The WORST has HAPPENED

Tomorrow morning a whole new crop of kids starts at the daycare.

And we received notice that there will be NO MORE PEANUTS.

(And no more shell fish, either, but that's less of a deal since I didn't often put crab legs in my kid's lunch.)

I admit that I hyperventilated a little at the news. My kid LIKES peanut butter, and it's EASY and CHEAP and good for him, too. And I'm kind of feeling put out that now there's a reason I can't give my kid what I want to in his lunch. And explaining it to him? Even worse! Why can't I have my favourite sandwich, mommy? Uh, well, it could kill your classmate??!

I feel for the parent. I do. And if I had a kid with allergies, I'd want a safe place for them to go to so that they could do all the fun stuff other kids do, and I could work and etc.

But this is all about me, being my blog, so let me just have a moment of self-pity and feeling kind of angry at the situation and put out.

Between this and the fact that my kid cried on the way home today because there's going to be another kid with his name ... well ... ugh. I'm just all annoyed at the whole place right now.

** I may be overreacting just a tad to all of this. **

Lazy Sunday

... I wish.

This morning dawned beautiful and sunny, but not too warm ... a perfect end of summer day. We took ourselves off to the farmer's market, and at the nearby playground met up with a daycare friend, which occupied close to an hour and a half by the time we were done with the lines at the market.

(For a city the size of Vancouver, having five farmer's markets -- FIVE -- and small ones at that, is just laughable. Especially given how hippie-like everyone is here.)

And then we spent the day playing in the back yard, building with tinker toys, and destroying the various forces that threaten the universe. There were rocket balloons lost on the roof and a tricycle being ridden and all kinds of strange cell phones. And thankfully unlike yesterday, no insane tantrums, but there were a few tears and unhappinesses. All in all, a nice calm Sunday.

And now The Man is cooking ratatouille in the kitchen, which smells gorgeous, and the laundry is almost done and the dishes aren't too scary and I am hoping that this congestion in my chest won't develop into anything more serious, as it seems is happening with everyone I know.

I can't hardly believe the summer is over. Crazy it might be, but I will miss these days.

Saturday randoms

I had a dream last night about my ex. Most specifically, that my child was his, that we had split up and he hadn't seen his child in six months, and for some (obviously completely insane) reason I took my child to his house to peer in the windows. He was married to the woman he cheated on me with, and I was angry at him -- angry at him for cheating, angry at him for marrying her, angry at him for not seeing our son for six months.

It's been seven years, and it seems somewhere inside I still am angry about this. I wonder when it's going to go away? It's not like I think about him very much, it's not like I talk about him or even feel consciously angry any more. But somehow my subconscious thinks so, anyway.

In his defense, in my dream, he was really excited about seeing his child. I suppose perhaps my subconscious is trying to tell me he had at least one redeeming quality.

*******

My son woke up this morning with a cough. A chesty cough, the kind where you can hear the congestion. "oh, kiddo!" I said. "That doesn't sound pleasant. Are you feeling sick?"

"Yes." he replies. "I have yogurt coughs."

"???", replies mother.

"Yogurt coughs mean you are REALLY sick." he explains, coughing again.

"Well, then you will have to stay in bed ALL DAY, because that's what REALLY sick people do." I say.

He coughs again, more gently. "See? that's a regular cough." he says. "I can get up." It quickly dissolves into hacking again.

"I'm glad you're feeling better," I reply.

********

The day is grey and cloudy and promises to get better. This afternoon we are invited to a birthday party at a water park. I am sure the parents felt confident that the weather would be nice enough, and who could blame them? It's August, for pete's sake.

********

I am tired. SOOOOO tired. Oh, GOD, so tired. Think I might go back to bed.

For what it's worth ...

I'm never buying a Maytag appliance again either. Our dishwasher is a Maytag and is a piece of crap.

But perhaps I might try Bosch next time.

Quilt hiatus

Alas, due to the lengthy belt, the quilt is on hiatus until I can locate another one and / or figure out how one might be able to "lower the motor" which according to one internet source is possible but they will not suggest how this might be accomplished.

So I'm back to knitting at least until tomorrow. But I miss the quilt.

I SO wanted to see it all together!

Say what?

