Category:

Happy New Year!

1/2/2013

I hope everyone had a great New Year's, whether it was a fun filled, hug and kiss everyone at midnight kind of bash, or a quiet evening at home with a few friends, or just a plunk in front of the TV. Saying good-bye to the old and welcoming the new, one wonders what might lay ahead. What new adventures await us.

Hubby and I opted for the low key, ring in the New Year with the pups and I must say, it has its advantages. No funny head the morning after or fuzzy sweater mouth. I remember the days of New Year's dances, with floor length getup's and Champagne at the twelve o'clock hour. Out on the floor dancing to "Rock Around the Clock" and the rest of the oldies but goodies. They're even older now! Balloons, funny hats and horns. Those times were fun, but if I had to choose at this point in my life, I think eating a bit of lobster and putting my feet up wins hands down. Guess I'm and old fuddy duddy now, but hey, nothing wrong with that!

Now it's back to the real world, the shop and inventory. Those wonderful year end business responsibilities. Usually I dread them but not this year. This year holds a lot of promise and I have a bunch of new, exciting ideas rambling around in my head...I think this just might be the best year yet.

Tonight is the first hook-in of the new year. I look forward to seeing all the familiar faces of my rug hooking family. Finding out about their holidays and hear laughter bouncing off the shop walls. Hopefully the cold won't keep them home. There will be hot chocolate waiting and another year of good times ahead!

More space!

12/29/2012

Well, I had a very exciting day. I’m getting more shop space! More room to stock wool and patterns.…endless possibilities! Hubby and I spent the day clearing out the back room in my shop, hauling his tools to his new garage and I’ve organized all the stuff I had stored in
there as well and what is left will be a 16” x 17” space to reinvent into rug hooking nirvana.

I’m good at reinvention, I seem to do it to myself every five years or so. The last time I
morphed I started making jewellery. What fun I had playing with bling but then reality set in and I didn’t have the time to serve two masters and give each one the attention they deserved
so one had to go. Hooking being my first craft love, I stuck with the tried and true. I think those days are now behind me, it’s time to settle on one dream, and ride that wave to the end. I’ve always wanted to open a restaurant but that idea is now tucked away on the top shelf,
way in the back. Way too much work for an old bird. Besides, not all fantasies need to be realized. There’s nothing wrong with having dreams, it keeps the brain limber and fresh. Someday I’ll settle in my life, be happy to stand still and smell the roses; I’ll call it retirement but
I’m not ready to go there yet. I’m going to ride the rug hooking train all the way and where it stops no one knows, but I hope the journey is long and not too bumpy.

Rug hooking has changed over the years. It’s now more internet based with EBay and websites springing up all across Canada and the United States to sell wares online. I’m old school and really like to see customers and talk to them on the phone but you have to play the technology game or you’ll get lost in the shuffle.   Part of me is still stuck in the olden days but I'm capable of learning and I’m slowly crawling into he cyber world LOL! OMG...See…I can do it!

To me, caressing a piece of wool is far superior to online shopping, but I know not everyone is
handy to a supply store. Some provinces or states don’t have the luxury of a single shop and if there is one, that doesn’t mean you're in close proximity to it. That’s why people marvel over our little town of Mahone Bay; a place so small if you blink, while driving through, you’d miss it all, and we have two rug hooking shops! Not to mention down the road there’s the North American Rug Hooking Museum and shops peppered all across province. Nova Scotia is a mecca for Rug Hooking! I’m told hookers plan their entire vacation around this area to touch and sniff wool.

So here I sit at 5:30 am, the house is quiet save for a couple of dogs snoring and I’m wrapped in a polar fleece blanket coaxing computer keys into words when I should be sound asleep so I’m fresh to open the shop tomorrow. If you pop in my eyes will be drooping but I’ll be beaming from ear to ear over my new space…I’ll drag you in to show it off and tell you my dreams.

I think maybe I’ll stock the woodstove and hit the sofa for an hour or two and hopefully find some sleep, but that’s probably a fat chance..…visions of that new back room are dancing in my head and thoughts are racing by like the second hand on the clock. It’s all about new possibilities now……..

Christmas Holidays

12/27/2012

The Little's Christmas tree.

What a blissful Christmas! To me the holidays are all about relaxing, more than the food, the
company or the gifts. I run a shop and sometimes that feels more like my life than a job outside the home. I don’t just sell product off the shelf. I peddle passion and inspiration; and that takes more out of you than shifting premade inventory that's made in China. Every now and then you need to take a breather to recharge the creative batteries and that's what I did.  I stayed in my jammies for two days and relished the quiet time with my hubby, son and four wonderful pups.

Christmas morning was all about the hairy kids. Yes, they got toys…Santa comes to all good girls and boys. Hubby bought them a brain challenge game. They have to open doors to retrieve treats and I hate to brag, but all four of them mastered it immediately. But, you know, I don’t think the makers of these games are really thinking of dogs. You can’t hide a treat from a dogs's sense of smell!   I think maybe the games are for the masters, something cutsey to spend money on. But then again, maybe my dogs are just geniuses….yes that’s it…they aced the game because of their IQ.   It was definitely fun for the two seconds it lasted but really, a big waste of money.

I tried to be good and stay away from sweets but there’s an arsenal of chocolate in the house.   I bought the usual boxes of Belgian Chocolate from Costco, the traditional Toblerone, a hunk of chocolate so big it could act as a weapon and Hubby brought home a box of Bernard Callebaut so we were well chocolated up. For anyone who doesn’t know the brand, Callebaut chocolates
are the best in the world. I could smell them in his study, hidden in his desk. How in heck was I supposed to ignore them? Aw well, who needs toes anyway, I’ll just stuff a sock it the end of my shoes.   New Year’s with its customary resolutions is approaching so there's plenty of time to make changes. Christmas is a time of indulgence and thankfully it comes but once a year.

We had a supreme Christmas feast.   Because it was just the three of us we opted for a huge, free range, grain fed chicken that would have given a small turkey a good run its money, so let’s just call it a turkey and be done with it. It sounds much more traditional as well.

I make the best dressing ever.....don’t care what anyone says, the flavours in this dressing are tops. I’ve been around the Christmas block and tasted my share of stuffing’s but none have come close to the flavours in this blend of ingredients. (Recipe to follow).

We had sweet potatoes baked in maple syrup and butter. Mashed white potatoes for Shane.
Organic foul makes the best gravy, just like mother used to make, without any need for added flavour packets or cubes, and I add my secret ingredient, a pinch of garlic. We cracked open a
bottle of homemade cranberries (thanks Armenia), had steamed broccoli for a bit of green on the plate, carrots, homemade beets and my favorite specialty, sweet & sour pearl onions (recipe to follow).

I don’t stuff my bird as I don’t like the dressing influencing the taste of the meat, so I make it up and put it in a casserole dish, then pour drippings from the turkey and bake it in the oven with
the bird so it’s infused with the flavour. You’d never know it wasn’t cooked inside the turkey. Packing in the dressing and trussing a bird seems like a lot of work. I remember watching my mother stuff and then sew up the cavity and quite frankly, I’d rather be cleaning an outhouse. And not to sound too morbid, it was like she was sewing it up a cadaver after an autopsy…hey I call it like I see it!

I usually start my turkey with the cover on to steam cook it first and then with the cover off for the last hour or so for the browning. I find the breast meat stays moister as it locks the juices in and maybe Miss Stewart wouldn't agree but it works for me and follows my mother’s tradition.

Contrary to what most may think, Christmas dinner is a really simple meal that basically cooks itself.  A bit of timely basting and peeling and chopping the veggies and you’re off to the races. It isn’t a meal that forces you to stand all day slaving over the preparation. Hubby loves to help so that makes it even easier for me to keep up the princess persona.

We ate so much food I heard a few groans, most from me. Shane took home enough turkey and gravy to eat hot sandwiches for the next few days and we will be heating up the leftovers for a day or two as well, although by Friday I’ll want to deviate with a bit of fresh fish or beef. Hubby loves a good turkey/cranberry and mayo sandwich as well. Try it sometime, you’ll like it! Add some alfalfa sprouts as well.

Then Boxing Day was a shameless sleep-in day. We got up at noon and had a very relaxed brunch, played with the pups and decided it was a day of puttering. Hubby chopped and stacked firewood in the garage and I hooked. It was a mini taste of retirement, but funny thing, even though I could stay home guilt free, my thoughts continually drifted to the shop. For some reason, I really felt compelled to go to work, so I stayed in my jammies to dissolve the temptation.

So I hooked. I’m working on a very finicky part of the stocking, trying to make the brass trumpet in Santa’s sack look as realistic as possible. The shading has to be just right to produce that glint you would find on polished brass. I love a creative challenge and hopefully I can put my wool where my mouth is.

Then we awoke this morning to a Currier & Ives painting. Sure the white stuff is pretty through the window, but it’s nasty outside when you have to take pups out for their business. Henri loves it. He rubs his whiskers in the snow and then does a body roll. The other three not so much. Because of the sad state of the weather, I opted to take an owner’s prerogative day off. More lounging around in the jammies and computer work. Thanks goodness Mother Hubbard’s cupboard is far from bare and as long as the power doesn’t go out we’ll be set for the evening.

I checked my Facebook yesterday and noticed a kid,, a teenage boy, ‘liked’ my Encompassing Designs page. His wall photo was that of a very muscular older man, at least older than the kid, sporting a rock hard six pack, posing as if he was in a Calvin Klein underwear ad. The kid who liked me did not speak English. I really don’t know a lot about Facebook and quite frankly I don’t understand why a kid, probably not even knowing what Rug Hooking is all about, would even care, so I mentioned it to hubby and he said. “Maybe he was looking for a hooker?” We both laughed, but maybe he was right? Then a funny story popped to mind.

When I first opened business back in 2000 and got my website up and running I had the ability to keep track of the daily stats. How many hits to my site, how many people found it through a search engine, etc. Each day I noted 12-25 people visited my site. That was 13 years ago and over all pretty good attention whereas these days it’s peanuts, expecting 400– 1000 visitors in a 24 hours period.    The program also told you where the hits were coming from, whether US or
Canada, and showed which internet provider the search originated from and the area. I was curious and checked it daily to track how popular the site was becoming and who was
interested.

So one day I checked and saw almost 600 hits! 597 people visited my shop in one day! 597!!! I almost fell off my chair. So I did the reasonable thing, I waited for the phone to ring. Surely that many people would bring in an order or two, because baby, I’d hit the big time!

Hours ticked by and nothing happened. So I went back in to search the stats further. I peeled back the layers to discover there was a US naval ship anchored in Halifax harbour so every hit came from the ‘US Navy’ from a server in Halifax. The men must have been on leave and were looking for a little hooking action. So, I didn’t get any calls for patterns or kits and thankfully so. Obviously, my kind of hooking was the last kind of handwork they were looking for……

Honey and Henri playing with their toys.

Mommy explaining that all good boys and girls share.

Twas the 4th Night Before Christmas

12/21/2012

Well, I’m behind the eight ball again this year. I’ll be out there tonight hunting for the few gifts I buy. Christmas just sneaks up on me. You’d think now that I’m no spring chicken I’d have learned a thing or two but I guess not as I’m back in the same situation as last year and all the years before that. Time is running out and so is all the good stuff to buy!

I don’t have much to shop for. Just a little surprise for hubby from the pups, something small as he already got the big present, his mancave/garage. And, of course I need to get something for Shane. I’ve been asking him for a month what he would like but he doesn’t seem to know and now its crunch time.   If he doesn’t know I’m sure I don’t. Kids today, No matter what the age, they want specific things so buying what you think they might like usually means a return on Boxing Day so I just ask and get what he wants.

I don’t do returns; one trip to the store is enough. I get in and get out like a man, quick and dirty. I’m not one of those fondlers who touch everything, or know from wall to wall what’s in the store. Not me. I have tunnel vision, don’t deviate from the plan and get out. I think I’m one chromosome away from being a man in the shopping department and it might explain why my wardrobe is lack luster. I’ve often thought, the few times a year I’m forced to go into clothing stores “how can women do this all the time?” Just having to take your clothes off in those cold change rooms is like a pin in the eye!

