Agenda Camp, Windsor, Sunday, October 19, 2008

OK, so Agenda Camp was yesterday. So sue me. I filled in the title first thing in the morning, thinking I might blog through the day but then I ended up taking notes for two sessions and editing them for upload and I was too tired to write anything when I got home after dinner with Paul.

The “camp” format grew out of a bunch of techies camping out, brainstorming and debugging in a sort of marathon fashion. It has morphed into something called “open space technology” which is explained pretty well here. You can see the results of our day here. There are links to stuff on You Tube and something caller “Twitter” which I haven’t investigated yet.

I have mixed feelings about the experience. I’m not sorry I went and I’m attending the live broadcast of the show tonight though the line up of guests for the panel leaves me tepid. I think the publicity for the event could have been better and the attendance reflected that. I was disgusted that not one representative of any level of government (i.e. elected official) bothered to attend to listen to the ideas of a bunch of ordinary citizens though they are rescheduling the City Council meeting normally held on Monday nights so the whole gang can attend the broadcast with live cameras! I mean they could have drawn lots and the guy with the short straw would have had to give up a Sunday, fer chrissakes!

There were some real activists as well as a couple of people with actual clout, a couple of interested retirees and a complement of the expected unemployed oddballs of whom I am doubtless one. I don’t know if I made the wisest choices among the available sesions but – in another sense and judging from the videos – it may have made little real difference.

I don’t suppose anyone rode out on any but the hobby horse they rode in on and I don’t think that was anyone’s expectation. Part of the theory is that two conflicting ideas can sometimes ultimately lead to a new plan. The problem of implementation remains as well as the problem of disagreement as to what exactly should be implemented but I’m not sure there are orchestrable “solutions”. I suspect it’s more of a cyclic thing and time will bring what it brings economically, culturally and politically in an organic fashion.

I did have a chat with Steve Paikin which was interesting in terms of what he perceived (or at least voiced) about me. He’s far too polite to actually call me a “nasty old bat” as others of my acquaintance have been wont to do (in only the nicest manner, I assure you!) He said I was a Conservative and he’s right though it rather surprized me to recognize it. I always used to vote Conservative as did my father and probably the rest of my family for that matter. We were, after all, Orangemen of Toronto-the-good! Even as a youngster I admired John Diefenbaker. Mr. Paikin made the point that we cannot go back to the simpler economic times; we must live in the times where we find ourselves. (I paraphrase. It made sense and was much less a statement of the obvious in context.) However he phrased it, I experienced a sort of paradigm shift and realized that part of me really does long for a return to a simpler time. I “know” that isn’t possible but I hadn’t fully realized how deeply I have fallen into the trap of age that deplores the present and fears the future. Intellectually I don’t really expect the world to listen to me or any other aged “sage” but viscerally I do experience the world as going to hell in a handbasket and wish I could turn back the clock. Perhaps I can retain my new awareness and stay off my soapbox (for awhile at least).

I had my usual complement of personal f*** ups beginning with a flat tire on the scooter and meandering through mistaking tea for coffee (Yuck! I hate tea!) among a table of identical carafes and putting my back out using the walker for the first time. (I needed some way to manage my computer, purse, etc. from room to room and floor to floor.) Got an enormous laugh out of the “swag” – a grey, rubbery “squishy brain”! At a conference about the failing manufacturing economy in Ontario someone pointed out that it was made in China! Maybe they can just peel off the labels for the next camp. I like it anyway and the cats who will be the eventual beneficiaries will love it.

I have now to dress and make my way back to the city for tonight’s broadcast. I’ve deliberately taken it very easy today as my back has been problematic and I’d like to stay awake for the evening. I am so very tempted to take my knitting. I usually knit while watching The Agenda, after all. I do not, however, want to carry it along with my purse and am taking neither (still hors de combat) scooter nor walker for the simple stroll (OK, limp) in and out of the gallery.

Where does the time go?

