On Vacation

My husband has gone down to the States on a golfing jaunt with his brother and some friends.  They will be back the end of this week.

While he's been gone, I've been amusing myself going to the Creative Festival at the International Centre in Mississauga, taking quilting lessons, and I'm visiting a friend's cottage tomorrow.  I'll check back into my blog later in the week, but I'm keeping busy and on the road at the moment.  It's a wonderful break in our routine for both of us. 

Huck's World

Well, Huck's world is expanding at an exponential rate.  I'm sure if you looked in Webster's Dictionary under "curiosity killed the cat" there would be a picture of our Huck clutching a sign saying "I'm not dead yet" in his paws.  It isn't from lack of trying, trust me.

Last weekend he escaped from the house.  When the weather was warmer he and Tugby were spending time in a crate outside on our back deck and enjoying it immensely, so he was getting curious about what the great outdoors was all about.  On Saturday, our basement door didn't latch properly and opened when nobody was downstairs, so Huck decided to go walkabout.  Fortunately my husband was in time to see a tail disappear out the door so he yelled that Huck was out, grabbed his shoes, and took off in pursuit.  Huck led him on a chase through several backyards, over two 6 foot tall fences and onto the street behind us.  Then he doubled back and ran past our house, so my husband rushed in, opened the basement door and called him.  Huck flew in the door and was home safe.  He was so terrified and hyperventilating that I thought I was going to have to put him in a paper bag until he calmed down.

Once he was safely home Tugby added insult to injury by sniffing and then growling at him for about 40 minutes.   Our best guess is that he didn't smell the same as usual, and that Huck was so stressed and scared that Tugby could sense it.  Eventually both boys settled down and gave Huck a good bath, and life returned to normal.  Except ever since then, Huck has become a real lap hound, and very affectionate.    He loves to lie on his back on your lap, and have his tummy rubbed.  Most cats start kicking and fighting with their back legs when their tummies are up, but Huck just loves to be rubbed.

He has also become quite blase about Boston's visits.  To the right is a picture taken a few weeks ago, and you can see that Huck has come down from his high shelf and is sitting on a dining room chair, checking things out.   Boston visited us on Wednesday night for his team's final playoff game (the Bruins, of course) and Huck padded around on the ground about 4 feet behind him all night.  As I've mentioned, Boston is well accustomed to cats, and he is not under any illusions about who is the superior species.  So he behaved like a champion when Huck decided to get even closer, and start sniffing him.  As you can see by the look on his face, Boston was a little nervous, but behaved like a true gentlebeagle.

 

 We're hoping that Huck's venture outside scared him enough that he won't be trying to escape any time soon.  But we've learned the hard way that he loves to investigate things, and I'm sure he'll forget the trauma and remember the adventure one day.  Soon.

Farewell, Levon

 Levon Helm died of throat cancer on April 19, age 71.  To the left is a photograph taken of him at his prime, as a member of The Band.  Levon was the drummer and lead singer on such songs as "The Weight", "Rag Mama Rag, "Ophelia" and "The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down".  He also played mandolin and guitar.  He was the sole American in a Canadian band, who became one of the best rock bands in the world during the late '60's and '70s.  I remember them well.

Originally, The Band was recruited and played with Ronnie Hawkins, an American rockabilly who came to Toronto in the mid 50's.  They left Ronnie to tour on their own, and became the musicians behind Bob Dylan when he stopped performing acoustically and played electrically.  This was heresy in the early 60's, and it took  an amazing band to persuade fans to give the music a chance.  After The Band stopped touring with Dylan they settled in rural New York and recorded two of the best albums of all time:  "Music from Big Pink" and "The Band".  They influenced an entire generation of musicians and fans.  


Levon was born in Arkansas in a family that were cotton farmers and music lovers.   He was influenced by early blues, rhythm and blues and rockabilly players, and was fortunate to see early Elvis Presley and Bo Diddley performances.  His love and knowledge of this music was at the core of the best music that The Band produced.


The original Band members played their last gig on Thanksgiving Day in 1976.  The members were torn apart by drug abuse, ill health, and arguments over music credits.  Not to mention crippling stage fright suffered by Robbie Robertson.   Although Levon Helm and Robbie Robertson had been very close friends, the decisions made at that time destroyed the relationship completely.  They never played together again.   The farewell performance was filmed by Martin Scorsese and called "The Last Waltz", which is the best rock and roll movie ever made.  Musicians such as Bob Dylan, Ronnie Hawkins, Emmylou Harris, Joni Mitchell, Neil Young, Dr. John, and Muddy Waters all performed with The Band.  