So after today my Christmas plans will be complete. I’ll take out the frozen organic chicken from the deep freeze that looks like it’s been on steroids. It’s huge!!!   This weekend I’ll make butter tarts for hubby and shortbread for me and after a bit of grocery shopping on Monday, I’ll settle in for the holidays and do some hooking, a whole lot of eating and maybe play a bit of Mahjong.

I need to finish off my Christmas stocking. I got distracted by work and birthdays these past two weeks so it might not be ready for Santa to fill. But, who needs a lump of coal anyway?

Coffee

12/18/2012

I’ve spent years avoiding vices other than a short, obsessive period with blue and white china in the 90's. Some will say, "Hey, good for you Christine, your body's a temple!”, while others will say, “Too bad, you’ve missed a heck of a lot of fun!” Somehow, I’ve managed to avoid the grip of alcohol, other than a handful of times at rug school when I let my hair down, especially one year with Susan Leslie, Susie Stevenson and a bottle of Sambuca, but like Vegas, what happens there, stays there.

Personally, I just never liked the taste of the stuff so why bother? And then there's the fact that you have to drink more than once a year to build a tolerance or you just end up a blathering fool. Embarrassingly, after one or two drinks I was always under the table, or on it dancing, but that’s another story for another time. Like a good wine, I mellowed over the years, and slowly developed a taste for the fermented grape, so now I occasionally tip my elbow at dinner, social functions and at times, just because.

I also managed to get to my fifties without getting hooked on the other liquid vice...coffee. Growing up in our household, hot beverages had never been that prevalent so it never crossed my mind later in life.   Besides, back then, it was mostly instant coffee and that was pretty nasty. To me it tasted and looked like dirty bathwater, not that I was ever that dirty or inclined to drink from the tub, but comparatively, after drinking today’s coffees, most will admit that the yesteryear’s pale, chemical imitation really wasn’t very pleasant.

And remember Coffee-mate? The cream coloured powder you stirred in as a substitute for canned milk to reduce calories? That’s actually ground rock folks, Feldspar to be exact, according to my geologist hubby…yum yum! And canned milk wasn’t anything to jump up and down about either; my lips just curled thinking about it. Nothing back then inspired a second cup!

I will admit I tried a cup or two over the years, but I was never a fan of the open pot coffee, the percolator or the automatic drip but when hubby, a seasoned coffee drinker, bought a Bodum a while ago, I started seeing the merits of an occasional brew with its full bodied richness and silky
smoothness.   The beans he liked were of good quality and ground at home; The Laughing Whale, Kicking Horse and Just Us dark roasts are a few of our favorites, freshly ground without all the chemicals and preservatives that can be found in some brands. It was a slow love affair, a coffee here and there in a good restaurant, sipping a bit out of hubby’s cup at breakfast and gradually the acquired taste became part of my daily routine.    When I discovered 18% cream, I was well on the road to addiction and coffee became a necessary starter for the day.

About a month ago I bought a Keurig Platinum Coffee machine for the shop. Not so much for the coffee, it was a decision made for the convenience factor. We used to make the occasional automatic drip potful and so much was thrown away and of course, after it sits for more than an hour it turns into paint stripper. And, then there’s the cleanup, disposing of soggy grinds and wet filters and so on. Bonnie likes her coffee on the weak side, I like it strong and Shane is somewhere in-between, so one pot didn’t satisfy the varied palettes.   At the evening hook-ins some wanted decaf while others didn’t, so it seemed like a bother and we usually went without. So now, the magical Keurig will cater to the individual taste buds with one of several selections; mild, medium, dark, decaf, no fuss and no mess. And oh yes, convenience aside, it makes an excellent cup of Joe. This dream machine also brews tea, hot chocolate and a delightful pure apple cider that makes the shop smell all festive and cozy.

So we were at Costco today and I bought a second unit as a Christmas prezzie for our home.
Hubby never minds grinding the coffee beans, boiling the kettle, pouring the water into the Bodum, waiting four to five minutes before you push down the press, but I’m a bit of a princess and like the thought of quick and simple, press a button, no work involved other than selecting a coffee pod, pulling a mug out of the cupboard and setting it on the tray. In less than 30 seconds your lips are sipping a bit of heaven, feeling the warmth of the china cup cradled in your hand while the aromatic steam tantalizes your senses. Tomorrow morning, I’ll curl up on the
sofa with the four best darn pups in the world and plan my day, and it is my day in every sense of the word, because fifty four years ago I came into this world. I'll begin the celebration while drinking my first home brewed Keurig dark roast coffee. It doesn’t get much better than this!

Bullying

12/13/2012

My blogs are like an SOS, one short and two long. Hope you aren’t falling asleep reading them!

I think maybe I’ll talk about bullying today. It seems to be the hot topic in the media these days with some very sad consequences.   When you hear the word bully, you immediately think about kids, but bullying isn’t exclusive to adolescents. Adults do it too. I’ve noticed it more in the shop this past year.   It was discussed on CBC radio yesterday and after having several things happen to me last week I thought I would sit down and write about it. These encounters sucked the rug hooking joy right out of me, and they caused me to question why I was doing this and maybe it’s time to rethink the business to the point of closing my door. I guess I take it personally when someone treats me badly, but then I go to other businesses and witness other rude people working out their unhappiness on the world so I know I’m not alone and in a weird way, it’s consoling and puts it all into perspective.

I was in the bank the other day and an older gentleman was peeling a strip off a young teller because he didn’t think it relevant to have his debit card with him to pay his bills. She was trying to explain why the policy was in place, but he was having none of it. It struck me odd that he could be so mean over something so insignificant. He hollered that he was sick of all the rules and stood there stomping and sputtering and then he said in a very threatening, loud tone, “I’ll be back, maybe not today, but I’ll be back!” and stormed out the door. In a time when disgruntled people bring guns to work and fire into a crowd, that kind of anger is unsettling. He was older so a few smiles and eye rolls went around the room, a harmless old man letting off some steam, no biggy, but from where I was sitting it was pretty aggressive. As he left he tried to slam the mechanized door but the closure made it impossible, it was like trying to bang a carpet.   Ironically, an inconsequential man creates a tempest in a teapot over a non-issue. What’s the point?

Right after that I went to the post office and stood in line while a woman kept commenting she’d have to remortgage her house to buy the stamps that came to $7.00 plus change. It was said nastily, a hit on the postal clerk as if she set the prices. The postal clerk showed no signs of emotion as her training dictates but, I wondered how many times she was subjected to ornery customers considering how many people seem to hate Canada Post; this is a conclusion I've made from the observations of 13 years of sending out parcels and from listening to my mother-in-law.

After the stamp woman had her way with the captive audience behind the counter, she turned around to face the line-up that was now four people deep and proceeded to give us a lecture on the costs of mailing and how she knew someone, who knew someone else, that sent a parcel that cost $75.00…shaking her head and finger at the postal clerk. Her words hung in the air like bad perfume. Now in all fairness, we only got half the story. Like what was in that parcel or how
much it might have weighed, maybe it was a table-saw and $75.00 was cheap. So, rudeness seems to be everywhere, maybe it’s an epidemic. Too bad there wasn’t a vaccination for it.

Maybe tough economic times are wearing our manners thin or possibly things like tweeting and texting have made us forget the proper way to converse. Whatever the reason, I feel that people are losing a bit of their social graces. Now 99.9 % of my customers are wonderful, so I hope you don’t take offense at this note… I’m just saying there are some who have lost the art of please and thank you. I was raised in a home where you respected your elders and asked for things with a
please and offered a thank-you if you got them. Now I’m not saying I’m ancient, but I
was raised in a time that practiced decent manners or you forfeited the reward.

What bothers me the most is how one bad apple spoils the bunch. All the good karma evaporates after that one hateful person infects my day. It annoys me that one small worm causes me to throw away the entire apple bag.   Enough with the fruit analogies, you get my drift. I guess we are all vulnerable to negative treatment.   Most of the time I’m a strong, confident and intelligent woman but unkind words shrivel me like water on a witch. I’m not proud of this and it’s something I plan to work on. In 2013, I will no longer be a victim of bullying.   If I become upset, they win, so I’m going to practice the water off the back routine and if the buttons are pushed to the point of no return, then I may suggest they go elsewhere to buy their rug hooking supplies.

I won’t talk specifics but in two days three people were rude to me on a scale of 10. I thought maybe the pressure of Christmas was wearing them down. I’m under a bit of stress right now so I know what that’s like. I don’t have any shopping done or a decoration up and the tree is outside
on the ground. My personal life takes a backseat this time of year as I work to make sure others have the kits and patterns they want to see under their tree but am I rude on the phone or
with customers at the shop? Hell no, it wouldn’t even occur to me. So people, you know who you are, try to be a little kinder, to me or others that cross your path.

Maybe we suffer from delusions of grandeur. Somehow we have elevated egos, as if we matter.
Maybe Facebook, Texting and Tweeting are giving us a false sense of importance. When people read what you’ve had for breakfast and follow your every move, maybe it sets us up to stick it to the little people.   And there’s trouble on the horizon, kids all want to be famous now. I watched a children’s program the other day, not on purpose, I was just finding a suitable show for the pups to watch while I was at work. Cartoons always have fun noises and exaggerated voices so I think they entertain more. Anyway, it was what I would consider a very violent show where kids were hurting one another to gain the upper hand. I didn’t watch enough to have the full story line but I wasn’t impressed. In an age when people scoff at our generation’s entertainment, like Bugs Bunny or Wiley Coyote and the Road Runner, calling it too violent and not fit for young, impressionable minds, this show seems a contradiction. When the show’s theme song began to play I couldn't believe the content. "I want to be famous, I want to be famous” was all it said, over and over and over. What kind of message does that leave our kids?   But it’s true, everyone wants to be famous these days but not by hard work and paying their dues. Everything has to be instant and gratifying whether it is deserved or not.

So to get back to bullying; maybe we bully because we think we are important. The woman who just ordered wool from us was very unkind. She had ordered the wrong item and then blamed it on us, expecting instant service when there were others before her. When I chatted with her on the phone the other night I was definitely bullied. I am not stupid nor am I a child and do not need to be spoken to in such a manner, not that I would ever speak to a child that way! Bullying hurts. I was so gung-ho to work and after that conversation I drooped at the shoulders and sat in a chair questioning why in heck I am even here, probably working until midnight once again when everyone else is at home with their loved ones, possibly decorating their tree and sipping a soothing camomile tea. My stomach was in knots and my heart was pounding in my chest. I went home when I should have stayed, but I was now in a dark place and had no desire to do anything but mope.

The desire to please that kind of customer is zero but I’m in business and have to bend over backwards, but only to a point and as I get older I’m not as flexible as I used to be! So in 2013, if someone is rude without a cause, I will be very diplomatic in asking them to go elsewhere. This way I can keep all my apples in the cart, and my enthusiasm for all the good people that come into the shop, the ones who deserve a world of kindness!

Catch of the Day!

12/11/2012

I’ve taken my shop on the road more than a few times. I’ve packed up the U-Haul and set up shop all across Nova Scotia and beyond. Belleville, Ontario is the farthest I’ve traveled but I’ve dragged my goods to Moncton, Yarmouth numerous times, Black Point Rug & Quilt Show several years running, St. Margaret’s Bay, and of course all the Nova Scotia Guild Rug Schools. I’m not a fan of all the work so I've semi retired the traveling show until I can find a lackey, I mean an assistant, to do all the work so I can just fly in and do the fun stuff; but of course that would be Fantasy Island and I don't have da plane boss.

No one would believe the amount of preparation that goes into taking a large shop on the road and truthfully, I take it to the nth degree.  If you’re going to go through all the trouble of setting up shop to sell your wares, you might as well take everything! There’s nothing worse than having to tell a customer, ‘Sorry, I didn’t bring that!” So, I pretty much have always been the largest vendor wherever I go...…you have to make it worth your while! Dyeing wool, designing new patterns and stocking the supplies, takes months and like Santa's toy sack the trailer bulges at the seams. Then there's the packing which usually takes five to seven hours, it isn’t just a random throw in a box procedure. The goods have to be packed carefully to maximize content and avoid being crushed and wrinkled.  Loading it into the U-Haul, that first time, takes a lot of maneuvering to make it all fit securely.   Like any moving company, special care has to be taken so your precious cargo makes the trip safely; you can’t have things flopping around and getting damaged.

