Naked Dining

Oh, alright......it's not exactly naked dining, and she is only 4 years old. I just couldn't resist.
It was all because she spilled her milk, and everyone was busy eating a delicious Easter dinner, and not all that interested in getting her a clean shirt.
I love this picture. Actually, I love any picture that shows children being totally absorbed in something. They are so intense, and so in awe of everything.

And then there are those moments.........magic marker? me?
How can you get angry at this face???
Isn't that why they made soap?
Oh, yeah, and she did her arms and legs while she was at it.

And here we are, having dinner, 9 adults and 4 children, lots of laughing, loud talking, and great food.
That's me with the dark red glasses.............am I becoming Sally Jesse Raphael??????????? Oh, God, say it ain't so.



And this is Luke, lying on the floor with his feet in the air, totally relaxed and happy.
All our holidays are better together, and they are always somewhat hectic and LOUD.
But I wouldn't change one minute of them.

Busy morning.

Are you entirely sure you want to tear this whole rug apart?????? Not that I am not enjoying every minute of it.
Brothers and sisters. So close, so protective of each other. Devoted to each other. I hope that they remember this when they grow up.
My three daughters are each almost 7 years apart, not very good planning on my part. When they were little, everyone used to tell me that they wouldn't be very close as sisters when they grew up, because they were too far apart in age.
Imagine that.
They are incredibly close, and it is such a special thing to watch.
I hope these two are the same.

A pile of Solmate Sock rugs is a pretty comfy place to take a snooze.
Or the floor, whatever. I'm easy to get along with.

And Miss Puss, well, any sunny spot will do.
And with all this going on all morning, a little weaving still got done. Sunny windows are the best.
Two days with the grandkids proves to me that I am well past the age for having children full time. But they are fun in short segments of time. They give me a better perspective.

Wicked Wednesday

I love this mirror, and when I took the photo, I forgot that there was a mirror behind me, so you get a glimpse of the window in the room to the right, in front of me, and the room behind me. Having this new camera, I am like a kid with a new toy.
How about a cuppa tea????
Because my mother is from England, we make tea in the pot. With a tea cozy. And the water has to be boiling......really boiling.....before you pour it on the tea in the pot.
I tend to drink too much tea. But I guess I could do worse things. I could use too much salt.
:)


A few years ago, when my husband and I were in Maine for a little getaway, we were driving up the coast one afternoon, and we happened on this garage sale. The house was quite nice, and the sale was set up in the attached garage. We wandered through some very interesting stuff, and we exchanged horrified looks when we looked at some of the prices on things......$250, $500, etc.
Then I saw this little cupboard, and I was intrigued. I looked at the price a couple of times. I blinked. I thought it said $1500, then no, $150........but no, it said $15..........FIFTEEN DOLLARS.
I didn't quite get it. I picked it up, and took it to the door, opened my purse to pay for it, fulling expecting to be told that $15 was a mistake. But nope, it was the right price, and I loaded it in the car. I don't really know who Maria Salzer was, but I keep lots of pieces parts in this little cupboard, it is very useful, and I like it a lot. I like to think that Maria Salzer would approve.

Yesterday, I was weaving a rug that had to be 108" long. I was using a 60" tape measure, and I got distracted, and measured it wrong. It turned out to be about 30" too long.
So today, I took it apart, row by row.
I imagined I heard my late friend, Shirley Simms, chuckle and say, "Idiot work."
Shirley was a weaver I met online several years ago. We became good friends, and emailed often. Sometimes we talked on the phone. She was a wealth of information about weaving, selling rugs, cooking, and life, in general. I went to Kentucky, and met her, and later she came to Kingsbury, and stayed for a week. We did a lot of weaving, talking, and laughing. She encouraged me along the way. She told me once that I was a better weaver than she was, and I was very touched by that. She told me to call her Flossie, because that was what her very best friends called her.
She died last year of bone cancer. I still miss talking to her, and every now and then, for no particular reason, I feel her presence, and imagine she is watching me, smiling, staying connected in her own way. Or perhaps it is just in my mind, but whatever, I just say out loud, "Hey Flossie, what's up, girl? I miss talking to you."

