Tag Archives: sewing

DAY 18 UBC – I AM NOT BEHIND

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I Am Not Behind

I am alot of things like being angry, sad, bad, depressed… But I am seldom bored. There’s no time. I find that there’s endless things that need doing and wanting doing. I’m always in a muddle of some thing or other. I have stashes of unfinished projects hidden here and there. I’ve always been thus.

I hadn’t worried about nothing to do in retirement. I have been retired for seven years now and haven’t ran out of things to do yet. I don’t miss work at all. I never felt defined by my job. I don’t think of myself as always a nurse. I don’t feel like a nurse at all. I’ve been a babysitter, waitress, cashier and secretary. I don’t feel like any of those either. I guess I’m a Jill of all trades and a mistress of none.

I like to write. That’s how I got into this blogging thing. That’s why I am in this Ultimate Blog Challenge. I get to push the PUBLISH button, tweet and share. It’s a small taste of being a writer with a small readership. It’s enough for me. I like the small sweetness of things. I can read a bit of music and play the piano. I probably could bring the house down but not in a good way. I can play the guitar, too. I can tell when it’s out of tune but I can’t tune it. I can’t play well or by ear either. It still brings me pleasure.

I like to draw and paint, too. I can. We all can. I had some training when I was young by some excellent teachers. I didn’t know it then. I dropped out because I thought if I was really talented, I could just create master pieces just like that. I couldn’t. I gave up on my artistry for over 30 some years. I talked about it alot but didn’t do anything till a few years ago. Then I surprised myself by seeing that I am creative and artsy fartsy. I am enjoying it now.

I don’t think I’m behind or that it’s too late. I am exactly where I am suppose to be. It is a little late in the day though. I’ve worked hard today, immersed in my puddle of muddle. I like to sew, too. I designed and sewed my dress for my Grade 12 grad. In fact, I used to sew a lot of my own clothes. Then that fell off my wagon. Life is like that. There’s a season for everything. Now, sewing has come back to me. I’m not making clothes. I’ve moved on to other stuff. It’s never too late to pick up something again. But it is getting late. I’m finished.

PERSPIRATION VS INSPIRATION

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May 9th, the 9th day of the Ultimate Blog Challenge.

Beginnings are challenging. I’m not inspired this morning. Instead of sitting here, staring into space, thinking about how to make my first tap, the first letter, word, sentence, I move in the direction of things calling to be done. The bathroom floor is the loudest but the least attractive. I heed the advice of doing the hardest thing first. After vacuuming the mats, I washed that square inch of floor. I don’t understand my feelings of ‘hard to do’ stuff. They are not hard at all except in my mind. Knowing and acknowledging that makes each time easier.

Having done that and a few other chores, I am trying to tap my heart out. I am hit with a wave of sleeping sickness. I will try to keep my eyes open and search for a bit of inspiration. I think mostly it is born out of perspiration, the hard work of chipping away at something. It’s like my patchwork tablecloth. It began years ago with sewing squares together. I was just making use of the fabric remnants I had picked up at the closing of a drapery and upholstery store years ago.

It was years before I had bought my Bernina sewing machine with an embroidery module. My purpose for it was not the machine embroidery. I was inspired by artistry of the quilters at the Saskatoon Quilters Guild Quilt Show in 2017. I was determined to get one those fancy dancy machines on display. By golly I did that December. It was so fancy I had to let it sit in the box for awhile before tackling it. I watched many tutorials on how to use the self threader before I could latch onto it. It was many hours watching tutorials before I could even understand the manual. I was happy to sew just a straight seam. I got a high from the sound of the thread cutter. A few months later and lots of perspiration, I was drawing with the needle, my wildest dream come true.

The machine embroidery came much later after more perspiration. It’s another post.

MY DEFECTIVE HARD DRIVE

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December 12, 2018  8:23 am

We’re steadily heading towards the shortest day of the year. It’s no surprise that it’s dark out and the house lights are on. I know I’m harping on the darkness. It’s my brain. It’s better I ventilate and let out the darkness. Hoarding it inside would only make it grow.

