

I wasn't 100% when I got home from work last evening but I had high hopes that it wouldn’t amount to anything. I convinced myself I was sneezing from wool dust, an occupational hazard. I hoped it would all be gone this morning, not attacking me full force with it’s vengeance. My poor little white cells haven’t seen this much action since I sat on a rusty nail while roofing a cape cod house.  I spent three days in the hospital to rid myself of blood poisoning and was the butt of many jokes.    Pardon the pun!

So last night, I still had my taste buds and made Rene’s Caesar Salad along with the best pork chop I’ve ever eaten. So tender and juicy…sorry vegans, I like my meat!   I’ve been searching for the perfect Caesar recipe for years. I’ve been so disappointed in restaurants I no long choose it as a starter. I do like the heavy garlic of the one at the Knot Pub in Lunenburg, but it's more like pub fare than a fine dining opener.

The traditional Caesar‘s dominant flavour is lemon, and I can appreciate those recipes, but for me the perfect salad bosts a lot of garlic. I’m talking about little bursts of fire as the garlic bits land on the tongue. I’m talking about a Caesar so potent that you smell it for days as it oozes out of your being. Despite the dysfunction of my senses I can still smell it this afternoon and of course the fever helps it weep from my pores.

So I’ll share this jewel of a recipe with you. Of course the ingredients call for a normal amount of garlic; I just kick it up a notch. For those of you who like simplicity this is the recipe for you and there aren’t any pesky raw eggs to worry about.   Like I said, it’s the best one I’ve ever had! I’ll put it in a separate blog for those who might like to print it off and not have all these words wasting your printer paper.

Rene is a friend of ours who took a job out west and when he visits here he stays in our spare room. He has a son in the area so we see him about three times a year. He introduced this recipe to us and although he is a wonderful guy, domestic, nice, good looking and French, I will always remember him the most for this recipe. He solved the quest for the perfect Caesar and now I can have it any time I like. This recipe makes enough for several meals so you can store the remaining sauce in the fridge and later add a bit of olive oil for more romaine lettuce.   If you have a better recipe I would be willing to try it but in the meantime I found my jewel. Thanks Rene!

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What came first, the toy or the toy poodle?

3/2/2013

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I’m not sure what’s happening with this darn weather. I specifically put in a request for no more snow, but here’s March coming in like a lion although I'm the one doing the growling...grrrr. We hookers, we like wool,! We want lambs bringing in March!

So Thursday I missed work due to my injured knee and then Friday I was storm stayed. By the way, thank-you all for your kind words, they were very uplifting.   The song “Momma Said There’d Be Days Like This” played in my head all day long.  My leg is much better today after two days of rest. In all the snow yesterday I wasn't about to risk aggravating it by shoveling my way to the road.

So yesterday, I sat nursing a very nice cup of java wondering what I should write about. Usually I'm inspired by something that happens at work and have my database of pictures and patterns to draw from. Being home, I 'm forced to jabber on about other stuff, maybe continue the theme from the day before yesterday about the willow infatuation. I actually had another epiphany I'd like to share.

I was chatting with hubby about recessed memories and triggers that evoke emotional responses and he shared an interesting story. Apparently his daughter, just shy of two years, got quite a surprise when daddy left for an ocean yacht delivery, clean shaven and smooth to return with a black growth that scared the training pants off her. She wouldn't go to him until he shaved it off. To this day she doesn’t like men with beards and it’s a make or break deal when accepting a date.    And when she married, Hubby liked to tease her about marrying a guy that not only had a bare face but he was bald as well, as far away from facial hair as she could get.  I can relate to that experience. A red headed boy, who apparently had a crush on me but didn’t clue in that maybe spitting in my hair wasn’t the best way to get my attention, put me off dating ginger haired men later in life.

Then I jokenly said to hubby. I wonder what happened in my past to attract me to poodles? Not one or two, but oodles of poodles. I currently have four but secretly desire more. I have visions of at least a half dozen playing in the yard and walking by my side. At risk of becoming the crazy dog lady I might have to restrain myself, but if an opportunity presented itself I don’t know if I would have the strength to walk away. A shelter poodle would be snatched up in a heart beat, and I’m sort of hankering for one of the party poodles of mixed colours. For those of you that don’t know, before the party poodle came into vogue, pups with mixed colouring would be disposed of because there wasn't a market for them. But now they fetch higher prices than solid coloured ones.  Paris Hilton or some other larger than life legend of their own mind must have expressed interest and made them a hot commodity. My hubby likes a quote by Jon Stewart, “Man marvels at the beauty of nature, and then tries to fix it”.

Of all the breeds out there, I often wondered why I landed on the poodle. The only drawback is the need to be groomed once a month.   I’m not willing, or have the time to do it myself and quite frankly my groomer earns every penny and should get more. Hopefully he never retires as he's top notch, with over 30 years experience doing poodle clips.   I say it’s money well spent; the money saved from not indulging in cigarettes, bingo, booze and any other habits I don’t have. I would rather get rid of my TV cable than my groomer!

So as I was chatting with hubby a picture flashed in my brain, the aforementioned epiphany, and I see very clearly the poodle from my formative years. Once again, I’m a wee thing, marveling over this magical poodle that turned pink or blue depending on the weather.    It held my fascination for a long time, checking it every morning while forcing down hot oatmeal.    I think it turned pink for fine days and blue for stormy ones but it’s so far back my memory may be serving something I didn’t order. But I remember distinctly that the base colour was white. Hmmmmmmmm; and there's the rub!

Now I love all my babies, each one has a very different personality, each one is sweet and gentle, and loves the bones off me but….and there’s always a but…the white ones have always owned a larger percentage of my heart. Louis, the one who passed away, shared a close bond with me like an accident with crazy glue, and although I never thought I could love another dog half as much, Henri has wormed his way into my heart even more.   In the past, I wondered if the colour had anything to do with it, but dismissed the notion...surely it came down to personality, but maybe now I'm not so sure. Maybe I'm drawn to them by my subconscious mind.

I certainly love the red, apricot and now the black; they are like a graduated swatch, from light to
dark. I love their colours but…and there’s that but again, the white ones give me the urge to squeeze the poop out of them, in a loving way of course, I just can't hug them enough, and bury my nose in the top of their heads and sniff their wonderful smell.   So what came first, the love or the poodle? Maybe the envelope was always there waiting for white paper to be stuffed into it.