Today my son asked me to build him an astrolabe out of lego.

A what? I had to look it up on the internet. I'd heard the word, but goodness if I know how to make one out of lego.

It got even weirder when we asked him how he knew that word.

He explained how it was the name of King Arthur's magical sword.

We don't have that story.

And then he pronounced it again for us. "Asturolabe-er" he said.

"Excalibur?" we asked.

He beamed. "Yes."

******

Sight reading ... not all it's cracked up to be.

Good news and bad news

My sleuthing suggests it isn't the motor that's the problem. Whew!

But in the process of testing, I removed the belt, which was my other guess. And now a.) I'm almost sure it was the belt being a little too loose and b.) pulling off the belt and putting it back on doesn't make it ANY TIGHTER.

So I need a new belt. But that's going to be cheaper than a new motor or motor parts, I think!

Now I just have to find a new belt ...

Two more rows to go ...

and the machine is acting up. Agh! I KNEW I should have had it serviced!!

Quilting piecing

This is three rows all together ...

And five ...

I am terribly excited. I think it looks great!

And I'd be even more excited if I hadn't spent twenty minutes unpicking an entire row because I mixed it up and sewed it on backwards ... GO ME!

It's only an hour

It's been a hell of a week. The house nearly imploded from the hair the cats are shedding and the stuff I didn't manage to clean. It was a draining week at work, I worked my "day off" for various reasons, my child was difficult and OH YEAH, there was that whole FACE STITCHING incident.

The Man is due home tonight from his business trip. He was supposed to arrive at three minutes before 6. He's now arriving at 20 minutes past seven. I know it's only an hour but right now, unfed, overtired, frustrated at everything, it feels like DAYS.

And I am terribly irrationally angry at Air Canada right now.

Phew!

Phew! All the rows done ... this picture taken from another angle, I had to crop out all the messy bedroom. :)

Now I just have to sew all the rows together into a single piece of cloth. And then, you know, all the quilting and stuff.

Progress

My injured child was shunted off to daycare this morning, and my house is a total mess, but the quilt! Is getting longer!!

A childhood rite of passage

Ok out there: hands up those of you who have some kind of scar somewhere on your face from a childhood tumble? I do, mine's on my right eyelid -- no kidding -- and I got it from falling down my parents back steps (3 steps only, but they are cement) when I was two. The Man has one on his eyebrow. Anyone else?

My son didn't.

UNTIL TODAY.

The first thing they say is "it's the daycare, don't panic" and I don't, because they've called before about general issues, but then she says "The Boy took a small tumble and cut open his chin, and we think he might need stitches or at least some glue."

And I say, "Ok" I'm already packing up my things and she says "Will you come and get him?" And I think ... uh, do you even have to ask?

"I'm on my way," I say. Just a few minutes.

There's an Urgent Care Centre right between my office and his daycare, and that's where we go first only to be told that there's at least an hour wait and there are so many sick people around and ugh, I hate hospitals. So there's a clinic nearby, I get the phone number and they cheerfully tell me there's a 20 minute wait, so I high tail it out of there and get to the clinic. In the end with all the driving I think I probably made it home around the same time that I would have from Urgent Care, but this way I got to sit in a nice airy, bright waiting room where there were lots of toys and the people were relaxed vs. the gross sterile hospital care waiting place.

He's got his chin glued back together -- no needles / stitches this way. And from my stoic child there were no tears or hysterics, just a few whimpers and some "mommy, I'm scared!" (They told me that at daycare, he cried after he fell, and being that it was the first time since he started 3.5 months ago that he shed a tear, they knew it was serious.)

And now he's had some dinner and some advil and is watching a favourite movie and there will be bed in an hour. And probably a small scar on his chin, that some day he'll show his friends and tell them how he got it from a fall at daycare when he was three, and his mom had to come and get him and take him to a clinic to have him put back together.

It'll be a bonding experience. Girls might think it's cute. And I'm just so glad that he too will have a story to tell about his injuries.

Well. Kind of.

Notes from my three year old

This evening we were watching this top ten tap numbers in film from Mighty Girl. Number four, with Gregory Hines, has a part where the guy is dancing without music, prompting my son to observe:

"He's dancing, and there's no music."

pause

"He probably has to pee."

first two rows

And now I'm exhausted. Probably not due to the piecing, rather from two tiring days and a bad night's sleep. So off to bed!

