Didn`t get a t-shirt

Andrea and Ron have been speaking at Word Press camps (Chicago, New York) while I stay home and babysit the girls.  Andrea promised to bring back  a t-shirt for me as proof that she was at the conference  and not just spending a weekend holed up at a hotel with her husband.  Here`s proof she really did attend the Wor d Press Camp.  To hear my wonderfully intelligent daughter go here!

I`m one proud mama, even if I didn`t get a t-shirt!

This one is for Sarah

My very talented and creative oldest grandchild, Sarah, gave me the best Christmas present ever.

This book is perfect as it tells me `Everything I wanted to know about quilting, that my daughter wouldn`t tell me.

For years my long suffering daughter has been taking my frantic phone call wanting help with yet another quilting foul up. Thanks to Sarah, Andrea will no longer roll her eyes and mutter she must be  adopted.   Andrea inherited the sewing gene from both her grandmothers.  That gene just flew past me without a second thought.  What is simple for Andrea completely baffles me.

This incredible little book has great illustrations, and a no nonsense question and answer format!  It is just like calling Andrea without the eye rolling.

Luckily Sarah was blessed with the sewing gene and a creative natural talent.   So when I came across this dress on Toxel.com I  immediately thought of Sarah and her graphic design course.   Now all I need is to find enough telephone books to make the dress.   Guess I will have to call Andrea.

Proud mama

but Carl and I will stay behind with our two youngest granddaughters while my daughter Andrea and her husband Ron speak at the conference.

My cost for spending 4 fun filled days with my grand-daughters will be a WP t-shirt and mention of my blog during their presentationd.  Andrea, I’ll know as I expect my stats to increase after the conference and the free shout.

For more information about the conference, go here.   If you see Andrea and Ron at the conference, introduce yourself.  Tell them Mam sent you.

Disobedience

Pooh, promise you won’t forget about me, ever. Not even when I’m a hundred.”
Pooh thought for a little. “How old shall I be then?”
“Ninety-nine.”
Pooh Nodded. “I promise,” he said.

Today CBC announced the publication of the sequel “Return to the Hundred Acre woods.”  How could any one improve on Winnie the Pooh and Christopher Robin?  So far the reviews of the new book have been quite favourable.

A.A. Milne has always been a favourite in our house, especially the “Now we are Six” poems.  I first read the poems when I was 14 and it was one of the first book I bought for Andrea. At bedtime the poems were much easier on little ears.  It is no small wonder her middle name is Robyn.

At the end of the broadcast, driving along by myself, I recited my favourite A.A. Milne poem, “Disobedience”.   I could not count the number of time I read that poem to Andrea, and later to John Douglas,

James James
Morrison Morrison
Weatherby George Dupree
Took great
Care of his Mother,
Though he was only three.
James James
Said to his Mother,
“Mother”, he said, said he;
“You must never go down to the end of the town,
if you don’t go down with me.”

James James
Morrison’s Mother
Put on a golden gown,
James James
Morrison’s Mother
Drove to the end of the town.
James James
Morrison’s Mother
Said to herself, said she:
“I can get right down to the end of the town and be
back in time for tea”

King John
Put up a notice,
“LOST or STOLEN or STRAYED!
JAMES JAMES
MORRISON’S MOTHER
SEEMS TO HAVE BEEN MISLAID.
LAST SEEN
WANDERING VAGUELY;
QUITE OF HER OWN ACCORD,
SHE TRIED TO GET DOWN TO THE END OF THE TOWN-
FORTY SHILLINGS REWARD!

James James
Morrison Morrison
(Commonly known as Jim)
Told his
Other relations
Not to go blaming _him_.
James James
Said to his Mother,
“Mother”, he said, said he:
“You must never go down to the end of the town with-
out consulting me.”

James James
Morrison’s Mother
Hasn’t been heard of since.
King John
Said he was sorry,
So did the Queen and Prince.
King John
(Somebody told me)
Said to a man he knew:
“If people go down to the end of the town, well,
what can anyone do?”