If not for Janet Delo, a fellow rug hooker, I may have missed the opportunity to discover poodles...although I believe it was destined to happen at some point.  Brian, her husband, ordered an Ott-Lite from my shop for his wife for Christmas and I was going to the city for supplies so I offered to  meet up with him in front of Staples to hand deliver it.  I did my shopping and was waiting for him to arrive when the phone rang that he was running late. I didn't want to hang around Staples, or sit in the car with the motor running so I spied Pets Unlimited and said I would be in there, come find me.

Well, I’m looking at all the puppies when I see this little face looking at me from behind the glass.   My heart had been severely broken three years earlier when my Shepherd passed away and I swore I would never have another dog. I’m loyal like that…when I love something that much, I feel guilty loving again. But there was this sweet little face saying "pick me, pick me" and I felt a flutter in my chest. The friend with me said, "go on, get her!" I phoned my hubby to get his input and all he said was, “Is she in the car already?” I said no, but I wondered what I would do with a puppy? My Max, the Shepherd, had come to me at 18 months, trained and ready to roll. I was in virgin territory and didn't know one end of a puppy from another!

So Brian shows up and the two of them pummel me with advice, telling me to go for it. Brian thought my hesitation might be monetary and even offered to lend me money to purchase her. That wasn't my problem, I knew the moment I saw her she would be mine....I was just working out a plan in my head how my life would be with a little one in tow. I asked to hold her and was told that wouldn't be possible. Apparently fanatics come into the store and asked to hold puppies with the Parvo virus on their hands, purposely hoping to kill them. That was a bit of a shocker and quite frankly I really didn't understand.   Apparently, I would have to buy her to hold her so fair enough, where do I pay? So, the next thing I know we're heading home with a puppy.

One look at her and all I could think was “what a honey” so Honey she was. and we got along like a house on fire right from the start. There were a few pees on the floor until I got used to her needs but she proved to be smart and easily trained.   The trouble started when I told people I'd bought a puppy from the pet store. I swear I was ignorant of puppy mills but apparently that's no excuse.  At a pet supply shop when asked where I got my new puppy and I innocently said a store, the shit hit the fan. I was told, not so nicely and in a loud voice, that my little girl would be dead in three months so I’d better get her vet checked. In my defense I replied, "I thought I was saving a puppy and giving it a good home" but apparently not...instead I was just torturing the mother to produce another brood to be sold for profit, the likes of me having no care about the mother's caged and abused existence. At that very moment I was worse than the dirt on my shoes. Interesting....while I was being slammed I was handing over several hundred dollars to pay for a bed, bowl, toys and a collar for my new bundle.  A strange way to treat a paying customer.  I would have walked out but at the time there wasn't any other place close by to purchase items for animals and my baby needed supplies! So I took the verbal assault, paid her for abusing me and left with my wares.

I was upset to say the least. When I expressed concerns to my vet, he told me that he has seen a lot of fine animals come from pet stores. That there had been a nasty ring of mills in the past but a lot of them had been cleaned up or closed. He thought the chances of me getting one of the sickly puppies was slim as she seemed to check out beautifully and in nine years my little darling girl has never been to the vet for any problems, other than the normal spaying. After I did a bit of research on the internet about puppy mills, I changed the error of my ways and sought out breeders for my next poodles, although it was interesting that every one of them came with some health issues.....doing the right thing doesn’t always mean trouble free.

Poodles are a bit high maintenance and probably the reason they aren’t as popular as other breeds. The first thing you have to do is find a good groomer. At first I didn’t have them shaped like traditional poodles. I denied their heritage as a hunting/retriever dog, that went into the water after game. Poodles are fabulous swimmers. and their fancy clips were purposed to keep  specific organs warm. But I wasn't overly keen on that pouffy look so I opted for the Teddy bear cut, just a basic all over clip.    Gradually I gravitated toward the trimmed faces, paws and tails. Well actually it was more of an well engineered slip on my groomer’s part. Every now and then I would go to pick them up and he’d say ooops…I forgot you didn’t want that…I’d look at the dog, there was nothing I could do so I'd shrug and take them home. Then it would grow on me so I’d say okay, permission to do it again. Then a few more grooms would pass and there would be another slip. So now they are faced shaved, feet trimmed and tails pouffed and I love it! I've made Bob swear not to poodlize them further and he’s promised. He got what he wanted and can stop with the so called ‘accidental clips’. I'll never be into the bouffant, showdog look, no time to maintain it and truthfully I don’t find it attractive. It’s bad enough I have to spend time blow-drying and primping myself, a dog should be a dog and not have to spend any more time being fussed over than necessary.

So I’ve been on a journey of discovery and find it fascinating. I spent a while on the internet looking for those weather poodles. I’m not sure but I have the sense that it might be an Avon product. I remember the well-coiffed, perfumed representative coming to the house at least once a month peddling her bag of wares. It seems like something the Avon company would have manufactured, either that or Watkins’s.   If anyone out there remembers the origin of these poodles please let me know as I am more than curious. I wouldn't mind finding one to have as a keepsake.

I'm 99% sure the picture is identical to the one from my childhood.  This guy even looks like my Henri....it's uncanny! Once the groomer started clipping their faces I asked him to give Henri a French whisker, how did I even know about that? And Henri sits in that very pose at times, very proud with his head back.   Now I'm beginning to think that I married my father too....hubby is slim like my dad always was. And apparently my dish fetish was a repressed memory. I'm beginning to wonder if I've had any original ideas as an adult!?

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To hell in a hand basket.....

2/27/2013

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I don't think I looked this graceful when I fell but the chin and glasses show a close resemblance.

I would like to share yesterday with you. It wasn’t extraordinary, just crazy: an accumulation of bad energy leading to a calamity of errors and I've got the wet pants and bruises to prove it.

I’ll set the tale spinning by first setting the stage with the events of the day before. Monday I had to get up at 6:30 to take my two male pups to the Vet’s for the snip at 8:OO. I’m not used to getting up that early, I’m never conscious until about 8:30, but I managed to make it there on time
and after a few hugs and wet kisses I left my babies in strange hands, something that tugged my heart strings all the way home. Having to leave my babies for surgery created a lot of anxiety but I didn’t want them to sense my worry and stress them more than they already were, so I told them they were going on an fun adventure......oh the guilt!

So I drive back home for breakfast to drown my sorrow in bacon, the number one comfort food
on the planet. I love bacon and would eat it every day if not for the cooking mess and the fact that it’ll kill ya. But it worked its magic and I almost forgot to worry until the phone rang just as I was leaving for work. It was the vet office and I knew it had to be something bad. My heart jumped to my throat until I heard the words, “don’t panic, nothing is wrong” (they know me well) but then listened to the surgeon tell me that both of my boys had an elevated ALT liver enzyme and it was best not to proceed with surgery until we fixed it.