Eight stars

Whew!

Let the piecing begin!

Argh

After literally hours of placing rectangles, this is what I have. It's still not perfect ... I'm sure there's someone on earth who revels in this activity, of moving colours around for ages on end searching for the perfect combination, but I am not that person. There comes a point where the frustration of the arrangement starts to detract from the enjoyment of the entire project ... and lest that happen while I at this stage on the quilt, I think I will begin sewing before I decide to stuff the entire thing into the closet.

Ah, summer eating

This is by far my favourite way to eat: just bits and pieces on a plate. This afternoon's lunch, made in less than five minutes. And eaten in about the same amount of time. Please ignore the playdoh; that was not part of it. Oh and the plate was much more full previously, of course, but this was what happened when The Boy and I were picking while I was searching for the camera ...

Ham, cheese, avocado, arugula, apricots, strawberries, and blueberries. Before I know it, almost gone.

One of the things I haven't ever mentioned on this blog is that I gave up eating gluten about ... oh, 10 months ago. December of last year, I guess it was. At first it was a kind of detox thing, but I noticed that my chronic stomach issues suddenly miraculously cleared up in three weeks. Three weeks back on, back they came. I hied myself to a GI doctor for the first time ever (despite chronic stomach issues for 15 years, yeah, I know.) who immediately said ... well, I think you have celiac disease. FUN. So far the results from the lab are inconclusive (some seem to lean that way, some don't) but there's one thing for sure:

I feel SO MUCH BETTER.

Seriously. No more stomach problems AT ALL, which for someone whose had a "nervous stomach" for 15 years, is nothing short of miraculous. WAY fewer migraines. More energy. Less stress.

Gluten, however, is in everything. EVERYTHING. Eating at home is not much of an issue. Gluten free is the newest fad, doncha know, so Vancouver is full of gluten free products (many of which are horrible, but still). I don't really miss bread; there are very decent baked goods to have in lieu. And lunch, as above, is completely gluten free. There's no starch in this meal, but any one of the plethora of manioc buns, corn thins, or rice crackers can easily be added. What's even better is that I find we're eating better, since packaged / convenience foods are pretty much all made with some kind of gluten. That whole "shop from the edges of the store"? Well, that's what we HAVE to do now. I haven't lost any weight, but I'm sure not gaining it either.

The only problem I have is eating out. It's impossible to get fast food without gluten -- fast food only comes in sandwiches, burgers, wraps, soups or salads, the latter two of which almost always have noodles / thickeners / dressings with flour. Nice (read: expensive) restaurants are all fine, they understand allergies, but taking a kid to those is difficult -- not to mention the fact that they don't work on weeknights, when time is limited between work end and bedtime. Delivery is pretty much impossible -- now we stick to Thai (which can be dodgy with sauces) or sushi (which is lovely but getting old).

And then there's this: This week we're having the daycare potluck. This whole gluten free eating is still kind of new to me, and I signed us up before I thought much about it, only to take a second look at the planned dishes for next week to realize that the only thing I was likely to eat was salad. I like salad; I'm a big fan. But ... lettuce is not dinner. I'm kind of considering not going, but the kid will be fed, and it's nice to meet the other parents, so ... I guess I can always eat when I get home.

I'm still really in denial about the whole thing, to be honest. Having read a fair amount about this and gluten allergy over the last few months, I am still working on the belief that I have merely an allergy, one triggered perhaps by pregnancy that will go away after a few years (not that uncommon, might I add). Every once in a while I still catch myself thinking, at work, oh, I'll just run and get a cookie / scone / pasty from the nearby store ... and work functions with food are rather torturous.

But at the same time, I haven't knowingly strayed from this diet in months, a level of dedication which is really unusual for me (trying to be vegetarian for three years was filled with lapses of meat eating!) All I really know is that once I've realized there is a way without the chronic stomach issues ... I just can't go back.

