Wrong Again - but that s'okay.

So I was wayyyyyyyyy off on the wedding dress but isn't it great that I was wrong?  Kate looked like a dream and her homage to Princess Grace of Monaco was touching.  She brought back grace and a ladylike quality to wedding dresses.  I loved the skirt and the train, the lace, and the whole shmeer.  Maybe this will signal a return to some true style in wedding attire.  I am so very sick of the bustier dresses that I could scareeeeeeeeeeeeeeem.
 
Did you get a gander at the amazingly upright posture of Prince Phillip?  That man is going to be 90 years old in a bit.  Ninety!  The Queen is 85.  Prince Charles looks older than his dad and Camilla is a bit weatherbeaten herself although I must say it is nice to see Chuck and Camilla enjoying their marriage in their later years.  They waited a long time to marry the 'one'.  Still, I will always feel badly for Princess Diana, the young and naive virginal girl who married a Crown Prince and was woefully unprepared for it all.  She gave the world a sense of style, and two beautiful boys, one of whom married his true love today.  I think she is very happy for them and is blessing their marriage.

I am an unabashed monarchist.  The beauty and majesty of these occasions are a cause for pride and celebration.  It is good to be a member of the commonwealth.  I am proud to be a royal subject.

Blessings on William and Kate, and may Harry also find his heart's desire in a stable and loving marriage.

Of Royal Weddings and Sundry Items

It is Thursday, the day before the royal wedding which I do indeed plan to view, but in highlights.  There is no way I am getting up at 3 a.m. to listen to a bagful of talking heads bloviate about everything from the crowds to the dress to the height of Rowan Williams eyebrows.  Mind you, I am often awake at 3 a.m. but I use that time to read or design or to pray an extra rosary.  Otherwise I tend to zone out while watching infomercials that after awhile start to make sense.  At 3 in the morning a person can actually begin to believe that she NEEDS a new vacuum cleaner, hair-removal system, skin care line, hair curler, upholstery patcher, or veggie slicer/dicer/masher/cutter/trimmer.

Not only all of that, until Kate actually steps out of the limousine, there is nothing interesting to see.  Like a lot of other women and fashion-avid men, I am excited to see her wedding gown.  I hope it is something different than the standard fishtail, strapless, ball gown styles of recent years.  They have all begun to look the same.  


If I had designed the thing, I think I would have hearkened back to some medieval/romanesque styles.  A plain dress with long sleeves ending in points over the hands, a portrait neckline, cut on the bias to gently outline Kate's wonderful figure, but the dress would be made of something sumptuous.  Silk charmeuse, or taffeta, or dupioni would all work. Then for the church and photos, a long vest with a train hem, made of something altogether fabulous like a silk brocade, encrusted with gold and silver embroidery denoting the heraldic themes, and encrusted with pearls and sparkly things.  A standing collar to frame face would be a nice touch.  I would dress her hair in a simple chignon with her tiara and long court veil.   A jewelled medieval girdle would hang around her waist.  Rather than a bouquet, I would have her carry a garland of white and cream flowers.

However, I am not the designer so I guess we shall just have to wait!  O lackaday and forsooth, wouldst that I could beam my images into the heads of the designers!  Why on earth the world doesn't ask for my input is quite beyond me.

On another note altogether, the boy baby ratties are growing like little furry weeds.  Raoul is getting chubby and glossy; Mortimer is slender and wiry, but seems quite fine for all that.  The two of them have developed a taste for human companionship and like to be picked up and stroked or cuddled.  They are smart, curious, lively, and affectionate.  I'm waiting for a book on How To Train Your Rat  from Amazon.  I have a feeling that it will involve treats and patience which will work for Raoul because he will eat anything, but Mortimer cannot be bought.  He has standards and lines across which he shall not go.  The only thing he will take from our fingers is a bit of carrot.  He will not take yogurt, treats, popcorn, cracker, or any other rattly treat.  What on earth shall I use to entice him?  I can't just keep giving him carrots.  He would poop himself into a decline, and he hasn't any extra weight to spare.  I guess I shall see when the book gets here.

In other news:  there has been very little biking weather this month.  The few times during the last two weeks that would have worked, I was either busy doing something else, or asleep.  Maybe this weekend will be good for some riding.  Not today though - it is doing this, AGAINNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN.

So, until tomorrow then.  I'm thinking that perhaps I should really get dressed up and wear a hat or something while I am watching the highlights.  A glass of sherry by my side would not be amiss.