Which brings me to something that has occurred to me of late. Old friends. Everyone has them. People who you knew once, were close to once, and then lost touch with over the years.
Is it just me as I get older, or is this a common occurrence? That suddenly you wish you could just see an old friend, maybe just over a cuppa coffee, or a drink. Just to chat for a few. How are you? Are you happy? Where have you been all this time? Every now and then, I remember someone I knew in high school, in college, my first job, and I want to find them, call them, say......hey, do you remember me, because I remember you. And I want to touch base with you one last time. Maybe it is getting older, and there is the thought that you might not get to ever lay eyes on those old friends, if in fact you don't do it soon. Maybe it is just that, fear that you don't have forever, after all.

Skinny Bitch

I just read this book, and something that has been bothering me for some time has finally taken shape in my brain.
Quite some time ago, my husband cooked a prime rib for a holiday dinner, it was a huge piece of meat. He cooked it to perfection, medium rare. As he was slicing into it on the kitchen counter, my stomach began to roll. Something about it just reached inside me and made me feel violently ill. I didn't eat it. Even though he offered to cook it more for me, if that was the problem. I couldn't, and I knew that to try would not be pretty.
Since then, I have been alternately OK with meat, and not OK with meat. Sometimes I can eat it, and other times, the feel of it in my mouth is very uncomfortable. The thought of it takes me somewhere I don't want to go.
Beef, pork, chicken, it doesn't matter. The only way I can eat it without distress is if it has not maintained it's shape, if it is ground, or julienned, or something. That in itself is upsetting.
Enter Skinny Bitch.
Which I must tell you is NOT for the faint of heart, or for anyone who is easily offended. The authors are irreverent, and sometimes crass. But funny. And they make points that are somehow so simple, and so true, that they made me think I must be stupid not to have processed this information long ago. What they suggest for healthful eating might not be for everyone. They take it to the extreme side of healthy. But their argument about meat touched me where I live, and resonated to my core. It reaffirmed all the thoughts that had been creeping around my consciousness.
Now I am not promising that I will be 100% meatless, but at least for the next 30 days, I am going to give up meat. I want to know if I can do it, if I will miss it, if I will feel different, better, or the same. Part of me wants to do it because I know it is healthier. Part of me wants to do it because I don't believe we were intended to be meat eaters. But mostly, I want to do it because in my heart, I really feel that it is the right thing to do, for me.
My daughter came to dinner the other night, and by the time she left, she had read enough of the book to want to take it with her.
She called me the next day, to tell me that she was giving up meat for a 30 day trial, too. She is taking it to the next level, and giving up dairy, as well.
And she is giving the book to my middle daughter.
Oh, dear, what have I started??? :)
I can see into the future.........one meal for the men, one for the women.........we need a bigger kitchen!

Rainy day

Rainy day in the studio, and I LOVE rainy days. Call it crazy, but I have always loved the rain, even as a kid. People say it depresses them, but not me. It always makes me feel calm. I love the sound of it. I love watching it on the windows. I love everything about it.
Miss Puss, once again, holding up production. Tammy and I were weaving this 4x6 rug for an order, and she popped up on the loom, and started to pose. The more the camera flashes, the more she preens and rearranges herself. I swear she knows she is a star.
In between weaving and warping, I watered some plants. This is my sea onion. I have had it for many years, and started many more from it. It is probably my favorite house plant.
Put this warp on today for an order, but I put on 66 yards, so I will have a lot left to make rugs for the shop.
It was a very productive day, and now I am tired, and have to sit with a stack of show applications, and try to decide which ones, if any, I want to do.
And it is still raining.
And that's OK.

Welcome to Kingsbury

Today I took the back road to the studio. I wanted to take a picture of this for you. It is a very interesting thing, only about a mile behind my house. Supposedly, the Underground Railroad was active in this area, and one of the stories that came with the house, was that it was used to hide runaway slaves.

(click on any of these photos to make them bigger)
There is a room in the cellar, that looks almost like it has been soundproofed, with thicker wood walls and ceiling, but that is totally conjecture on my part. The house is in a perfect spot though, just 2 miles from the Champlain Canal, and the railroad.
Here is the hamlet of Kingsbury. Even though Rte 4 is a busy highway, it is a pretty quiet little place. This old barn has sat unused for quite some time. It has so much potential.
(No, honey, I don't have any "ideas" or "designs" on this piece of real estate.)
The big intersection. This used to be called "Kingsbury Street". George Washington came through here on his way to Fort Ticonderoga. He allegedly stayed in my house, and that is why the front bedroom was called the "President's room". My husband said, "yeah, but the president of what?" And then, "If George Washington had slept everywhere he is said to have slept he would have had to have lived to be 200 years old."