Starting over

At 11 o'clock last night, The Man and I were still debating over the layout of the quilt. (If it's not obvious, it's laid out on our king sized bed, so ... ) Adding that extra column really made a mess of the colour layout, and we just couldn't get it to work. Laying in bed last night (you apparently never really stop quilting) I thought that the initial layout really was the best, when I started from scratch with a pile of each colour and just went piece by piece. So this morning, I scrapped the first layout (except for the stars) and started again:

As you can see, I still have two holes. And at the very bottom you can see the two pieces of material still to go. I think I can make it work, since all the other pieces are ok ... we shall see. I will of course keep you posted with photos. :)

Sunrise

There's something so invigorating about getting up at sunrise. The world, normally so busy and bright, is quieter. You can actually hear the birds, which is a rarity in the city. Every so often, there's a voice from outside; occasionally a car. You notice these things because they break the otherwise silent world, populated only by birds. In the day, the car sounds and people's voices are so commonplace they become background.

The light coming through the trees is both gentle and promising. The sky looks altogether different, still hazy from overnight but there's a blue underneath. I can tell that it's going to be a nice day, but it's still just the genesis of it, and the day hasn't yet unfolded.

There's also something nice about the slow easiness of the early Sunday morning. I can make tea in silence, and have enough time to drink a cup or two. The Boy trundles off, doing his own thing, and I can contemplate breakfast and tea and the things to come in relative peace and tranquility, knowing the best part of the day is to come.

Yep. There's something so invigorating about getting up at sunrise.

At least, that's what I tell myself.

Do you see the difference between the two pictures?

The way it was ...

The way it is now ...

After much puzzlement (a common theme for me), I realized that I'd done nine over and ten down, instead of ten over and nine down. To be fair to me, I don't think the instructions were completely clear, but ...

Weirdly it took me almost as long to replace a single column as it did to lay out the whole thing. It was nearly impossible to get a good colour scheme moving only a single row / column.

And hey look! Three stars!

First star

Only seven more to go ... and then I can start piecing the quilt!

This is NOT helping

Nothing new here

I haven't done any more work on the quilt, but not for lack of wanting to. I have this grand plan, that once I have all the squares in the order I want them in, I can sew on the stars and pile the rectangles in an easily accessible pile ready to be sewn.

After I have them in order. Which is the problem. It just seems so much *work* to unroll that and prevent the child and all the cats from walking all over them while I hum and haw over where they should go and all. Despite the fact that I greatly enjoy doing stuff like this, I don't actually think I'm very good at colour theory and ... well, design. I used to do a fair amount of graphic design at my job, but that's all gone in recent years when I a.) ran out of time to do it and b.) realized I really wasn't that good at it.

Anyway. Part of me thinks that I should just sew them together they way they are now -- haphazard, it might be, but no two similar squares are together or even too close, so I think it could work. And really I have no idea how I'd make it that much better in re-arrangement.

And part of me thinks that I really need to take some time and figure it out. You know, instantaneously develop an aesthetic sense.

So we shall see. I have more time this weekend and the house is mainly clean, so I'll be rolling out that sheet and figuring out some stuff. Hopefully there will be more photos soon.

Gulp.

Wow. This is bigger than I thought. That's a queen sized sheet underneath it.

Four hours (and no lunch) later

A bunch of cut squares.

And strips for the stars.

And now I have an actual problem:

Where the hell am I going to lay all this out so I can piece it together??! With three cats and a small child???!

I caved.

So I went back to the cloth store yesterday intending to buy only new needles for the machine. And a rotary cutter, since I don't have one. And just a little kit. Nothing big. Not a quilt. Not a real one.

Nope.

In my defense, it's not a king size to fit our bed.

Also, I'm not sure if that's a good defense.

But it's just SO PRETTY!

It's just rectangles with some randomly placed geometric star shapes. The yellow above is for the stars.

So ... easy, right?

This is the rest of the material. Doesn't it make you just swoon with its prettiness?

It's possible that I'm just a little obsessed.

Of course now I'm sitting here at home, staring at that big array of material and feeling COMPLETELY INTIMIDATED by it.

So there's just one thing to do.

Pick it up and start cutting.

(Don't worry, APC ... I will square it first! :) )

Success!

In a theoretical kind of way.

