Well, it’s official, I’m no spring chicken! I have the rug to prove it!
I designed this sweet little pattern over a year ago and Bonnie decided to hook it. As you can see she used a delightful coloured palette. Winter has ivory roving snowflakes falling from the sky and the chicken is sporting a scarf and ear muffs. Summer chicken is cool in his shades with a fluttering butterfly, and autumn chicken has pumpkins and falling leaves. Spring, of course, is missing the chicken to complete the fun play on words. The skies are various blue abrashes and the border is done with Blue Rocks spot dye. She surprised me with the finished rug for my birthday on Tuesday.
Last week, there was some whispering around the shop over a skein of Blue Rocks spot dyed yarn that she wanted Shane to dye, but I never clued in that it was for anything other than a customer order. Usually I can smell a secret, they always leave a suspicious pong, but this time I was totally thrown. My secret sensor must be off and I wonder what else I’m missing considering it’s the season of gifts and surprises. Guess I’d better do a sweep of the house as there might be something tucked in a crevice that I need to know about. I’m a peeker from way back, pretty much knew what I was getting for Christmas every year and I’m not much better now. Here is why.
I was gullible and believed in Santa well beyond most of the other kids in grade four… sigh, maybe it was even grade five. Just two days before I realized the truth, I remember hollering at a classmate who was teasing me about being stupid because I still believed. “There is to a Santa, my parents told me and they don’t lie!” Well, that bubble burst after a trip up the ladder and a look around the attic. The attic access was in my bedroom closet and that was the first time I’d ever seen the ladder in place or the hatch open, an oversight on my mother’s part and too tempting to ignore.
As my eyes grew accustomed to the darkness I made out a farmhouse that was the exact model wanted in my brother’s letter to Santa. Then I spied the domed hairdryer that Bonnie wanted. Coincidence? I thought not! As I descended the ladder, I was torn between being smug in the discovery and angry at my parents. Quickly, annoyance turned to curiosity. I didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to figure out there must be a present for me somewhere else in the house. It was obvious my siblings were covered, so where was mine? It became my mission to find it.
I frisked the house in every nook and cranny but found nothing. But now that my eyes were open and all observing, three days later a large box arrived from Sears Roebuck. I awaited my chance to see inside. Sure enough, there it was. Under several pairs of flannel pajamas, socks and undershirts, there lay the telltale red box containing the object of this year's desire. Spirograph!
I felt vindicated and every year after that I peeked until I found what would be mine and never felt an ounce of guilt. Move over Shirley Temple, you would have knocked you off your child star throne if a director heard my Oscar winning performances on Christmas morning.
I don’t like lies; I didn’t then or now. I don’t tell them and don’t appreciate them being perpetrated on my person. I’ve always sought the truth in all things I do. As a child I felt I had the right to peek if they were going to deceive me, make a fool of me with such a fairytale. An overweight, white bearded man flying all over the world in one night with only one bundle of toys to satisfy the masses. We never even had a fireplace, let alone a chimney, so how the heck did he even get in! Really?! Hadn’t I just embarrassed myself in front of my peers as I defended the existence of Santa Claus? How humiliating! They all laughed at me and it hurt. So I believed somehow in my childish brain that I needed to know these things and made a point to never be in the dark again. So right or wrong, I worked on a need to know basis and once a peeker, always a peeker. If there's a hint of a surprise coming, I’ll rip the house apart looking for it, while pretending to do the spring cleaning early.
Don’t bother wrapping it either as I have an Xacto blade that can make a slice so fine you’d never know the pretty paper was taken apart and put back together. The only person I’ve not been able to outsmart is hubby. He can hide things and keep it secret like no other. He’s onto me and clever, and foils me every time. But truthfully, I don't need to peek as much as I used to. We don't exchange much now, and when you're older everyday seems to be Christmas so what's the point and if there's a present wrapped under the tree I usually know what's in it because I told him what to buy or I got it myself to save him the trouble.
So the trickster got tricked. I never saw the rug coming. Bonnie said she kept trying to get into the shop this past weekend to get the dried yarn for whipping that hung in the kitchen but every time she drove by the shop the lights were on so she figured I was working after hours. She came by the shop twice on Sunday and the lights were on again but it wasn’t me. It was hubby, moving
out his tools to bring home to the new garage. She finally got in later in the evening and stayed up until the wee hours of the morning whipping it.
Anyway it was very a delightful surprise and the rug hangs in the shop for all to see.
No Spring Chicken? At 54 that’s me, a tough old boiler. Cluck cluck!
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