A Walk Through My Grandfather's House

If you look at the time that I am making this post you will notice that it is the wee small hours of the morning. I woke up crying.... and then my stomach began to hurt.... I didn't think that dreams could hurt....

Normally I don't dream hardly at all.... or if I do then when I wake, I forget them right away.  Not this week. This week I have been dreaming very vividly.

I may have mentioned here before that I grew up in Newfoundland. I grew up in Mount Pearl which is a city attached to the capital city of St. John's. My parents and grandparents (and if rights be known, their parents to the seventh generation) came from a little outport called Elliston, and though I didn't live there I feel like I actually hale from the town where my grandparents lived more than Mount Pearl.  (That's my maternal grandparents for those family members who read here.) I have many good memories of my years growing up and I have very vivid memories of my Grandfather's house and the way it made/makes me feel. I don't know if I am getting maudlin in my old age but sometimes I have to wonder. Maybe all these fresh memories are coming back to me because Teapot and I have been going through all the old photos. Whatever the reason, I have been thinking a lot about those years when I grew up. And then tonight I woke up crying. Not because I was sad, but just because it felt so good to be back in that place again. (For that is surely where I was!)

My grandmother had a chrome and vinyl rocking chair just off the kitchen in the dining room, it was as ugly as sin, but that was the best rocking chair ever. It was smooth. The rockers were really long on that chair and it rocked like a dream. When I rocked in that chair it felt like I was swinging. I would sit for hours in that rocking chair and rock and rock and rock and never since has there been a rocking chair that made me happy like that one did. I even saw in my dream my Grandfather's favorite pipe that he would give me to clean and fill with fresh tobacco. I could feel it in my hand. I could even see the sun slanting across the dining room table through the two big windows that never opened.... at least not in my day. I walked the stairs with the big brass chummy thingies that held the stair runner in place. I stood on the front steps of that house and looked back over my shoulder at the door swinging shut behind me and I remembered..... like I've never remembered since they died.

And I missed them.....

Gives new meaning to Remembrance Day......

The Problem Of My Poem

I've always had this love of playing with words. To me poetry is like Sudoku only with words instead of numbers. A few years back a friend of mine, who happens to be a teacher, and I were having a conversation about poetry. He knew that I liked to write poetry and couldn't believe that I thought poetry was just manipulation of words. He challenged me to write a Shakspearean type poem, romantic and using words that were similar to what Shakespeare would have written... but not a sonnet (though I love writing sonnets too).
So I sat down and wrote the following two poems...

Come hither my love, in yon downy bower,
where silken skin shall prevail over furrowed brow,
and gentle touch shall awaken more than beating hearts.
Fear not and pluck the ripe and honeyed fruit,
and taste the pleasures of this golden time.

The other poem that I wrote went like this....

Hasten, sweet slumber, upon these adoring brows,
Yon gentle wake shall carry this restive two.
Respite shall be their hallowed destiny,
while faith, honour, and love
remain their trusted companions.

They weren't too bad all things considered.

I've always wanted to incorporate these two poems into the decor of Teapot's and my bedroom. The second poem... with "Hasten sweet slumber", should adorn the wall above our bed. That one seemed obvious. But it is the other poem that I'm not sure what to do with. Somehow it seems decadently sexual and I almost feel like I should have it tattooed on my belly..... (I can't believe I just wrote that!)
Anyway, I'm having a dilemma in trying to decide on what to do with that poem. I have a very decadent painting in my mind.... of a woman scantily clad.... with the poem embossed onto the painting.... however, somehow this seems a little too blatantly sexual too. Teapot is not saying much but I'm sure he wouldn't object to a scantily clad woman in a painting hanging in his bedroom.... (wince)! So I either have to get over it and just be decadent.... and come to grips with my discomfort or forget the whole thing.  Hmmm....

Oh what to do..... oh what a dilemma.... oh I hope the mother-in-law, doesn't read this.....!!!!

Sheesh!

Home again.... a lovely day...... sun is shining.... the snow is melting..... nothing wrong with Pop's vehicle which is what we were hoping.....

Annnddd.....

Level 3 ..... here we go again......

and at the same time as level 4....

Somehow I've got a focus again. : )

And all is right with the world.

Off To FSJ

Pops needs help today. We are headed into FSJ to take his vehicle in for a recall. We will have to spend several hours waiting for his vehicle to be fixed. It will be a long day. If Pops has to go anywhere other than around town I usually drive for him since he has a heart condition and worries about his legs swelling when he has to drive longer than one hour. Driving just knocks him out so I do it and that is what will happen in about half an hour.

I have been working steadily on scarves  and a shawl for the gallery (more about that later) next year,  and the bedroom. I've been weaving with silk and a ball of bison and cashmere... I'm not happy with the results.... but more about that later too. Teapot did some work in our bedroom over the weekend and managed to get some more of the paneling up. Meanwhile we are waiting for the Contractor fellow who was supposed to be here by now. He hasn't come which worries me since I really want to get the house in shape for Christmas.... this may not happen if he doesn't show up soon.

There is snow on the ground and even though it was a lovely day yesterday and the weather was pleasantly warm, the snow looks like it might hang around for a while.  There is still lots of before-the-snow-comes-chores and I'm beginning to think that I might as well throw my arms up in resignation and realize that we can't do everything.

Anyway, I'm off and I'm not even going to do an editing check on this post...... want to make a bet it stinks... full of stupid mistakes.... if so please overlook them....

Invitation....

Come join me at 4-F

That's where I am today....

2 Of Everything

2 Scarves.......

2 Necklaces.....

Finito.....

I'm off to work on a shawl....

The Eerie Walk Of November

Down through the bush, one step after the other, I went. The wind was blowing quite rudely. Overhead trees were swaying and the grey clouds passed swiftly by. Squeaking branches sounded, off in the distance. The dogs gallumped along through the bush.

I quickly discovered that when the wind is that high, perhaps a tramp in the bush is not the best idea. There was a loud crack and quite close by, down came one of the towering pines, no longer majestic, with branches brittle from Pine Beetle kill.

November is usually cold and grey with fog around here. Usually the fog covers everything in a fine coating of frost that eventually turns into dripping stalactites of ice. Not this year though. This year, the wind has been blowing pretty much constantly. Dreamer, our horse, raises her tail in disgust, and gallops around her paddock as if she can run with the wind.

I thought yesterday morning when I woke up and looked out the window and couldn't see anything for the grey cloying fog, that the typical November weather had come at last. But by lunch time, once again, the wind had come up and was blowing.....blowing... blowing....

November is not one of my favorite months, I do have to be honest. Somehow, I feel adrift, with nothing but Christmas boring down on me. Even Ideas on CBC last night, which normally I really enjoy, was boring. I had spent the day clearing out boxes full of wool and UFOs (unfinished projects) which is a boring job indeed, and then when I started to develop a headache I thought a walk in the forest.... my beloved forest.... would be good. With trees threatening to fall on my head, I decided that the walk would be better shortened rather than lengthened. So far this week I have managed to wash a fleece, wash a second small amount of fleece, clear out two rather large boxes of junk, unravel a scarf, start another scarf and ravel it out three times, finish two necklaces and one bracelet, dye some sock yarn, organize the level 4 fibres that I will need, find a baggy full of bison (which I just spent a fortune on ordering from the States), ply a ball of silk, cable a skein of novelty yarn, and worked on two paintings. Still, I feel like I have done nothing.

It's November. I know it is. November always leaves me at loose ends.

Rather like my walk of yesterday through a forest of wind, where trees were falling on all sides, November descends upon on me....

Perhaps I should raise my tail, and run with the wind...