I am praying for the young couple, that their wedding day is wonderful and that they have a good, loving, fulfilling life together.  May it be so!

Happy Easter!

Get your own danged drink!

Tomorrow is the day.  We celebrate the big festival of His rising, although each day in the year the Eucharist is consecrated and offered to the faithful in the same commemoration.  This is one of the few days of Obligation in the church year, and we look forward to the feast each year.  The music and the prayers, the lilies and the vestments all speak of resurrection, new life, hope, and joy.


Rabbits and eggs and candy have nothing at all to do with this of course, just as fir trees have nothing to do with Christian Christmas, but all the same they are fun little traditions that can certainly be used and co-opted to tell the story.


When we were kids, our parents presented us with lavishly filled baskets of chocolate, sugar treats, marshmallow peeps, jellybeans, and chocolate caramels, usually along with a small fluffy bunny or chick.  The goodies lay in the plastic excelsior and we scurried away to our rooms to drool over the loot before we had to get dressed for church.  We all would eat far too much of the stuff during the day.  Our parents figured we might as well eat it and make ourselves good and sick and get it out of the way.


I however, was a saver.  One piece would be kept in a bottom dresser drawer, under the undies.  Usually it was the big chocolate rabbit or the chocolate covered marshmallow egg.  I would look at it over the months and delay gratification.  Sometimes I could hold out for two or three months!


One year, I came home from school and decided I would finally break into my rabbit and maybe eat the ears.  I opened the drawer and felt underneath the undies and pulled out the box only to discover that it had been opened and the ears, head, tail, and plenty of the body were gone!


My young brother and sister had found it while snooping in my room while I was at school and had given themselves permission for a pig out.  I of course ran to my mother with the evidence.  She reprimanded them but that was about it.  What could be done?  They couldn't provide me with a replacement although at the time I was all for sending them to a forced labour camp to make up the loss.  I had to either stay mad or forgive the little fiends.


Well, let me tell you, staying angry takes a whole lot of energy and it drains you pretty quickly.  It is too much work.  I eventually forgave the little sinners and found that the forgiveness did me much more good than it did them.  I was only about nine at the time but this experience did much to goad my thinking over the years about trespasses and the forgiveness thereof.  There was also an object lesson here about 'storing up treasure on earth where moths and mildew and thieves can get at it', but that is a topic for another day.


I wonder.  Does God feel relieved that He forgave us through Christ?  We still have to accept the gift and acknowledge it, but if my own relief when having practiced forgiveness is any indication, I believe He must have good feelings about it.  I am extrapolating of course, as God is pure Spirit and I have no idea HOW He experiences us or life or the universe or anything.  I can only know the truth of what Jesus tells me, and know that God was able to experience Creation through Christ.    


I think forgiveness makes Him happy.  I also think that He is happy when we forgive too.

I forgive the person who took that picture of me wearing bunny ears.  Yep.  It feels fine.


A happy and blessed Easter season to all of you.

Watch Out City!

Ready to rumble

And she's off.  I've been out on the bike about four times now and each time gets a shade easier.  I discovered the reason that steering in a straight line is so hard.  I had a white-knuckled death grip on the handle bars so I had to consciously relax a bit and everything is now much easier.


So far it has just been around the neighborhood.  Studly is sure that were I to get on a traffic-laden roadway that someone would sneak up on me and honk, thus causing me to topple over into the path of an oncoming semi.  It is so sweet of him to worry.  However, I'm not ready to joust with traffic yet.  The nag and I need more gentle practice.

It is such fun.  Yesterday was my first day all alone and I managed to get back alive and put the bike away with no help.  We live in an apartment building and I have to fuss a bit to store the thing.  I hope the rumour of extended parking and an iron tie up rail is true.  There are a couple gentlemen with bicycles here too.


I also removed the battery and brought it upstairs in a grocery cart to top up the charge.  That thing weighs a LOT.  My upper body strength should improve once I get some feeling back into my shoulders and biceps and upper back.

Today the rain is falling and so I am not riding, and since the weather is planning on sucking all weekend it will be Monday before I'm out again.  That's okay.  My body needs time to get over the shock I've given it.

God's Politics

We in Canada are enduring a federal election campaign that most Canadians did not want, but that the loyal (HA) opposition and cronies insisted upon.  They collapsed the house theoretically because of the budget, which by the way included all the things that both Liberals and NDP wanted.  However, what they and the Bloc wanted even more was a run at more power, so they crashed parliament and forced the taxpayers into underwriting the 350 million and change for an election. 