One of my favourite sites on teh intarwebs is Ted. I don't by any means watch all the talks; indeed only a tiny percentage. Some amusing, some fun, some interesting. It's one of the ways to pass the time on the web which I think is worthwhile.

Recently I watched this one. I liked him; he was amusing and what's more he confirmed all my own ideas about the idea of success so I of course was very invested in his talk and his words.

More seriously, the idea of success is one that I have been thinking a fair amount about over the last few years.

About a decade ago, my father posed the question to me and my sister over the dinner table -- how do you know you are successful? What defines success to you?

My sister immediately replied, "Money!"

And I didn't reply at all. Because the fact was that while I was sure she was wrong, I wasn't sure what the right answer was.

The principle idea behind this talk on Ted is that the idea of success causes great grief in our society mostly because we adopt unattainable ideals of success from outside of us. And what we really need to do is to create our own ideas of what success looks like just for us.

Two years ago I was struggling with the idea of going back to work after my maternity leave was over, and a friend of mine said to me, as we sat together, "Look over at that empty chair," gesturing at the chair near us, "And pretend that the eighty year old you is sitting there. What would she tell you to do?"

I didn't take the eighty year old me's advice -- I went back to work, and haven't regretted doing so. My child is happy and learning so much more than I would be teaching him at home; my career is doing quite well and I'm happy with where I am in it. But the idea stuck with me, and I've thought more and more about it over the last two years, and it has come to me that my idea of success can be defined when I ask the question of myself, what do I want my son (and other loved ones) to tell people about me once he leaves home / once he meets his future partner / once I'm gone?

And while I'm happy with my career right now and I'm glad I went back to work, interestingly enough my profession almost never enters into the words I hope that he says about me. I hope he tells people that I was kind and gentle and loving, that I enjoyed my family and was a generally very pleasant nice person to be around. I hope he tells people that he never doubted for a second how much I love him. I hope he tells people that I was involved with and interested in his life, but had a life of my own with my own interests and I wasn't overly interfering. I hope he tells people how much fun we had as a family. I hope he even tells people that I made nice things. Like quilts.

I do hope that he can tell people I am a writer. I hope he can tell people that I write more than academic proposals. I hope he gets to tell people I enjoyed my work.

But not once have I ever imagined with pleasure my son telling people that I made a lot of money.

Whether or not he ever has these conversations is immaterial. The image of my child talking about me is just the way I frame this in my mind, how I manage to come up with the ideas of what success means to me. The important thing is that I'm sitting down and thinking about what I want my life to be, about my own definition of success.

And I think that this is largely responsible for a recent -- year old -- feeling of relative contentment with my career. For the previous five years or so, I was fairly concerned with where I was going and what I was doing and what I needed to do to get where I needed to go, and now I'm content. I'm coasting, and I don't really care. Oh, I think every once in a while about where I'm going to go next, but I'm not that concerned about it, and even more importantly, I'm not that concerned about what my colleagues think either.

And I've started living my life trying to remember this: to be the person I want my son to talk about. To be the listening mom who had her own life but loved his as well. To be someone he wants to share with his friends and his future family. To be remembered in the same loving way I remember my own treasured family members. I don't always manage to do this every day, but I do try.

Most importantly, when I keep these ideals in mind and try to live my life with them as goals, I'm happier.

And really ...what more does anyone need?

It's ALL I can THINK about

So I am terribly bored with the knitting I have right now and all I can think about is going back to that quilting store and buying stuff to make a quilt.

A real quilt. Something large enough to wrap around me while I read or (ha ha) knit. Or just plain relax (Oh, wait, THAT never happens.)

I haven't taken into account that my living room is a terribly poor place to house a sewing area in addition to all the other furniture, and we have no other space.

I haven't taken into account that I have a terrible record of finishing things (see: knitting projects, bored of, mentioned above), especially things that require me to spend time away from the couch, and it's really terrible to spend so much money on something that will get 1/4 of the way finished and then languish in an annoying place in my home.

I haven't taken into account that the pincushion alone gave me hours of grief because I couldn't figure out the proper seam allowance.

I haven't taken into account the fact that I need new needles for this machine, and it really would be good to get a tune up for it before I use it for something other than beanbags lest I break the darn thing by forgetting to oil the motor. And I have no idea where to get this all done.