I was rightly afraid to check just when I’d posted last and it was over a month ago! I’ve lost touch with old friends with whom I was delinquent in maintaining correspondence this way.  My knee jerk guilt which is my first response to just about any situation wants me to suffer but I refuse. Been there, done that when I made attempts at journalling pre-internet, all of which were foreordained to fail. Besides I’ve been trying very hard to get over the sense of responsibility for things which has dogged me all my life. (I may be overdoing it in the case of the housework but that’s been getting beyond me anyway so the suffering isn’t doing any good.)

In brief (sort of), since my last post, I have finished piecing the little boy’s quilt, done a lot of hand quilting and a bit of machine quilting and am down to some of the latter to stabilize larger, unquilted areas. I have also assembled and partially hand-quilted a pre-printed “baby quilt” panel for an expected grandson. I knit a pair of socks for a Christmas gift and have almost completed my shawl in the Estelle Woolley Bulley the SIL gave me at Christmastime.

Some of the above was done during our semi-annual sojourn at the automotive swap meet in Barrie earlier this month, some of it during evenings in front of the TV at home and the shawl on our annual trek to Toronto, Timmins, Thunder bay, Sault Ste Marie and home since Saturday, June 20.

We got in last night, reasonably early and watched In and Out and Personal Best on TVO before falling into bed. I enjoyed both movies more than I would have expected though there were certainly conflicts surrounding the first on a number of personal and artistic levels.

The SIL in Timmins who was failing last year when we visited and might well not have made it this far did but seeing her was a shock that just couldn’t be adequately prepared for. It was hard to leave but she is truly not up to a great deal of visiting. My other SIL and buddy accompanied us again and I’m sure was very glad she had as was I but she bussed home from there, choosing not to go on with us to the SO’s daughter’s in Thunder Bay as she did last year.

That proved to be a wise decision. On the bleak highway between Hearst and Longue Lac we developed truck trouble which proved – when we limped into the first service provider in the latter town – to be a front wheel bearing. Very helpful personnel ordered the parts overnight, got us and our luggage across the street to a motel and restuarant for an unscheduled night on the road and saw us on our way by nine the following (Wednesday) morning.

They may have done us one other little “favour”. Not far out of Longue Lac, the engine began miss-firing, refusing to accelerate normally. A dashboard light flashed alarmingly and I briefly considered turning around and going back to the friendly guys in LL. To make a long, agonizing story shorter, the SO convinced me we could drive with caution to our destination, let the engine cool and check the plugs. Since he didn’t have the necessary wrench along anyway, we set out tentatively and – indeed – got safely to our destination only half a day late, the truck behaving quite well under the circumstances. Upon investigation, the SO discovered one (or possibly two) loosened spark plugs. In my lifetime of driving, I have learned to recognize spark plug and distributor problems but I have never had one spontaneously loosen.  I may appear dumb, sometimes by design, when I am attempting to get service from a guy under straitened circumstances like half an hour before closing time, for example, but I am not actually stoopid! If we make the same journey again next year, I will be very tempted to drop into the mechanics’ shop and tell them the funny story of what happened when I left there this year after their heroic rescue.

With spark plugs tightened, the truck is performing perfectly though I will have to take it to the dealer’s to have the computer reset to convince the dash light to go out. It’s due for an oil change anyway and they’ll wash it for free. I’ll call tomorrow after we’ve unloaded and I’ve caught up with laundry.

In other news, during the time between road trips. I had a breathing test and a consult with a respirologist who assures me I’m doing it (breathing) right which is most gratifying as I had a good deal of breath and voice training many years ago and certainly thought I had it down.

I also experienced further wonders of nuclear medecine in the form of a chemical stress test. (I had a lung scan before the Chalk River incident but had the heart test postponed and then abruptly rescheduled when the hospital scored some isotopes.) First day (in Windsor, the day after the respirologist adventure, also in the city) I had a ct scan of my heart “at rest” while perched precariously on a sort of rail with my arms above my head while the “camera” revolved around me. The next day they injected drugs that stressed the heart by opening all the blood vessels to their maximum, an unpleasant sensation to say the least, injected another dose of the isotopes and took pictures again for comparison. The worst part of the whole experience was that I had to go without all caffeine for 36 hours prior to the stress test. (My pain medication contains caffeine!) My thirty-eight-year-old daughter figures the last time I went that long uncaffeinated was when I was in labour with her.  Normally recaffeinated and after consideration, I realize she is mistaken. I did not drink coffee during either of two pregnancies though I may have indulged in diet cola; that I do not remember and cannot quite imagine foregoing given that there were threats on my life during the 36 hour abstinence.