I will vote because I belong to the 'use it or lose it' club, but I am not at all involved in the whole thing except to give my opinion when asked.  You may find it in the first paragraph.
The whole thing taking place during Lent has me remembering some points made by some of my association.



Activist priests, nuns, and laypersons like to say that Jesus was political because he openly challenged the leaders of his day.  I don't know about that.  He certainly challenged the chief priests, Pharisees, and so forth.  But political?  Just a cursory read through the New Testament will harvest such things as:

• He said to render unto Caesar that which is Caesar's but to render unto God that which is God's.  In my view, that is a clear instruction not to get the two mixed up.  Serve God and serve man as Christ, in your own time with your own treasure.  Share your goods and your time with those less fortunate.  Let Him change your heart so that you learn to do it willingly and with joy.  Don't depend on government and legislation to force you and others. 
• Jesus told us to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, shelter the homeless, comfort the prisoner, care for the sick.  He did NOT tell us to pick up placards and protest in large mobs.
• Whenever the crowd wanted to make a secular leader of him, he escaped and got the heck away from there.  This wasn't what he had in mind.  He is King of Heaven, of our hearts if we allow it, and of our souls.  He did not campaign to be placed on a ballot.  He probably knew what a hash we would make of it anyway as history has shown.
• His response to Pilate was that his kingdom is NOT of this world.  We know from all of the prophets that his secular kingdom will only be instituted when he returns.  In the meantime, we are on our own. However, if we let him into our hearts and let him guide us, we would be fine.

I imagine the Lord doing a major face-palm when he watches us try to insinuate him into politics, or when we insist on forcing our way on others.  


We have it all so backwards.  Jesus wanted us to have a change of heart that would spur us to give and share what we have.  He knows that forcing it through legislation brings resentment and anger and that rather than helping the poor or the disenfranchised, it actually winds up hurting them in the long run.  It also makes the rest of us spiritually lazy and financially sneaky.  Why should I help when the Nanny state will look after it?  Why should I care when there are inept government programs to do that for me?


Outside our parish at the cathedral sits a beggar each week, a lovely man who reads and obviously has some sort of health problem.  He is a gentle man with a very kind heart and we have grown very fond of him.  I will call him 'Joe' for the purposes of this post.  In our parish is a man who often lectures Joe about sitting outside begging when there are programs to prevent this sort of activity.  In other words, the parishioner doesn't want to see the face of poverty.  He wants to pay his taxes and sit in his comfie spot at Mass to partake of a sacramental life with an untroubled conscience.


In a similar vein is the story Studly's  former dentist, a devout Baptist, told him of a smelly beggar with some mental disability who wandered into their church one Sunday and asked a few folks for money.  He wasn't invited to sit down.  Nobody took the initiative to take him to the church kitchen for coffee and something to eat.  He was escorted outside but he came right back in, whereupon the kind folks called the police to take the man away.  The rational was that if they gave him any money or food, he would continue to come back and maybe bring friends.  They would be overrun with those in need and be forced to share their Sundays with the unfortunate ones.  The dentist made the point that for goodness sake, he paid enough taxes to look after these people.  Why are they making pests of themselves?


What is wrong with this picture?  Isn't there something in scripture about taking care to show hospitality to the stranger because we might be unknowingly entertaining angels?  How about Jesus' reminder that what we do for the least of us, we do unto him? Conversely, to refuse to share what we have, even if it is during our church meeting, is to ignore Jesus himself.  Spin it however we want, this is the bottom line.


Put down the protest sign, leave the crowd, then go buy a sandwich for a hungry person and keep him company while he eats it.  Learn his name.  You may feel a bit uncomfortable but you might meet an angel.  You will definitely be serving God.


Oh - and as to the idea that we shouldn't give beggars money because they might buy booze or drugs, lets just leave that between them and God.  Our job is to give with a glad heart.  God will worry about the rest.

The New Babies

Raoul and Mortimer, four weeks old

You may have noticed that the photo for this blog is of a pet rat.  He was the loveliest fellow and his name was Horatio.  Big H was a sweet, loving, smart, clean, loyal little guy and we dearly loved him.  His death from cancer was a sad time.