Then you hit the road with all the enthusiasm of a child with a new adventure on the horizon,
but you grow up real quick as reality sets in and the kilometers pile up in a slow agonizing count. You drive until your butt goes numb, your legs fall asleep and you swill coffee to keep sleep at bay that in turn, forces pee breaks at every exit. Finally you arrive at the destination. Half of you is elated the trip is over but then you groan, knowing the work ahead of you. You unload, then unpack, set up the display, paint a smile on your tired face and stand on your swollen feet all day long selling your goods and chattel. This isn’t a job for sissies; you work your derriere off!

Then, after the show's over, when you’d kill to crawl under one of the tables and have a nap, you can’t because there’s usually a limited amount of time to tear the display down, pack it all up and lug it out to the vehicle before the custodian locks the door behind you. Then more driving until you arrive dead tired back home, but there’s still no sleep, you have to unpack and set it all back up so you can open for business the next morning. Every day the near empty shop runs on wool fumes you suffer lost revenue and rug hookers, traveling from afar, are always disappointed they don’t get the full Encompassing Designs experience. The shop resembles the scene after the Grinch has stolen the Whoville's Christmas, and this bareness does not inspire return visits.

Where the "Little" wools are all hung in a row.
"These yards of great colour" I grinned, "are the first things to go!"
Then I slithered and slunk with a backache most unpleasant,
Around the whole shop, to take all things present.
Dyed wool! And Patterns! Scissors! And Frames!
Dye spoons! Cutters! And more of the same!
And I stuffed them in bags, boxes and baskets.
Leaving little behind for anyone's asking.
Then I packed all the bags in the U-haul with glee.
And hit the road, after coffee and a pee!

So, I’m no stranger to hauling my shop around and when I was invited to attend the Ontario Guild AGM being held in Belleville that year, my hubby said “let’s do it!” If not for his help I would have declined but because he was available to lean on, do the driving and all the heavy lifting, why not! This might sound sexist but quite frankly, I firmly believe that any job you can break a fingernail on, is man’s work!

So we packed up the U-Haul and hit the road. We called it our ‘Little’ adventure, pardon the pun, and although it was a working vacation, we thought it would be nice to get away, just the two of us for a bit of R & R. But OMG.....it was a lot of driving! Did I say it was a lot of driving? Well, it sure was a heck of a lot of driving! No stopping for anything accept to eat, sleep, refuel and go to the bathroom. How exciting! Two days up and two days back. Hubby took the helm while I slept most of the way being the helpful navigator that I am. I tend to doze in the car having nothing to do but look at long, boring spans of hypnotic highway.

The trip was uneventful except for the time I ran out of gasoline on my only driving shift. Hubby was napping and I didn’t want to disturb him so I figured I could hit the next Irving Big Stop but fell short of it with less than two kilometers to go. Too far to walk, the long wait for the CAA guy was brutal, especially when we were pressed for time. Finally gassed up and back on the road, we drove through town after town and I saw antique shops that I would have crawled naked over glass to check out, but there wasn’t any time! Being devious, I mean clever and resourceful, I secretly made mental notes of stops to make on the way home. It would be my reward for all the hard work, not that I needed an excuse to shop. So we finally made it to Belleville late, checked into a hotel and fell asleep as soon as our heads hit the pillow. The next day we rose early, had breakfast and drove to the venue to set up shop.

Out of gas and patience, (that would be me), hubby stretched his legs and took this shot of me, waiting for the CAA guy to rescue us with the $10 can of gas.

Ahhh breakfast! That trip marked my first meal at a Cora’s Restaurant. The food was excellent and I was mentally preparing ahead for upcoming breakfasts while I was stuffing the current one in. Holy Hannah the food was fabulous, by far the best breakfast I’ve ever had. Decadent crepes, French toast with real maple syrup, Eggs Benny, crème fraîche and sliced fruit, not only delicious but arranged like edible art on our plates. When I think about the trip to Belleville, Cora’s is the first thing to come to mind.; obviously I place my stomach before wool. Cora's was the place I got the idea for the Chinese Lattice surrounding the dye kitchen in the shop. Yes, Cora's was just a fabulous experience!

So we made it to the venue and unpacked the U-Haul. That’s exhausting in itself, but instead of having a rest you have to open up all the boxes and arrange the wares in a pleasing display PDQ. This would normally take hours but usually you only have a short time to do the job. I was one of many vendors and the building was abuzz with excitement and a flurry of activity, rushing to meet the opening that speeds toward you like a freight train!   As per the usual, people arrive early and are picking through your goods while you are trying to unpack. They love to chat you up when you need to be working so you try to do both in a friendly, frazzled kind of way.   I’m hammering out orders for hubby to put that here or there, and hang this or that, while I’m moving at warp speed in all directions. I’m losing my mind on the inside but manage to keep control on the outside although a blood pressure reading would have been frightful.

Once everything was orderly and ready for the customers I was able to relax and the event went very smoothly. I met lots of new rug hookers and put faces with names I’d talked to on the phone or emailed over the years. I was surprised at how many familiar faces I'd met at rug schools. Everyone was so happy to see my shop and made us feel very welcome. Hubby found the various reactions to me interesting and at one point when a woman walked through the doors and her scream “Oh my god, its Christine Little!” ricochet off the walls, he leaned over and whispered in my ear, “It’s like being married to a rock star.” People seemed so happy to meet me that I was thrilled and embarrassed at the same time.  The ole noggin swelled so by the end of the event I was slightly off balance and walked with a list to the left.

Despite the hectic rushing and all the work, it was a truly great experience and I am so happy to have it under my belt. And oh the perks! Miles of rug hooking stuff! I got to meet the other vendors and saw ‘need to have’ items everywhere! I purchased a fabulous scarf made by Wanda Kerr, a colourful prismatic hook and wool. And then some more wool. Did I say wool? Yah, I took my share home! I think I dragged more stuff home than I took cause there didn't appear to be any more room in the U-haul!

Now to get to the point of my story. One vendor across from my setup didn’t have a lot of traffic at her table and I don’t know why. She had some pretty fabulous British Woolens to drool over.
I would have killed for her source but it’s rude to ask and she didn’t offer. In the past, I'd spent hours on the internet looking for wool jobbers in Britain but have always come up empty. So when she unpacked her wares my jaw dropped. I can spy a piece of wool at fifty paces and I kept my eye peeled to make sure no one bought what was to be mine! I feared having to make a scene while wrestling yardage out of some other hooker’s hot little hands! Plaids are a favorite of mine. I love the way you can strip them down the lines of colour and get different looks. Her plaids were earthy and rich in colour, just what I had in mind. ‘Catch of the Day’ was a design of mine that I always planned to hook and knew plaids would do it justice. I didn’t want to do any dyeing for the project, just use the plaids as is. It was to be a teaching tool to demonstrate how textured wools look when they’re hooked, considering that’s a frequently asked question at the shop.

So at break time, I left hubby in charge, grabbed my wallet and rushed over to the vendor’s table and commenced the lusting. I knew how many fish I needed to hook and how much wool would do the borders so I dove into the piles and made my selections. I was her biggest sale of the day and my arms were groaning under the weight of the acquisitions as I made my way back to my station.   The woman had previously washed all the wool so it was soft and luxurious although the smell was a bit overwhelming. I have allergies to a lot of man-made scents and Downy or Fleecy are both nasty for me, so although the wool was the stuff dreams are made of, it became a bit of a
nightmare on the drive home, enough so that we had to stop and buy garbage bags to stuff it all in and move it into the U-Haul as it smelled up the car until I was forced to hang my head out the window gasping for air. When I got home I didn’t want to wash it and risk felting it thicker, so
I let it sit in the back room to off gas for almost a year before I attempted the rug.

So the AGM went smoothly, the time whizzed by and before I knew it we were packing up, checking out of our hotel, saying goodbye to my beloved Cora’s and hitting the road. It was a very expensive trip and I was in a deep hole by the time we reached Mahone Bay. After totaling up the gas, hotels, food, vendor rental space, insurance and U-Haul it was an expensive outing, but I knew that would happen even before I left. The weekend was about PR for the business, connecting with customers and meeting new rug hookers. It was also a bit of a getaway for us and although we were exhausted, it was a good kind of tired.   As always, the drive home appeared faster but it was still a long haul.

The cherry on the Sundae had been the anticipation of a bit of shopping in those antique shops I’d sourced on the trip there, but that was a big disappointment. They were all closed!   I was just a sad face pressed up against the windows, like a penniless kid outside a candy store. Closed signs stared back at me, some shops we'd missed by mere minutes!!! We were driving into a later time zone and should have left earlier! So there were no souvenirs or baubles to remind me of our little adventure. I pouted most of the way home.

When I finally got around to starting ‘Catch of the Day’, I did the entire grid in #6 dark charcoal/black wool and all the fish and borders in #7. With the wider cut, I was averaging a fish a night, and got halfway through the pattern quickly. But just like the carpenter’s house that’s never finished, I got distracted by the shop and the rug was set on the back burner. Shamefully, the normally two weeks to a month project stretched into three years! My Wednesday evening group kept up an annoying vigilance, dogging me to finish. Usually a hooking hare with lightning speed; I was a tortoise with no end in sight so it lagged on. After we decided to have a rug show in spring of 2012, I put a push on to have it to display. The finished rug hangs in the shop and gets a lot of positive comments and its had a few overtures to purchase it. I purposely haven’t sewn on the rug binding for an excuse to deflect their offers. “Sorry, it isn’t finished”, lets me off the hook. The rug is for my hubby’s study, his reward for being supportive on that wonderful trip to Belleville where I found the perfect wool to hook it. You can’t sell a memory, it’s always there to remind you of the time when……

The pattern 'Catch of the Day' is available in two sizes.
The larger, hooked one, is 40" x 63" and the smaller version is 39" x 31 1/2" Check out the pattern section for more details.

House Cleaning

12/4/2012

I’m still cleaning my house.  It’s amazing how things fall to pieces when you’ve busy.  It’s been over a month since I last dug out the vacuum and I’m paying dearly for that snub. The last thing I have time for is housework. My mother was the ultimate white tornado. You could have eaten off any surface or corner in her home. The ironing alone took forever; she sprinkled and pressed everything we wore as well as the dish cloths and bed sheets. That was her life. She excelled at
domestic chores and was proud of the fact that my father went to work with a brilliantly white, starched shirt every single day.   Through genes I’ve been handed the same gift, I can clean with the best of them, I'm thorough and conscientious, I just don’t find any joy in it and choose to not do it unless of course I’m forced too. No one would want to eat off of the corners of my house unless of course you’re a four legged rodent. I’m busy. I run a business and have four dogs!  But
I do have my pride and I can’t let my friends know my dark secret, so when they arrive for the party they’ll think I’m a domestic goddess. Just don’t look under the rug!

For the past few years I had a cleaning service and I thought I died and went to heaven. Twice a
month two wonderful angels came through the door touting their cleaning paraphernalia and went through my home eradicating all the dust and grime of day to day living.   The house sparkled like a new penny and smelled as fresh as a summer breeze. But disaster hit just before last Christmas, things were never the same and now, sadly, there are no angels.

We had just taken receipt of Jake, a three month black poodle who flew in from Quebec.   Puppies are a going concern and along with my other three they kept me hopping. It was Friday and I had an appointment with a client, so I packed up the pups and headed out the door a bit on the frazzled side. I’m a creature of habit and as I go out the door, I usually lather on a bit of hand cream and put on my rings that always rest in this little wooden bowl on my kitchen island.     But this morning I was a bit distracted with Jake and left empty fingered and never thought twice about rings until I was leaving the house Saturday morning for work.

I went to the bowl and my trinity diamond ring wasn’t there per the usual. I figured I must have taken it off in the bedroom and it was too late to run upstairs so I opted to wear the solitaire. There had been five rings in the bowl the previous day, but now there were only three and both the trinity and solitaire were missing. Alarms went off immediately. I wore the trinity daily and the solitaire only occasionally but they both should have been in the bowl. A sick feeling began to spread in the pit of my stomach as the implication set in. The rings were stolen, and it had to be yesterday as they were definitely there on Thursday. The only people in the house were the cleaners.