Levon survived the breakup and continued to do what he loved best:  make music.  He toured and recorded with former members of The Band as well as musicians such as Ringo Starr, Joe Walsh, and Dr. John.  In 1993 he wrote his autobiography This Wheel's on Fire - Levon Helm and the Story of The Band.  In the '90s, Levon developed throat cancer and after radiation treatments he lost his voice, but continued to play the drums and try to sing.  His voice grew stronger, and eventually he became able to sing again.

In the early, 2000's, Levon decided to focus his performances in a barn on his property in Woodstock, New York.  His Midnight Rambles always included the Levon Helm band featuring his daughter Amy, but also attracted famous musicians and friends from all over who came to join the fun.  He asked everyone who attended to bring one potluck dish, and the Rambles followed Levon's vision of combining friendship and music.  Among the artists who have played at the Rambles are:  Kris Kristofferson, Garth Hudson, Elvis Costello, Emmylou Harris, and many others.  You never knew who would turn up at the rambles because Levon was so well liked by other musicians.

Levon Helm was an amazing musician and performer.  He believed that the members of a band form a brotherhood and that there can be no single individual who takes credit for the music created by the unit.  He paid dearly for this naive world view but blamed the pencil pushers in the record company rather than the greed of a fellow band member.  He simply loved to make music and entertain people, and lived his life accordingly.  I can remember the first time I ever heard music performed by The Band because it was completely different from anything else at the time.  I was always proud of the fact that four of the five members were Canadian, but appreciated the influence that Levon Helm over their music.   

Farewell, Levon, you will be sorely missed by fans and fellow musicians.  I always wanted to attend one of your Midnight Rambles and never took the opportunity, to my deep regret.  I have been listening to The Band on my Ipod all week, and now I'm going to go watch "The Last Waltz" as I work on my baby afghan.

Murder

I have to admit, I like a good murder mystery.  To me, a book just isn't complete unless there is at least one dead body.  I started reading Nancy Drew and The Bobbsey Twins, then graduated to The Hardy Boys when I was very young.  Somehow Nancy was just too much of a wimp, and the Bobbsey Twins were preachy.  Agatha Christie was far more satisfying.  

In my early 20's I discovered P.D. James, before she became so terribly long-winded.  I enjoyed her character, Cordelia Gray, and learned to live with Adam Dalgleish.  One of the most frustrating Saturday nights I can recall occurred when I bought the most recent P.D. James and was reading it in the bathtub after all the bookstores had closed.  Due to a misprint the last 10 pages were not in the book, and I had to wait until Monday after work to learn who had killed the student nurse.

 

I have also read a lot of true crime books, although Ann Rule has always been a little too preachy for my taste.  One of the most terrifying books I ever read involved the first American who was tried and convicted as a result of DNA evidence.  To make a long story short, he was stalking his victims to be sure their husbands were out of town, getting into their houses through tiny laundry room windows and then spending far too much time enjoying himself before they actually died.  Because of his geographic location it took the police a long time to figure out that the same person was murdering all those women.  Because the DNA evidence was overwhelming he was executed, but never confessed.  I read that book one night when my husband was out.  Our young sons and I were upstairs and all the doors and windows on the main floor were wide open because it was a hot day.  I was terrified, too scared to go downstairs until after my husband returned.  That was the last true crime book I read for about 10 years!

Occasionally when I can't sleep, I amuse myself planning my own murder.  I place myself somewhere perfectly ordinary, and then have a wonderful time plotting how I would die and who the murderer would be.  Of course, it's always a stranger, never one of my nearest and dearest (contrary to actual crime statistics).  I'd like to think that this hobby has made me a little more aware of my surroundings, but truth be told I'm generally so preoccupied with my thoughts I'm on another planet.

Knitting

I'm going to focus on knitting today.  The weather is supposed to be miserable, heading rapidly towards rotten.  As a matter of fact, they're threatening us with snow both today and tomorrow.  Late season snow is not unusual in Ontario, we rarely make it through April without at least one storm, but we've had such a mild and dry winter that it's a big deal.  

I want to finish my most recent project, which is a baby afghan for my cousin's daughter.  Apparently they are expecting a boy, so I've purchased white yarn with a pale blue thread and am making a basket weave stitch baby blanket for her.  The woman at the knitting shop said that this particular yarn but with a black thread is very popular for people who don't know if they're having a boy or a girl.  I must be old fashioned, because I cannot imagine purchasing or making anything black for a baby.  Especially before it is born.  I never thought of myself as particularly superstitious, but I draw the line at black for babies.  Personally, I would like brighter and more cheerful colours such as red and purple and green and royal blue, but I have no idea what the new mother has planned for a colour scheme so I will restrain myself and go pastel. 

