Listening

“Rest is not idleness, and to lie sometimes on the grass under trees on a summer’s day, listening to the murmur of the water, or watching the clouds float across the sky, is by no means a waste of time.

John Lubbock

L   Listening

I love listening to the sounds of nature:

• The sound of the rain against the window pane, and the rumble of thunder in the distance when I am safe in bed,
• The chatter and song of the birds in the morning,
• The roar of the waves beating against the shore,
• The lowing of cattle in the field by day,
• The howl of the wolves at night. 

I love listening to the sound of children’s laughter:

• The excitement of Christmas morning,
• Little girls playing dress up,
• Dancing to the music,
• Jumping in a pile of fall leaves,
• That birthday-party feeling, just before blowing the candles out,
• Running out the door on the last day of school,
• And racing into the lake, splashing water all about. 

And I love listening to simple pleasures;

• The last gurgle of the coffee maker that signals the pot is done,
• The tinkle of wind chimes,
• A kitten’s purr,
• The soft breathing of a baby, asleep on your shoulder,
• When a grandchild says I love you.

Everything in writing begins with language. Language begins with listening.

Jeannette Winterson

Have You Got Your Key?

Everyone likes to make a personal statement; some people are just braver than others.

You’ve seen the brave ones, the shaved heads with the dyed pink Mohawks, the piercings, the tattoos. Those are very personal examples of self expression, and at least for the tattoos, very permanent.

Clothing is another way to show who you are. Whether ultra chic, shabby chic, or dark and dreary Goth, it’s all about the ‘you’ you want to show the world. Not everyone has the nerve to go against the norm, to wear their personality in a way that draws attention, and possibly criticism and censure.

I’ve noticed a quiet, and almost hidden way people make a personal statement…their key chains.

K   Key Chains

I love key chains and are drawn to their displays in stores. Whether it has my initial, my sign of the Zodiac, or is simply something attractive and artistic, I’m tempted.

On my key ring, along with keys for my place and my car, I have a key chain with a pewter angel. I received this key chain from my son, over fifteen years ago, at Christmas. It was very appropriate as I collected angels at the time, and used images of angel statues in my art.

It was a gift, and the reason I don’t buy any of the key chains I see in the stores.

I just realized, I now have a laptop case, and there’s my purse, and the bag I carry to the library, maybe I could add a key chain to the strap, just for fun, to make those bags a bit more personal. Next time…I’ll give in to temptation.

When I decided on using ‘key chain’ as my favourite thing for ‘k’ I started my own little survey, observing what kind of key chains other people used.

My neighbour down the hall has a souvenir of Arizona on her key ring. She had a winter home there for many years. Her bit of Arizona represents the many fond memories she has of her home, and the friends she left behind.

My brother, who also vacationed in the South West, has a key chain with the map of Arizona, and a silver heart off a bottle of whiskey. Also something he called an Esso speed pass fob, which I assume is used for getting gas. His wife has the same Esso thingy, the same silver heart, and some code thing that allows her to link with her work from home.

My friend, who is a cat fancier, has any number of additions to her key chain, all feline in nature. They includes a black cat who eyes light up and makes a howling noise, an “I love my Cat”, a milk bottle and a Pet Smart perks card.

My daughter has a Minnie Mouse character on her key ring, a gift from a co-worker who went to Disney World.

I need to break out of this rut I’ve been in, be brave, show the world who I am.

In a very quiet and unimposing way, of course. Baby steps, I wouldn’t want to go wild and free too fast, could be stressful to the system.

What does your key ring say about you?

Just a Minute Here, Snow?

It’s April and we’re having a snow storm. Not just fluffy little flakes blowing in the wind, this is full out, cover the ground snow. The birds are flitting around, looking confused, same as the rest of us. My bird feeder is empty; I’ll venture out later and fill it, after the snow stops. That’s positive thinking.

Wish I had a fireplace to banish the chill of the day. Maybe I’ll bake, to warm my place and give it that comforting aroma. I’m sure my neighbours will enjoy a treat on a cold day.

My favourite thing for today is jigsaw puzzles. It’s a bit of an exaggeration, but the puzzle part is true. I love crossword puzzles, word search, scrabble with the computer and other computer games. It’s a left brain activity, giving the right brain the opportunity to work out some creative issues.

J   Jigsaw Puzzles

I’ve always think of jigsaw puzzles as being a summer cottage kind of thing. The card table set up in the corner with a puzzle in progress, ready and waiting for someone to sit, take a moment, and place a few pieces.

It’s one of those activities that require complete concentration and allow you to push whatever worries you might have to the back of your mind. You can get lost in the search for the needed piece. It’s amazing, when you step away, how much time you spent looking for just that one piece.

A few years ago I was given a 1000 piece, Patricia Cornwell Murder Mystery puzzle. Along with the puzzle there was a novella, a murder mystery of course, that offered clues to the puzzle.

I came home that Christmas night, cleared my kitchen table, and spread out all the pieces. Once I read the story, I was ready to begin. Usually, the picture on the puzzle box is an exact replica of what the completed puzzle will look like, but not in this case.

The puzzle looked something like the box, but varied somewhat, just how was in the clues given in the book.

It took me three days to complete that damn puzzle. I was sick of looking at it, wanted my kitchen table back, and wanted my life back. But I was not going to give in until it was done.

The challenge was the hundred or so pieces, all red in colour, depicting a woman’s purse lying open, the contents spilled out on a table. The purse was plain, with a minimal amount of stitching, so matching all those red pieces was torturous.

This wasn’t like the cottage. I couldn’t ignore it when it was right there in front of me every minute of the day. So I worked the puzzle, often late into the night, trying to get it finished.

When I finally had the puzzle completed, the murder clues discovered, I had such a sense of completion. Job well done, but I was never going there, or doing that again.