Now it isn’t easy to accuse someone of theft, I hope you never have to do it!  I worried I wouldn’t be taken seriously. If my allegations were denied, who would the cleaning company believe?  There was also the worry that the innocent of the two women would fall under suspicion. The older of the two I knew from way back, we actually worked together in a restaurant in my youth, and I trusted her without a doubt. She had also worked for the company for twenty years so was tried and true. The girl with her was a trainee, only on the job a few months and I never even got to meet my nemesis, because for the first time ever, I wasn’t home when they cleaned.

So I spent all weekend hoping I was wrong but knowing that I wasn’t. Frantically searching the house, the car and the shop for the rings,  it was so much better thinking I had goofed instead of thinking someone had stolen from me. I felt violated and let me tell you I tortured myself the entire weekend wondering what I should do. I even considered not saying anything just to keep the peace. You see, I knew something the thief didn’t; the two rings stolen had fake diamonds in them; Diamonelle to be exact. The #1 simulated diamond in the world with a hardness of eight and most are not able to tell without a jewelers loupe. I was happy with the fake diamonds, as I never had to worry about losing them. Collectively I paid around $500 for the rings, most of the cost was for the real gold settings. The thief, on the other hand, thought she was walking away with approximately $10,000 worth of rocks and that is why I had to make that call, to spare another home owner from knowing this kind of grief.

The thief was clever and spent a bit of time setting up a scenario. She mentioned to the upstairs woman, when she came downstairs to empty her cleaning pail, that the owner of the house had beautiful things and that the three rings in the bowl on the counter were lovely. That brought the second woman’s attention to the bowl, noting there were three rings present, so later, when questioned, she told the police that is what she observed. They interviewed me and I told them I was positive, without a doubt, that my rings were missing and the only people in the house were the cleaners.   They zeroed in on the new employee pretty quickly, and to my surprise she confessed. Said she took the diamonds out of the settings and buried them in the yard and flushed the gold down the toilet.  I never quite believed that, especially when there was an ad in the local paper of someone at the mall that very weekend buying gold. According to the police, the woman had a drug habit and stole to support it, so it was unlikely she threw guaranteed money down the drain.

The police retrieved the fake diamonds, prepared their case against her and before they issued a warrant for her arrest she absconded to England, her childhood home.   During the investigation, the also discovered she stole from a few more homes that day, even the parents of the person who owned the cleaning company. The police waited for her to return but months went by and they finally just dropped the charges.

When the police called to tell me she confessed I burst into tears. They offered grief counselling but I said this was just the relief of being believed and having the ugly mess over. I had a lot of stress over that nightmare.   I worried I wouldn’t be taken seriously, stressed over someone innocent being fired.   So much was weighing down my shoulders, the confession lifted the burden and the relief washed away through a river of tears. The cleaning company reimbursed the cost of my loss and life went back to normal. They continued to clean my home with the proviso that only their older, experienced women did the work. No more trainees ever! Over the next few months there were several times when it wasn’t possible to send the regular team, appointments and sickness and life being what it is. So they kept cancelling and I got a little frustrated and said forget it, I would clean my own house but I should have kept my mouth shut.
I’m not interested in doing housework on top of all else I have to do and I don’t want to live in filth!   In the New Year I think I’ll phone them back and work something out or look for an independent.

So they say every black cloud has a silver lining and this tale does have a happy ending. My hubby felt so badly for me, knowing how much angst I went through over the ordeal, that he bought the real deal for me that Christmas. It was a lovely sentiment, but now I have to worry about a real diamond, and let me tell you, it never leaves my finger so the next person wishing to take what’s mine will be forced to pry it off my cold dead hand!

Insomnia

12/4/2012

Well, I think it’s official. I have insomnia. That’s a
self-diagnosis but considering I'm not sleeping, I don't think I need a degree to call a spade a spade.

I’ve always been a late nighter but over the past few years I’ve successfully turned my internal clock around and, for the most part, manage to get to bed before midnight. But, for the past month, I seem to be up until 2:00 am or later and then drag my tired body up the stairs to toss and turn like a chicken on a spit, growing more and more frustrated as the hours tick away.   You’d think I’d get up and do something productive but I keep hoping sleep will come so I lay there deep breathing and counting sheep.   I'm surviving on two to four hours a night and I can only wonder, how long can this last?

For lack of a better reason, I’m blaming the new website. I’ve been so excited lately my mind has been in hyper drive. I have fallen head or heels in love with rug hooking again.   After twelve years things had gone a bit stale but now the endorphins are pumping through my veins like water through pressured pipes. Now, if only I could get a decent night’s sleep!

So, I wanted to finish my hooked piece but got home Sunday evening and found a flea on one of my pups so I had to vacuum the entire house and then bathe all four hounds. That took four hours and finally finished around 1:30. My feet were dragging and I tripped over my eyelids a couple of times so I figured…tonight’s the night, I’m so bloody tired I’ll fall asleep for sure. Well, good thing I’m not a betting women or I’d have lost my night shirt. No sleep until around 5:30 and then I snuggled in like a baby until rudely awakened at 8:00 by a screaming alarm that pulls you into consciousness with the subtlety of a cannon boom. I might be able to fall back to sleep if not for the fact that I have work to do and four tiny full bladders to take outside.

So, no hooking again last night…I'm busy cleaning my house to ready it for our Main Street Hooker’s Christmas party on Wednesday evening. This will be the Christmas scour so I should be ready with only a bit of dusting and vacuuming for the holidays.   As I work I ask myself, “Why do I have all these little things to dust?” "Stuff" my husband calls it. Sure, most of it cost a pretty penny but none of it is necessary or supports life in any way, shape or form. Stuff that you can live without. Stuff that if you packed it away and didn’t see it for two years would be forgotten. We gather all this stuff into our nests until we need to build on rooms to accommodate it all.   Maybe I’m just getting old and tired, well tired anyway. Still don’t feel any older than twenty in my head although the mirror tells me otherwise. I have a birthday this month, I’ll be 54! I don’t know where the time goes!   Speaking of time, it’s now past 1:30 am so better scoot off to bed. Fingers crossed this is the end of the sleep draught, but if not, tonight I get up and polish the silver or clean the wood stove pipe.

Someone posted the above picture on Facebook....send the swat team to my house immediately, I’ll gladly take a shot to the head!

Going For The Cure!

11/25/2012

Hooking should come with a warning label. It’s infectious and there isn't really a cure, so it keeps coming back, over and over until it fills our houses with rugs.   Some may be bitten with a mild case and have only a few rugs on their floors and walls, but others are bitten severely and have filled their houses, to such a degree that excess pieces are forced into trunks and closets, hidden away as not to shock the observer with the degree of our sickness.  Fortunately, this disease is not life threatening but the symptoms can vary in intensity. Once you feel the desire to hook the next project, get to your nearest rug hooking store for the cure.

The first sign that you’ve been infected is the presence of random thoughts. Your mind skips all over the place until it settles on a project, making you dizzy in the process. Some find relief by purchasing a ready-made pattern while others prefer self-dosing and sketch their own design. Getting this out of your system as quickly as possible is a must, because you can experience feelings of 'bursting at the seams' which means it’s now too late, you’ve reached second stage.

Luckily this stage doesn’t last long and as soon as your idea is laid to paper there will be a sense of release before a new symptom wells up to take its place. For this, call a rug shop and take one to two yards of burlap or linen, this should bring some relief. Once that is out of the way and your pattern is on the backing, along comes stage three, the overwhelming desire to hunt down and secure the wool.   This can be the most feverish stage and be warned, there could drool. Your eyesight may falter as you stare half delirious at yard upon yard of wool, while your brain plays tricks of indecision. Your feverish mind screams silently, "Why can't I have it all?"

Forth stage is the actual hooking, the longest stage before the inevitably end.   Try not to get distracted so you can get through it quickly. Don’t let it lie around and fester, prolonged delays can lead to anxiousness and subject you to comments from annoying, over achiever, “I can hook a rug in two weeks”, hookers. Remember, all stages are highly contagious and meeting in groups will spread it rapidly. Unfortunately, being exposed does not build immunities and you will experience the same symptoms for every project you do.

Side effects might vary from hooker to hooker:

1. Anal retentiveness, far better than anal leakage but just as annoying.

  2. If you think your floor stand will be erect for more than four hours, immediately call your friends and make an evening of it.

3. Erratic behavior in rug shops; the impulse to fondle, caress and spend money for wool that you hide from your husband in the trunk of your car.

4. Hyperventilating from the sight of a piece of wool that someone found on the store shelf or Frenchies, seconds before you arrived and won't part with it.

5. Insomnia may occur; hooked in bed and the wool dust keeps you sneezing and itching.

6. Stiffness in joints from prolonged sitting in one position.

7. Skin Irritations; gripper rash.

8. Drowsiness at work the following day from hooking past midnight the night before.

9. Irritability; that housework and family get in the way of completing your rug.

10. Taking on higher doses of projects than you can handle.

11. Dry mouth may occur; take 1 to 2 glasses of wine, rum or scotch.

12. Lack of sexual drive; lust is only for ruggy not huggy!

13. Experiencing highs and lows….in loop height.

14. Confusion; can’t decide what colour looks best in a particular area, ripping it out, trying something else and then ripping that out and putting the first choice back in.

15. Increased hyperactivity, hooking fast to Git-R-Done!

16. Excessive sweating; already hormonally challenged with debilitating hot flashes, don't you think a wool rug on your lap in 30 degrees Celsius temperatures, with 100% humidity could be a cause not a symptom?

17. Decreased interest in work, outside activities, family and non rug hooking friends.

18. Addictive behaviors, such as wool hoarding.

19. Lapse in judgement; you want to buy wool and consider a bolt....to the car that is, with a stash tucked under your arm while screaming at hubby, "Start the car! Start the car!"

20. Incontinence; Too busy hooking to get up and go to the bathroom after all that wine. A box of Depends? - Priceless!

Warning:

Do not operate heavy machinery or drive while rug hooking!

Depression - Can occur if you sit furniture on your rug for long periods, but don’t worry the loops should spring back once the object is removed.

A Support Group is held at 7:00 pm, the 1st and 3rd Wednesday of every month at Encompassing Designs Rug Hooking Studio. All hookers are welcome. Help for all stages is available. You are not alone!

The Great Wall Of Wool!

11/24/2012

Well, I finally decorated the shop window just in the nick for the Festival and now I can relax a bit...not! My to-do list is looking shorter but it's still lengthy....fingers crossed by the end of this coming week I should be ahead of the eight ball.

We had to rearrange the shop to accommodate the extra wool rack we added to the existing three, so there is now an entire wall of wool. So delicious to see, all those wonderful colours, a feast for the eye! We had to shift the large bookshelf to another area but it’s all working; it’s amazing what you can fit into an already crammed space. All that's left is the ceiling and don't think I haven't considered it...gravity is the only thing stopping me! Shane has been dyeing up a storm and we have recently taken shipment of dozens of new plaids, some so beautiful I grabbed an armload for my own stash; ownerships should have some perks right?

The Great Wall of Wool! One of the seven wonders of the hooking world!

Another new addition to the shop is our coloured burlap and also something called linen/burlap.
Lots of exciting colours, seasonal reds and greens, charcoal, soft pink, periwinkle blue and a very light sea foam blue that reminds me of a cottage on the beach. There is a black and even a white; a very nautical gold and navy; the orange and rust are perfect for next fall’s projects and would look great sporting a hooked pumpkin in the center and made in to a pillow. Sue was in the states recently and said people are sewing pillows out of burlap and appliqueing a design in the center but we could hook one!

I'll take pictures of the other colours later today.

I taught a class today and got to know two very nice women. They weren’t newbies, just wanted to make sure they were on the right track.   They came bearing a gift, a Bundt carrot cake and it was a plate licker! I’m a diabetic so I really shouldn’t but I could never look a gift cake in the mouth and turn it down. I make a joke, when I cheat, that it’s so good it’s worth losing a toe over and I sometimes wonder what people must think. Of course I’m kidding and someday if one falls off I’ll kick myself, or maybe not…. The other catch phrase I’ve been known to use over a particularily delicious morsel is “It’s better than sex” but I don’t really mean that either..…at least not all the time. (Yes, I fully understand diabetes is serious…I’m just kidding around!)