I have a message to call the doctor who ordered all these examinations and will do so tomorrow. I will doubtless have a consult with him in the fairly near future and will be confronted with not only my appalling condition but decisions regarding treatment. I can hardly wait.

I managed eight days of more miles/kilometres than I care to count with no expenditures for anything other than food and truck parts and service. I brought home no yarn, fabric, crafts materials or other indulgences, not even books. I consider this an accomplishment even in the face of the $500 plus expenditure on repairs and an extra night in a hotel. (The SO paid for all fuel and most meals, it being “his” family excursion.)

Once we are unloaded, I have more than a week’s laundry to catch up on and the equivalent of the Augean Stables to clean out. I also have a painting to complete and prepare for hanging which must be submitted to a local gallery between Tuesday and Saturday this week. I forgot to include that (my first painted effort) in things partly done or accomplished since last writing. I also need to make a day trip to London for a visit with a friend that got put off when my stress test was rescheduled on short notice. The DD, SIL and two grandsons we visited in Thunder Bay will be visiting us here during the first week in August by which time the house must look houselike and food must be acquired and prepared. It might even be wise to shop and cook before then though in some respects it might be wiser not to. I doubt the SO would go for that tactic however.

The SO’s other, Windsor-based DD and family left their large, young dog here Saturday on their way out on vacation, adding to our already generous furry population. They all seem to have had some sort of bonding orgy of shedding in the province-wide heat wave while we were gone. That Augean Stable I mentioned probably looked and smelled better!

I have pix of llamas and alpaca and must take some of projects but there are other, more pressing obligations. Breakfast comes to mind, for example.

I did  not get pictures of the mother bear with her two cubs, the mother moose with her calf, the older, male bear or what may have been a woodchuck carrying her baby across the highway but I very much enjoyed seeing all of them. The north is beautiful country. There is just far too damned much of it.

Piece by piece

You could say that I have an organic approach to design.

You could say that I am a lousy photographer . . .

. . . with a cheap camera.

I certainly wouldn’t argue with you in any case.

Nevertheless I have the beginning of a fun quilt for a little boy’s first birthday and have quite enjoyed mucking about with bits of cloth for most of the day.

Playing around

Well, the “last test’ I mentioned last time I wrote wasn’t the last after all. I’m scheduled for two long days of chemical stress tests at the hospital in June. Plus I’ve heard from a respirologist who wants to test my breathing -  also in June because we were running out of May! The hospital had scheduled me for the first two days we’re at the automotive swap meet in Barrie but I got that changed to the next week so I get a “break” until then. Of course, I don’t get any info from the internist until he gets all the test results but I’m not exactly waiting with bated breath. If I’m in worse shape than I think and suddenly drop dead, it will be a shame to have wasted all the scarce medical resources but it won’t bother me any.

In the meantime I’ve been doing the usual little around the house, keeping up with laundry and continuing to sort and cull. In my perusal of old National Doll World magazines, I found a recreation of a pattern for an articulated doll originally copyrighted by a Sarah Robinson in Chicago in 1883. The article’s author, Elizabeth Andrews Fisher, had a part body which she took apart and copied while constructing replacement parts.  I’ve had a hankering to play with an articulated doll for some time now so I made up a small one according to the original construction method.

I suspect she might have been better stuffed with sawdust and I might try that with another, larger figure but I had a lot of fun with this little gal. She’s under a foot tall. The head – to which I haven’t done justice – is constructed exactly like a baseball, then slit crosswise for the insertion of one end of a fabric wrapped thread spool as a neck. I’ve pulled a bunch of patterns and ideas for costuming her appropriately for around the turn of the century.

