What a gorgeous hunk of a day yesterday. The front and back doors were wide open to let in the fine weather, trading the yucky old positive ions for new negative ones. I figured days like these are few and far between so I took time off to finish winterizing the yard. I did it all by my lonesome but then looked for a man to help transfer the front screen door with the winter storm so I could hang the Christine wreath. Mary’s hubby from down the road was very obliging, and even helped with the Plexiglas panels we put in the two screen doors at the back of the house, to cut down on the pounding winter winds ripping through the house. I’m strong with a couple of biceps that might make a few scrawny guys jealous, but tackling a heavy wooden door all by myself might break one of the precious fingernails I’ve been cultivating. Every now and then I let them grow to see how long they’ll flourish before I snap one off in a terrible stubbing accident.
My nails grow hard like guitar picks and would take polish beautifully if I wore it. Since my environmental sickness I’ve only done it once in twenty years for a night out with friends and the rest of the time I only dream of how pretty it looks. Fingernail polish has been elevated to an art form; I see all manners of patterns and colours in the shop on the ladies who get manicures. Pretty but a lot of upkeep and I have enough to do without suffocating my nails. Nails need to breathe and they turn yellow when trapped under paint. Just another chemical I don’t need seeping into my body. I never want my immune system to crash again so I’ve resigned to being a plain Jane for the rest of my life. Hanging on to lipstick is my vice and I try not to think about what I’m smearing on my lips, although I know and I feel like a hypocrite, but a gal needs a little something to feel attractive.
I’m preparing the house for our annual hook-in soiree this Wednesday evening. Larry, the cleaning guy, comes that afternoon to do his shtick but I am trying to hang a few decorations. I’ve decided against hunting down a tree, it’s way too early and burning wood heat tends to dry it out prematurely so I might have a bald tree by the big day. I would rather address and then dress the tree in a relaxed mood, not rushing for a party with all else that needs to be done.
I’m beginning to feel more festive, maybe from hooking and sewing Santa’s. The first weekend of the Father Christmas Festival had a lot of people in town and Saturday was busy at the shop but Sunday was a bust. Friday we were supposed to stay open to 8:00 pm and as in all the previous years no one came in. Maybe 10 people came through the door on Sunday and I spent the time getting Santa’s ready for sewing. By 4:00 I was exhausted from not having a day off and locked the door. There were plenty of people still milling about but the chances were slim I’d see any of them. Rug Hooking is very exclusive which cuts down on the percentage of traffic through the door, so if there are 6 million people in town I would see about a dozen. If I sold ice cream or trinkets, I’d see them all.
With all the fresh air in my lungs inspiring physical labour, I hauled inside and stacked about half of a chord of firewood, then shifted some furniture from the garage to the house for extra seating for the party. Considering the house cleaning will be taken care of, I’m sitting pretty with little else to do. The meal is a pot luck and all I do is take care of the dessert although I’m still on the fence between English Trifle or Apple Crisp. English Trifle is fancy and festive, but my mother’s apple crisp recipe is pretty darn fine and I’ve already had a few votes for the latter. At this point, it will come down to a coin toss.
My nails grow hard like guitar picks and would take polish beautifully if I wore it. Since my environmental sickness I’ve only done it once in twenty years for a night out with friends and the rest of the time I only dream of how pretty it looks. Fingernail polish has been elevated to an art form; I see all manners of patterns and colours in the shop on the ladies who get manicures. Pretty but a lot of upkeep and I have enough to do without suffocating my nails. Nails need to breathe and they turn yellow when trapped under paint. Just another chemical I don’t need seeping into my body. I never want my immune system to crash again so I’ve resigned to being a plain Jane for the rest of my life. Hanging on to lipstick is my vice and I try not to think about what I’m smearing on my lips, although I know and I feel like a hypocrite, but a gal needs a little something to feel attractive.
I’m preparing the house for our annual hook-in soiree this Wednesday evening. Larry, the cleaning guy, comes that afternoon to do his shtick but I am trying to hang a few decorations. I’ve decided against hunting down a tree, it’s way too early and burning wood heat tends to dry it out prematurely so I might have a bald tree by the big day. I would rather address and then dress the tree in a relaxed mood, not rushing for a party with all else that needs to be done.
I’m beginning to feel more festive, maybe from hooking and sewing Santa’s. The first weekend of the Father Christmas Festival had a lot of people in town and Saturday was busy at the shop but Sunday was a bust. Friday we were supposed to stay open to 8:00 pm and as in all the previous years no one came in. Maybe 10 people came through the door on Sunday and I spent the time getting Santa’s ready for sewing. By 4:00 I was exhausted from not having a day off and locked the door. There were plenty of people still milling about but the chances were slim I’d see any of them. Rug Hooking is very exclusive which cuts down on the percentage of traffic through the door, so if there are 6 million people in town I would see about a dozen. If I sold ice cream or trinkets, I’d see them all.
With all the fresh air in my lungs inspiring physical labour, I hauled inside and stacked about half of a chord of firewood, then shifted some furniture from the garage to the house for extra seating for the party. Considering the house cleaning will be taken care of, I’m sitting pretty with little else to do. The meal is a pot luck and all I do is take care of the dessert although I’m still on the fence between English Trifle or Apple Crisp. English Trifle is fancy and festive, but my mother’s apple crisp recipe is pretty darn fine and I’ve already had a few votes for the latter. At this point, it will come down to a coin toss.
| The pattern has three Cone Santas on it. Three sizes: 1 Small that stands 9" tall 1 Medium that stands 12" tall 1 Large that stands 14" tall. Click this link to my website http://www.encompassingdesigns.com/seasonal-designs.html  |  |
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