7:57 pm

I can’t say that the day was a success or that it went badly. It was heavy and sluggish. I just put one foot in front of the other and proceeded forward ho.  It helps to have a routine. I move according to program. I vacuumed as much as I had time before leaving for my exercise class this morning. I’m finding it very therapeutic, doing something that is needed instead of squandering the time away. It’s surprising how much one can do in minutes. It gives me structure and time later to work on something or languish as desired.

I struggled through the step aerobics even with an instructor shouting out instructions. My brain is malfunctioning and I am not feeling exactly gleeful and lightfooted. I did the best I could. Sometimes I adjusted my speed, repeat times 2 instead of 3. What the hell. I was moving and that’s what counts. I don’t have to enjoy it. My brain is not cooperating. It is not my fault. I still sweated. Does that count? I still walked Sheba in the afternoon. I kept thinking of taking a shorter walk the whole time. But I didn’t.

Today hasn’t been a ton of fun but I’m not crying either. It is what it is. This, too, shall pass. I’m still upright, looking normal and doing what I normally do. I’m reading a thriller, The Girl From Home. It’s exactly what my brain needs, something easy to grab onto. I tinkered a bit with my free motion embroidery after lunch. After working on machine embroidery for awhile, it is harder to go back to. I have to reset how I see and make a picture. I have to wing it on my own. No computerized motiff, no perfect programmed stitches. I am the computer, one without a program and a defective hard drive.

FEATHERWEIGHTS AND OTHER OBSESSIONS

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November 20, 2018  7:49 am

Winter time and the living is not easy. The fish are not jumping. The mornings are dark. If I dwell in the cold and hardness of it, I would be done in. But I don’t. I’ve learned to concentrate on the mechanics of everything – how to get from point A to B, what I have to do if I want this, that and the other thing. It works. It’s magical. I’m transported from feeling icky to ___ . I can’t quite find the word but I feel my brain firing up like the furnace in the basement. Soon it will kick in and ideas and endorphins will flow. Ah, I hear the fan blowing. The warm air is blowing out the vents.

I’m finishing my second cup of tea. I will make a list of things my mother wants from Costco. She phoned yesterday to confirm. Are you going for sure. Will you remember? Don’t forget the barbecue chicken. She repeated the list. I mustn’t forget. Then I will make my own list. I mustn’t forget or get lost getting there. I get lost regularly going anywhere and everywhere. I don’t get excited about it any more but I could be a little more careful, pay more attention and look for signs and landmarks. I turn off at the exit for Yorkton.  It would save me time.

November 21, 2018  10:16 pm

I’ve let time and thoughts slipped away. It’s the latest I’ve come to this page in a long while. My thoughts are fragmented, scattered by the day’s activities and by my recent interest in the history of sewing machines. It was ignited by the book, Every Quilt Tells a Story by Helen Kelley. Her mention of the Singer Featherweight prompted me to look it up on the Internet. I was in love. One thing led to another and I was mesmerized by all the vintage sewing machines, even my own Kenmore Model 15813200. I bought it somewhere in 1972/73 for under $200.  It’s a long story. I better leave my mutterings here and head for bed. Tomorrow is another day.

November 22, 2018  8:47 am

Keeping a regular bedtime pays off for a good night of sleep. I think I took my obsessions of sewing machines into my sleep. I was dreaming of sewing different motiffs onto my quilt/table top I’m sewing along with catching a plane. I dreamt that we slept till almost 9 am and our plane was due to take off at noon. Yikes! My brain was busy even in sleep. My plan today is to embroider these birds onto to the quilt/table top. To embellish, I want to try out as many decorative stitches as I can on my Bernina. So I must not tarry and get on with things.

 

NOTHING IS EASY

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Here I am. It’s tough to get going some days. The best tactic is not to sit too long. Get up and get going. It’s just what I did this morning. I got up and started stitching though I was still in my pjs. Absorbed in my task and listening to Waylon Jennings and the Platters took my mind off my physical aches and pains. ‘Resting’ offers no relief. I’ve learned to be useful at a slower pace. At the end of it, I have made something beautiful.