The basic pattern for this blanket is pretty straightforward, but I'm using a row counter and stitch markers to be sure that I don't get distracted and mess up.  I started and ripped out the stitches several times until I realized that I had to have physical reminders to keep everything on track.  It's going much better now, and I can enjoy the knitting instead of counting and recounting.  I've just started the third ball of six, so I'm pretty well half-way through, and the baby is due in May.  I had started this afghan about a week ago and was knitting like a wild thing, but then I got distracted and things came to an abrupt stop.  I've had my little break and it's time to get back on track.  My next quilt block class is coming up quickly, and I know there will be homework so it will be nice to finish one project before the next one piles up.  Also I'd like to have the blanket done sooner rather than later, because you never know whether babies will arrive as planned.    

Joan and I had a wonderful visit.  We had so much to catch up on that we probably didn't stop talking.  I'm still thinking of things I meant to mention or show her, but she's back in Winnipeg and working today, her vacation is over.  We had a lot of fun at the McMichael Gallery in Kleinburg.  It was a beautiful day, and the gallery is in a wonderful location with miles of hiking trails and beautiful grounds.  The actual building is a huge stone and log construction which fits into the landscaping perfectly.  It is dedicated to Canadian artists including the Group of Seven and our First Nations and Inuit artists.  One of the things we really noticed is that the walls where the art is displayed are not white, but rich warm colours.  The paintings really stand out and seem even more important when they're not washed out by white walls.  I had been to the McMichael Gallery about 30 years ago, when we first moved to Ontario, and I had far more appreciation this time.

It's a Good Day

I volunteered to take my husband's car for an oil change this morning.  The alternative was for both of us to get up really early on Saturday morning, or for him to miss seeing my friend, Joan, and go by himself early Saturday morning.  He took Plan A.

After my fit-for-life class I bopped over to the dealership and left the car to be hoisted.  To my surprise, it was manicure day, and there was nobody in line ahead of me.  Well.  I never get manicures.  My fingernails and I have a benign neglect policy that we have all agreed on.  Every once in a while I notice that they're too long and I can't do anything.  So I whack them down with clippers, smooth the edges with an emery board, and go on with whatever I was doing.  When the cuticles start to snag and bother me, I soak my fingers, push them back and go on with whatever I was doing.  Do you see a trend yet?

I almost never polish my fingernails.  If they are polished, it means that I am going to an ultra feminine thing and feeling somewhat intimidated for whatever reason.  As long as they're a decent length I leave well enough alone.  So today I didn't get any nail polish, but the manicurist soaked, trimmed, filed, and cuticled my nails.  Then she gave each hand a 5 minute massage while I purred like a cat.  What an amazing feeling!  I swear my backbone melted a little bit there, for a while.  It feels so much better when somebody else does stuff like that for me, like when you get your hair washed when you're getting it cut.  It just makes me feel special and pampered.

And the best news of all?  I'm meeting Joan and her sister-in-law at the McMichael Canadian Art Collection in Kleinburg tomorrow morning.  Joan has flown in from Winnipeg, and we get to spend a couple days together before she goes home.  We go all the way back to grade 9, which is over 40 years ago now (when and how did that happen?)  We were each other's best man and only attendant at our weddings.  After a busy few years raising children we are closer than ever, thanks to the new technology which makes letter writing a thing of the past.  We only see each other every year or so, but that's OK.  

I won't be blogging tomorrow.

Shape Shifting

There is something peculiar happening to my body.  I hate to whine, but lord knows I have been exercising.  I generally eat reasonably well.  I get as much sleep as I need most of the time.  So what's happening, for crying out loud?

Lately I've noticed that my sweaters are zipping up in the front.  Now my jackets have always zipped completely up, but sweaters and such are negotiable.  They're warmer if they zip but sometimes they're just a little snug, so I don't try.  Even my polar fleece (I know they're ugly, but they're practical) that never zipped comfortably does now.  I was very surprised, and it took me a while to appreciate the change.  This is the good news portion of my blog.

But.  Now I'm overflowing my sports bra.  It would appear that my cups have shrunk, because I refuse to believe that the girls are growing.  Again.  I woke up one morning at about age 48, and realized that someone had slapped my mother's boobs on my chest when I wasn't looking.   This would have been a welcome change in my mid-20's when I was AAA cup size, and my husband told me I was a pirate, because I had a sunken chest.  Ha ha.  However, when the girls decide to get bigger later in life it's not a cause for celebration.  I didn't know what a pain in the neck larger breasts were.  I have no idea why women would go and have implants to increase their breast size, and let's not even discuss the strippers who go to totally ugly sizes (like JJJ or bigger).    Really, girls, wait until you're my age and see how you like them apples.