Life however, is pernicious.  It insists on flourishing no matter our devastation.  Today, to prove the point, our daughter purchased two baby boy ratties and we installed them in the rat mansion.  This is a retro-fitted bird cage that had been originally constructed for a parrot or a couple of cockatiels.  It is a hammered pewter beauty that now has four levels, a hammock, nesting boxes, food bins, water bottle, toys, bedding, perches, and a ladder.  There are numerous other activities and toys in the cupboard to rotate throughout the coming months.  They shouldn't find themselves getting bored.


The new lads entered carefully, noses in constant motion, and little bodies poised for action.  After some sniffing about, they found food, and took some to a nest box.  We had put the box they arrived in inside the cage as well so that there would be something familiar for them.

We watched them all evening as they became accustomed to their new digs, and as they began their orientation into our family.  At bed time I put my old socks that had been worn for a few hours in the cage with them so that my scent would accompany their dreams.  This will help with the bonding process and is well worth the sacrifice of some old footwear!


Eventually they will spend a lot of their time on my shoulders or in my lap.  Domestic fancy rats are amazing pets; clean like cats and they bond like dogs.  Their only flaw is their short lifespans.  

Japanese ink drawing of rats

One lad is charcoal grey with a dark tail and white tummy.  His name is Mortimer.  The other is a lovely champagne hooded rat with a pretty white splotch on his head.  His name is Raoul.  Don't ask why the names.  They just seemed to fit.

Chances are that these two will feature in future posts along with some photos once I get them off the camera and onto the computer.


This is going to be a grand adventure.  It is so good to have critters in the home again.

Welcome to our world Raoul and Mortimer.  May your days be long in the land.


Thank you Rachel.  It is so good to feel the joy of pets again.

Out of Focus

I learned to knit when fairly young, about eleven or so.  At first I hated it.  Of course, we had the Home Economics Nazi as our teacher so it was easy to hate any and all sessions in her classes.   I had to knit at home to complete the projects because she would slap my hands and force them into the prescribed contortions which were impossible for my fingers.  Once I quit trying to manipulate the needles in the 'approved' manner and invented my own methods, I caught on to the skill and found it not quite so horrible.

A few years later when the look of a mohair sweater was all the fashion and my mother wouldn't go along with my taste, I purchased pink mohair out of my own meager summer money, a simple raglan sleeved pattern, and got to work.  I knit like a lunatic at every waking moment.  Other kids were splashing in the pool and there I was, hunkered over yarn while sitting under the willow trees, knitting and purling for dear life.

The finished sweater probably had lots of mistakes, but the fuzz and bloom of the mohair hid them beautifully.  It fit the way it was intended, and I could hardly wait for school to start to show it off.  I tried on the opening day of class but it was a very hot day and my parents had no wish to be called to the school to revive me if I should pass out from heat stroke, and made me change garments.  Dang.
However, this being Canada, the cold weather arrived soon enough and I wowed the crowd in my pink, fuzzy glory.  That sweater was the envy of many girls, and my bravery at making my own became inspirational.  In our little backwater corner of the world it became the rage to knit one's own mohair sweater and the cafeteria was a cacophony as knitting needles clicked and clacked throughout the lunch hours for the next month.  Soon, a veritable haze of mohair began to show up in the hallowed halls; aqua, pale blue, mint green, rose, yellow, and salmon colours were everywhere.  We looked like a herd of multi-hued yaks.

That was my last project until my mid twenties when my brother-in-law and a partner opened a boutique that featured hand made and designed clothing.  He prevailed upon me to dust off my skills and make a few things.

It turned out to be providential.  I had two small children and a horrible marriage along with what turned out to be severe clinical depression and what we now know is fibromyalgia.  I was always sore, exhausted, and hopeless.  I am convinced that knitting kept me alive.  As long as I had a project to finish, I had to keep going.  While I was at it, I made little skirts, sweaters, and dresses for my daughter out of the project leftovers, and I learned to knit mittens and socks.

Years later, when finally diagnosed and had begun treatment for the many lousy symptoms of fibro (at least, those that are treatable), I continued to knit now and then. Eventually, I discovered that unless I had a project or two on hand I was edgy, so I gave in and indulged the habit.  Even if I was on a painting jag, or was busy writing, I needed to have a few knitting projects in reserve to which I turned when stuck, or rattled, or bored, or whatever.

At any given moment there are at least five different knitting tasks on the needles so that no matter the place, time, or mood, I can pick up the needles and keep busy. For me, knitting is prayer, meditation, zen, and deep contemplation.  Knitting calms, clears, and soothes.  