For me, eating dessert means a few extra jumps on my indoor trampoline.   If you want to lower your blood sugar quickly that’s the way to fly. A couple of dozen hard pumps and running on the spot and you knock your score to normal. Too bad you couldn’t carry the thing around in your purse and whip it out every time you fall prey to a craving.

I first heard about the benefits of the trampoline a few years ago while watching the Shopping Channel and figured I'd give it a whirl...what the heck? If it didn’t work, I’d just squeeze it into the closet with all other pieces of exercise equipment I’ve wasted money on over the years.
Good intentions and all, I wonder how much money we spend on home fitness equipment that we fall out of love with, ban it to the basement, garage or closest and then doom it to the yard sale for a fraction of the price. Carrying it out to the yard is probably the most exercise it's provided!

So the trampoline is the only piece of gear I’ve stuck with and it has plenty of merit. First of all it gets your blood pumping to every part of your body, even the tiniest vessels in your feet, making you all pink and tingly! Supposedly it firms up the chest area, that’s a claim the jury is still out on, at my age how would you even tell? And of course the main reason I use it, there is very low
impact on my bad knee. But all that aside, it’s just pure fun with added benefits.   It always reminds me of jumping on the bed when I was a child. I bought it around the time I realized
my pancreas wasn’t working so efficiently and it keeps my blood sugar in check after eating too large a meal or if I’ve cheated. Oh and yes, another great benefit, it tightens up the Kegel muscles very quickly, because you have to keep squeezing to prevent wetting your pants. The first couple of times you use it, I recommend you pee first and maybe wear a pad but after that, no problem. Hmm...I wonder if any men are reading this post? Well, on that note I’m off to bed!

Straight on the grain please!

11/21/2012

Here I sit at the computer when I swore I would be in bed before midnight! I’ve been working late at the shop to get a few things done and by the time I get home, feed the dogs and try to relax mind and body, it’s well past the witching hour.  Lately I’ve been burning the candle on both ends like I own a wax factory and I’m not sure how much to blame on menopause or my lifestyle. So now it’s past 1:00 am and I’m so wide awake I might as well put the time to good use and just sleep in tomorrow. I think that’s the same reasoning I used last night and the night before and so on. Maybe I should have an automated switch set to cut the power at midnight, forcing me to bed at a reasonable time.

My new website and all it entails has put a bit of lead back in the old pencil. Now I’m not sure if a woman can use that metaphor but I’ve been a lot sharper these days so what the heck. I’ll admit I was floundering after 12 years of doing the same thing and I needed a recharging of the batteries. Now, I’ve got ideas coming out the wazoo and there aren’t enough hours in the day to bring everything to fruition.   I’m working my butt off for a change, although it doesn’t seem to be getting any smaller!

The new website and the opportunity to write these blogs has reawakened my passion for, and given me a new lease on the business. I love to write. I’m currently working on a novel about a serial killing granny and I’m also putting the polish on a few articles I hope to have published by Rug Hooking Magazine, so I’ve been a busy little beaver. I’ve also been working nights and Sundays trying to cross a few things off my list to clear the way for the fun stuff like my new work desk, still waiting for its paint job. Work comes before play and I’ve got to get the orders out so I can address my precious.

So I worked on Sunday and Mary dropped by for a bit of a chit-chat and to hook. She’s doing a fabulous job on the Christmas stocking for her daughter-in-law but it’s a guarded secret until Krista opens it Christms morning.  I can barely contain myself from putting it up on Facebook for all the world to see! Mary is one talented artist and hooker. She should be teaching rug hooking instead of dispensing drugs! I guess it might be prudent now to mention that Mary's a pharmacist.

So we are chatting about the good ole days and talk got around to when I started the business and how wonderfully bullheaded and stubborn I can be. It’s a flaw that runs through me that’s been there since I popped out of the womb. And with good reason. My mother was in full blown labour during one of the biggest snowstorms of 1958 and dad managed to plough through the snow drifts with his 1949 tank of a Ford and arrived at the hospital to discover the doctor was a no show. Due to some antiquated protocol, the nurses tied my mother’s legs together, her wrists to the bed rails and left her screaming to the heavens for mercy while they waited for any doctor to rescue the grave situation. Both of our lives were in jeopardy. My mother was hanging by a thread of consciousness and I was becoming bluer than suede shoes. Just in the nick of time a doctor crashed through the delivery doors with snowshoes tucked under his arm. He’d walked against the driving wind and snow to save me. Still wearing his parka, I shot into his waiting arms like a well-greased torpedo. As the tale goes, my mother weakly called the doctor “her prince” and would discover that his name was Dr. Andrew Prince! I guess if I was a boy I’d be Andy, but being close to Christmas, Christine I would be and the rest is history. But I digress.

So, I think my stubborn streak was formed while I was stuck in the birth canal. It seemed like the world was rejecting me with a figurative slap on the old keister, and then literally, taking several whacks before I started to breathe and then cry. But once I did, my screams ricocheted off those grey walls and I scolded those nurses with a bit of Chrissy sass. How dare they tell me when or if I would be born! So I’m stubborn, I’ll admit it, but geez can you blame me? If I don’t want to do something, good luck with that.  As far back as kindergarten, if the teacher said “draw a tree”, I had to be in the mood to draw a tree or I would draw a dog or absolutely nothing. After being told I had no right to be born on my own natural terms, I’d be taken over the rest of the decision making thank-you, and doing what I wanted, when I wanted! That’s me in a nutshell, stubborn. Oh, and before I continue with this story I would just like to reiterate how special I am and ask; hands people, how many of you can say you were delivered by a prince????

So Mary and I were laughing about my first attempts at transferring a design to a backing. I’d conveniently forgotten about all that angst  but Mary kindly reminded me how much of a pain I was over the ordeal. For some reason I just didn’t get it. The one side of the pattern I gave her was almost straight on the grain, but the other side was out over an inch and I couldn’t understand how, once she straightened that side, that now looked as crooked as a ram’s horn, how the rug was going to be square when it was hooked.  I tested Mary’s patience to the very last nerve but she remained as sweet as always. I'll admit, back then, I used to be like a grain of sand under the eyelid…irritating. I don’t know why I didn’t get it but sometimes when you protest too much, your mouth is in gear so that your ears don’t function properly. Then you get defensive cause now you’re feeling a bit stupid and it all goes in the toilet. I can just imagine what Mary must have been thinking…”What have I gotten myself into?”

But oh my, those poor rug hookers working on my compass rose designs! These designs are almost totally composed of straight lines and none of them were on the straight of the grain! Now that’s what you call friends! I gave patterns to my hooking group to make into rugs. My goal was to have them all hooked and displayed when I had my shop grand opening. So I designed all the patterns on paper, and then used red dot to transfer the image to the backing. I slapped it down, pinned it, and traced all the lines with the marker and that was that. The backings weren’t straight, nor did I try to adjust them into a square so you can just imagine how the marker lines crossed the grain! Oh my!

Now, no one told me I was doing anything wrong and bless the hearts of those friends who struggled hooking those compasses.   I hooked Navigator’s Delight so I know it wasn't easy. It was filled with borders and straight lines and diamond shapes. What a mess! Not one line was straight on the grain, but you know what? I was ignorant and ignorance is bliss, if you don’t know you’re looking at hard times, then life’s not so bad. When you don’t know a task is difficult, if no one has planted the “it can’t be done” seed in your head, you just do the work to the best of your ability, and that’s what I did. Every hooked line is perfectly straight; I just kept making corrections and then hooking up against rows I needed to push one way or the other. Today I would cuss a blue streak if I was working on a pattern that was stamped and crooked on the grain.

So it was Mary who enlightened me, Mary my friend and mentor. She showed me the corrections she’d made before she starting hooking the design, Red Sky At Night, and let me tell you, all those nasty red marker lines freaked me out cause I’m anal and don’t like messy patterns. I marveled that she could even make out the design through the mess to hook it.    Thank goodness Mary stuck with me until I had the light bulb moment or I could have been out of business in less than a year!   Imagine that, those simple beginnings almost thirteen years ago, greener than a tree frog with so much to learn. What a journey I’ve been on and the ride ain’t over!

Navigators Delight hooked by me. (This is a terrible picture as the colours are too over exposed and bright and nothing like the original rug.) This pattern is almost the identical twin to Red Sky At night, the only difference is in the border. I had the diamonds while Mary's had the triangles. This compass rose design was taken from the oldest found compass from back in the 1400's. I very decorative piece.

Red Sky At Night hooked by Mary Doig. Gorgeous reds and blues, my favorites. Colour always intrigues me and I've found over the years that men favour the colours in Navigator's Delight while women choose the blues and reds of Mary's version. I think maybe it has something to do with the green?

Father Christmas Festival

11/19/2012

What an interesting day I’ve had. A wool order arrived and I did a bit of fondling. My God, wool is nothing like it used to be, it’s soft and so snuggly you just want to pull it around you and have a nap. The colours in this batch are so inspiring I won’t be able to sleep tonight as visions of it dance in my head.

I dyed a killer red curly mohair today that I affectionately named Carrot Top.  I abrashed a skein with red, orange and reddish brown and it turned out better than expected.   “Carrot Top” was one of my old nicknames from school, that and “Pissy Chrissy”...guess not much rhymes with Chrissy. Pissy kind of implies I smelled of urine, not exactly a confidence booster when you’re trying to fit in and make friends.

I’ve never quite understood the term carrot top. To me it infers something green but maybe I don't understand the anatomy of the carrot and it really wasn’t a good fit considering I spent my first six years as a blond.  When my hair follicles graduated to strawberry blond, I guess that was the bridge to carrot top, and throw in my least favorite moniker, "chicken legs" and I was almost edible.

Anyway, this fabulous red curly mohair is perfect for a sassy mermaid’s mane or a Tango dancer's flowing locks, and then there's always Anne Shirley. There’s something about a redhead that inspires a bit of naughty. In his youth, my hubby’s dream girl always sported red hair and I think it’s a bit of a stretch for me, but he seems to think I fit the bill so who am I to argue.

Father Christmas Festival is this weekend and I’m working on my window design, well, in my head anyway, like I have the time to decorate! The season crept up on me once again, so the rug I hoped to hook for this year’s display isn’t even started. It’s the same one I planned to do for last year’s window and I think it’s still behind the chair in the bedroom. Where does the time go? I could blitz the rug and pull it out of my….um hat by the first of December but that won’t help me for this weekend’s festivities. My inner Grinch purposely procrastinates as I really have a problem decorating with any amount of enthusiasm the middle of November. Christmas comes early in retail so by the time Santa comes down the chimney you’ve overdosed on Elvis’s "Blue Christmas' and Bing’s "White" one. But you can’t fight the grain so I’ll dig out the lights tomorrow and throw together a theme before Wednesday’s hook-in. But of course don't hold your breath, I think last year I was hanging lights Friday evening as customers came through the door. I really need a PA…...

The Good, The Bad & The Ugly

11/18/2012

Into every rug hooker's life a little chat about copyright must come. I so appreciate all you honest rug hookers out there, it keeps the shops in business. Anyone who sells their artistic goods to the public will understand that it can be a very tricky. Some people are of the assumption that if they buy a pattern they have the right to make peronsal copies of it, but that couldn't be further from the truth. Basically it is stealing, no different than if you came into the shop, stuffed a pattern in your purse and walked out the door. Our Nova Scotia Rug Hooking Guild promotes honesty in the hooking fold which is a huge help but copying still goes on more than most might think. I could tell you dozens and dozens of stories of things I've heard and seen with my own eyes. If you add up all those "extra copies" floating around out there it is clearly a detriment to my business. And another important point; patterns are usually the bread and butter of the rug hooking businesses, the one item you are able to make some profit on, as let's face it wholesale discounts today are a bit of a joke. The 100% of yesteryear is but a faded memory, today you are luck to get 15%-20% and once the high rates of shipping are added to get those items to your door, the percentage of profit is hacked even lower.   Impossible figures to live on.