My days of wearing tiny little bras with no support ended when the girls got bigger.  My days of wearing dresses or t-shirts with spaghetti straps are over too because if one of those straps snaps, somebody in close proximity is going to lose an eye.  I am certainly not going to wear a halter top any time soon, because the lack of support would result in a very saggy silhouette.

Exercise requires extra support sports bras, which are comfortable but compress the girls into a very snug space.  I tend to fly out the door from pilates and run whatever errands are necessary.  I may change out of my yoga pants and top, but I rarely strip down to skivvies and start fresh.  As a result I tend to wear sports bras from Monday through Thursday.    I first noticed the overflow during a particularly long plank position last week.  Then one day when I was standing in line at the cashier I looked down and realized my tshirt was fitting as if I had a third girl in there.  Classic proof that I need to either increase a cup size, or go up in size around my chest.  To say that I am not impressed is a severe understatement.  

I don't go bra shopping for giggles.  When I go, I get "fitted" and then find one style that is comfortable and not terribly ugly and buy two of them.  Then I try to remember to take them out before the dryer so they don't die too soon.  Most recently I have been introduced to the new stand-alone version of a bra.  The ones with the layer of latex padding and a petal contraption so that your nipple doesn't show.   Being a child of the 60's, I had no idea that nipples were a big deal.  After all, everyone gets two.  These new bras come with underwire, which I think is sufficient reason to condemn Howard Hughes to eternal pain and suffering.  They're hot.  They don't move with my body.  I need a layer of latex over my middle aged boobs, like I need another  layer of fat over my butt.

My strategy at the moment is total denial.  It's going to take me a while to work up my courage to stand half-naked in a change room while some woman with cold hands flings a measuring tape around me.  If you see me in a store and try to get my attention, be sure to stand back so that I don't knock you over if I turn quickly.

Variety

I need a new animal.  To cook.  Winter is over and has been for a while.  We're tired of the usual stew-soup-bean-lentil-beef-chicken-fish-pork dance.  It's too early for the salad and barbeque chicken-beef-pork-sausage-fish and salad-bean-lentil dance.  Our life has become too predictable, and there is no new animal to give our meals a kick start.

When you were a child, did you have special "days" for meals?  Sunday was roast, Monday was leftovers, Tuesday was chicken, Wednesday was pasta, Thursday was pork, and Friday was fish.  We weren't Roman Catholic, but my mother was convinced that the grocery stores in Saskatchewan brought fresher fish in on Fridays so we ate fish then.   Once that rule passed, she was at a loss because Saturday was chili and then we were back to Sunday roast.   The big advantage to this lifestyle is that you really don't have to spend a lot of time planning and thinking what comes next, only how you're going to prepare the chicken and the pork.  Fish was fried.  You can tell I am a child of the mid 60's because we went through a tuna casserole with potato chips on top stage.  Pasta was always spaghetti with meatballs and red sauce.  Roast is pretty self defining, and so is chili.

When we married, I never got into this kind of rhythm.  When I was gainfully employed (now doesn't that sound grand!) we got home at the same time, starving to death, and supper had to be ready to go.  Once our children were school age meals used to have to be ready when the kids were hungry (around 6pm) until my husband came home (around 8 pm).   That's why I consider myself an expert in soup-stew making.  My repertoire stretches from the classic chicken noodle soup or minestrone, to the always appetizing garbage soup.  Garbage soup is a combination of all the leftovers from the past week incorporated into a broth and cooked together, and it is always much better than it sounds.  

Friday nights when our sons were young were always pizza night in the winter, and taco night in the summer.  The boys and I would chop onions, mushrooms, peppers, and grate cheese regardless of the final outcome.   Other vegetables varied according to season, although we always found room for olives.  Then we'd cook Italian sausage or ground beef and add pizza dough or tortillas.  It gave me a break and company in the kitchen and made Friday feel a little bit special. 

I don't know why the between-season period is always so hard to adjust to.  I am totally lacking inspiration, and am relying far more than is healthy on grilled cheese with tomato soup.  Even breakfast for dinner is feeling old and stale at the moment.  When I reach this stage the only thing that will help is a new season, because I don't have the inspiration to tackle say, rabbit, or buffalo, or duck.  No matter how much I mutter about the same-old same-old meals, I'm not ready to step that far out of my comfort zone.

Spring Weather

We need a good two-day soaker rain.  The gardens are dry and my lawn is looking a little spotty.  We have been threatened with rain for the past few days, but as usual the weatherman has not delivered.  Today is lovely and warm, but clouds are moving in and the sky is starting to look a little threatening.  Tomorrow the temperature is supposed to hover around the freezing point, and the weatherman is threatening us with snow. 