The only logical thing to do was have the girls tested as well, to see if they were all effected and if so, then it was a dietary problem. So I took my girls in for the same test and sure enough they all had the elevated count to a greater or lesser degree.   We could rule out toxins...there is nothing in my life that would harm a fly, even my floors are washed with vinegar. As far as we can tell, I’ve been feeding them too rich a diet of protein and not enough carbs. So the plan is to stuff them with potato, rice and veggies, along with meat, for a two week period and then have them retested and hopefully get them neutered. All this took several hours and the morning was now shot. I didn't get to the shop until noon. Sorry to anyone who came by but my hairy kids trump rug hooking. Emergencies happen, and besides, it's not like I'm running a Walmart...it's just a little craft business and sometimes life has bumps that need to be flattened.

Getting the males neurtered is a bit of a panic as the two boys have come into their own and have taken a shining to the girls. Poor Honey and Fiz are sitting on their woowoos pretty much most of the day. I'm doing a lot of monitoring and separating.   It's amazing how insistent the boys can be when they're surged with testosterone.   Luckily it comes and goes so we all get a reprieve but I can’t leave them alone for a second or goodness knows what I’d find when I get home. The two boys would be smoking a cigarette and the girls would be phoning the rape hotline.   I'm just making a joke...I'm not insensative to anyone that has been raped)

So that was my day Monday. Long and tiring and then after a sleepless night I wasn’t in the best shape Tuesday morning and was late for work again. Cooking potatoes and carrots and chicken for the pups wasn’t part of my regular routine so that slowed me down on top of the regular dragging of feet.

So I get to work and the phone rings. I had made up a custom kit for a woman last week who was at the door at 10:00 and waited ½ hour for me to show up. I hadn’t realized she would be there at that time but that doesn’t really matter, I was in the wrong. I should have known better and posted a sign on the door. The woman was wild. Told me so, said she was not a happy camper and it wasn’t the words she used, it was the way they were enunciated. I could see her teeth in my head as she snarled out the words. She then asked if I plan be in on Thursday at 10:00 and I said of course, I always plan to be there, things just happen, and she hung up on me.

Now it was my fault but there are better ways to communicate and being rude isn’t fair. You can get your point across without maiming the receiver. I’m not proud of it, but when people go off on me I sink to a dark place and I wallow there. I can’t just brush it off or let it cascade down my back. It’s a part of me that I don’t like but I guess past experiences have impaired the ability to bounce back as fast as I should.   Defend & Deflect...that should be my motto! No one likes to be treated in a mean way and I let it brow beat me…give it power I shouldn’t. I was wrong to be late, but I am only one person doing the best I can, there was no need to treat me that unkindly.   I got the feeling if I told her something serious had happened, maybe a death or an accident, it wouldn’t have mattered in the least.

So that set my mood for the day and a dark cloud followed me about, waiting for the opportunity to rain down on me. I phoned hubby and he helped talk me into a better place but it was still nagging at me for most of the day, making it difficult to smile and count my blessings. When upset, my entire body slumps like a whipped child and was probably the reason I couldn't lift my leg as high as I should have.

I tripped on the handle of a basket coming out of the closet under the staircase in the shop.   I twisted my foot and bent back the big and second toe in an odd angle. Now footless, I dropped to my knees like a lead brick. Now legless, the top part of my body fell forward and came down on the sharp corner of my desk in the middle of my throat, right in the esophagus area!   Seeing the edge coming toward me in an almost slow motion fall, I braced my right shoulder to take some of
the impact and in the process hit my collar bone pretty hard as well.

As the pain of the fall and the realization of what could have happened hit me I started to cry. I kept swallowing to make sure I was okay, then sat on the floor like a big baby and sobbed my heart out. Funny how a few tears can release every ounce of stress building in your system and open the flood gates to a good old fashioned bawl. My son ran to my side to see if I needed an ambulance but I assured him I would be alright. I was ranting and wailing as I slowly got to my feet while thanking my lucky stars that it wasn’t more serious. I kept swallowing, it felt like I had a ball in there but it was only sore and not damaged.   Luckily I'm not a man with an Adam’s apple or it would have been apple sauce!

So, I limped around the rest of the day, favouring my right knee the most as it sent shoots of pain up my thigh….some sort of nerve quiver. My left knee is just bruised and sore. I was soooooooooo very lucky I’m a tough old bird physically.   To bad the mental part wouldn't follow suit.

So the universe wasn’t through with me yet. You can't dump that much negativity and not expect the boomerang effect. Wallowing will be pummeled with more crap…that’s the law.   I was limping around feeling sorry for myself with an upside-down smile, priming myself for more disaster. I had to work late to get an order out and by 9:00 I was aching, tired, hungry and cranky so I was locking up when an overwhelming urge to sneeze gripped me. I tried to brace my sore body from the force but nothing could soften that blow. I sneezed like I was trying to catapult a dust fragment from the tip of my big toe up and out through my nose, and my full bladder just couldn't handle the assault. So...I peed my pants. How cheery and such a lovely cherry on the sundae of my day!

So I drove home thinking I'd better start smiling or goodness knows what would be waiting for me...not dinner or a warm house that's for sure! So I soaked in an Epsom Salt bath and put on my jammies and made dinner for the hairy kids and me hoping I wouldn't be too stiff in the morning. So I had a bad day and although I'm stiff and sore, I can see the humour in it. I keep saying everyday is an adventure for me....nothing is ever boring! I attract stories like white cat hair on a black dress.

So I think I need to change the hours of shop operation. I find it hard to get there at 10:00 and the stress of keeping people waiting makes it even worse so maybe I’ll change the hours to come by chance between 10-10-30, giving me a half hour extra to get there if needed.    I used to open at 10:30 when I was on 14 Pleasant Street and I don’t know why I changed it so I’ll go back to it and hopefully that will spare folks from waiting and me from being at the end of their wrath when I screw up. Life can be so complicated…..

New Shop Hours Until further notice.....Opening somewhere between 10:00 - 10:30 Monday to Saturday..... closed at 5:00 as always, but I am usually here working late if you want to call after hours.

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I know it's time to rest when.....

2/16/2013

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I'm working late and need to wash a yard of wool. I tear it from the bolt, go into the bathroom where the washer and dryer are stacked, open the toilet lid and catch myself right before I stuff the wool in the bowl. .....yup time for a nap!

