Addiction

Today I signed up for my first quilting class.  I think I may be fighting an addiction.  I've mentioned elsewhere in this blog (New Activities) that I am not a good seamstress, but that a friend made a quilt for me last summer with my assistance.  Well, she gave me full credit for making it, but that's a lie.

I've already purchased the fabric for my second quilt, which I am told is going to be a disappearing 9 patch.  Don't ask me what that means!  My friend is very busy at the moment, running her own business and travelling to China in April, and I don't want to bother her.  As a result I'm signing up for quilting classes so that I can learn some basic techniques on my own.  There is a quilt shop in Cookstown, south of here, which has an amazing inventory of fabrics and a very active class schedule during the week.  Unfortunately I have just discovered them, and they seem to be winding classes down for the summer. 

There is a smaller shop in town that also holds a lot of classes, primarily on Saturdays.  Given a choice I would rather attend classes on weekdays, because I have the time available.  Weekends are precious time that I can spend with my husband.  However, tomorrow he's off to watch the last Maple Leaf loss of the season and visit overnight with a childhood friend from out of town.  This gives me the opportunity to attend the hand-quilting class without feeling guilty.

Apparently I will end up with an orphan 12 inch quilt block, which I can make into a pillow or a table runner or something else I haven't heard of yet.  I chose fabric to go with a dining room tablecloth so I can make a table runner, but that may a bit ambitious.   

Then again, you're talking to the woman who is planning to make a home made duvet by sewing a silk quilt batting into a cotton duvet cover.   Later in the month of April there will be a machine quilting class, so I may want to postpone this project until I've taken the class.   There is another class I'd like to take in April, where you make a birdie sling bag, similar to the one on the right.  I know I don't need another purse (and it's too big anyway) but I'm tired of carrying knitting or needlework projects in plastic bags, or at least that's my story.  


Now that I've found this fascinating new world I want to learn more about it, and become more skillful.  There are so many projects, other than quilts, that I don't know where to start.  This is a new world for me, and I'm looking forward to exploring it.  I can understand how quilters become addicted.

 

Behind the Scenes

When I was getting dressed this morning, I noticed that the elastic waistband of my underwear was getting a little ... loose.  This is not good news, people!

I am a child of the 60's and clearly remember the days when I dashed out of the house bra-less wearing bikini underwear and no pantyhose.  If I did wear a bra to contain my AAA assets, it was a front hook contraption with two small triangles that could not have supported a fried egg.   

I remember getting dressed with my grandmother one morning.  She wore foundation garments in every sense of the word.  She started with a bra that had shoulder straps that were at least 3 inches wide, that went below her breasts to mid-chest.  As I recall there were 4 hooks to be done in the back.  This was followed by her corset, which had absolutely no relationship to the items sold by Victoria's Secret.  This was an industrial-strength suit that fit over her bra then went over her behind and had stiff boning through the waist.  I honestly don't think she could bend once she had it on.  It hooked up the back and had garters at the bottom so she could attach her stockings to it.  Once the corset and stockings were installed, Nana pulled a full slip over everything, and a pair of "woolly knickers" to prevent the cold Manitoba winter from penetrating the layers.  Only then did she add her blouse, jumper and a sweater on top.  My goodness.  Of course Nana was born in 1901, in an era when women were expected to dress modestly.

My preference for bikini panties disappeared when I was pregnant, as I found it very disconcerting to have my underwear roll itself under my belly and then make a break for the floor.   Despite misgivings, I discovered the joy of granny panties, which stayed where they were put.  They fit comfortably under my jeans, and served me well for many years.

Now that I am exercising again and spending time in women's change rooms, I understand how my grandmother must have felt watching me dress so many years ago.  The skinny young girls wear thongs, which is a concept I never grasped.  There are also a variety of styles including boy-leg, high-cut, french-cut, ladies' boxers, hipsters, and full briefs (which sounds like a contradiction in terms to me).   

Please do not get me started on the variety of control these underwear may contain.  Control being a euphemism for what my mother used to call her girdle, back in the day.  Not only are there many kinds of underwear that control your tummy, there seems to be underwear that pads your behind too.  You can lift, separate, squeeze, shape, accentuate your assets into whatever you want.  What a concept!

Anyway, the purpose of this blog is to explain that my underwear is reaching that stage where I will have to replace it.  With what is open to discussion at this point.  I can't tell from the pictures on the front of the packages what exactly this underwear I am contemplating will look like.  I have evolved beyond the granny panty and am striving for the zen like perfection of underwear that is neither too high cut in the leg, or too low cut over the tummy.  I have accepted the reality of my figure and prefer to shape and control my body from the inside, not impose discipline from the outside.  Let us hope that my current underwear will remain on the job long enough for me to replace it.

Don't Wanna

We have just received an invitation to a group dinner party.  There are four couples who have been celebrating New Years Eve together for several years, and recently we've taken turns inviting the other couples for dinner every couple of months.  I enjoy all of the other people in the group, and we've always had a good time.  Except for my brother-in-law's girlfriend and myself, the other group members are all golfers.  We don't hold it against them.