Creating is not always an enjoyable process. It involves taking things apart if I mess up. The hair was not right. The stitches too tight, pulling and puckering his head. His nose was too big and too long. It was in my face. Undoing his hair was murder. There were a lot of tight stitches. The nose was much easier. I can reconstruct it all again. It’s all in a day’s work. It’s teaching me about patience and not settling for good enough.

Writing this post is not easy. I’m constructing one painful sentence and paragraph at a time. Walking Sheba was another difficult thing. This grey weather is not conducive to have a passion for anything. But when I walk out the door, I was surprised to find it was not all that cold. I was surprised to see the broccoli in the garden is still green. I was surprised to find I do feel more expansive out of doors. Still…it was a trial to step along with Sheba.

Fatigue made me anxious to get the walk over and done with. But guilt kept me going the distance. I started to feel better as I walked. My aches eased and I straightened my spine. I looked over fences to see what’s on the other side. It was ok. We’re home again. I did a little more stitching and painted a little. Supper’s ate and my glass of wine is done. I’m done, too.

 

THE SUMMER OF 2018

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OMG it is October! It came fast. It is raining and snowing alternately most of the day. Suffice to say summer is indeed over. I’m not at all sad to see its back side. I can say that the summer of 2018 was the summer from hell. What was so bad about it? For one thing, my left hand pained me the whole time. It still does but the pain has eased and changed these last few days. I know it will disappear soon. (Hope, hope) Secondly, I had a summer cold for a month. I coughed, coughed and coughed some more. I sucked endlessly on Fisherman’s lozenges. I couldn’t sleep laying down. It was a very distressful time.

It is just a memory now and not a very clear one. I hardly remember the summer and what I did except that it was a very bad time for me and it was a volatile season of climatic changes. It was cold. It was hot. And it was HOT – up to 40 degrees Celsius in parts of Saskatchewan. There was no rain. Then there was the smoke from the forest fires on the west coast. My part of the world looked and felt apocalyptic. My heart in my mouth most days.

I welcome the new season and its changes. I welcome the rain and snow. Even the grey did not bother me today. There’s a new energy in me. I feel a bit of joy and hope in me and I’m looking forward to new challenges. The summer was tough but looking back it had many positives also. Given my pain and cold, the garden and all the raised beds got planted. Despite the lack of rain, we had captured enough water in the rainbarrels to keep the raised beds filled and to water the garden. The beans and peas suffered a bit but they still produced. I had enough energy and will to see that my parents’ house insurance came through for the hail damage of last summer. I looked upon my ability to coordinate their house repairs as a sign of my mental health. It was a big confidence boost for me.

I’m giving thoughts to the coming days leading to Christmas and winter. What and how will I fare? It is good to have some plans in place while I’m feeling confident and happy. I want to experiment more with my art and sewing.  It is easy to get stuck and staid even in creativity. I tend to do the same old, same old till I’m really sick and tired of it. For long whiles I did just watercolours. Then it’s acrylics. I have so many mediums. There’s my charcoals, soft pastels, oil pastels, neocolours, Inktense blocks…It’s just occurred to me to let loose and have fun with them all. And why not paint on cloth and then do my free motion embroidery on them? I could join a sewing/quilting club and create amid a crowd.

I’m rambling now. Time to bring this to a close. There’s so much fun to be had. My time on earth is limited. I better not waste it on things I can’t do anything about or things that don’t matter a squat.

 

 

 

 

AIMING HIGH – BREAKING OUT OF MYSELF ART

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It’s that tapping hour in my afternoon. I had a very good sleep last night. Having gone to bed at 9:30, I was awake by 5 am. and out of bed before 6. Having sleep and quiet time to myself in the morning makes a huge difference to my well-being and equanimity. The rains and clouds have gone. The sun has emerged with its warmth. I am sipping Orange Pekoe tea, my comfort drink. It’s difficult to change my likes and dislikes. It’s not that I dislike Moringa tea. I like Orange Pekoe more. I will ease into the Moringa tea ceremony slowly. Tomorrow I will give it another go.

My throat is still scratchy. The cough was maddening last night. I decided to use my Nasonex spray for a few days. It’s helping some. The Weather Network confirms that pollen count is high. It seems I’m a fairly accurate weather and pollen barometer. I should learn to doubt less and trust myself more on so many fronts.