I do my part to educate new rug hookers by incorporating the copyright chat to those I teach.  Sometimes customers tell me right to my face they plan on making copies for family members or friends and I very diplomatically explain why they shouldn't and sometime I feel they appreciate being told while other times, I know it didn't make a difference. Over the years I've talked to other shop owners and they also tell tales of the struggle to keep in the black and many have had to close their doors due to customers copying their designs. I'm sure the average shopper doesn't realise how much copying patterns hurt when they can't see the bigger picture.

Another copyright quagmire was the service I offered of custom designing for customers. I've been blessed with the ability to draw so I thought it might be nice to offer rug hookers who weren't so fortunate, the opportunity to work on custom designs that really meant something to their lives.  Probably 85% walked away thrilled with their designs, but there was that pesky 15%, not so much. After being threatened with lawyers and accused of stealing designs I’ve had to take the service off the table, it just isn't worth the angst I've had to go through. A quick comparison...a photographer can take your picture but you don't have any rights to the photograph even though it's an image of your own face, unless of course you’ve paid the high fee for exclusive rights. The same goes with my custom designing, I did not sell the rights to the design, only a burlap or linen copy, but for some reason people think I'm a thief if I make another copy and hang it on the rack in the shop.

All artwork comes with an automatic copyright. You can come into the shop with a photo of your beloved pooch and ask that I make it into a pattern and as soon as I’ve laid pencil to paper that sketch of your pooch is mine. I spend hours on every design I do and add that to the burlap or linen cost and Bonnie's wage to put the pattern on the backing and I'm the hole. That is why I try to design patterns that appeal to the masses to make the effort worthwhile. I’ve done the odd baby or two, (now I don’t mean the babies were odd…) and homes that can’t be sold as a general design because when I really like the person, the subject or if the work challengers me, I go the extra mile to give the customer a pattern they love and not worry about the hours that took me to do the work.  Sadly, that service has been stripped from the table and I only help the women in my rug hooking group as I know there won't be any backlash down the road.   My group is well versed in the dos and don't of copyright after hearing my rants!

These two stories are not meant to be negative, just two examples of copyright issues that got out of hand. No business is without problems but overall the good far outweighs the bad and these are just learning cuves of dealing with the public.

A woman who had asked me to design a pattern of her dog the year before, came into the shop to browse through my patterns. We were having a lovely conversation until she came across the pattern of her dog on the rack and went from one to one hundred in the pissed off lane. She turned black with rage, accusing me of stealing the design and then threatened to sic her lawyer on me. Nothing I could say convinced her I had the right to that drawing and she left in a royal huff, probably bad mouthing me to anyone and everyone who would listen that Christine Little was a thief.  This was the straw that broke the camel's back; it was time to take that service off the table. Being represented as a thief is never good for business nor did I want to deal with that kind of abuse again. Several things had previously happened to prove it just wasn't worth the hassle. Words hurt; I’m made of flesh and bone, not deflecting armour, and whether you think you have a case or not, that is no way to a person.

Over the years, I’ve designed quite a few patterns for people that have gone on to win 1st prize ribbons and honourable mentions. I’ve proudly discovered my creations in Rug Hooking Magazine but was instantly deflated when the captions don't mention my name but listed the rug hooker as the designer.  The local newspapers have featured articles of hooked rugs I’ve created but time and again the hooker took all the credit. Sometimes I think I can’t win, so much so that it is a running joke at the shop when we see one of my designs featured in some publication and my name is a no-show, we say, “typical, wouldn’t expect anything else”. The very first custom pattern I ever designed was featured in a local newspaper and the customer took full credit for
designing it. Hungry for any kind of advertising, this would have sent the locals to my door but no, I was passed over like a beggar in the street! Sometimes the lack of words can hurt just as much as a slew of them.

The worst story by far was a design I created for a woman who entered a prestigious, juried show. She came into the shop with a stickman drawing in front of a box that represented a piano. I listened to her concept of what she had in mind, took it further by adding elements I thought were relevant and produced a design of Beethoven sitting behind his piano, with candelabras hanging from the ceiling, velvet draped curtains framing the stage, a marble floor and an audience. White music notes were coming out of his ears representing his deafness while black notes carried the music out into the audience. I made sure those notes were the actual music for Ode To Joy which surprised the customer with great delight, so much so that she hugged me.

She left the shop all eager to get started while I floated around on a design high. At the end of the day the woman phoned me to ask why the copyright symbol and my name was on the bottom of the pattern.  I told her it was my artwork so therefore I owned the rights to the design. I told her if she had wanted an exclusive design she would have paid far more than $50.00. I had worked on that pattern several days and well into the nights.  She said “oh” and that was the last I heard of it. She came back to the shop a couple of times to show me the progress in her hooking and she ws doing a fantastic job.  Ecstatic over the project and always thanked me for such a lovely pattern.

So you can imagine my surprise when I opened Rug hooking magazine and saw the rug featured as a winner in the show. It clearly stated that the woman designed the pattern.  I was confused wrought with dissappointment. Once again, passed over for the credit that should have been mine and loosing a perfect opportunity to show all of North America what I could do. Only two years in business, that kind of press could have opened doors for me and at the bare minimum provided a plug for my shop.   Now I know not all things are as they appear and there was a chance that this was an oversite of the magazine so I kept that in mind as I carefully worded an email to the woman.  I congratulated her on the win and then simply asked why she hadn’t listed me as the designer.

This all happened quite a few years ago but I will never forget the response and I actually still have a copy of her email which I came across it the otherday. I have never been so screamed at with written words. Big black words, bold with large fonts mixed with regular fonts, exclamation marks all over the place, hit after hit on my person, word after word of insult, several paragraphs long.  She came right out and called me a thief among other things.  She told me that it was her design, not mine and how dare I say otherwise. Her closing words, "if I wanted to steal the credit to go ahead if it makes me feel better!” It was abundantly clear that she valued me somewhere lower than a snake in the grass.    I read the email over and over, each time thinking I must be mistaken but each time I slumped lower in my seat, running a gammot of emotions that literally ended in tears. I was beaten down by words, crushed by the weight of them. They even caused me to question why I was in this business.  It sucked all the joy from my world and I'm not proud of it, but I settled into a dark place for a bit. No one wants anyone to hate them, its against our nature, but back then I hadn't formed my thick retail skin so my shields were down and she got in.

Well, it took a few days to recover from the attack and then a few more to prepare a response.
I would have phoned her but anticipated more of the same, although this time in my ear instead of my eye. In the note, I carefully outlined what copyright was all about. She brought an idea to me, no one was taking credit for that, but once I produced that drawing; the artwork belonged to me. I told her that I sold her a “copy”of the original drawing…the reason why she didn’t get the signed and dated artwork, only a burlap copy.  I also reminded her of our phone conversation all those many months before when I had explained what the copyright symbol had meant. I said I had emailed her to ask a simple question as to why she didn’t give me credit for the design and didn’t deserve the tirade that followed. Her words had wounded me. I thought I was doing her a favour to give her a design worthy of the show… a stick man and a box for a piano would not have cut it. After all these years I still have the design; I just never had the heart to put it out on the rack because every time I looked at it I felt ill, breathing life back into that distasteful memory unsettled my stomach.    Maybe writing this will change that; give me some closure. Maybe tomorrow I’ll dig out the drawing and think about it......

A few days later the woman replied with normal type but not exactly an apology. She just said she wished it hadn’t come to this and that she had forgotten our phone conversation about copyright.   Someone else must have enlightened her on the topic and you know what they say, if two people say it's a chicken the chances are good that it is. I’ve not heard from her since and up until then she had been a welcomed regular in my shop. Sticks and stones can break your bones but names will never hurt you is crapola.  Words can hurt, in the heart and the pocket book. I’ve lost business and I’ve since heard someone comment that I steal designs so I can only wonder who else might be avoiding me because of my evil, pattern stealing warts. The rug hooking community is small so things get around faster than Purolator, and the negative comments seem to go priority overnight.

Wine, Women & Wool

11/14/2012

Rug Hooking is not all about the actual hooking. There’s a social aspect, hanging out with friends for fellowship and inspiration fuses us together and keeps the train on the track. Without an audience we would be standing alone and where is the fun in that. Like the pineapple, the international symbol of welcome, we speak the international language of wool and it reaches the far corners of the earth! Every group that has ever met in the name of rug hooking is a community onto itself, a sisterhood, and of course we mustn’t forget the hooking brethren as well. Hooking is not a solitary craft although there are those who prefer standing on their own, but most of us are gathering seekers, finding like-minded people to share our passion.

The finished rug is not the end of an incredible journey, it's actually a beginning. During the process our reservoir is topped up with creative juices, fueling the next great masterpiece. From beginning to end each step is replenishing our cups so there is never a shortage of inspiration to carry forward.  In rug hooking there is no confusing what came first, the chicken or the egg? Each rug begins with a concept, an idea.Whether you have purchased a pattern or want to bring to fruition that idea rattling around in your head, the process begins with the design. If you can draw a straight line you can probably conjure up a piece of artwork, but if daunted over the
process, search on Google for resources and use them as a guide. Be careful to obey copyright laws, not only will your drawing be more special when it comes from within you, but you can delight in having a pattern that is uniquely one of a kind.

Once the drawing part is complete, then the colour plan steps up in line.  Colour can
be drawn from various sources, the area of the house the rug will be displayed, the colours you love the most, trying something completely opposite than the norm or freeing yourself by choosing colour with abandon, not caring where the rug will go but how it will stand on its own. Create a colour palette so people will bask in its glory, and be so inspired by its magnificence that they want to design an entire room around it.   And then of course, the world around can inspire a colour palette; who does colour better than Mother Nature?

The gathering of the wool, touching it, imagining how it will look hooked, selecting textures that will bring depth. Colour planning a rug is like preparing a baby’s layette. Remember after the baby shower, when you've washed everything in Ivory Snow and then play with the little clothes, the facecloths, the nighties and the ever-so-soft receiving blankets? You fold them in the drawer and then go back time after time to look at them, touch them, smell them. I’m kinda like that will wool, hopefully that doesn’t sound too crazy but really, sometimes I have thoughts of getting naked and rolling in the stash. Don’t know why but it pops into my head every now and then. We all know we can't control our thoughts but I can assure you they are only words meant to amuse, I’ve not acted on the urges. After surviving those horrible pleated wool skirts from grade school that were one step up from wearing sand paper, well what can I say? The softness of today’s wool is like bunny fur and inspires a few strange desires.

Around here wool comes from two sources. Frenchies is our local outlet for recycled wools and there are several rug hooking shops in the area that sell a rainbow of dyed wools and factory colours, solids and plaids. Most shops will colour match from paint chips so keep that in mind if you need a custom colour. Most rug hookers I know have a elephant sized stash allowing them the freedom to quickly colour plan but if something is needed there is always the dye pot or a friend to beg, borrow or steal from. Generally, most hookers like to have their rug planned out down to the whipping wool before they even pull their first loop while others not so much. Some start out with an idea and see where it takes them which is mostly my approach. I never like to be confined or pinned down to any particular colour, I like a bit of flexibility and that works with my women's prerogative, change my mind, go with the flow, hooking style.

Don’t wait to be hooking your new project to share with your peers. Each segment of the journey can be an excuse to gather with like-minded friends. To see your rug through another pair of
eyes can sometime take you on a very different journey and I’ll admit, it just fun to get together and talk about wool! Remember two heads are always better than one, three are even better and so on. Back in the days of all our renovations, I always used to say, make friends with a carpenter, an electrician and a plumber, covering all bases in an emergency. Well for a rug hooker my advice would be to sidle up to an artist for help with your drawings and someone with dye knowledge and the equipment, just in case you have a dye emergency! Not so long ago Mary, Sue and I got together for a bit of after hours fun and WWW. No not the wrestling thing, but Wine, Women and Wool. Mary was working on a pattern design and I’m helping Sue dye the colours for her latest commission. We had a blast that evening. Two parts inspiration, one part perspiration (it was a warm eveing), a bit of wine and a whole lot of fun.