Before I can play with her further, I’ve taken a few days out to dress a Cabbage Patch kid and make linens for a doll carriage for Ed’s granddaughter’s third birthday.

The carriage is awaiting its second coat of paint and re-assembly; that’s Ed’s department though I supplied the vehicle. With two granddaughters between us, surely one of them will be crazy about dolls?  If Charla likes this one, I can make her a wardrobe for Christmas! i know she’s dressed a bit maturely for a doll carriage but Charla won’t mind and it’s more like her this way. Baby clothes are boring and I’ve been sated with them lately, dressing the baby doll for Kyra to give her when her brother arrives.

I forget what else I meant to ramble about but Ed’s looking for lunch as his roofing crew have taken off for theirs so I’d better go down and make something of the chicken broth and rice I left simmering in the crockpot this morning.

Up to date . . . to a point

Stayed up late last night and watched The Colour Purple on TV. I don’t know why I never saw it; I’ve never been much good at contemporary cultural icons. Am I the last person in North America who didn’t know Oprah Winfrey started out as an actress? Got a kick out of spotting “Larry Fishburne” in the credits as a very young man in a tiny role. I’ve fairly recently come to recognize and appreciate him as “Grissom”’s replacement on CSI. (So, sue me!) Anyway the movie was definitely worth the loss of sleep. I should probably see Titanic and Les Miserables too and all the other things I haven’t seen in spite of much of a life spent in and around theatre – but don’t wait for my review.

I’ve lost an entire week since last writing. Oh, I know where it went; I just didn’t get a lot of use out of it. I have a friend who spent the same week travelling to and from Mississippi and helping to repair someone’s house there so the contrast is alarming. I did laundry and even vaccuumed a floor or three but some of the laundry isn’t hung up yet!

Spent two days in and around Chatham, another two going to and from Windsor (twice) and the better part of yesterday in Blenheim. I was “home” Friday but my daughter bribed the Ed with Chelsea buns to deliver a truckload we’d picked up in Windsor and we hadn’t seen their kitchen reno yet so . . . . You see how it goes. Pleasant enough week for the most part but not exactly productive.

Ever since my last visit to the GP I’ve been chasing around being tested for things I know perfectly well aren’t wrong with me and that’s discounting the tests I haven’t (and probably won’t) schedule. I’m in remarkable shape for the shape I’m in and if the stress tests and cardiograms and scans and monitors haven’t sent my blood pressure through the roof , not to mention the cost of the fuel to drive to and from all these clinics, I may be around for awhile yet. Of course, at the rate I’m getting things done, it won’t be much benefit but I can perhaps annoy my kids a bit longer. Come to think of it, I may have spent more on fuel per capita than the carloads of Londoners driving to and from Mississippi!

My son and his wife have discovered that their expected second child is a brother for their daughter. I hope he’s just like my son and I plan to stick around to watch him handle a knockout teenage girl and a boy like himself. Paybacks are a bitch!  Just thinking about it makes me almost cackle! On the down side, for the first time in my life I actually wish I were rich so I could help them with the cost of major renovation on their small suburban Toronto home. 

The shape I’m in may be going to change – for the better, I hope, for a change. The internist conducting all the tests is going to try pretty hard to convince me to have bariatric surgery and I’ve been impressed with him so I can’t entirely discount his advice in spite of having put the idea behind me a couple of years back after pretty intensive research. I’ve been keeping a food journal of sorts in preparation for the preparation as I find myself more inclined to go for it this time. I keep thinking why didn’t I do it years ago but that’s not a valid argument for not doing it now. I’m not as old as I often feel and might feel younger if I weren’t lugging a couple of hundred extra pounds around. (There’s a reason my heart is strong.) The other factor is that I wouldn’t actually have “qualified” until fairly recently nor liked the odds for success. They’ve made some pretty impressive strides and I can even have it done in Detroit with the long preparation done in Windsor which means a lot of commuting but at least no prolonged residence in another city or even country. I am at least inclined to listen to the doctor and maybe make a start as I will get older whether or not I get slimmer and might keep doing so longer in the latter case. 