I haven't taken into account that I really have no idea what I'm doing having never made a quilt before.

But I just don't WANT to make a sampler one for hanging on the wall. I have no where to hang it, and I prefer paintings. I don't want to make pot holders (I have enough) or placemats (I never use them) or oven mitts (have them) or a table runner (don't have the table for it). I don't need another pincushion. I don't want a quilted bag.

I am not quite sure what to do.

This is clearly an instance of people having too much time on their hands

including me, I suppose.

But the Singer Sewing Machine website has DATES for sewing machine manufacture, and so now I can tell that this particular machine was manufactured ... so not kidding ... the week of August 25, 1947.

I suppose the good news is that with such meticulous records that are obviously of use to more than just me (why else would they be ONLINE??), the company might be able to provide parts (and perhaps even service) should I need it.

Also, for the machine itself, the good news is that she keeps getting younger and younger.

Sing it, Leonard

This morning's wake up was 6am, with a leaky diaper that somehow managed to soak everything in a two foot radius, down through the mattress.

The cats are still sick, and one of them is acting like a total maniac. I have to dose the other two with medication so much that they've taken to living permanently under the bed, and I have to traumatize them further to get them out to take their medication. They are never going to come near me again.

The child is still restive and demanding.

The Man is still away, and annoyed with me for insisting he come back and give me a break so that I can start my week back at work a little less insane than I was before I went on holiday.

The washing machine, full of sheets and mattress pads, overflowed with suds.

The playtent we bought less than a week ago was "played" with a little too hard and is now useless for its intended purpose.

The rain is still falling.

What's a girl to do?

Leonard Cohen.

And more beanbags.

Life is always a comedy, it's just sometimes a black one.

(No, that wasn't him, that was me.)

Sewing notes

The machine that I have was apparently introduced in 1933. The model that I have I think dates from 1941 -- based on the online photos I found, the 1933 model has a slightly different motor ... and the little god send instruction booklet I have has 1941 on it*. So I wasn't far off in my 80 year remark ... almost 70 years. I think the needle is a little dull, but so far that's the only problem I can find with it. Which seems like it would be nothing, but I think that the effort the machine needs to go to to pierce material with a dull needle will eventually throw it off, and cause major repair work.

I'd hate my family legacy to be the one person who finally killed the little sewing machine that could.

It's amazing how little sewing machines changed from the 1940s to the 1980s. I just kind of made guesses on how things might work (the little booklet didn't tell all) based on what I remember from my mom's sewing machine from the 1980s, and it was pretty much all correct. I guess there's not much need to improve on something that is fundamentally sound in design, but people these days seem to redesign things whether or not it's needed, just because they can. So it's kind of amazing to find something that is basically the same in my grandmother's lifetime as it was in my mother's.

I imagine if I went and bought a sewing machine myself today, I would be completely baffled by it.

Today it rains, which is needful and which my tomatoes I'm sure appreciate, but it's Sunday morning, there is no father, and I have pretty much run out of material to sew with (unless we want more beanbags, and I think the seven I made yesterday really should suffice for one household) ... and the quilting store is not open until noon. The only question in my mind is .... what should I make next?

Oh, and ... what will I DO for the next four hours??!

* Amazing how when I thought about dating the machine, I went to the internet first, and only secondarily remembered to, you know, check the actual machine and it's assorted accoutrements. Which of course had a date right on them.

Dear God what have I gotten myself into: a story in pictures

It all started with a note from the daycare. A note that said, in essence, Many of the children are asking for pillows at naptime. If your child doesn't have one, can you please send one along?

It's one of those times when I am convinced that there is a secret, perfect store for all things child-related where lovely toddler pillows are sold. Because I could not find one ANYWHERE. Because Dear Heavens, a pillow for your child? You may as well feed them arsenic, pillows are DANGEROUS!!

And no, I couldn't send a regular size one, because the kids have these little cots. So I hunted and hunted and finally found, at some horrible big box store, a rectangular throw pillow that would work. But it had a white cover, With threads that would catch on everything. And it wasn't machine washable. So clearly not exactly daycare friendly.

So my only problem was a case.