A shared passion is a wonderful thing. Throwing ideas back and forth is not only stimulating but each thought leads to more thoughts until it takes on a life of its own; an entire world of creativity turning on its axis. I am lucky to have friends like that. Bursting with ideas and willing to share. Without them I would be stagnant in the water, with little desire to carry on. For me, sharing this passion with friends is what it is all about. When we get together it’s like being in a think tank, inspiring one another to greater and more fantastic designs. So many brilliant ideas transpire that we could never realize them all in our lifetime, but that's okay, sometimes the fantasy is better than the reality so we dream on. I couldn’t imagine not having all that resource, inspiration and support to tap into.

Monday

11/12/2012

Well, it's the day after the eleventh month, the eleventh day and the eleventh hour and although it's lovely and mild outside, the birds are chirping and the sun is trying to smile, I''m still in a bit of a funk over Remembrance day. I spent yesterday watching war documentaries and  getting little else done so I need to get to work and haul myself out of this pit of saddness.    Life does go on, it's apparent by all the hammering in the back yard.  I didn' t expect the builders here today but I suppose not everyone takes the day off.

My shop list is long with many to dos, and as soon as I fuel the jets I'll get out of here.  If only someone would make the coffee, cook my breakfast and have my shower for me, I would be eternally greatful.   I have my suspicians that the stork was tipsy and dropped me at the wrong address. Surely I was meant for England and the royal palace.   Sigh, of all the times to drink on the job!!! Well, I suppose it was so close to Christmas there were office parties involved. It's really difficult conforming to this place where I have to do everything for myself when it's abundantly clear I was meant for a silver spoon existance.

Well, sitting here moping isn't helping and my puppies are staring through me for the lamb chops I promised.  They think they live in a palace, they dine off of china, Blue Willow to be exact...blue china to match the blue blood.    At least someone around here is getting the royal treatment!

How I got started!

11/10/2012

Leopard Spots Before My Eyes, the rug I cut my teeth on.

When I first started rug hooking I was as green as Kermit and ignorant of its rich, local history. Truthfully I’d never seen a homemade hooked rug before. My introduction to the craft came from watching my friend Mary pulling wool through what seemed like impossibly small holes. After being treated to a lovely meal, we would converge on the living room where Mary would haul out her hooking paraphernalia and we'd carry on chatting while I watched her work. To me, it looked like just another stupid craft and although I have nothing against crafts, I was just coming down from a very bad relationship with cross stitch and was a bit on the jaded side. Although the finished product was desirable, the work to get there wasn’t. By the time I got to the halfway point of anything significant, I was cross eyed and bored. I tried needlepoint, a Blue Willow tea cosy that is half completed and now buried in the back of a closet or trunk somewhere. Theoretically needle point should have gone a lot faster considering the wool was thicker than DMC floss and only required making half of the cross, but that was a yawner as well. My poor house was bare of handmade finery and I had to accept that I was going to be craft challenged.

My hubby worked in Africa for a few years and we accumulated a collection of hand carvings so I came up with the idea of an animal print/jungle themed bedroom. Back then, items with animal prints were expensive, few and far between and considered a bit risque. Nowadays you can find animal prints on just about anything, even baby clothe, and they no longer hold any sexual connotation.   All I wanted was a bed mat to keep my feet off the cold floor while I groped around for my slippers and of course, more important, a designer look to complete the room.   Doesn’t
that always trump comfort? I guess I grumbled a bit, or as Mary might recall, whined incessantly, so she offered a helpful solution to shut me up. The suggestion? To design and hook a rug.   Well, that was about the dumbest idea ever, no offense to Mary, and I rebuked it for quite some time but I finally warmed to the idea and found myself wandering around Frenchies in pursuit of the wool I would need. Sometimes I think my butt plays landlord to a permanent horseshoe.
Not only did the first shopping trip yield all the wool needed to do the rug, but the beige was a perfect match for the paint on the bedroom walls. Mary provided the cutting service, I
bought some burlap and a hook, sketched out the pattern, transferred it to the back and was off to the races. Not only was I going to get the rug I always wanted, I was going to hook it in record breaking time so I would never have to do it again! That was the plan…I was going to be a one rug wonder, say I had the T Shirt and move on. But, as you know, fate had other plans for me.

The night I pulled my first loop is a bit fuzzy so I’ll try to piece the events together to the best of my recollection. I distinctly recall settling into my favorite wing back chair sometime round 9:30 after all the dishes were washed and put away, the house was tidy and my favorite TV show was about to begin. I pulled the first loops, about a square inch worth and then things start to get lost. I do recall thinking I might be having fun, it seemed easy enough and progressed fairly quickly. I planned to go to bed many times but then I would say to myself, I’ll just do this little bit to see how it will look and then maybe this could be done. The work progressed so quickly I was driven to complete more and more, losing all concept of time in the process.   Maybe there was something more to this rug hooking than meets the eye?

I do recall hubby heading off to bed around midnight, asking if I planned to join him and my comment was yes, I'll be right there, but after that pretty much everything is a blur. I came out of a glorious funk when the sun peeked over the horizon, flooding the room with a pinkish
glow. My swollen eyes were red and tired, my horseshoe butt fused into the chair beneath a back that had seized like a rusty bolt. Only my arms and hands were functioning and they were sore as if I gone several rounds in the ring with a featherweight. Despite the aches and pains of sitting in one position for ten hours straight, the euphoria was amazing, the closest I’ve ever been to being high. (I missed the 70's and 80’s being married young and working on my domestic goddess so what did I know?)

So, I napped a bit during the day, while hubby held down the fort and then I hooked all night long for the next two nights in a row. That pace was feverishly wild and maybe that best describes my experience, but all good things in moderation, the passion I felt had to level out. Rug hooking opened a creative door; I embraced it with open arms and allowed it to take up permanent residency.   The experience was incredible. The possibilities this craft implied were mind boggling and to think I almost passed it by like a scraggly hitchhiker on the side of the road.

So thanks to you Mary for not giving up on me! I’m a hard nut to crack sometimes, it’s part of my charm. Not only did she give me a creative pastime but it led to an occupation as well. I
had suffered for years with environmental sickness and could no longer work in an office environment. The calling came and within a year I had a business in the front room of
my home, selling compass rose designs and the odd this and that. Like the weeds in my garden it grew bigger than I could have imagined and now I have a wonderful studio filled with items hookers drool over. So if you like me, when you next see Mary, give her a slap on the back and say “Good show!” If you don’t like me, well…be kind.

And how does one thank a person for changing the direction of their life? Hallmark doesn’t cover that sort of thing but we came up with a plan and set Mary up with Peter, this guy I knew from way back when, and they would later marry. Now we can’t take credit for the marriage, I think they put in the hours on that one, but sometimes all it takes is a small seed planted in the right soil.

So now I’m getting to the poignant part of this story. When my rug progressed to the point where it draped over the frame and rested on my legs, I was struck with a very powerful feeling that I had done this before. It had something to do with the weight of it and the warmth on my
knees. I knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that I had hooked before, even though my intellect argued the contrary. The feeling came out of the blue, was gone in a flash but imprinted itself on my brain forever.

Many years later, we were cleaning out my great Aunt Hazel’s house after she had fallen, broken a hip and was now permanently residing in a nursing home. She had lived in the family home, my great grandmother’s house, her entire life and the dwelling was like a walk back in time.
Hazel was a hoarder, bless her cotton socks, just like the ones featured on TV, so nothing ever went out the door but plenty came in. Among the hundreds of boxes, wrapped in brown paper, then waxed paper and tied with string, I discovered three very old hooks fashioned from pieces of
cutlery, one hooked rug in very good repair and an unhooked burlap pattern. Thrilled with the discovery, I was holding the objects when the memory of that déjà vu moment came flooding
back. I was holding the same hooks handled by my great grandmother! That got me thinking.      If my great grandmother had been a rug hooker and we share the same DNA, why couldn’t that moment have been her experience, not mine? We are the sum of many parts. Our DNA is encoded with the characteristics of our ancestors, a plausible explanation for Déjà vu. Maybe I was just channeling a glimmer of her past that is ingrained deeply in the DNA of my cells. I read somewhere that scientists now believe that cells are imprinted with memories so why can’t they be passed from person to person through a bloodline? It makes me feel
special having a connection with an ancestor, someone who died long before I was
born. So no wonder I fell hook, line and sinker, head over heels in love with rug hooking, my great grandmother made me do it!

Christine In The City

11/4/2012

My new work counter arrives tomorrow afternoon. Pretty excited for this latest upgrade to the shop. It dawned on me I might not have anything to complain about for a while, but then
scratched my head and realized that would never happen. Life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you’re going to get but be assured you’ll come across a few worms from time to time.

In the meantime I’ll coast on the high of my new desk. My space…my very own work space…my precious! It will need paint, probably red to match the mantel and my son being a
fabulous painter will do the work.  I have to come up with a design for the top part as that will be finished with clear varnish, a much harder surface to take the wear and tear I plan to
give it. Maybe I’ll sketch a mermaid and stain her.   So many possibilities...something else to keep me awake tonight besides the gallon of coffee I drank today.   Last night was brutal…I saw 5:13
am before I finally blacked out. I just can’t shut off my brain, especially when Sue got me all fired up on Saturday with design ideas. Usually I sleep in on Sunday, maybe even hang out in my jammies all the day long, but I had set the alarm for 8:00 am to get ready for a trip to
Halifax. I faced a pretty sorry looking reflection in the mirror this morning….thanks goodness for caffeine.

Sue and I drove to the city to check out “Christmas At The Forum’ and did a lot of walking around. We both went in with high hopes of scoring a few antique keepsakes but walked out empty handed. I supported the firemen selling their 2013 calendar, actually bought it from Mr. April himself. He seemed very nice but I’ll admit he wasn’t recognizable with his clothes
on..…funny that. Maybe I should have paid more attention to his face.... Anyway, I figure I’ll do a show and tell at the next hook-in. Armenia will think they’re all handsome and I’m sure there will be a few hoots from the crowd.   I always thought it would be fun to do a hooker calendar, holding up our rugs to cover the parts, you know, for charity. Don’t worry we won’t be lathered in Vaseline and flexing like those firemen guys. The closest any of us will ever get to a six pack is standing in front of the beer cooler at the liquor store…..

The highlight of our day, second only to the fabulous lunch at Ela, was discovering a vendor selling old barn board picture frames and we both carried off an armload. Weathered into a lovely silver/grey patina with hits of actual lichen here and there, they titillated us with a multitude of possibilities. What an artsy way to showcase smaller sized rugs!

A trip to Costco put a Keurig machine in my trunk (yes, I paid for it) and enough coffee to supply the whole of Canada so please drop in for a brew.   It’s all part of the master plan to design and work at my new desk and have people come by for a chat about their latest project and a coffee. This new work desk has a bit of a nook in the front for a couple of stools that I plan to purchase at Kent this week, when off to the city to deliver the new dye book to the printers. Yes folks, it’s finally ready to go!

Saturday

11/3/2012

It's a true phenomena, the nicest people come into the shop on Saturdays. Maybe it's because it's the weekend, the holy grail of the long work week. A day of freedom, to browse and shop, do lunch, try the delicious coffees from various vendors and stroll the streets like the hookers you are!

Today so many nice people popped in I can't mention them all, but Glenna came in for some chat, wool and a few laughs. Sue Cunningham was here to drop off four, hot off the press, designs to add to her ever growing collection of Women of Abundance. Some sweet stuff I know you'll be tickled to see. I'll post them next week after Bonnie puts them on backings.

Sue is such an inspiration for me with her prolific creative mind and ability to pump out rugs at the drop of a hat. I would love to be able to keep up with her. Actually I glimpse myself in her from back in the days before I opened the shop. Superman wasn't the only person faster than a speeding bullet. Now I have all the other stuff demanding my attention, the day to day kryptonite slowing my rug production to a crawl. Too bad cloning wasn't available, I'd have several drones to do my bidding and keep all the fun stuff for me, including my husband and puppies.

A woman came in, I'm sorry now I didn't ask her name, working on my pattern Toadally Frogs. She is taking a different approach by not outlining each frog, which is the more thought provoking, skill tested way to do it. When I hooked it, I took the easy route and used a thin line of Eggplant to outline each frog so planning the placement of the various greens was a much easier task. This woman, on the other hand, has to place the colours with greater attention to contrast or they will muddle together. She has a great selection of greens in her stash and is doing a bang up job so I can't wait to see the finished rug.   I hope she shares a picture when finished so I can post it on here.