I’ve done a bit of culling and filing and organizing in the studio but haven’t anything pretty or unusual or even ghastly to display. I’ve been knitting but that’s not looking like much either yet. Mostly I’m just culling and sorting and organizing my head which at least doesn’t show the mess when company comes. Got company coming Tuesday so tomorrow I’ll prepare some foodstuffs and Wednesday I’m back in Windsor again for what I sincerely hope is the last of the tests for awhile. The whooshing sound you hear is that of another week speeding past me.

Something finished

It’s a quilt – machine quilted for sturdiness, bound and everything:

The backing fabric was a bit narrow so I pieced it out by extending the binding  which was itself already pieced.

I quite like it and enjoyed making it. It reminds me somewhat of nautical flags and might be a bit odd for a new baby but will certainly be bright and cheerful and catch the baby’s eye. I may add some more quilting in the broad green border areas but I’ve had enough for now and it will be OK if I don’t. I realize the quilting doesn’t really show up in the photograph but it’s quite utilitarian so you’re not missing much.

Now for my next project . . . .

Actually I’m not sure if it’ll be next but isn’t it ghastly? It’s some mill’s “craft panel” reproduction of Da Vinci and I had to buy one. I ought to have bought several as I could have gotten a ‘challenge” going easily. It’s hard to know quite what one should do with it. There are just so many possibilities! At the moment I’m leaning toward sequins and Tri Chem ballpoint fabric paint tubes. It absolutely requires graffitti in some form and is already so offensive that I can’t even worry about shocking anyone. The thing’s right out there in retail-land for eight lousy bucks, folks!

I’m going to pin it up on my wall where I can live with it for awhile and see what it has to say to me. I do have a lovely comic book style illustrated Bible from which I could decoupage a frame for it . . . .

I keep busy

So there’s been housecleaning and grocery shopping, food prep and company. There’ve been appointments and outings in heat, cold, fog and rain – sometimes simultaneously.

And now there’s a quilt top:

This was inspired by a “Chakla Quilt” by Malka Dumbrawskyin the first issue of Quilting Arts Stitch that came out last fall.  The magazine reports the quilt was “inspired by traditional Indian quilts” with “the visual energy of African American improvisational quilts”. Mine is improvised to be sure though a little less “primitive” in design and less busy than the “original”. I’m quite happy with it overall. It measures approximately 48″ by 59″ and will be a generous wrap for the new baby coming in July. I have to find something for a backing and see whether or not I have batting on hand (which I really ought to do as I have another appointment in Windsor tomorrow and could pick some up) but I think I’ve had enough of the project for today even if it weren’t time to go do something about dinner.

So . . . er . . . what do you do for fun?

I’ve been making a doll for a friend of mine:

The friend’s an artist who gets to direct far too many silly plays in both high school and community theatre. His current production is Alice in Wonderland. Remember the Duchess’ baby?

“Be gentle with your little boy/And beat him when he sneezes.”   The kid turns into a real pig!

Hope this fills the bill! The baby’s bonnet folds forward over his face to reveal his bestial nature. Had a heck of a time keeping the head attached as I didn’t have one with a shoulder plate. I think it’s on pretty well now. I seem to be having a phase of molesting dolls. I was considering fence staples and they can use ‘em for my money if he comes apart in rehearsal!

In other news, I’ve been looking into easier options of loading my handicapped scooter into my pick up. The Ed built a rack that fits onto the trailer hitch of any vehicle and includes a fold-down ramp for loading. Trouble is I’m a bit of a git, perfectly capable of forgetting the thing’s projecting behind my truck and backing into something. I rather like my truck with its crew cab and short box as it handles and parks easily so I really don’t want an extra two or three feet added to its length. Besides it’s been getting to be rather a chore for Ed to transfer the rack from one vehicle to another, especially if he doesn’t happen to have a helper handy. One doesn’t want to be forever calling on friends and family to come and help with things if it can be avoided. The rack is perfect for the back of the motorhome and should just live there.