This Baptist church was built the same year as my house. I imagine that the same people probably worked on both.
The Kingsbury General store is of the same vintage. It is a great old place, and Bob and Carm make the BEST subs anywhere.

This is the parish house, and there are occasional community events here.


On my way back to the studio, I walked through the cemetery. There are some people buried here that lived in the house.
And here is my lovely old house, much the way it waas when it was built 220 years ago.
Now when I got back to the house, I was busy taking pictures, and I headed out behind the barn for a walk around the labyrinth, before I went home. With my camera around my neck, I focused on something, backed up, and tripped over a cluster of small stumps. For a second, as I lingered between being upright, and falling, I thought I was going to be able to catch myself. But that was not to be. I went down in a pile. I stayed still for a minute, evaluating the damage, and when I looked up, this is what I saw. So I decided to take a photo of it.......the top of the barn.

I picked myself up, brushed myself off, and decided to walk around the labyrinth anyway, pain or no pain. By this time, I needed the calming effects of it.
One thing I know, I am getting too old to fall that hard. Ouch.

Life lessons

This is the look I got from Gabby when I told her it was time to go home.
Disbelief. Silence. It couldn't possibly be true.

OK, I understand, but I DON'T like it.

Life isn't always easy.

A different angle.

As you can see, the labyrinth is open,the ground has totally dried up. The girls were enthralled with it, they don't ever seem to get tired of it. I am hoping that I can keep it mowed and keep the weeds down around the rocks. I wanted the paths to be grassy, but we'll see how that goes. I thought of planting some sedums and other ground cover types around the rocks.

This apple tree has seen better days..........half of it has fallen off. I loved this angle with the sun right behind it. Looks like the end of a long day.
I love gates. This one caught my eye. Weathered wood has always intrigued me.
Nothing is as soothing as the sound of a babbling stream, and this one was no exception.
Of all the photos I took this weekend, this one was my favorite. Not sure why, it probably wouldn't win any contests. But something about the angle moves me, the world from over Gabby's shoulder. It makes me want to look at it over and over again. So that is success, I guess.

Red barns. They always feel like home to me.
And there is nothing like home.

Little girls and lambs

Here is Yoda, the perpetrator. Nancy said that this is his Lyle Lovett look, must have wooed all the girls with this.

Yesterday was another day spent with granddaughters. I've been doing a lot more of that lately. It is my commitment to actually take time for important things, to enjoy my "retirement" years, and not to work every single minute, as I am wont to do. (love that phrase, "wont to do")
Anyway, my friend Sheila was having a sheep shearing day at her farm, and she lives 20 miles over hill and dale, so I promised the girls we would go. And they have been asking about it all week.
One thing in particular made this a very appealing event......little lambs. Ten of them.



Which is a story in itself. Sheila may tell this story on her blog, someday, but since she is swamped with life at this point, and she hasn't blogged in weeks......... and I am learning to take it slower, I will tell you about it here. It is a pretty funny story.
Two years ago, she had this little black lamb, and she had to bottle feed him. I didn't know this, but sometimes ewes just don't make great mothers, and his wasn't. So Sheila and Nancy bottle fed him, kept him in the house.......he was SO tiny. And when she came to the studio, or anywhere she could bring him, she did. With diapers on him. He would wander around the studio, tripping over things, baa-ing loudly in every room. They called him Yoda.
Well, he did grow up, he still isn't very big, but he thrived.
And last year, when the shearer came, he tied his testicles. Apparently, if they tie them, the cords die, and they are thus neutered.
But last autumn, Nancy looked out the window one fine day, and noticed that little Yoda was trying to be amorous with sheep that were twice his size.
So they called the vet, who came and said that one testicle did look somewhat suspicious, but she still thought that the probability was very, very miniscule. But just to be on the safe side, they gave the "morning after pill" to one ewe that pregnancy would be disastrous for.
They still didn't really think anything of this. Until several weeks ago. And it became very apparent that one ewe was producing milk, getting ready to give birth. Sheila called me in a panic. She told me all the reasons she had decided last year NOT to have lambs every spring, that the sheep themselves were enough work in her life.
Then another sheep's udder started to fill, and another.
And another.
Yup, Yoda, little Yoda, got them all. Everyone who could get pregnant, except the one they gave the pill to, had a little lamb.
Which is why Ava and Gabby were so excited to go to Sheila's yesterday.
We had a great day. The weather was outstanding, warm and sunny, calm. The shearer, Fred, who has been doing this for 40+ years came about noon. The girls had a wonderful time, as only little girls can on a spring day outside on the farm. Everyone started calling Gabby the "sheep whisperer". It amazed me, and pleased me, very much, that they were so contented, without toys, without any concern whatever for sheep manure, or getting dirty.
Proof positive that kids are kids, they don't need computers, electronics, game boys, or any of that stuff 24/7. They are happiest when they are making up stuff of their own, in a world that is interesting all by itself.