There's a cloth shop -- mainly for quilting -- about six blocks from work. Two doors down from my favourite yarn store, to tell the truth, which is why I knew it was there. So I popped in -- it was convenient, and I could find some nice stuff there, end of the roll, to make a pillow case. And lo: here it is.

With the pillow:

And look, it even fits:

I brought all the stuff home and measured and cut and sweated and thought ... there is no way I am sewing this by hand. So out of the closet came ....

If this looks like a picture from another era, you wouldn't be far off. My mother gave me this a few years back, and it's been sitting gathering dust for some time. I've been too chicken to use it. I mean, come on ... it looks a tad intimidating. It is a tiny little thing, made for quilting bees, apparently, as it has a wee transporting case. Inherited from some relation or another, I don't know who. But it came with an equally ancient instruction book, so I loaded up a bobbin, threaded it through and ... insta pillow case. I was ... and am! ... terribly proud of myself.

Not so much for the pillow case, which after all is just two rectangles. But getting that machine to work was quite a feat. But work it does, and like a treat. Backwards, forwards, excellent tension, no thread breaking ... just excellent. I hope I work that well when I'm over 80.

It was in fact such a lovely experience to be sewing again ... despite the fact that my mother didn't teach me to knit when I was a child, she did teach me to sew, and I did it a fair amount. Clothes for me, on occasion, but mostly clothes for my Cabbage Patch Kids. I was only eight or nine.

And the experience was so nice I got to thinking. About sewing. And about all the nice things that there were in that cloth shop. And how much I like quilts. And how I've never done that before. And how bored I was with knitting. And how I'm sure there was some kind of small kit that I could learn from ... just something small .... to give me a taste of what quilting was like ....

And of course there was. I went back the next day and I bought the smallest kit I could find ... why not, after all, when I'm not even sure I will like it or be any good at it. And since I was up at 6 this morning, I got started, and before 10am I had:

Strips, laid out for sewing. And at this point I'm thinking ... GOOD LORD, WHAT HAVE I DONE??!

There was much aggravation. Much recutting, much frustration, much reading and re-reading and re-re-reading the pattern ... in the end I finally figured out that I had no idea what a 1/4 inch actually looked like, which was the seam allowance, and doing it half the size really does throw things off.

And by the end of the day I had:

Finished pincushion. A little less polished than I would have liked, but not bad for my first ever effort at quilting, and my first sewing project in 25 years. (GOD, I am SO OLD.) I'm really rather proud of it.

And then I got really inspired, and made for the child:

An assortment of beanbags. Just for fun. Leftover pillow case material.

Now I'm going to make another pillow case for the boy, so the starry one can be washed regularly, and probably some more beanbags from the other leftover material, and then ... well, you never can tell, right ... ?

Scratch that

Make that THREE sick cats.

Tomorrow cannot come too soon. Pray for me.

In the name of friendship

So this weekend -- specifically this Friday -- was supposed to be couple time. We were going to go to the movies. Spend the day together. Just be.

But instead The Man is off to the aforementioned friend, to comfort and condole, to prevent his friend from the days of hard drinking and smoking and help him get back on track. And I am here with a grumpy preschooler and two sick cats who both need medication twice a day.

Sigh.

It's for a good cause. We can have another day together, but the friend needs this now, and can't wait another day. And I'm glad that The Man is there to help out, because he needs him.

But I hope by the time he gets home, I'm not completely shredded by cat's claws.

Paying it forward

Many years ago, when my ex and I split up, I heard unexpectedly from someone I hadn't been in touch with for years. She had heard about the split, she wrote, and had been there herself. She wished me the best of luck, assured me I could get through it, and let me know she was there if I wanted to talk.

I never forgot that. It was a lifeline for me. I was 28, no one I knew of my close friends had ever been divorced, and it was extraordinarily isolating. To find someone -- just one person -- who seemed to get it was a godsend.

Today we got an email from an old friend of Dieter's that he and his girlfriend of six years had split up. I didn't know her very well, but I liked her a lot. And so I sent her an email, just wishing her well and letting her know I'd been there, that she could get through it too.

I don't know if I'll ever hear from her, and it honestly doesn't matter if I do. But having had someone reach out to me and help me up has made me realize just how important one little email can be. It might not be her that it helps, but another time maybe one little line I write will help. I certainly hope so. Someone once sent me a lifeline; I'll try and pass it along.