So last week I learned of the existence of a crane sort of thing that bolts to the frame of the truck bed (inside), pivots an arm out, extends a connector thing , lifts the chair or scooter, swivels it into the truck and lowers it to the floor of the bed – all by “remote” control. I was prepared to save my pennies for a month or so but Ed found a used one for sale on line and yesterday we went off to see it in action. Not only did we see it but we bought it and brought it home. Shouldn’t be too hard to install and wouldn’t have been hard to remove from the vendor’s GMC pickup but for the fact that it had been installed before the truck was undercoated or the spare tire mounted. (I recall from a previous experience with a Sonoma that GM has a particularly perverse method of hanging their spares. Even the service tech used colourful language the one time I had to have a tire changed and I was very glad I had – for the first time ever – called for assistance as I was dressed for a meeting at the time!) 

The young couple selling the lift were funny, interesting people so I spent an enjoyable afternoon visiting as the man and his son with some help from Ed parted the thing from its host. I am looking forward to renewed spontaneity in my ability to go off on my own occasionally. I believe a visit to the Detroit Institute of Arts is in order as soon as I get the “dock” I need installed on my scooter to interface with the lift.

We had a pleasant enough drive in lovely spring weather but got detoured off the highway at the first exit after the one we entered by due to an accident, I assume. It seemed wiser to just go cross country rather than detour in the wrong direction and back to the 401 and we eventually found the picturesque little town we were looking for north of London. On the way back, incredibly, we were again detoured around an accident – this time on a county road – and somehow got turned in precisely the wrong direction which we knew only because the truck has built in compass! We eventually found London which is fairly hard to lose, really, and staved off starvation with subs for supper before heading for home. 

We got home just after 8:00, having spent a mere nine hours away. It normally takes an hour and a half to get to or from London. I think we beat the previous record established by my daughter and I when we visited Listowel recently (similarly distanced “north” of London). I further learned that it is no better for our relationship to have Ed reading a map as I drive than the reverse. We are both perfectly intelligent beings, fully capable of reading a map but apparently not so capable of conveying instructions one to the other without serious risk of injury or death. Perhaps I should revisit the GPS.

The Ed has boldly gone again today to a swap meet in Ancaster. I would have gone but got the impression he didn’t really want me along badly enough to move the scooter rack again. There’s another swap meet next Sunday. We’ll see if I can get my “dock” in time for that one.  Meantime there are a couple of jobs I need done before he plays with installing the lift on my truck and that could be challenging. Before yesterday’s trip turned into an odyssey, he was speculating about installing the thing last night for today until I reminded him that we lack the scooter end of the device. He could probably make one but I’m really hoping the one for my admittedly older model is still available so he won’t have to.

I feel so efficient. I have a roast and potatoes in the oven on automatic, I’ve done some (though not all) of the  badly needed straightening up in my studio and I’ve finished a project. It’s only 1:00 o’clock. I may well get dressed and do another thing or two before falling down in a heap! It could happen.

Demon artist of Talbot Trail?

It’s probably a good thing there was no one around with a video camera the other day.

If you ever want a really sturdy doll for a kid, let me suggest My Twinn (if it’s still available) ’cause it’s pretty near indestructible and a nice doll, too. I was decapitating one I’d picked up at a yard sale somewhere with a hand saw, a slow, painful process. I tried to bisect the head vertically afterward but The Ed came to my rescue and did that on the bandsaw. He didn’t even ask questions. Maybe he was afraid to.

Last Wednesday, “She who measures” and I registered for a “call and response show at the Thames Art Gallery. They hauled seventeen pieces from the permanent collection and let interested artists view them with no information or even accreditation. If something “called to you” you could “respond” by making a new work which will be displayed alongside its inspiration in the gallery in June. (The works from the permanent collection will be available for public viewing sometime in May after they finish some painting (on walls, that is).

Anyway there was a photo involving dolls and masks and now I’m doing a collage involving dolls and masks and photos and beauty and women’s self images and it all led to me cutting the head off a large doll. I also carved up some Barbies; they were much easier.