The beat and art goes on. I haven’t had much time to do any sewing on my Mrs. Bernina other than cleaning and lubricating her. Once in awhile I run some random stitches just to feel how smooth she purrs. It calms and gives me a bit of a high at the same time. I’m weird, know. I like the sound of the scissors cutting the thread when I push the icon button. It’s my first luxury item. I’m just learning to drive in the self-love lane.

It feels and is a busy summer but I’m going to join Daisy Yellow’s Index-Card-A-Day Challenge, June 1- July 31, 2018 as well as keeping up with 365 Somethings 2018. These challenges are so helpful in the creative process AND so much fun. It’s not a do or die thing. It’s at my own pace. When I push myself, surprising and exciting things happen. I’m aiming to explore different mediums and themes. I like to see if I can break out of habits of being myself.  I want to explode into a different un-me of expressing. I could learn to be a little daring like Van Gogh and Frida Kahlo.

A Cowardly but Respectful Lion

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Yesterday I talked about being brave. But I am still like Dorothy’s cowardly lion in the Wizard of Oz. I’m not quite up to snuff, not up to confrontations. Never have and maybe never will. There’s something not quite kosher with the word, ‘confront’. It does not sit well with me. It implies hostility. It’s not the way I want to interact or behave. The word itself already brings with it anger and other mean spirited feelings. It is the word I am eliminating from my vocabulary right now.

Call me cowardly if you will but I cannot behave contrary to the way I was raised. That is my rock and a hard place. I do not want to absorb all the negativity it generates into my being. It is really not good for my well being. With a little creativity, luck and serendipity, I’ve turned into an alchemist. All my angst, from whichever source and direction they came from are very good fodder. They’ve fuel my painting, sewing, crocheting, knitting and my tap, tap, tapping here. All the frustrations, disappointments, saddness and anger are good compost. They give rise to ideas and visions and hope for a better (my)self. Being a queen of self-help, I always aim for a better version of me. Sometimes I succeed. Lately I’ve been failing. I’m picking myself up, brushing off self pity and getting ready to rise above the dust.

Having tapped out these words, my heart feels lighter if not braver. I will not tiptoe around my own sacred garden/yard/the world. But neither will I stomp around in anger and malice. I will treat my boundary and hers as well with due respect as always. If my beans or other climbing vines climb over the fence, well they are trespressing in the technical term. It matters not that they are not invasive or harming nothing. She has a right to nip the trespasser in the bud. I’ve already informed the weed company she uses that we do not want any spray on our property. That is fair, respecting my property.

The day is almost gone. I’ve spent the afternoon and my excess angst cleaning out my car. All the rubber mats and carpets are taken out, washed and dusted. The insides are vacuumed and wiped down. What took me so long? Why have I been so neglectful? It’s the first time I’ve cleaned the inside since I bought the car in 2009. Sometimes you start one thing, it can lead to another. Life can be wonderful this way. I’m stuck between that rock and a hard place. I’m chipping my way out, throwing out the dirt and pebbles. Now there’s room for Sheba.

What better way to rid the dust after a hard day’s work than a swim. None that I could think of. Though I had only a short time, I made my way to the pool. Twenty minutes was exactly what the doctor had ordered. It was cheered considerably by a thoughtful young man who was the life guard. He still looked wet behind the ears but was wise as Solomon in human relationships. I left with a softer heart than when I came. Thank you ___ . He told me his name but of course, I’ve forgotten already.

 

 

HOW I SPEND MY DAYS

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How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives. – Annie Dillard

I wish I could write such insights as Annie Dillard. But then I’m not a Pulitizer winning authour. She has written many books. I wonder why I haven’t read any of them, especially since so many of them are in the library. I’ve just fixed that, reserving The Writing Life. I thought I should start with just one book. I’m still working on James Mitchener’s The Source. It’s an ambitious read of 1000 pages. I’m only on  page 207. I have a ways to go.

How do you spend your days? I’ve wondered what other people do with their time. I’m always busy it seems. I’m a doddler, poking away at life. Maybe if I speed up a little, I wouldn’t feel so busy. But it’s who and how I am. I need that slow pace to digest and process. So I can’t get up in the morning and hop to it. I have to ease my way with a cuppa tea and a few pages of fiction. Then it’s breakfast. If it is Monday, Wednesday,or Friday I’ll be heading out the door to aerobics. Saturday mornings I used to swim. Then somehow I got tired of always heading out of the door and I stopped. But I kept it up most of the winter.