ZZZZZZZZZZZ

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The calm after the storm...

2/12/2013

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Today was back to work. It started early with a 6:30 alarm call that I tuned out till 7:00. Today was grooming day and I have to be in Gold River between 8:00 – 8:30 to drop off my four hair kids. Usually I’m not conscious until 8:00 so it was a rough start and a race against time to get out the door. Not a bad accomplishment with four dogs that need to make snow yellow, be fed and then follow up with a dump. Plus a shower for me and some semblance of a breakfast. I made it to the groomers at 8:29. Impressive actually as I’m usually late. It’s kind of expected now so I shocked him.

My mother always said I would be late for my own funeral, a play on words and an insult in one swift blow. Well I say ‘so what’. I’ll admit I beat to a different drum and I mean no disrespect to the people I keep waiting, it’s just that my clock’s a bit off. And besides, you aren’t late until you
get there right?

I’ve always been this way and I don’t expect any great change any time soon, the old dog new tricks thing is science as far as I'm concerned. I just cruise along at my own speed. I could pay someone for professional advice, find out why I do it, but I’d be late for the appointment and then I’d have to pay for my tardiness. It might have something to do with being denied birth when my mother was forced to ride the agonizing waves of labour when they tied her legs together and her hands to the bedside rail because there wasn't a doctor to deliver me. That was the first time I was late, and it snowballed from there. Why couldn't that experience have scarred me for life? Made me what I am today? What better excuse to fall back on when I get the evil eye as I breeze in late, "Hey, man, it's not my fault; I was blue at birth!" And another thing, I hope I’m late for my own funeral, it might mean I’m not quite dead!

I’m the polar opposite of those people who show up way too early for appointments. In the past, after waiting hours for a doctor I learned that showing up early just compiles the wait time.   If the appointment is at 10:00, show up at five to or maybe a minute before; perfectly acceptable and will cut down on the time you have to warm a seat. My time is important too and I’m not willing to spend one minute more than necessary waiting on someone else's schedule.

It’s not like my life is brain surgery where a minute can mean the difference between life and death.    And, it’s not like waiting rooms are one of the top 10 places to hang, they are filled with outdated magazines and dead skin cells of all those who came before me. I’m not about to strike up conversations with waiting strangers, people who I’ll probably never see again so I just keep my head down, twiddle my thumbs and count the minutes.

Anyway, after dropping off the hounds, I arrived at the shop unfashionably early and put in eight hours of glorious work. Number one on the agenda was a cup of coffee, the first in three days and it tasted marvelous! Then juiced with caffeine I sprang into action and accomplished many items on the list, especially one that I had been putting off for some time. A client wanted a 26”x 26” portrait of the Mona Lisa and it turned out even better than I anticipated and I’m sure she’ll be pleased. She loved Mary Doig’s Mona Christmas Stocking but said she wanted to hook the piece and display it all year round so she opted to make a pillow and I offered to design it for her.   I started from scratch because I needed a lot more detail of the background and Mona’s body.   I love designing, it's one of the aspects of my shop that gives me the most satisfaction.

Today was what one would call perfect,. Work was crazy fun and at the end of the day, I was rewarded with four pups all washed, clipped and blown into bouffant cotton swabs.   There's no more precious sight than my four babies in their formal wear.

And I forgot to mention how wonderful the weather was!  After this past weekend's fiasco, it was almost surreal. A divine +5, the cherry on the day! It doesn’t get much better than that!

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Not a happy camper!

2/11/2013

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Well, I got through Sunday without coffee and now I’m working on day two. I’m waiting on plough guy to come by and set me free. I didn’t make it to work this morning due to a big drift at the end of the driveway that looks pretty deep. I’m not about to take my car through it and risk getting stuck, so I’m playing the waiting game.

Shane shovelled out the shop front last evening. He called to say the snow was up to the door knob, partly due to the downfall and the rest from the sidewalk machine that spits the snow all over the step. I find it a bit annoying to have snow plastered all over the building but what can you do. There’s nothing more annoying that shovelling it all out and then coming to work the next day and it’s worse. At least the fresh snow moves easily, the stuff the machine spits out turns rock solid and you need an ice pick and a mallet to loosen it. Most shovels today are made of plastic so they lack the guts to beat on hard snow, whereas years ago when the world made tools of metal that gave you a decent lifespan, you could have gone a few rounds with a tough pile of snow.

Well, I’m going to have a shower and hopefully I can break out of here for a few provisions. My first item will be to inhale a cup of coffee and then when I’m thinking straight I’ll go to work for a
few hours and then back home to cut knots out of my pup’s coats. Their groomer had surgery and was out of commission for a few months and my dogs are beyond shaggy. I’ve clipped away at them and it shows what an amateur I am but if I didn’t they would have looked like unsheared sheep by now.   It got me thinking about what I will do with the guy retires.  I think maybe I should learn to do it myself, take a course or practise until perfect. It’s not like they care if they are having a bad hair day, only I would know. I’m going to have the guy order a pair of professional shears for me to practice with. The groomer has ten years on me so the odds of him still doing this in twenty years are slim. I’m going to have to do the job myself or break in a new person. Sigh. I’m not good with change! I selfishly want all the people who take care of me to be around until I no longer need them so I should have looked for younger professionals instead of ones my age or older. I’m screwed!

People have often heard me say. In life there are four things you need to do. When you turn 50 or 60 find a new doctor, one fresh out of training.   As you age that older doctor you had forever will retire and leave you just when you need them most. (Reminds me of Randy VanWarmer’s song, ”Just When I needed You Most”.)

You’re going to have to go out there and break in a new one, if you can find one accepting new patients.   Also look for a dentist, a young pup fresh out of university so your teeth go to the grave with you. And two other important people to have in your life would be a carpenter and a plumber. Befriend these four professionals and you’ll get through this life as easily as going down a greased slide.

The perfect scenario would be to become one of these professionals yourself and then marry another one on the list to cut your needs down to two. Right now it would be nice to be best friends with a snowplough guy.

Well, plough guy came at 3:00. I watched him push the snow out of the way and for sure my vehicle wouldn’t have gone through it. So I’m off to the store and I guess this means I had another day off as it's too late to go into the shop now. Three days off in a row, that’s almosty a vacation!

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A fly in the ointment!

2/10/2013

1 Comment

I don’t usually blog on Sunday but couldn’t resist an audience to complain to. Overt your eyes, I’d hate to ruin anyone else’s day with my whining, I just need to get it off my chest.