Yesterday I put a wash on a prepared wooden ground and collaged a layer of what are basically illustrated beauty tips.

Today I started adding a paler wash over it all and ended up platering it with white tissue paper before adding the second layer. That’s drying now and it’s past time I started supper but before I soaked everything again, I placed photos provisionally to check how it will all work out. The photos will be manipulated somewhat and have things added to them but they’ll be glued down in place tomorrow, all going well (though I can’t imagine why it would).

 

The last time I posted pictures, the spacing came otu weird and I haven’t had time to play around and figure out what I’m doing wrong so I hope there isn’t more white space than blog this time around. Then again, it might be prettier that way.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

So I haven’t written much lately. So what? Neither has Shakespeare.

Haven’t really had any thoughts worthy of sharing just lately. Haven’t been enjoying them much myself, come to that! I’ve had a couple of really bad weeks with my back, the kind of thing that gets you to thinking about the future in a looming, not-so-positive way involving nursing homes and madness.

I think I’m coming out the other side. A refill of my Celebrex scrip can’t hurt since I ran out in the middle of the episode. Someone once explained my mother’s degenerative disc disease this way: The collapsing disc(s) pinch a nerve and the pain is excruciating until the nerve dies. Then you get some relief until the next nerve involvement. Sort of like, “I’m down to my last nerve and you’re getting on it” but I don’t think I’m out of material yet.

Ran across this on Neil Gaiman’s Journal this morning and agreed with him that it was important enough to share. I’ve printed out his template and will have a go at adapting it to my circumstances. I do have a will and a Power of Attorney for Health Care but this one takes into consideration ones artistic legacy which can get lost in the shuffle or (ab)used in ways one might not choose. I’m afraid I’m worth possibly less dead than alive (which I’ve always thought might not be such a bad strategy) but you never know. I may create something in extremis that will appreciate considerably the day the obit’s published. One can dream.

The house has suffered from more neglect than usual but I “caught up” with the upstairs yesterday. I don’t even want to go downstairs. The Ed’s installing a new shower in the downstairs bathroom which had required replacing a wall between bathroom and kitchen. The replacing part hasn’t happened yet, just the demolition part and that’s resulted in a room with a view to and from the main door to the house.

As if that weren’t enough, the water pipes in this very old house run under the floor in a crawl space, conveniently close to the new installation (what with the bathroom already having water) but accessible by a trap door in the kitchen floor. The first two attempts at connecting to the water supply yesterday resulted in leaks . . . into a dirt (clay) crawl space which is presently referred to as the “watery grave”. The Ed has this morning finally successfully made the connection, working in said grave, but has to go back down to hook up the drain. He was upstairs briefly to announce the successful connection. I would have been more excited if he hadn’t been coated head to toe in wet clay.

Meantime the cats are enjoying rare access to the underground world, generously contributing their shares to the layer of drying mud on the incompletely sealed parquet floor in the kitchen. Charley, the St. Bernard, looks worriedly at the holes in the floor, sure something is not right but unsure of just what that might be. Barney, the Yorkie, worries about his cat friends’ disappearances, not being quite big (or brave) enough to follow them. He may have a point; I’ll have to watch carefully to be sure the floor doesn’t get closed up over any of our admittedly frequently annoying felines.

I haven’t been entirely idle. My son’s wife’s expecting my second grandchild in July and I’ve been working on outfitting a washable, articulated baby doll for my two-year-old granddaughter. She’s a cutie, just turned two on St. Patrick’s Day.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I think she’s going to have a lot of fun with the dollhouse my daughter enjoyed at the same age as well as the little  old “kitchenette” with newly supplied play food, dishes and pots and pans. There were lots of broad smiles but I wasn’t concentrating on photography.

Anyway I was inexplicably compelled to make a quilt for the doll’s crib using English paper-pieced hexagons for which compulsion the best I can say is it’s better than doing a queen sized quilt that way.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I originally intended to make it big enough to wrap the (14″) doll in but thought better of that, realizing it was taking far too much time and settling for a “bedspread” for the little wooden crib (that I will eevntually retrieve from the attic).