(Now then, very softly)

J. J.
M. M.
W. G. Du P.
Took great
C/o his M*****
Though he was only 3.
J. J.
Said to his M*****
“M*****”, he said, said he:
“You-must-never-go-down-to-the-end-of-the-town-if-
you-don’t-go-down-with-ME!”

– A. A. Milne

What’s your favourite Pooh?

October – isn’t it beautiful

“Crispy air and azure skies,
High above, a white cloud flies,
Bright as newly fallen snow.
Oh the joy to those who know October!

Colors bright on bush and tree.
Over the weedy swamp, we see
A veil of purple and brown and gold.
Thy beauty words have never told. October!

Scolding sparrows on the lawn,
Rabbits frisking home at dawn,
Pheasants midst the sheaves of grain,
All in harmony acclaim, October!

Brown earth freshly turned by plow,
Apples shine on bended bough,
Bins o’erflowed with oats and wheat,
And satisfaction reigns complete. October!

Radiant joy is everywhere.
Spirits in tune to the spicy air,
Thrill in the glory of each day.
Life’s worth living when we say, October!”
-   Joseph Pullman Porter

Photo borrowed from my daughter’s flickr site.

Maybe I’m not cut out to be a belly dancer

Yesterday afternoon as I lay sprawled across the chesterfield in a medicated haze, the phone rang.  It took me a few minutes to realize it was the phone as my hands, eyes, ears coordination was not that great.   The caller was my daughter, during prime time on her dime.  The moment I heard her voice I asked, “Am I dead?”.   She never calls me through the week, let alone on her dime, even with family calling rates she still waits until Sunday to speak with her ailing  mother.

I knew I had to recover quickly if she was that concerned.  Or after spending the afternoon with Julia, she wanted to get first dibs on my stuff in case I was on the way out!

So I’m back and up and at it, after a week from hell.   When my back started aching a week ago this past Saturday I did not give it much mind.  Hell the pain was not that bad, I even joined a belly dancing class the following day with my friend “J”.   My Christmas wish list was to include veils and scarves from my grandchildren.   My plan was to cut a video for each of them starting with a disclaimer that any therapy brought on by watching their grandmother do the dance of the seven veils would be at their own expense.   Monday I suffered through thinking it was the belly dancing.   Tuesday afternoon I spent in the outpatient’s department undergoing blood work, peeing in a very tiny bottle and being x-rayed.

From Tuesday to Saturday I followed the doctor’s orders, took  my medication (Tylenol 3), used a heating pad.  All in anticipation of Sunday’s belly dancing class.   (It’s a grandmother’s duty to expose her grandchildren to different cultures.  And to think of meaningful Christmas gifts.)   Besides my DH was home from Cape Breton and Miss Julia was visiting from Vancouver.

By Saturday evening I could not walk let alone bend over to go to the bathroom without excruciating pain in my lower back and left hip.   So back to the outpatients we go.  This time I received a shot of Demerol and gravel in the butt.  The nurse pointed out to my husband that she did not cause the red angry rash on my butt.  In my loopiness I had to explain that earlier that day I was convinced that a Motrin pain relief rub would end the hurt.   Who knew I was allergy to analgesic rubs!   An emergency cat scan was scheduled for Monday.

To risk sounding like a hypercondriac, I’ll shorten the story.   We went back to the outpatients’ on Monday for the cat scan, returning later in the day for the reading.  By the time we returned the lab was closed and I was just about crazy with the pain.   The nice doctor prescribed morphine and that did the trick.   Mind you I found out I also react to morphine.  By way of projectile vomiting.   By Tuesday I had a rash on my butt, a pain that would not go away and constant vomiting.   Through the magic of gravol, morphine and a good night’s sleep I was convinced I would live again.   Another day of rest was the ticket.

Today I went back to work, drug free for over 24 hours.  Now if I could only get rid of that rash.

Pain in the Butt

Hi, this is Andrea – not Mam. She’s asked me to do an update because she can’t sit at her desk for very long. Her sciatic nerve is having some issues and she’s all doped up on demerol and gravol, plus in line for a CAT scan.

Although why they want to scan Porche is beyond me…

Anyway! Leave her some comments for Carl to read out loud while she paces.