Sure I was a smart little Brownie, I bragged about being prepared with firewood and provisions but I forgot one little thing…well, more like one big thing, maybe the most important thing of all. Cream!!!!!! I forgot to buy cream!!!!!   Beautiful 18%, smooth as silk cream. I can’t have coffee without it!!! And I’m trapped like a rat on a raft, there’s no hopping in the car to rescue my caffeine addicted body! This is where I would like to scream and swear for about fifteen minutes and not use the same word twice, but I wouldn’t want to scare the pups!!!

Anyway, I tried to improvise. I used a bit of vanilla ice-cream but that left a rather sickenly, odd taste in my mouth and did little to inspire a second sip. Yuck! I’m no coffee connoisseur but bastardizing the perfect, dark nectar with an infusion of vanilla bean and a heady amount of sugar would put me off coffee for good.

So I’m cranky and irritated. I just burned a bit of energy washing dishes and cleaning up the kitchen and I look outside and the ‘F’ word comes to mind as I look at the snow that rebelled from last night’s removal. Every path is now back to before I started shovelling. Like in the movie Ground Hog Day it seems I woke to the same scene as yesterday.   So much for a wonderful forced holiday. My home is my castle my eye, I’m going to have to break out of this blasted prison and find cream or be an impossible person for the rest of the day. Even if the cream wasn’t needed for today, there’s always tomorrow morning to worry about, when I usually have my one cuppa to jump start the day.  Sigh…… the best laid plans can be fouled by an idiot!

I remember distinctly looking at the cream in the grocery store wondering if I needed any and then remembered buying a litre the day before. And I did, but that was for the shop, too many fridges to stock without enough grey cells to distinguish between the two. I’m trying very hard to be civil but I’m pissed at my stupidity and a few well-placed swear words would do the world of could to make me feel better. I know I have to keep it clean so here goes…..fiddlesticks, poo, sugar, crapola, dang nab it, jeepers creepers, cheese and rice, upsy daisy, fuddy duds, turd, drats, frack, fudge, beep, darnit, holy buckets, flippin, gosh darn, jumpin gerble, jumpin jehosafats, freakin, doggonit, and of course #$&@!&#^*$!

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Snow Snow Snow

2/9/2013

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I don’t understand where all this snow is coming from, especially after I said I didn’t want to see any more this winter. Usually the universe pays attention so maybe I’m losing my touch! Sorry all, I did my best!

Every time I take the dogs outside I have to shovel a path or lose them in a drift. The wind is whipping the snow in my face, the only body part exposed and it seems to be coming from all directions so there’s no protected side of the house. As much as I am not a happy camper right now, dealing with the inconvenience of it all, the world is picture perfect, stuff post cards and calendars are made of.

My “Be prepared” Brownie training kicked in and I’m stocked with all the necessities. Having an access of firewood is like having money in the bank and there’s enough to last a good week although the food won’t. I tell everyone we’ll be the first to perish if a major disaster hits as
we don’t have a storage load of canned foods or packaged items in the pantry. I’m not a fan of frozen anything so I buy fresh each day and although you can plan ahead for a week with vegetables, meat gives up the ghost rather quickly.   I have enough provisions to last three days and then I’ll have to improvise. Luckily I don’t anticipate more than a two day hold up. I cancelled my beginning class on Sunday as my ploughing company won’t be around to dig me out
until late Sunday or early Monday depending on the amount of snow that hits the county. So I’m stuck here. My aunt said she might be released from the hospital on Sunday but it’s the luck of the draw whether I’ll be able to pick her up so she might have to stay put or get a taxi to the closest hotel.

I have my hooking for entertainment although the power better not go out as I won’t be able to see. We have oil lamps but they fume so badly I get a headache so I’ll just have to take naps to pass the time. Catching up on sleep is always a good thing and I’ve been accumulating a deficit since New Year’s. If the power goes out the woodstove has a surface to cook on so I can heat my homemade soup. The pups and I will snuggle close to stay warm, we’ll make a fort with blankets and pillows and the sofa cushions. I’ll feel like a kid again!

This time off is wonderful; my sincere apologies to all those suffering without electricity. A much needed rest that would never have happened unless forced upon me. Life is so hectic it’s difficult to smell the roses and an outside entity forcing me to jump off the hamster wheel is a blessing. I might do a bit of much needed housework and I have four pups to brush out before their grooming next week and I plan to cover a lot of ground with my hooking.

When I got up this morning I was surprised to find snow in the living room. Somehow the wind pounded fine white powder through the cracks in the weather stripping surrounding the wood storm door and then under the inside door to leave a pile of white on the braided rug. The dogs thought it was interesting and looked for me for direction. They seemed to say, "Look Mom, it’s outside, can I pee here?" I went into the basement and there are several piles of snow down there as well, fine white powder snuck through the rock foundation cracks and crevices, settling on all the stuff we store down there. Now there’s a ‘honey do’ job to fix!

Then a glance out the back door sent a chill down my spine. I guess my new BFF, the ergonomic shovel and I are going to be spending a great deal of time together and I hope it doesn't stab me in the back with one of the H words...hernia or heart attack.   The four foot high steps that take us up to the driveway have totally disappeared….not even an edge of the cement is showing. The area by the backdoor is drifted up to about three to four feet. That’s tons of snow to be shifted. The snow is piling up like an out of control Chia pet by my back door. Every time I look out it’s gained an inch or two. I can’t even open the door!    By the time it’s over and I get out to shovel I’ll be standing in drifts up to my chest.  Maybe I’ll tunnel my way to the car, like the escape from Alcatraz. Guess I better pace myself and do it in shifts or I might need a ride to the hospital. I have enough problems with skipped beats in the ole ticker…don’t need a total gap.   Of course the wind is still blowing so I’d only be working against myself as it keeps piling back up in
that same area, so I might wait until it quiets down a bit before heading out. I’m no clairvoyant but I predict a long hot soak in the claw tub later this evening.

Luckily, there are a lot of area windwhipped and bare, patches of brown in between the sea of
white.   You just have to jump over drifts to get to them. Most of the long curving driveway is bare, you see gravel through the thin patches of white, but then in two or three areas it is three feet deep. Especially down by the main road where the plow keeps scraping the snow from the street to make a hard crusty barrier along the entrance to our property. There’s no way our vehicle would sail through that.

It’s nature shaking us up a bit, chastising our lack of care for the environment, letting us know who the boss is.   I see all next week is plus temperatures so there will be a short reprieve and maybe melt some of this mess away. I only hope everyone out there stays safe and warm.