Home again

Random notes from travelling the wilds of Canada:

1. We arrived in Camrose the morning after the great stage disaster that almost offed Kevin Costner, to see more than 250 large motorhomes fleeing the town. I have never in my life seen so many of those things. Vancouver clearly does not have the parking for such vehicles, which is why I suppose you never see them here. But the prairies are just miles of SPACE and the cars are much larger.

2. Calgary is a very well planned city, clearly built for cars. I admire that, especially coming from Victoria, which is a higglety-pigglety mess of streets, and Vancouver, which is far too crowded for its size and street volume. Calgary was a pleasant change of scene.

3. Calgary in the summer is very pretty. So much so that I look at it and consider that moving there wouldn't be so bad, as it's hard to remember that it snows there for six months a year, just like the rest of the country.

4. The weather wasn't nice enough during our trip to see any mountains, so the entire province seemed terribly flat to me. I am told it's nothing compared to Saskatchewan, but the hill I drive up every day to work was as larger or larger than any hill we saw while away.

5. Small town life makes me sad. So many small Canadian cities are just home to large big box stores. I think it's easier to patronize local stores in this city than it is in smaller towns ... which is hard enough. Small town life is terribly idealized in this country, and it's kind of heartbreaking in a way to see it's nothing like the romanticized version of it any more.

6. Plus I am dying for a hot caffeinated beverage in a cardboard cup. (Edited to add: accomplished, this morning. Whew!)

7. For the city girl that I am, I spent a fair amount of time crashing through bushes and ... wading in a creek. BAREFOOT. Near a field that usually holds cows. I also ate dinner in an enormous camper van, and voluntarily launched a water rocket and got splashed with cold water on a less than scorching hot day. AND I survived THREE WHOLE DAYS without wi-fi, which was truly the most amazing part of roughing it in the wilderness. It was a vacation filled with new experiences. I'm quite the adventuress, I know.

8. When you have a kid like mine who needs constant stimulation the newness of a new place and hosts of other adults who want to spend time with him is a godsend. I read FOUR BOOKS, people. Ok, two of them were old Judy Blumes that I found on the bookshelf, but still. The very fact that I got to sit still for more than an hour uninterrupted is just plain amazing.

9. Also I knit a 1/4 of a sock, ripped it out, and knit 1/3 of a sock. And watched TLC on cable. And chatted with my sister in law while we both knitted socks when the kids were in bed.

10. And last but foremost, I got to see my old and dear friend S, who I hadn't seen in six years, for a wonderful few hours when we first arrived. (It was great to see you all, and I enjoyed every second with your family. Plus the comic books is coverless, it has been read so much, and the spiderman saved our sanity on the plane ride home. Thank you again.)

Today we took the kiddo to the dinosaur exhibit in Burnaby and tomorrow he is going to daycare, and I am off to a civilized girls' lunch and then Friday The Man and I are having date time. Whee!

Visiting

I visit my parents, who live nearby, usually for no longer than three nights. I do do it for longer, most recently in June and last Christmas, and I always find around day four that I remember why I only visit for three nights. Sometime past that 72 hour mark, things start to get less pleasant. I don't know if it's because we all take off our delightful faces at seeing one another, or we're just not that good at living so close or .. something. All I know is that if I leave after three days, I go away wishing we had more time, and feeling fondly and nostalgic towards them. And if I stay longer, I wish I'd left earlier.

I don't know why I thought it would be any different with The Man's family. We see them less often, living a whole province and plane ride away, so I thought that longer would be ok. We haven't been back in a year and a half! It will be fine to spend almost a week away!

Ha ha ha.

It's not that they are not nice people. They are. I love my parents to bits, and they still drive me crazy. And I don't, with The Man's family, have the long history and level of comfort that comes with that history, so it should come as no surprise that three days with his parents left me desperate for some time alone, and three days with his sister (whom I adore) has left me wishing for the comforts of home.

There are a million reasons for this, a million little things that drive me crazy, which I won't illuminate nor do I need to ... but in the end, I'm just glad that tomorrow, I'll be waking up in my own bed.