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I finally started hand quilting the thing and ought to have it finished later today if no further disasters intervene.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I didn’t actually say I’d been doing anything useful!

Another project I seem to have taken on is a rather specialized doll for a friend’s upcoming production of Alice in Wonderland. No pictures yet. You wouldn’t believe it anyway.

For now, at 10:30 in the morning, I really must brave the downstairs in the interest of feeding myself and my Yorkie. Perhaps I could keep my eyes closed (and no doubt fall into the cellar . . . maybe not a good plan). Perhaps it’s late enough for a simple “brunch”, thereby postponing further ventures into the land of Mudd until almost suppertime.

 

http://www.neilgaiman.com/journal/2006/10/important-and-pass-it-on.html

Bryan

My daughter and her husband had to say goodbye to their beloved dog yesterday. It’s been a long time coming. He’s been ill and they were determined to keep him comfortable as long as that were possible but not allow undue suffering. It’s the price we pay for the privelege of sharing our lives and our love with these companions of shorter life spans.  They can’t make “living wills” or assign power of attorney for health care yet that is exactly what they do give us when they join our families.

Bryan was the child my daughter never had, joining them early on in their marriage after they’d moved to a new city and new roles, putting up with their decisions and choices as children must, adapting to changes along the way. A thoughtful animal, a wee bit neurotic, very like my daughter, checking things out from time to time to be sure they were still functioning properly. He used to take a ball to the top of the staircase, drop it, watch it bounce down the stairs and then turn away with an expression of satisfaction that said, “Yep! Gravity works.” Obeyer of rules, he kept their yard squirrel free but couldn’t cross the invisible line separating his yard from the neighbour’s so had to be eternally vigilant lest the squirrel trespass on his side of the bridging tree.

When they moved to the country, a place supposed to be Pupputopia, he learned to endure chickens, sheep and a cat, taking out his frustrations on the occasional unwary raccoon. Aging and ill, he drowsed on a sunny porch or a cosy bed at will, carried up and downstairs as necessary by his devoted “staff”.

These times are just hard. I have at times felt like the angel of death even knowing I was making the right, kind decision at the necessary time. Maybe it’s a little easier if you can believe in the “rainbow bridge” or some such pleasant fantasy but I can’t, not even for homo sapiens. The thing is I can’t differentiate between the value of lives based on the number of appendages a person has or on anything else really, unless perhaps on the attitude  an individual displays toward others with whom we share this planet. I’m pretty sure I encountered Albert Schweitzer at a particularly fertile period in childhood.

I do not take on grief belonging to others related to death when it does not touch me personally but I recognize and mark the passing of humans and other animals along the way. We are all in a larger sense “roadkill” in one way or another. If in fact there is a species in a position relative to humanity like that we hold in our relationships with companion animals, I can foresee a worse fate than leaving end of life decisions in their hands, presupposing their goodwill which is more than can be counted on, I suppose if they’re too much like us. 

Aging and declining mobility seem to bring along greater concern with end of life issues, naturally enough. I have no intention of shuffling off any coil any time soon but I am forced to deal with adaptations to how I get around on it for some time to come and to worry about just how it will go when I am no longer able even to kid myself that I have any sort of control. I am jealous of time available to me and want every minute of quality of life allotted me but – when the time comes – I can imagine worse fates than euthanasia after gentle sedation. 

(Note to next of kin: I still want some time to recover if I am suddenly rendered unconscious by some catastrophe . Make damn sure I’m not still in there before you pull the plug!)

 

The Moth

Velvet winged moth,

You batter yourself futilely

Against my white bedroom celing

Looking for what?

Light, love, escape . . . .

I am uneasy, sleepless

Lest in the night

Your wings brush my face.

 

Yet in the morning

Your body

Or that of another of your kind

Will lie on the bathroom floor

Dead still.

 

Is that a lepidopteral tragedy?

Will others say of you,

“He died so young”?

Or is one night of frantic flight

Your eternity?

 

We larger moths Batter at our ceilings

For our own brief nights

Of flight

Spending unwittingly

Our own eternities.