Our neighbourhood is a relatively flat area at the top of a hill overlooking the bay.  We get a lot of high winds when the weather changes dramatically, and as I type this the wind is beginning to pick up.  There are a lot of mature trees surrounding our houses, and they really wave and sigh in the wind.  Quit often we can't keep our windows open at night because the sound of the trees is so loud and dramatic we can't sleep.  Because the temperature is going to drop so drastically, I expect we will get a lot of wind tonight.

Actually, the forecast for the entire week threatens rain.  We are on a roller coaster for temperature, from today's high swooping to tomorrow's cold temperature and then back to warm again for a couple of days and then back to seasonal norms.  As long as we get a good solid rain along with the temperature swings, it will be worth it.  We didn't get the snow base we needed to set our water table this winter, and if we don't get a long steady rainfall for a couple of days we will be watering our gardens far too often as summer comes.  That leads to watering restrictions, which seems ironic when our city is built around a bay.

I am not planning many changes to our garden this year, although we have had 3 trees removed, and there will be far more sunshine in our back yard.  I want to watch how the light levels have changed, and how our existing gardens react, before adding anything.  I need to work on a buffer between our yard and the people behind us, because we removed two evergreen trees.  I think I'll start by planting Virginia creeper and training it to grow on the chain link fence between our houses.  That should give us privacy for the summer months, and buy some time for us to make additional plans.

There is an enormous blue spruce tree directly behind us, and the very rear of our yard is totally barren as a result.  No grass will grow under it, and although previous owners of our house tried a variety of ground covers, their noble experiment failed.  The ground covers have colonized our front and rear lawns, but not where we want them to be.  I have spent many hours digging unwanted ground cover out of my gardens and lawn, but it has been a losing battle.  Introducing Virginia creeper may be  huge mistake if it decides to grow on the ground rather than vine along the fence, but I know Virginia creeper is really tough and I'm hoping that it can survive the harsh conditions where I want it to be.  Keep your fingers crossed.

Test Results

I started wearing glasses around age 7 because I was extremely near sighted and had severe astigmatism as well.  By the time I was in high school I had graduated to hard contact lenses, then toric, and gas permeable, and soft lenses.  If I lost a contact lens, I needed a seeing-eye dog.  If I put my glasses down somewhere unusual, I couldn't find them without help.  Remember Mr. Magoo?  I could really identify with him!  

For my fortieth birthday I got laser surgery to correct my eyesight.  What a revelation!  I can remember lying in bed, fascinated by the shadow cast by the ceiling fan over the bed.  I had only seen a white blur against the white ceiling, never the subtleties of shadows.  I can't even describe the joys of 20/20 vision after wearing some kind of corrective lenses for over thirty years.  The minor detail that I was now slightly far-sighted was not a problem, although I couldn't see my eyebrows or read price tags without reading glasses.

Well, time has caught up with me, and now I need glasses full time again.  The prescription is a fraction of my former correction, and I routinely go to pilates and exercise classes without glasses because I can see fine.  The problem is that I'm more far sighted so I can't read, or see the computer, or even my knitting and needlepoint without glasses.  Distance is fine, but mid-range and close are not.  I could go back to contact lenses but they would only correct distance and mid-range, and I'd have to wear reading glasses.  Somehow my appearance is less important over 50 than it was when I was a teenager.  Go figure!


I could re-use the glasses that I've had for the past several years.  I'm not hard on frames, and they're still in style, but I'm sick of them.  They are a raspberry wine colour, and match my hair perfectly.  I know this because almost everybody I meet compliments me about how well they match.  That was never the plan.  I've checked out some optical shops, but apparently fashion has caught up to my last frames and I can get any shade of pink, fuchsia, purple or burgundy that I want.   I need something completely different, and have a craving for turquoise glasses.  I have found several pairs of glasses exactly the colour I want but it's only on the inside of the frame, not facing the world.  The outside frames are metal or black.  How boring.  I even found a pair of cream coloured glasses with rose and aqua flowers (I was so excited) but again they're only on the inside of the frame.  What a letdown.  I don't understand why people would pay for pretty colours that nobody could see when they're wearing their glasses.


Thanks to my optician friend, Ben, I found the perfect pair of glasses today.  The shape flatters my face, the lenses are the right size for the correction I need, and best of all they are a teal-turquoise colour.  I think true turquoise would have been too trendy, but the slightly darker colour will age better.  They won't be ready for about 10 days, but I can hardly wait.  When I was a child I hated my glasses and tried to lose them when I was out playing.  When I was a teenager, I couldn't even see the frames I was trying on unless I had contact lenses on.  Now that I'm ... more mature, I have very firm ideas of what I want to wear and am looking forward to the change.