I have never understood why people glued puzzles to a board, preserving them in their completed state. But after doing this puzzle I can see why it might appeal. It’s like a trophy, 1^st place winner, puzzle person 1 and puzzle 0.

I’ve given up on jigsaw puzzles. They take up too much space and too much time. 

Not like the Hidden Object Games I have discovered on the computer.

Ice Cream

I   Ice Cream Cones

“I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream.”

One of the things I love about summer is a trip to an ice cream parlour for an ice cream cone.

When I was young we went to Dairy Queen, and had soft ice cream dipped in chocolate. It was routine to take the dog with us, and for him we bought a baby cone, minus the chocolate. Everybody knows chocolate is bad for dogs.

The drug store offered hard ice cream in a variety of flavours. The woman in the store was a friend and we always got extra big scoops. One day, while trying to manage the drips on my cone, I fell behind the rest of my family. I ran to catch up, still trying to manage my cone and took hold of my dad’s hand, only it wasn’t my dad.

The two men laughed, waiting for me to realize my mistake. Such were easier and more innocent times.

Now it’s trips to the corner convenience store with the grandkids. I love how they plaster their faces to the glass of the display case, their eyes poring over all the different colours and flavours from which to choose.

Kids have to be shown how to properly and efficiently eat an ice cream cone. Believe me; the ability to do this is important if you ever want to let that child back in your car.

How to keep that ice cream from dripping all over the place on a hot summer day, and walk away with a minimum of mess takes experience and skill.

First, they need to lick all around the ice cream to prevent any drips from reaching their hand, thereby reducing the level of stickyness.

If they’re going to take a bite, bite from the top, and keep licking. It’s paramount that they don’t let the drips get ahead of them.

Remind them to turn the cone in their hand; drips don’t just happen on the side they see in front of them.

I realized the importance of this when I sat at a patio table with three kids, ages 10, 7 and 4 years. The drips were coming fast and furious, becoming one massive melt; their hands covered in ice cream. There were not enough napkins in the world to clean up that mess.

After that day, I’ve kept a package of wet ones in the car, for just such sticky situations.

A word of warning.

The kids tend to like flavours like Tiger’s Tail, or Bubblegum. I mean sticky is sticky, but it’s seems much more of a mess when it’s orange and black, or bright blue rather than the white of a vanilla based flavour.

If you’ve taken it upon yourself to teach the younger generation this very important skill, be brave. It may require more than one lesson, maybe a refresher course at the beginning of every summer.

What we do for family.

Handmade, with Love

I have always sewed, crocheted, and painted. But I have ventured occasionally, okay, frequently, into other crafts, in an attempt to find what would be ‘my one thing’.

Pottery, for example. I loved the feel of the clay in my hands, but I never attained any skill at the potter’s wheel. It’s a very two handed skill, and I’m very dominant with my right hand. The pots I managed to make on the wheel were heavy and…not symmetrical. But, I did create some interesting pieces that were hand built.

Then I tried macramé. I designed large wall hangings, plant holders, decorative items for holding mugs, and even made one of those ugly owls with the big eyes.

Ceramics was fun. The bisque forms were premade in a mold, and the selection was endless. All you had to do was paint or glaze the item selected, before it was fired in a kiln. I made kitchen canisters, cookie jars and Christmas trees. I made any number of things for everyone on my gift list.

Having grandchildren has meant I have a whole other generation to craft for. From the time they were babies I’ve made them blankets, quilts, sweaters, and the list goes on.

Maybe it is better that I never found that one single craft, for I’ve discovered I hate repetition. I see something in a craft book, or on line, and I want to try it, but I would not want that craft to be the only craft I ever did. It’s the creating that’s the real fun, more than the doing.

That’s why I keep a series of notebooks with craft ideas. They’re in a ‘one day’ category, for that one day I find myself with nothing to do. Really, like that ever happens.

At this moment I have two sweaters for Christmas, knit but not sewn together, a third still on the needles. I have a sewing project for the grandkids, same item, and personalized x6.

And then there’s the writing. I just finished an edit of my NaNoWriMo novel from last November, and the book I completed last September.

There is no end to it. I see something and I can’t help it, I want to make it, paint it, or write about it.

What can I say; it keeps me out of trouble.

H   Handmade Afghans

I learned to crochet working night shift at the hospital, more than twenty five years ago.

It’s a hobby that I enjoy today, as my family can attest. They have more hats, scarves and sweaters than they know what to do with.

Isn’t there some saying about idle hands?

The first afghan I made was for my father. He liked to watch sports on television and often did it with his eyes closed, stretched out on the sofa. As my dad was 6 foot 3, I had to make it extra long so it would reach his feet, and still cover his shoulders.

The afghan I have thrown over my feet right now is pale blue. It has a rainbow of stripes in bright colours, and a trio of butterflies. It was made for my granddaughter, to match the flowers and butterflies I had painted on her bedroom walls.

The family moved, her bedroom décor changed, and the afghan was put away in the cupboard for a number of years. I happened by the house after my daughter had done a purge of all the closets, and found the afghan in a bag destined for one of those used clothing bins you see about town.

I rescued it and brought it home. It doesn’t match my décor; my colours are a bit more sedate, leaning more to soft greens than sky blue.

As I pulled it up over my shoulder one winter night, settled into my chair, my feet covered and warm, I thought about how mismatched it made my room look. Why didn’t I make myself a new one, with colours more complementary?

For the same reason, I thought, that I’ve never made myself a sweater, a hat, or even a scarf. Everybody else comes first.

This afghan has sort of grown on me. On a cold day, when the sky is overcast and grey, I’m snuggled under this blanket that looks like spring, and I’m reminded that winter won’t last forever.