I’m a homebody so I was glad to read that Annie Dillard is a recluse, albeit a gregarious one. I wish I’m like that but alas, I have no gregariousness in me. It should be no surprise that I don’t do a lot of frollicking with my days. I’m a rather quiet, somber person. I live within rather than without. That is, I contemplate alot. I like to read and muse. I wonder about the universe, why people do what they do. I wonder about the speed of the changes we are experiencing. How long life as we know will last? I wonder what gives meaning to the things we do. What does it matter anyways? I could have more time if I could just cut down all this musing.

You see, I am no fun. I do have fun though. I have numerous, maybe too many hobbies. I like to read and write. That gobbles up tons of minutes and hours in a day if I let it. Even painting my little index cards takes up at least half an hour. More if I’m ambitious. I’ve picked up sewing again. I went out and bought a fancy dancy new machine. It’s no small endeavour. It took time to learn all the ins and outs. Then there’s the organizing – fabric, patterns, projects. I’ve taken a fancy to free motion sewing, creating a picture with stitching. I haven’t thought about quilting yet. I have all the notions – collected through the years. At least I don’t have to go out and shop for material. I have a fabric shop right in my own basement.

I’m tapping here in my space. I’ve just turned the oven on for the roast. There’s a lot to do every day. Roasts to put in the oven, bread to make, lunches and dishes to do. The guy does supper and getting groceries. I start my own bedding plants for the garden. Been doing that for years now. Sometimes I enjoy. Sometimes it’s work. Well, isn’t everything? It’s worth it. It’s nourishing my body and soul. Even the cleaning and washing. It’s taking care of this business of living. What meaning or satisfaction would I get not doing any of this? Sure, I complain sometimes and wish that everything was taken care of for me. That sounds like being in a nursing home, doesn’t it?

It’s time to shut up and do something else now. There’s the dog to walk yet.

 

 

 

MEMORIES ARE MADE OF THESE

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I feel like I’m always mired in my stuff. Once upon a time I had an excuse of working and shiftwork at that. That excuse is wearing thin now that I am retired. AND I have more stuff. Not that I am a shopaholic. Quite the contrary, but I did purchased a new sewing machine just before Christmas. It is quite big with an embroidery module and accessories. I haven’t bought fabric either. I don’t need to since I’ve been stashing them away over the years from – sales, projects, closing out sales, etc. I have the equivalent of 3 big totes. Overwhelming – yes!

Now I am in the process of organizing and making space. It’s difficult to see what I have or don’t have. Everything crammed together. No space to walk, never mind spread the stuff out. This morning I bit the dust (literally) and finished tackling my sewing stuff. At least now there’s room to move – and to create. I can see why sorting and clearing is such a difficult task. Memories are evoked from handling some of the items. Cleaning and sorting the contents of my sewing basket, I remembered my mom gave it to me when I bought my Kenmore. She stocked it with scissors and a few more items.

She taught me how to sew and knit. She must have been a good teacher because usually I’m not good at learning from verbal instructions. I have to read the directions. I have been sewing since high school. I designed and made my graduation gown. I never thought much of it then. It looks pretty good to me now. It gives me pleasure seeing it. I wonder if my mother still has it. I made my sister’s high school grad dress, too. I took special care finishing all the raw seams. I remembered she was recovering from a concussion that spring. She was struck by a car at a pedestrian crosswalk.

These are all good memories. They make me nostalgic, yearning for those bygone days. I didn’t know then how sweet everything was, even the tough times. I feel a tad sad with some regrets. It comes with being human. Who doesn’t have regrets, wanting things that aren’t and can’t be in retrospect? It’s really not a bad thing. It can inspire me towards reaching outward, upward and all around me to make dreams come true. Now for a spot of tea. Sheba and I have made a run to the dog park. We stopped at Sarcan and dropped off some old phones, bottles and cans. We made $8.00. We made space. We are proud.