Huck

Speaking of cats, Huck is still addicted to cardboard boxes.  I finally got rid of his original blender box, but found a smaller cardboard box to amuse him recently.  He's had a blast hiding in it, but it's starting to look the worse for wear.  This morning I heard a really peculiar noise from the kitchen.  It wasn't his usual box-surfing noise, or the fighting-Tugby-for-control-of-the-box noise.  Instead it sounded like velcro being pulled apart, or maybe a bandaid being pulled off a very hairy arm.  When I went to investigate the sound was made by Huck pulling a long piece of packing tape off the box, and he was quite delighted by the result.  

Huck has proven himself to be a very resourceful cat.  He is endlessly fascinated by things to be found in drinking glasses, and one of these days I'll probably find him with his head stuck in one.  If he can't fit his head into the opening, he'll insert a paw and feel around the bottom of the glass to see what's in it.  I keep kosher sea salt in a glass beside my stove, for seasoning food as I cook.  On the weekend I found a large quantity of salt carefully scooped out of the glass and deposited on the counter (and floor) beside it.

If there are small items missing from a countertop, I don't have to look far to find the culprit.  Huck loves to push spools of thread, coins, pencils and whatever else catches his attention to the floor.  Then he plays kitty soccer with the item until it lodges somewhere he can't reach it.  This game is far more entertaining than using the kitty balls with bells, or crinkly fabric balls which we have purchased for his pleasure.

Blind as a Bat?

I have an eye appointment this afternoon, and am running around between now and then.  They're going to put that goop in my eyes so I can't see properly, so I'll have to wait until I stop crying and can keep both eyes open at the same time to drive home.  Isn't the little guy in the photo cute?  He reminds me of the picture of an owl that I'm using as a screen saver these days.

I'll post another blog tomorrow!

Babies

My cousin's daughter is having a son early in May.  Technology has changed so much since I was pregnant, although ultrasound was in use, it was not as accurate as it is today.   Because I was pregnant with twins I had many ultrasounds over the last few months and we still have a copy of one in the baby photo album.  It looks more like a weather map than a baby picture.  We were told that we had one boy, with the possibility of a second (well, the odds were 50-50, right?) and although I had been hoping for a boy and a girl, we ended up with two boys. 

Despite the advances in technology, there are many things that have stayed the same about pregnancy and childbirth. I think we all want perfect, healthy babies, and to provide the best care possible for them.  We want the healthiest birthing techniques, the least intervention, and to live happily ever after without any problems.  It's hard to imagine life with a baby while you're pregnant with your first child, and impossible to imagine life without a baby once he's arrived. 

I feel sorry for the latest generation of mothers, because there is so much pressure on them.  There are so many studies, so many restrictions on diet and medication that it must be hard to keep everything straight.  Back in the day our mothers didn't know as much as we did, and in my day we knew more but weren't bombarded with as much information as our daughters are.  For many women, this is the most important time in their lives and they want to be sure that they are doing everything that they can.  

Somehow, things seemed much more casual when I was pregnant.  My doctor was a pretty laid back character, who told me to listen to my body and do what it told me to.  He encouraged me to take Tylenol when I was in pain or had a headache, because it would be more stressful on the babies if I just suffered.  I ate whatever I wanted or had appetite for, without worrying about causing birth defects or allergies.  I didn't exercise fanatically or feel guilty because I didn't walk for hours a day.  I took prenatal vitamins, slept as much as I could, and worked until I was 7 months pregnant.  The boys were born at 36 weeks gestation, but after a shaky start they are certainly healthy adults.

Afghans

Looking back, my grandmother started me on this path to afghan making.  She taught herself how to make granny squares before I was born, and made afghans for everyone in the family for the rest of her life.  Her creations changed over time, becoming more colourful as she got older.  She rarely coordinated her colours to make a cohesive whole, but said that all flowers looked good together in the garden.  I still have two of the last afghans she ever made:  one in shades of rust and green for me, and one in shades of beige and yellow and orange for my boyfriend at the time (now husband).   My husband's afghan was much too small for him, so I crocheted a border around the ends to make it both longer and wider.  I have very fond memories of cuddling under it watching hockey on tv as newlyweds in our first home.

I remember how much the afghan she made comforted me, when I was a child.  I watched TV snuggled under it, brought it up to bed with me and wrapped up in it under the covers.  It was a symbol of the unconditional love that I knew my grandmother had for me, and it protected me from nightmares and scary things.

I finished my first afghan when I was in university.  It was a variation of the ripple pattern, in 3 shades of green and white.  It lasted until after our sons were born, and then was claimed by our first dog, who dragged it wherever she had a nap.  I also made an afghan for each of our sons when they were around 4 years old.  We started by buying small balls of wool, then were given yarn by my mother in law and both of my husband's grandmothers.  My sons brought small lengths of yarn and string from their nursery school and kindergarten crafts and they were incorporated into the afghans as well.  I used a slightly different pattern, so each boy had his own unique creation.