It is always nice to see what other people do with my designs. It's the reason I do this, the motivation that keeps me going. Seeing my art transformed by another person's vision; seeing their sense of colour bringing each piece to life is what inspires me at my drawing desk with pencil in hand. I wear many hats in this business; rug hooker, dyer, teacher, kit maker, writer, and bookkeeper but wearing the designer hat is the most comfortable fit of all.

Inspiration!

11/3/2012

I'm off to work this morning and my blog of the day will be about the person who walks through the door that inspires me most! Chat this evening!

Me Time

11/2/2012

In everyone’s life there needs to be a bit of “me” time and after yesterday I needed a day to regroup. I had full intentions to go to work but I kept getting distracted with things about the house and the dogs. I finished the bookkeeping and hung around Facebook a bit and then hooked for the rest of the afternoon on my powder room rug. It was so pleasing, like a day at the spa and I didn’t allow guilt to spoil the bliss.

The weather was such that I could open the doors and windows to exchange stale air with fresh, an amazing thing to do this time of the year. I sat in the livingroom to hook and looked out on our million dollar view of Mahone Bay's harbour. I saw a sail boat go by, the waters now still after Sandy's demise and a testiment to November's double digit temperatures. It was a divine day!

Tomorrow is Saturday so I’m front and center at the shop, my batteries are charged and I’m rearing to go.

The Joy Of Hooking!

11/1/2012

Everything that could go wrong today managed to happen. I didn’t get to work this morning because of an early appointment that messed me about until after lunch. A lot of sitting around waiting and I handle that about as well as an ice-cream cone on a hot day.  Meltdown!  I can’t sit idle, it’s against my nature and forced boredom rots me.

So by the time I made it to work I was already running a deficit in my intentions for the day.
Bookwork! The fun sucking side of any business, guaranteed to drain you of your last ounce of joy.   I was mentally prepared to tackle that ominous pile of paper on my desk but one thing after another kept me from the computer and at the end of the day, I hadn’t touched it. The only fun I had all day was helping out a friend with a design tweak and exploding the second Pendleton shirt bale; it’s like dumpster diving but for wool! The rest of the day was l running around like a headless chicken doing a lot, yet getting nothing done.

So I stayed late to get serious about that pile but then my wireless mouse conked out so I ran to the store for batteries but nothing was going to breathe life into that dead rodent so now my computer was useless to me. By then it was 7:30 and I was getting pretty hungry so went home and stuffed my face with whatever the fridge offered that didn’t need heating or a plate and then lit the wood stove. I’d brought the paperwork home to get a head start for tomorrow and was settled at the computer when my apricot girl, wise old Honey, started barking strangely so I went into the living room to investigate and was hit by a wall of smoke. The flames must have died so the paper and wood started to smolder throwing out thick grey clouds of smoke from every crack and cranny in the stove, the greasy smoke in a inky cloak streaked toward the smoke alarm causing that screaming banshee to go off.  I flung open the doors and the windows while frantically whipping a dish towel around to stir the air.

When I could breathe without choking I went outside and flashed a light beam up at the chimney top and could see smoke so I knew it was drawing.   Of course the low pressure ceiling and rain had contributed to the problem. I waited a bit and started the fire again, making sure the paper and kindling caught well and good before closing the door. The fire roared, the smoke drew up the chimney and I was back in business.

By now I’m feeling a bit defeated and smell like a piece of smokehouse bacon.    Rough day, even rougher evening and that is when I could have thrown my backside on the sofa to wallow in self-pity, after all a day like today makes it legit. But instead I decided to rewrite my fate, take it away from the direction it was headed and sat down to hook. Usually hooking is a reward after doing my chores, making sure the dishes are washed and everything is just so, but tonight I said to hell with it and selfishly grabbed the reward, like eating the cake first!  Within minutes I could feel the joy that I always feel when I hook. I felt myself relax until nothing mattered except the hook in my hand and the Santa sack filled with toys getting my wool.

This old creature of habit always puts fun last and if I don’t get all my ducks in a row than it’s put off indefinitely. I hardly ever take time to do the stuff one does for the sheer joy of it. Paperwork is about as much fun as cleaning outhouses, unless of course that’s your calling and you love it. I don’t enjoy that part of the business but the funny thing is, I’m really good at it. In my previous life, I worked in an accounting office for 12 years so I can dance around the bookkeeping pole with confidence. I just don’t want to do it, so it ruins my day! Like death and taxes, paperwork will always be there so if it continues to bum me out maybe in the new year I should hire a bookkeeper; the cost might be far less than the price I pay now.

Sometimes My Cup Just Runneth Over!

10/30/2012

Well, I managed to survive another hectic week. If stress was fuel I could have powered myself across the ocean to sip a decent bordeaux and dine on authentic French cuisine.

Stress is like cholesterol, there’s good and there’s bad, and the kind that rides me bumper to bumper is usually the 80% normal, day to day grind, but the other 20% is “What the hell am I doing in front of another oncoming bus?” I seem to thrive on stress or maybe it thrives on me, a symbiotic relationship that should get divorced.  The one benefit, there seems to be no shortage of stories to tell from Murphy’s Law always on my tail.  If anything can be done the hard way, that's the way I roll.

Some tell me I must like stress considering I always seem to be in its clutches but that’s just crazy.   I stress because I have stress….if I was enjoying it I'd just go with the flow.   Sometimes my life is a crap sandwich and I would give my neighbour’s right arm to abolish stress from my kingdom, but on the flip side, once the angst is over I usually come out smelling like a rose and packing a funny story to tell. So why my life straddles a teeter totter I’ll never know.

I’ve been stalked by stress as far back as grade school when I left assignments go until the night before the deadline.  I’d frantically do the work last minute, pass it in and get a rave review, therefore supporting little motivation to change. If only one of those teachers would have marked me low, ripped a strip off my hide or stood me in the corner with a big ole dunce hat, there might have been incentive to change. But instead, I got a slap on the back, a smile and a mark I could live with. So, you see, it isn’t really my fault, I’m a product of a bad education.

So last week my dance card was full, and this week isn’t much better but a few of the major stressors are gone to lighten the load. Last week I had a 12 student beginner class to prepare for with kits to make, some were custom and all needed dyed wool and cutting; I had to shift piles of stuff to clean the classroom (don’t look in my office); had to make decisions for the new garage, meetings with electricians, plumbers, wrought iron guy and Selkirk man for the wood stove; have our chimney swept; stacked firewood; did housework; started winterizing my gardens; worked the shop; managed the new website; tended to four babies (I mean dogs); grocery shopped and cooked meals; worked on and edited the new dye book; wrote blogs and hung around Facebook trying to figure out how it all works.   Now maybe that doesn’t seem like anything to whine about and probably Martha wouldn’t bat an eye, but I was pretty much rattled, worked until 2:00 am or later every night, and banked a hefty deposit of sleep deprivation. I was wound tighter than a virgin in an all boy’s school.

The stress bubbled beneath the skin for days and finally broke like a festering boil Saturday when I got off work, arrived home and was hanging around the yard with the dogs.   Not totally with it, I wasn’t paying the usual strict attention and the new guy, Jake, my little black boy, saw the neighbour come out of his garage, barked and ran across our property and into the man’s yard before I knew what was happening.

Well, I lost it. I love my dogs more than life and most think I spoil them rotten but I’m a strong pack leader and my dogs mind, they have to listen, their little lives depend on it and running into the next yard is not a far cry from running into the street to chase someone on a bike. Jake was
too far into excitement mode to pay attention to my blood curdling “COME!!”  I literally peed my pants screaming and jumping up and down to get his attention. He didn’t respond so I launched into a hissy fit right there in front of the neighbour…I’m not concerned about any sort of embarrassment on my part, the neighbours know I’m weird but my hubby was mortified. Besides, I was angry because although the neighbour could clearly see that I was trying to get Jake to return to our yard as soon as yesterday, be bent down in play mode, encouraging him to come over to say hi. Before I continue, I must say that I have never and would never lay a hand on any of my dogs, or my husband for that matter, so there is no cause to phone the SPCA or the AHA (Abused Husband Association).

So after hubby told me it was time to quiet down I proceeded to loose what was left of my sanity and my bladder, went around the corner of the house and screamed as if the grim reaper was closing in. Funny, after that I mellowed out, the hard edge of the week sloughed off like a snake
shedding its skin, no personal resemblance intended. That was all I needed to reset the calm button and I felt like my old self again. Hubby wasn’t that pleased with my shenanigans but he got over it. He’s so laid back and calm there’s barely a pulse. I don’t know what he sees in me really but I guess we’re the poster couple for opposites attracting.

Anyway, now that the tight lump in my throat had dissolved, the headache had vanished and the stress of the week had melted away I was able to laugh despite the wet drawers and the shock on the neighbour’s face burned on my retina.   Although a bit tired, the beginner class on Sunday went smoothly and I met a lot of wonderful new people in the process. When I got home I sat on the sofa, slapped my aching feet up on the coffee table and snuggled with my four beautiful babies. I awoke four hours later in the darkness, still wearing shoes, jacket and glasses, surrounded by the warmth and love of my little furry family, feeling lucky to be me, totally refreshed and wondering what the new week will hold in store.

Beginning class of 12 students busy on their projects.

Dye Book Coming!

10/27/2012

We are almost finished editing the new dye book "Dye Me To The Moon" and will be taking it to the printers next week.  Shane is busy cutting swatches to be attached to the labels as soon as everything is printed. We're all pretty excited! If not for Shane this book would not be possible, he not only did all the work but he also created most of the formulas. Momma is very proud!

I have a beginning class of 12 students on Sunday so I'm busy making kits. The shop is full of wool dust from all the cutting. Hooking isn't the tidiest hobby in the world.   Like eating crackers in bed you have to keep the vacuum handy. I'm by far the messiest rug hooker, according to hubby that is, who wonders why I don't work with a garbage can close by. I say it slows me down! Hook with a frenzy, hand sweep the ends to the floor and then clean it up later.  I beat to a strange drum. Some people use a plastic container with a slot in the top to collect the ends but I like to pretend I'm allergic to plastic so I can't have it around. Truthfull, in a house filled with traditional furnishings, a white plastic container stands out like a sore thumb. Guess I'm anal.   Most who know me will vouch for it but I just take that as a fabulous compliment!

Speaking of plastic, I'm still trying to figure out a way to hide the kitchen fridge, the massive white elephant that's always in your face.   I think about hooking my Country Sampler pattern and attach it with magnets just to hide the gleaming whiteness of it all. Tried to conceal it with small magnets holding biz cards, notes and reminders but that just meant aa different kind of ugly. Someone once said, I should get a sickness so I'd have something real to complain about. Maybe that's why I got diabetes? Ah well, that's life.

Blog #8 - Creativity and sleep don't mix!

10/17/2012

Do you ever have a light bulb moment when you come up with a clever idea, get excited like a teenage girl over David Cassidy (showing my age), go to bed and find that sleep is nowhere to be
found? Your brain is traveling at light speed and the heart is racing from an endorphin high, every fiber of your being is jazzed. That happened to me again last night. Sleepless nights are no stranger to me; I do most of my creative stuff after midnight, usually in bed. Hey, no naughty thoughts! And I don’t need to be inspired to miss sleep, I don’t know if it’s my age, but sometimes sleep is a skittish stranger, the more I chase it the faster it runs from me.

So last night was no different. I kept thinking about all the ways this new idea could work, my mind firing like a pistol. There was no one to throw the idea up against except my four poodles
(Hubby is away working) and it was too late to phone a friend. As the hours ticked by and the frustration began to click in, I finally gave up, turned on the light and read for a bit. Nothing like a juicy slasher novel to relax my blazing mind. Finally at 4:00 am my eyelids began to droop so I turned off the light. I guess there will be plenty of time to rest when I’m dead; in the
meantime I have another fabulous idea. I’ll make it up and share the finished product in the next few days. Have to make a run to Michael’s for a canvas form, some spray paint and a staple gun at Home Depot.

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