Yes, I have developed a yarn addiction.  My stash groweth by the week and now occupies a few bins.  You never know.  There may be a world yarn shortage and I will need my reserve.  Lately, I've begun collecting luxurious yarns in merino, alpaca, and bamboo.  Every so often, like several times a day, I go to the stash and gloat, fondle, and plan.

As for the focus mentioned in the title, I don't buy enough yarn for one project, then focus on it until completed.  I work on many things and many kinds of things at the same time.  Either I have ADHD or else this is simply HOW I focus.

Nevertheless, the fact that knitting is enjoying an almost spiritual renaissance right now is a bonanza for all of us who are lifelong knitters. The internet is another bonus.  Anything we cannot find in our local shops, we can find and order online.  

My latest love is special and beautiful knitting needles.  I have quite a nice collection of Peace Fleece needles.  They aren't expensive, are a Russian/American cooperative product, and are pleasant to use.
Give them a try!    http://www.peacefleece.com/

Peace Fleece Knitting Needles

 

You Can't Have Everything

Well you can theoretically but you can't have it all at once.  Even if you could, you couldn't use it all at once so what would be the point?  I wonder at those who have huge houses with multitudes of rooms stuffed with incredible objects and exquisite furniture, yet the owners are always 'out' enjoying photo ops etc.  Why all the houses and all those rooms?  Most of them are never seen let alone used.  Why?  Is it just so they can say they have a huge house paid for by a huge salary?  

We had a fairly small house at one time, with three bedrooms, a living/dining combination, a kitchen (eat-in), two baths, and a small basement.  It was too much.  There was only the two of us and our two dogs.  The living/dining room looked pretty but we were rarely in it except when the Queen dropped by for tea or some similar social occasion.  The basement collected junk by an apparent self-propagating mechanism.  The third bedroom was another collect-all.  In other words, spaces we didn't use became storage for stuff we didn't use.
It gave me a headache.
We sold the place and moved to a two bedroom apartment.  Even then there was too much stuff and we spent five years whittling down the mountains until we achieved a streamlined, comfortable, but manageable lifestyle.
Now we live in a slightly smaller place and we have our lives organized and headache-free. It takes constant vigilance though as that mechanism mentioned above tends to kick in at a moment's notice and piles of things start erupting like zits throughout the place.

All this leads to the title.  I have always wanted my own motorcycle.  I rode when a youngster and wanted my own little vehicle so badly.  My parents were adamant that such a thing would never enter my life.  The dream continued throughout marriage, children, work, debts, home buying and the usual flotsam of Western hemispherical life.  
Now in our empty nest years, I thought "why the heck not?"..

I bought a sweet little electric motor driven EMMO.  I was thrilled and could hardly wait for decent weather to get out on it.
That day arrived this past Wednesday and the flaw in my thinking became immediately apparent.

My body has not kept pace with my dreams.  It has stubbornly aged.  Riding a motorbike, even a little puttputt requires a level of agility that my hips, back, arms, and legs haven't manifested in years.  This is going to take some time and practice.  It might even take some *gasp* strengthening exercise.  Crud.  All I wanted to do was have my own wheels when Studly was at work with the car.  I didn't want to WORK at anything.  I wanted easy.
Why is it that nothing is ever...easy that is?

Long story short - I have a motorbike.  Now to ride it without killing myself or causing mayhem on the roads of my fair city.

Last One to Arrive

I'm usually punctual.  I am annoyingly on time.  When an invitation states that the party starts at eight PM, I arrive at about five to eight.  Inevitably, mine hosts are still in their bathrobes and racing about the house dusting the plants or drying out the canapes.  

Why say eight when they mean nine?  The explanation offered is that people are always late so they invite for an hour earlier, knowing that the guests will arrive an hour later.  This makes sense I suppose.  When I first moved to our idyllic city I was unnerved by how many ruined dinners I served because guests simply never showed up at the time specified.  Of course, this was offset by my rattling sense of punctuality.

So, considering this, why am I so late in starting a blog?

The short answer is that I'm too lazy to monitor it, babysit it, get it dressed, take it out for a walk, feed it, and all the other things that a new responsibility requires.  It would also take away from my preferred occupation of making stuff.  However, when I consider that a blog is yet another thing to make, it all falls into place.

I am now blogging because it is another way to create.  Lucky you.

I'm hoping to post experience, humour, and to provoke some thoughtfulness.  May you read long and prosper.