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No help for the sick and weary!

2/1/2013

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I sat in emergency, with my sick Aunt last evening, for hours and hours along with half of Lunenburg County. There were too many emergencies so the people in the waiting rooms sat forever, one couple had been there since 1:30 that afternoon. Finally around 11:00 pm my aunt said let's go home and we picked up some Chamomile tea at the grocery store and anti nausea pills. She was in a great deal of discomfort with abdominal pain and vomiting. Just having a recent surgery it was worrisome.   She was sick again this morning so hopefully she has better luck with help. Last night was an eye opener for me. I've heard all kinds of horror stories on the news about long waits and the lack of doctors but now I've experienced it first hand. I hope I never get sick! In all the time we waited not one person was called to go behind those sliding doors...not one! Why they just don't tell you to go home...not give you false hope with a two hours wait. Two hours is a cake walk, ten is painful.

I felt so sorry for all those people trying to sleep on uncomfortable chairs and babies crying. A girl in a makeshift sling with a broken collarbone, how painful is that! I've never seen so many greyish complexions!   And on top of all that, the only TV played show after show of "Say Yes to the Dress", hours of it, back to back, gag me with a spoon crap about overpriced wedding dresses. I tried not to look and sat with my back to it but boredom made me turn my head occasionally. I want to pluck out my eyes! It was like watching a train wreck! I wouldn't watch that kind of drivel if you paid me, and I consider that kind of television absolute torture. If I am ever held captive and forced to watch that show, a confession will shoot out of my mouth like a well greased torpedo. It was painful, right up there with bamboo shoots under the fingernails, and all manner of tried and true tactics.   I went there perfectly healthy and after three hours of lace and wedding attire drama, I felt nauseous too!

An update: This afternoon my aunt was admitted to hospital for observation for the next 48 - 72 hours due to a potential bowel obstruction.

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The Cremation of Sam McGee

1/27/2013

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It’s Sunday, my day off and I usually don’t blog but it’s too cold to go outside and writing keeps me out of the refrigerator.

First I would just like to say, "Enough already with the cold!" This morning was slightly better, a balmy -10 and I should be grateful it's warming up but come on! And, what's up, or should I say, down with -17 wind-chill?

Wind-chill is like Canadian tax and airline tickets. You get teased with a base price and then they pile the taxes on. Please...just show the total 'everything' instead of sugar coating it with the lower figure. The weather channel shows you a temperature of -10 and when you go outside you're hit square in the face with -17. The hairs in your nose freeze and break off! We haven't had this kind of consistent cold for years. Where in heck is global warming? I see next week brings some reprieve but man, like Sam McGee, I'm chilled to the bone!

When I was in grade four we were asked to memorize a poem and one by one we got up and recited our choice to the class. Most got up and did a four to eight line stanza so when I stood to narrate “The Cremation of Sam McGee” it was met with a gasp from the teacher. I didn’t do it to show off, have the longest piece or for any other reason other than pure love for the poem. I stumbled over a few lines but all in all, got it out fairly effectively. Some kids were grossed out by the cremation part but that was the appeal for me. I was a morbid little kid, obsessed with death and dead bodies, wanting to grow up to be a mortician or a pathologist (a story for another time) as early as grade two. Anyway, I heard the poem the year before and it resonated with me, sticking in my crop half memorized until the need for the assignment made me take it all the way. Pretty industrious for a wee mite of a girl but for some reason, the words stuck in my head and to this day I can relay the entire poem...sometimes I quietly recite it in lue of counting sheep on those nights when sleep eludes me.

Robert W. Service wrote a lot of poems about the Gold Rush that happened in Alaska and northwestern Canada at the turn of the 19th century. "The Cremation of Sam McGee," however, is probably the most famous of all. It was published in 1907 and was based on the places he saw, the people he met, and the stories he heard while he lived there. Since its publication, the poem has been popular with generations of readers, who love its combination of black humor, adventure, and captivating descriptions of the lives of Yukon prospectors. For those of you who have never read his wonderful poem google and enjoy it! Johnny Cash does a great job reciting it on YouTube.

Back to my hooking and the warmth of the woodstove, my own little crematorium of sorts, that has an insatiable appetite for hardwood which I've been feeding like a bulimic at an all you can eat buffet. It warms my entire house, upstairs and down and is my savior on these bitter days and nights. Now, if only I didn’t need to go out for provisions, doggy business and work, I’d hold up here till spring!

2 Comments

Hook-in on Saturday?

1/19/2013

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Ah Saturday, the start of the weekend, a time for relaxing and catching up on chores and doing a bit of provision shopping. That's the lucky life of the nine to fiver because when you own your own business not so much. I’ve been pulling a six day week and on Sunday I happen to be teaching a beginner class so if I do the math, that would be seven days straight. Then add all next week, another 6 days and I’ll be chomping at the bit for a day off.

That’s always been a dilemma for me. Which day to take off? Historically, Sunday was always the worst day for sales, mostly tire kickers and flea market folks wandering the streets. People tell me to take off Monday but they’ve always been good days for the shop. Take off Tuesday they say, cause the other rug hooking shop is closed that day, then there’s Wednesday, hump day, I don't want to be off all day and then open up for Hook-ins that evening, then Thursday is getting close to the weekend and Friday is even better for shoppers.   I just know from past experience that all the days of the week pan out equally, as far as sales go, so it was always difficult to decide which one to count out. So, what do you do when you can't decide? You keep them all. I worry about disappointing someone, driving to my shop from goodness knows where to find a note on the door. I suppose I could say, phone me at home, after all I’m only a few minutes away and more than willing to drive in.

Today being Saturday, I'm going to sit on my derriere and hook to my heart’s content. You can come and hook with me if you like but I’m not going to do a thing as far as work goes, just sit and enjoy myself. Come and have a cup of something hot; coffee, tea or chocolate and stay for a chat.   Maybe Saturday could become a hook-in day for those who wish to pop in toting their wares.   My friends usually drop by on Saturday so I don't get much done anyway so why not make it all about socializing and fun and not worry about orders or any of that stuff. I’ve always wanted to establish a day hook-in for some time, I just couldn’t decide on the day of the week to hold it on. Around these parts you can hook pretty much every day of the week and twice on Sunday, but I don’t think much happens on Saturday.   So lets give it a whirl, it is now official, Saturday is hook-in time at Encompassing Designs. Say 12-3 to start and see what feedback has to say. I know it's late notice and the weather outside is frightful so I don't expect to see anyone today but hopefully next week a few will mosey on by and

And then Sunday I'm teaching a beginning class. I do look forward to teaching. It has always been one of the aspects of the business that I fully enjoy.   Glenna, one of our hook-in regulars is coming to sit in while a couple of friends from her neck of the woods take the class so it ought to be a fun filled day.