Since it's cold and gray out today, I'm working on the afghan for my oldest son.  It's a ripple pattern and I made a mistake somewhere in the previous row and then discovered my mistake.  It took me a while to get ready to remove the stitches, but I'm back on track now.   It's a very simple afghan, no colour changes and no pattern changes, so I'm hoping to have it done quickly so I can go on to a new project.  The wool isn't really suitable for an afghan because it's a little thin and stringy, but it's very pretty shades from cream through soft gold into aqua and dusky blue, and I couldn't resist buying it many years ago.  By coincidence, the fabric I bought for the hand piercing class matches it very well, so i think I'll continue the theme for the next two classes and maybe make a small lap quilt.

There are so many variations of fuzzy blankets and throws available at all home decor stores at all price points.  Knitting an afghan or making a quilt are more expensive and time consuming, and not as easy care as the commercially made products.  However, I believe that you can't hand make a project for someone you love without thinking about them, and working love and good wishes into the project.

New Projects

My life was put on hold for several years after one of our sons developed a brain injury during his early teen years.  Despite the odds against him his story turned out well, but I spent several years heavily involved in his life and neglecting my own.

Now that both sons have left home and their lives are unfolding independently, it's time for me to start following my own interests.  For a few years it was difficult to remember who I was or what I enjoyed doing, but after some counselling and meditation things are back on track.

I am exercising at least 4 mornings a week, doing either pilates or a mixed cardio and weight program.  I have started exploring the fascinating world of quilting, and discovered that it can be very addictive.  I am also returning to older hobbies such as knitting and needlepoint, and have picked up projects which were abandoned for several years.  I also started writing this blog to examine my journey through life, and use up some of the words which fly through my brain daily.

As I was lying in bed this morning, I realized how far I've come over the past few months.  At first it was very difficult to focus on my own life and identify anything that I wanted to do.  Now, I have so many thoughts and ideas it's hard to keep track of them all.  The world has become infinitely interesting and kaleidoscopic, and some days I just don't know where to start first.  So I exercise and get that out of the way, because otherwise it would be too easy to get sidetracked. 

Although I was an enthusiastic knitter and needlepointer, I am not an expert, because I am basically self-taught.  Over the weekend I was checking on line for classes for an entrelac shawl or a linen stitch scarf, and found a yarn and quilt store in a community half an hour south of us.  I really didn't want to be driving that far with the price of gas so high, or to be on the highway after 10pm.  Today I discovered a yarn store within walking distance, which offers more reasonably priced classes in the afternoon, and I can choose the project I want to learn.  

I have an afghan I would like to complete for our oldest son, but that should be done fairly quickly, and then I can walk to the yarn store and learn how to knit my entrelac shawl properly.  The goal is to be ready to start the new project by April 23rd.  I have a quilting class scheduled in both May and June, and anticipate there should be a bit of homework to complete.  

I'm also off next Saturday with a neighbour to a full day garden lecture.  Now that the black walnut has been cut down, we can start thinking about what to do with our brand new backyard.  I think we'll just see how things change with the tree gone, and plan for another project next year, but you never know.  We lost all our privacy from the neighbours behind us when the trees came down, so we have to come up with some kind of planting that will screen our yard while we make longer term plans.

The Perils of Shopping

I've already admitted to having a leaky memory.  As in, forgetting that I returned a book I hadn't read and really wanted to read to the library.  Or losing my car keys for several hours and getting really frustrated because "I'm not that kind of person".  Or at least I never used to be that kind of person ... now I'm not so sure about that. 

I've never had a photographic memory but it's always been relatively reliable.  Now before I leave the house I make a list of everything that I need to do or pick up.  At least 50% of the time I leave the list in the house and have to try and remember everything, but somehow just writing things out helps.  Sometimes as I'm falling asleep I'll spend a bit of time figuring out where I need to go and the best way to get there, and even what I'm going to buy.  That way at least I don't spend time dithering about my route.  

Another complication I've noticed lately is that the supermarkets aren't carrying the items that I used to buy.  Or, they've changed the packaging and I don't recognize what it is because it doesn't look the same.  Even more frustrating is when they totally reorganize the entire grocery store without notice.  It's hard enough to remember what you have to buy without dealing with these random changes.  

There is nothing I hate more than reaching the checkout and paying for everything, only to realize that I forgot one critical ingredient that is absolutely necessary for the next meal.  Do I take everything out to the car and load it up, or leave the cart tucked safely into an unused checkout and dash madly through the store, cursing?  I guess that depends on how many more errands I have to run and how many frozen food items there are in the basket.  The only thing more frustrating is to get all the way home and then remember that I forgot whatever it was, or left my debit card behind.   I'm not admitting that this has ever happened to me, but if it happens to you my recommendation would be to make something else.  Unless you forgot your debit card.