The most recent email included the phrase that "Susan and Sandy can golf too" since apparently the dinner includes a golf date.  I don't like golf.  I don't want to golf.  I don't even like mini putt.  I resent being put into the position that I have to golf.

Please understand, my parents were avid golfers.  As a matter of fact you could probably describe them as fanatics, and I wouldn't argue with you.   My mother played at least 3 rounds of golf during the week, and golfed competitively in the women's league.  I can recall Dad getting up at 5 am on Saturday morning to golf before going in to work a half day, and then golfing again with my mother on Sunday.  When Dad retired, his colleagues bought them several rounds of golf at the world famous St. Andrew's course in Scotland.  They also played Pebble Beach and Augusta.  When we moved to Winnipeg, my parents bought a house that backed onto one of the better private golf courses in Winnipeg and I was under intense pressure to take advantage of the location.

I have no happy memories associated with this game.   When we went on vacation we were taken golfing because there was no one to babysit.  That meant we had to be very quiet, walk very quickly, watch where the golf ball landed, and I had to keep my younger brother amused.  My parents were intensely competitive people who golfed together every weekend and at least once during the week.  If my mother played better than my father, she made sure he knew.  So he shaved a few strokes and hoped she wouldn't notice, but of course she did.  The resulting discussion usually meant they didn't speak to each other for several days.  And on weekends once they were home from the golf course, there was always golf to be watched on television. 


When I married and had children all their interactions with their grandparents revolved around golf.  We didn't see my parents on summer weekends because they golfed every day, and if there was a major golf tournament televised they were unavailable as well.  If we were invited out for a meal, it inevitably was eaten at their golf course because they had to spend a specific amount of money there each month.  If they came to our house it was understood that the golf channel would be available.


My parents both detested Tiger Woods, and I believe it is no coincidence that his game hit the skids in 2009, the year they both died.  I am actually very comforted by the thought that they are spending their afterlife haunting Tiger Woods, because I know how much they would enjoy watching him suffer.  In May 2011 my brother and I scattered their ashes by the Assiniboine River in Winnipeg, on the golf course where they spent their happiest times.

Mum and Dad could never understand why I was not interested in their favourite game.  I gather the hostess of our next dinner party doesn't understand my lack of interest either.  I have spent most of my life deflecting, explaining, sitting quietly and watching golf.  I speak the language of golfers fluently.  I have seen their frustrations, and the joy of hitting the ball well.  Actually, I think I have actually played at least four games of golf over the past 50 years and lived to tell the tale.  However, I have been overexposed to the game, and somewhere deep inside there is a little girl stomping her feet and screaming "don't wanna golf, not gonna golf, and you can't make me!"  Unfortunately, since Sandy says she's up for the challenge, I don't think I have a choice.

Back to Normal

Well, life is back to normal in several ways.  Most importantly, our weather has returned to March frost.   It has been quite chilly the past few mornings, and it took me a while to realize that I had to wear a heavier jacket than the light sweaters I was tossing on last week.  Instead of sitting on the back deck, soaking in the sunshine and watching the birds flit around I'm back in the house on the computer and reading books.  I'm even considering pulling out my knitting and hiding in the basement with the gas fireplace on.  Needless to say the flowers I planted last week are not happy with me.  They had no seasoning before facing plunging nighttime temperatures and they are droopy, to say the least.

Another way I'm back to normal is in the food preparation department.  Last week I barbecued almost every night, this week I'm planning chicken lentil soup and home made bread.  Heavier, warming meals that will have leftovers for several days.

I'm also back to exercise class.  We were on hiatus for two weeks and I enjoyed lazing around the house in the morning and then puttering around in the yard.  I didn't get a lot accomplished, but I enjoyed every minute of the sunshine and warm weather.  This morning I started the new fit-for-life exercise class and was out of the house shortly after 8 am.  I really enjoy being out and about earlier in the day because I feel like I've accomplished so much by lunchtime.  I enjoyed the new class style and think it will raise my cardio fitness, which was the primary goal.
Tomorrow is pilates, which will be a real shock to my system.  My husband and son are hoping to go golfing in the afternoon, which means I can climb into the bathtub with the epsom salts and enjoy a good long bubbly soak.

I gave up on all the books I had out from the library last week.  Although the titles appealed to me, I just couldn't get into the stories.  Either the introduction was too long and drawn out or the character wasn't sympathetic, or the circumstances weren't believable.  Instead I've been reading cookbooks.  I just finished Crescent Dragonwagon's newest book "Bean by Bean".  Crescent is a passionate vegetarian cook who has written several cookbooks and was the owner/chef of the Ozarks Inn.  I enjoy her writing style and am fascinated by her food.  In "Bean by Bean" Crescent provides vegetarian, vegan and meatist alternatives to most of her recipes.