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Put on those big girl panties!

1/18/2013

2 Comments

Yesterday was a weird day.   Somehow I got trapped on an emotional roller coaster and couldn’t get off. We all have days like this and thankfully they are few and far between. Not to get too philosophical but sometimes I wonder what life is all about. Why we go through the motions when we all know how it will end. I look around and I have plenty to be thankful for but I get overwhelmed and down in the dumps and of course, not
sleeping adds to the boulders on my shoulders.

If only I could be normal. Think normal thoughts, do normal things, coast along happily through life, living, loving and learning, focusing on the day I will retire.   Why do I have to be so full of fancy. Always wanting to touch the stars can be tiring, hard to fit it all in around
everyday life of dishes, laundry, running a business, dogs and now, shoveling snow.   All the mundane stuff is gravity, pulling you down when you want to fly.   I want to do so much, that I end up becoming emotionally paralyzed and then do nothing. That’s when the poor me’s move in and it takes a smack down brawl to throw them out.

Yesterday was such a day. Everything seemed bigger, tougher, more draining. Small things became large and large things became elephants in the room. I kept shrinking more and more as each hour passed and I got so far behind in my goals for the day I started to fidget. I became irritated until I couldn’t stand the heat of the shop, even my jeans seemed too tight and confining; when I went outside my gloves annoyed me, my fingers fumbled and I dropped my keys in the snowbank, even the weight of my purse on my shoulder got under my skin.   Everything seemed exaggerated and I left work feeling sucker punched by the day.

And then over dinner it peaked and I teared into a glass of club soda, (it would have been wine but I had to drive home and besides, crying in a restaurant might put people off their food). The festering boil popped and drained, leaving nothing but a sense of renewed hope, of being alive, thankful for my blessings and a renewed spirit to continue the journey. Mom would have said it was a 'kick in the arse day', one of those moments to bend over and get a well placed reality check. Nothing like a boot in the butt to put things in perspective so you stop sweating the small stuff. My friend said "Get out the big girl panties and put them on!" Buck up soldier! Shit or get off the pot!

Today I woke up, hauled my weary body out of bed, put one foot in front of the other, took the pups outside and inhaled the crisp freshness of a new morn. My negative alter ego had vanished and although I know there will be more of these moments, that's okay. I am only human. I know I won't be shocking anyone with the revelation that I have bad days, we all have them, no one sails through life on a happy boat every second of every day.   I know the grass is not greener on the other side, unless of course you have astro turf, a fake reality that will bite you at some point so don't look down your nose at me!

Today I have a million things to do. Get orders out, get a kit ready for pick-up tomorrow, then go home sometime in the evening to dishes piled along the counter, laundry spilling out of the hall door, (I no longer have a matching set of socks), bring in more firewood and try to get to bed before midnight. I could let it drag me down again but I'm going to say "to heck with it", take time just for me, write on my book or maybe sit for a bit and stare at the wall, have a nice soak in the claw foot tub and read, or get out my hooking, finish the poor Christmas stocking that keeps goading me into a big guilt.   I've been working pretty hard lately and I need a bit of fun. Something just for me so I won’t get tied up in a ball with the complaints of the day. All work and no play is making me a dull dilly.

I've been told I'm a perfectionist and the reason behind the stress. Too bad I couldn't have it surgically removed or zip it off like a skin tag. I have high standards and that's what makes my shop so unique, but maybe I could lighten up a bit, not put so much pressure on myself.   Maybe I'll live a little longer.

"Don't let the Perfect be the enemy of the Good" - Voltaire

2 Comments

Crazy about Christmas...or just crazy?

1/16/2013

3 Comments

Well, call me foolish but I can’t let go of Christmas. It’s too soon and I’m not ready yet! I only just took down my tree Sunday evening and all along I was telling people I was too busy to do it because I secretly wanted to keep it. There was remorse abandoning it to the outdoors, cold and forgotten like yesterday’s news. Usually it’s dumped New Year’s Day, a good hangover kind of mindless job, cussing the needles all over the carpet like it’s done purposely to annoy me. My beautiful little tree gave its life for me and this is how I treat it? Dress it all up with glitz and bling and then heartlessly strip it down and throw it out like trash.  I’m seriously thinking artificial next year....

So, what has happened to the Grinch we all know and sometimes love? Where is the real Christine? Have I been abducted by Christmas loving aliens and replaced with one of them? Or does it have something to do with menopause? Is that what's making me all sentimental and sappy, just like the tree I threw out? After years of being indifferent to Christmas, sometimes not even bothering with a tree, this 180 switch will take a little getting used too.

So still in the festive mood, I’m designing new Christmas stockings for next year. Christmas stockings are lovely, full of colour and offer the promise of good things to come. Stockings are small projects that are quickly hooked so you don’t mind the limited time they are displayed.  Adorned with whimsical themes you can add buttons and bows, sparkly things and fuzzy wools to tickle the fancy of children of all ages. Maybe even hook and hang one for Rover, so Santa can stuff it with treats and squeaky toys.

I’m going to design another dozen or so stockings for 2013 to add to the collection. If anyone has any suggestions send me your input and I’ll pump them out and get them on the rack.  Someone already asked for a King Henri VIII, a male historical figure to offset Mary’s Mona Lisa pattern...a his and her sort of thing. And one person would like a few red cardinals.   This doesn’t mean you have to order the patterns just put forth a few ideas to help me along.

2013 is going to be the year of design. I want more, bigger and better. My goal is to catch up to
Pearl McGown and then wiz by her…which isn’t too lofty an idea considering I’m alive and kicking and have several decades ahead of me…cross fingers, knock on wood! Big shoes to fill but I’m going to give it a whirl and over the next couple of years I should be able to put a dent in my target of 3000 patterns. You have to have something to get up in the morning for, besides the need for food and take the dogs out to pee! So there it is, out in black and white, I can’t retract it…it’s carved in stone; I’m going to design my arse off!

P. S. I’m starting to think I shouldn’t eat chocolate before I write. I’m feeling a little jazzed and overly enthusiastic! I found my husband’s stash of dark chocolate Toblerone and had a little nibble waiting for dinner.