Easter

Is it my imagination or is Easter coming early this year?  My seasons are all out of sync since we got the 10 days of really warm weather back in the beginning of March, but it's only the first week of April and here comes the Easter bunny!

 Easter is not a particularly important aspect of my life since my religious attendance ended when my parents became serious golfers.  I do remember long sad church services with lots of very long organ solos.  I also remember the headaches I used to get when my Easter hat tried to drill into my skull between my ears, and that we had to fast until after church.  I also remember trying to locate my white cotton gloves that were always hidden in my sock drawer between Easter services.  That was many years and several provinces ago.

When our sons were small we used to hide the small foil-wrapped eggs around the house but our cat at the time, Smokey, thought they were kitty soccer balls.  We would find those little eggs in the most peculiar places for several months after the Easter egg hunt was officially over.  Of course since our sons are adult now, we haven't hidden eggs for many years, but I think the teenaged Huck would reach new levels of creativity.  

When the boys became teenagers, I always bought them embarrassing boxer shorts for the holidays.  When my daughter in law joined the family I got to shop in the girls' department for the first time, and I've had a lot of fun buying her cute camisoles and panties.  I would never venture to buy her a bra, because there is such a large scope for error.


I treat everyone to one piece of very nice chocolate, as opposed to baskets and baskets full of the waxy milk chocolate that's available at this time of year.  Do you remember the baskets full of fake plastic grass with hollow chocolate bunnies and marshmallow eggs, not to mention the multicoloured eggs like jellybeans on steroids?  I think this cartoon pretty much describes their life on Easter morning!


This year our oldest son is not coming home for Easter, and I won't be cooking a special dinner.  Instead we've been invited to my daughter in law's mother's trailer (my co-mother in law?).  It is a really strange feeling to not be scurrying all over town picking up turkey and all the trimmings, and I feel like I'm forgetting to do something.  I didn't cook a Christmas dinner this year and now I'm excused from Easter duty, so I feel like I'm malingering. 

It seems like only yesterday we were newly married and we travelled to our parents for all the celebrations.  Then I took over and cooked all the celebratory meals, and I can see into the future when our sons and their families will be cooking for us.  As the seasons change, so do our lives.

Teenaged Cats

My sons are well past their teenaged years, but I still recognize the danger signs.  I've seen one cat safely through the worst of his teens, but now Huck has entered that stage.

I never realized that cats have a teenaged stage until we got two kittens!  When Tugby was a teenager he rushed and scooted through the house like a mad thing.  He leapt into our laps and stared piercingly at us, totally involved in his own world.  Sometimes his tail would fluff up to several times its normal size for no apparent reason and he'd charge off in the opposite direction.  The antics were basically a solitary pastime for Tugby, but of course Chester really never felt well enough to participate.

Huck, on the other hand, has become a holy terror.  He has discovered the joys of playing in forbidden places and I have to be very careful to close all cupboards and doors when I leave a room.  Last week I rescued him from the dish cupboard, the recycling bin, and underneath the bathroom vanity.  

These days Huck's prime time starts when we go to bed!  Last night we pulled him out of the kitchen sink twice, rescued a fork from being chased around the floor, and finally closed the door so he couldn't rampage any more.  I can't believe how observant Huck is, how he takes careful note of everything he could possibly get into and then sneaks back when we're safely in bed.

Another really busy time is when I'm cooking supper.  I always feed the cats before I start the meal on the theory that they'll be full and not interested in what's going on, but it doesn't work that way.  I have to squirt both cats frequently to discourage them from climbing up on the counter.  I also spend a lot of time picking them up and evicting them from the counter.  All utensils and used pots have to be immediately immersed in hot soapy water, to discourage kitty sampling.  All pans on the stove have to have lids on them, and anything waiting to be cooked has to stay in the microwave or the fridge until added to the meal.  I have never used a microwave so often in my life but only as a storage device, not necessarily to cook with.

As soon as we finish eating everything is put in the dishwasher or hand washed.  All leftovers are immediately refrigerated.  While we are having our evening tea, Huck is up on the counters, prowling around the table, and generally snooping in things that are none of his business.  Tugby never misbehaved so blatantly.  With Huck's dubious example, he is getting more adventurous, but one good soaking with water and he settles down.   Sometimes I think Huck figures he's waterproof or has a personal umbrella because nothing deters him from his goal until it has been achieved.  No matter how many times I squirt him, or pick him up and put him on the floor, or take him into another room, he comes right back to what he was doing.