The simple things

Tomorrow I return to work and my regular Monday to Friday routine.  The past two weeks have been the most enjoyable of the last few months, as we took our time doing what we like to do.   As I grow older, more and more I realize the simple things bring the most joy.

I thought my daughter was only joking when she asked us to drive my truck in the Lakeville Canada Day Parade.   In her neighbourhood you are either part of the parade or part of the spectators.  What better way to spend time with my granddaughters then blowing up red and white balloons to decorate the truck. While decorating the truck, a red fox ran across the lawn hoping to get a good spot for the parade.  The dollar bottles of mix were a great hit when our bubbles floated over the crowd.   After the parade we blew up the rest of the coloured balloons, tossing garbage bags full at the ceiling, playing tennis with a rainbow of latex.

Arriving at the community yard sale as they announced everything left on the tables was free for the taking added to the celebrations.   Squeezing an antique bed frame into my daughter’s small car will be a tale told time and time again.

Making cupcakes for Emma to decorate was also a huge hit.  It did not matter to Emma that I screwed up the recipe by adding twice the butter, or that the frosting was made by Betty Crocker.   She’ll remember decorating the cupcakes her way, without any one telling her how to do so.

After a nap at the hotel, we returned in the evening to watch the spectacular fireworks.  No small feat considering I’m usually in bed by 9:00 each night.

On the way back home from visiting my daughter and her family, we traveled the back roads of New Brunswick.   We were rewarded with a bald headed eagle’s nest on a pole close to the highway.  Twice we spotted deer.  In a field of bright yellow canola, we watched as a momma moose and her ganguly calf wandered through the high flowers.   I didn’t have the time to take a picture but that’s okay.

My DH and I can drive for miles in total silence, not because we are upset, but because sometimes there is no need for words.   Even when we got lost, we simply drove back to where we started and tried another road. As we approached the city around noon, Carl wondered where I would like to go for lunch.   The thoughts of noisy diners just did not fit with the day.  We settled for a picnic lunch purchased at the Fredericton Supervalue.

In the parking lot we shared sandwiches and salad, neither one of us ready for the hustle, bustle and noise of the world to intrude on our little universe.

Addiction

I’m starting to think quilting is an addiction.   Half way through my current project, I’m thinking of which quilt to start next.  It doesn’t matter that I’m no ways near completion of Summer Trellis, I’m jonesing for a new pattern thanks to the quilt monkey on my back.   At any given time I have at least eight quilts in the closet at various stages of completion.

I start to lose interest in a quilt about 3/4s of the way through.   By the time I’m ready to cut the binding fabric, I’m ready to threw everything to the back of the closet.   My fingers are itching to cut new fabrics, sew new blocks, get another new thrill.

Through help talk and sometimes a slap across the forehead with my own hand, I preservere.   They say that admitting is the first step towards resolving any addiction.   I guess I’m ready for Quiltaholics. I don’t want to stop quilting, I just need help sticking with one quilt at a time.    So while I’m waiting for the next meeting to start, here’s what I did today.

The rest of the morning I sorted through cupboards packing 2 1/2 inch floral scraps for Meaghan and quilt books for Andrea.  It is not helping that my family are feeding my addiction.   We are planning a visit to Woodstock this week, so the table will be strewn with fabric and books.  I’m taking my sewing machine with me as Andrea wants to learn machine stippling.   We got it bad.

The hottest day of the year

and what am I doing? Quilting of course.  I’ve never been able to tolerate high temperatures or lots of sunshine.  After a bout with basal cell carcinoma and surgery on my face a few years back, I’m even more careful.   My idea of fun on a summer day is sitting in the house in the shade of the air conditioner.

I plan to sew most of the weekend despite the hot humid weather as my DH equipped my bedroom with a portable air conditioner this morning.   Although it does not provide as much cold air as our old window style air conditioners, installation is much easier.

I was able to spend most of the day working on a quilt, aptly named “Summer Trellis”.  It is a paper pieced floral quilt I started quilt some time ago

.

The blocks come together easily, as paper piecing keep the seams accurate.

Quilting during the heat of the summer seems to be a family trait.  Check out the quilts Andrea and Meaghan are working on this week.