               Here are three newbies, hot off the press!

'No Crib For A Bed' a manger filled with animals gathering around the baby Jesus, who has a pretty groovy curl on the top of his head.

'Dash Away', Santa heading out for the night shift...up, up and away!

'O'Christmas Tree' how lovely are your branches!

3 Comments

A trip down a wintery, memory lane...

1/9/2013

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Bear with me, I'm feeling a bit nostalgic.

Driving home from work last evening I noticed the Mahone Bay harbour was covered by a thin blanket of ice. Torn between the beauty of our planet and the realization that winter was really here to stay, my ahhh quickly turned to a moan. The harbour freezing over is always indicative of how cold the nights have become and at -14, the night before last, was a prime example of why I should be a snowbird in Florida. But thankfully that kind of cold won’t last. It never does anymore. A quick freeze is followed by an even quicker thaw and with rain coming this evening that should take it right back to waves lapping the shoreline. We just don’t dip and stay below zero anymore. And that’s a good thing, at least for me. Global warming has its perks I guess, I could do with a little less of a frigid winter. Maybe have the entire season concentrated into one week where we are pummeled with unending snow, cold temperatures and Jack Frost on a rampage. People could haul out their snowmobiles and all the winter toys, do whatever turns them on and experience a Currier & Ives winter painting outside their windows. A week would be just enough to get a bit of wear out of the coat and boots, give us something to talk about, because we Nova Scotians love to talk about the weather, and then roll ahead into a long, glorious spring.

There have been many changes over the years. Cold is no longer the cold of my youth. We seldom get the temperatures of yesteryear, when the harbour froze solid to Strum’s Island and stayed that way until spring. Snow is no longer the threat it used to be either. Years ago snow
came in nothing short of a blizzard, pretty much causing the daily grind to come to a halt. It took days and a heart attack to dig the car out and a path to the street. When the plough made a run by your driveway it built a wall of snow so high you got a nose bleed standing on it. I remember the snow stacked against telephone poles, reaching close to the wires. The stuff lasted the winter without warming temperatures to melt it away.   Winter meant snow and ice, a winter wonderland for as far as the eye could see.   Today’s winter can mean anything from a bit of snow to mud, sometimes both at once.

I know I was smaller back then, but I remember walking to school in the white powder up to my waist, sometime higher…climbing into the footsteps of the bigger, older kids blazing a trail ahead of us. A slip and a fall and you could have been lost until spring. That really happened to a woman back in the 80’. She was a bit on the tipsy side, fell down on her way home and the plough swept her into a bank of snow and she lay there until the spring thaw. That would never happen today, you might be a human popsicle but they’d find you in the morning.

And school was never cancelled, as long as you could run, walk or crawl you had to be there. But back then, it was fun, and healthy to be out in the fresh air, walking to school, what an unfamiliar concept today, with mom’s taxi service running all day long. Everyday we’d play on the way to and from school, making snow angels and snowmen, and forts with multiple rooms. Snow caked mittens, glowing red cheeks and running noses; that was winter. We’d arrive cold and wet to school and put our mittens on the old, hissing radiators; the smell of damp wool wafting through the air. By recess they would be dry and we’d run screaming to the outdoors for another 15 minutes of glorious winter fun; more snow angels, snowmen, digging tunnels and building forts, more wet mittens and boots. I’m not so sure many kids
today get the full experience winter. I find that sad.

I remember flying down Oxner’s hill on a real wooden toboggan or a piece of cardboard. The hill was so peppered with kids you barely made it down the hill without a crash.   Ahhh…..and skating figure eights on the pond behind our house while avoiding pucks as the boys played hockey. Maybe George, the lad you had a secret crush on helped you up when you fell, held your hand for a heart stopping second. That pond hardly freezes solid anymore and now skating is done in an indoor arena, not under a wintery sky.

We skated on the harbour as far as our legs could carry us, the ice groaning and making cracking sounds under our weight, but we had no fear, it was a thick as a concrete slab.   We’d stand on the sidelines while cars raced the icy track out to the islands and back. Bonfires on the ice to warm your hands and marshmallow melts, all parts of winter to look forward too, gone and almost forgotten. In later years Ice boats tacked back and forth the shores, but even that no longer exists. Hubby liked extending the sailing season but the iceboat hasn’t been out of the basement for years now. The harbour is no longer the icy playground it used to be.

The late eighties saw the last of the smelt houses. That was always a given, smoke stacks puffing greasy, grey clouds from small wood stoves while fishermen sat around a hole in the ice telling fish tales and sipping from a flask of coffee, tea or maybe something stronger. The last time smelt shacks were on the harbour a quick thaw sent them to the bottom in less than a day. As I watched them sink from my apartment window, one by one, into the sea, I didn’t realize I was watching the end of an era.

One thing for sure. Change is inevitable. Nothing stays the same. Eventually time carries everything away. As we age we think more of the past and the changes we've gone through. And someday it will be our turn to tell the youngins' the way it was, way back then. We’ll all become that old fogie you listened too as a child.... telling you fanciful stories, putting an extra foot on the fish story. "Yep sonny…I had to walk 10 miles to get to school in snow up to my chest. I didn't have winter boots or a jacket and carried my little brother and book bag on my shoulders…..yep, them was the days all right!"

Packed like sardines on a four seater toboggan we hung on for dear life as we picked up speed to the bottom. Usually the person on the back flew off from the bumps of the uneven, snowpacked hill. What fun!

Yes, I know these pictures are before my time...1910 to be exact. But they represent my memories of the 60's. The crowded Oxner's Hill after school or on the weekend. I can almost hear the laughter and smell the steamy, warm breaths and fresh outdoor smell of kids at play.

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Who'da thunk?

A little of this and that......

Am I really a control freak?

Jolly Roger ahoy......Arrrrrr.............

Cancelled Hook-in this Wednesday June 5th

New bags and resident artist!

Dumpster diving on Mother's Day.....

Que Sera, Sera Whatever Will Be, Will Be

Why in blazes can't I sleep?

I'm back to work and on the mend!

Different strokes for different folks......

I'm sick and cranky!

What came first, the toy or the toy poodle?

To hell in a hand basket.....

I know it's time to rest when.....

The calm after the storm...

Not a happy camper!

A fly in the ointment!

Snow Snow Snow

No help for the sick and weary!

The Cremation of Sam McGee

Hook-in on Saturday?

Put on those big girl panties!

Crazy about Christmas...or just crazy?

A trip down a wintery, memory lane...

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