Making memories

A few years ago, I did a show in Philadelphia. It turned out to be a bust as far as sales went. But I had never been there, and my husband and I got to spend a little time walking around the city, and together, so it was good.
And I met a lady who was selling dog collars, really beautiful and unique, who I spent quite a bit of time talking to. It turned out that she lived not far from the show, and commuted to it each day. And she had tons of fabric that she bought to make her dog collars, and she periodically cleaned out the stuff that she found wasn't working........cut to Sunday, last day of the show, she and I are loading BOLTS and BOLTS of fabric into the back of my Isuzu Trooper. My husband, who was watching my booth while I did this, cautioned me......."now don't fill the Trooper too full.....leave room for us".......well, there was room, not overly much room, I mean, how much room do you actually need???
He only grumbled for a little while.
So now a couple of times a year, she sends me her outdated fabric, I am an eager buyer, because I love her taste in colors and prints, and I make wonderful rugs and placemats out of it.
But this time, a few of the fabrics caught my eye, and with a 4 and a 5 year old granddaughter, I found myself at the kitchen table making dresses.
Now, in days past, when my own children were young, I used to sew for them all the time. I had a production line set up every spring, to pump out "Bermuda" shorts...my term, not theirs.
And I made dresses on occasion, and dolls, and quilts.
But to be honest, since I have thrown myself into weaving, I don't sew much, other than to sew strips of blue jeans and fabric together to weave into rugs.
So this was a learning curve for my over 50 brain. I struggled with the first dress a bit....what the H------ were they talking about??? Then after a bit, I got it, and with the help of my mother........who was seamtress extraordinaire in her lifetime, here they are. My mother turned the straps right side out, pressed pieces for me, pinned the bodices of them.......and voila, three new sundresses! I actually did three more after these......a red one, and two blue prints, all for the 5 year old.
Now I have to do SIX more in a smaller size for the other granddaughter. Better than seeing the finished product, was the feeling of camaraderie, having my mother out in the kitchen all evening, working with me to get them done.

My mother, who unbelievably is 84, just loves her great granddaughters. Here she is with Gabs, who is 5. My mom has two rooms of her own in the back of the house, but the doors are always open, and it is like one big family home. The kids run back and forth from one living room to the other, and they thoroughly enjoy the attention they get in both places.
My mother and Gabby were laughing hysterically the other night, while I was finishing up sewing in the kitchen. My mother goes through her drawers, where she has all kinds of treasures stashed, and next thing you know, Gabby has a little goody bag all her own, one that will make her mother ROLL her eyes when she sees it.
When I hear these two at it, and the same is true when it is Ava and my mother, I think of that commercial......
the one that always ends with "priceless".
How many little girls get their doting grandmother, AND their doting great grandmother, in the same house, showering them with unconditional love and affection?

And I am so grateful to have my mother in my life still. She has been a steady source of support and love my entire life. I swear I can do no wrong in her eyes. She has been encouraging me in spite of myself.
She grew up poor, in England. She joined the army in WWII, she met my father, and came to America. We have a video clip of the first boat load of war brides coming down the gangplank in NYC, in 1946, and there she is, young, smiling, ready to start her new life.
I am her only child. Along with my children, and our husbands, and their children, we are her family. All the rest of her family is still in England. I can't even imagine that sometimes. How did that feel, at 21 years old, to leave your entire family and immigrate to be with your new husband? Back when making a telephone call to England was unheard of, because your family there didn't have phones, and air fare was too expensive to even consider?

My father and she were not always happy with each other, but they were faithful to each other til the day he died four years ago.
I love watching her with my grandchildren, because when they grow up, and look at pictures of themselves with her, they will have memories that noone can ever take away. Maybe Gab will laugh when she sees this one, of her under my mother's legs, and my mother laughing.
Does it get any sweeter than this?