Spares?

Isn’t Instagram inspiring? My graddaughter was inspired to forward pictures of a portable quilted checkerboard that led a double life as a tic tac toe game. 

I was inspired to make it for her.

I rifled through my fabric stash and found some leftover bits from making her baby quilt! And I chopped up (upcycled) a denim shirt and pondered checkers. 

Wooden checkers! Drat!  I used to have the exact checkers for this moment, but they had been carted off to the thrift shop as we downsized once and then twice. 

Back to the thrift shop I went. 

Sure enough.  Lovely wooden checkers. Brown and cream. But not enough. At least that is what I mistakenly thought. And so I bought another set.  At a different thrift shop.  It came bundled with two other sets. I had needed 24 checkers.  I now had 96! It’s good to have spares, right? 

Buzzes

A bold bumble bee buzzes on the back of a booksleeve. 

Bees of course

She drew me a picture when she was seven, of the way she wanted her ‘13’ quilt to look.  She wanted honeycomb, lots of honeycomb.  And dripping honey.  And a flower.  And bees of course.  That goes without saying.  

Two sides

Every quilt has two sides.  It’s not always clear which side is up and which is down. 

Weighty

Aren't traditions a wondrous thing? We have a Turned Thirteen tradition in our family.  As each of my grandchildren have teetered on the brink of teenage years I have upcycled denim into a quilt: a weighty gift befitting a weighty moment in time.  

Room to breathe

I turned into a parking spot as close to the entry as possible.  Hooray! Let joy be undiminished! Fling wide the door! We are at the pool. 

And that’s when we noticed the very long school bus swing up as close to the entry as possible and fling wide IT’S door. Children poured out in an unending stream. It made me think of those old skits where people are climbing into a car on one side and clambering out the other or like a magician pulling an endless scarf from his sleeve. 

As we entered the pool, so likewise did an astonishing throng.  Extra lifeguards were on duty. They even brought in trainees!

The deep end was elbow to elbow.  The shallow zone, a giant splash and shriek zone. 

Optimistically , three lanes down the center were preserved until like soldiers breaching the castle wall, children gained a lane and another until a lone lane remained. But what a lovely lane it was. One long stretch of empty beckoning water. Chaos to the right and chaos to the left but before and behind was room to glide and turn and float and breathe. 

It is

 

My granddaughter showed me a picture of a pink sweater she liked. Isn't it a gift when someone shares with you their likes and dislikes? 

This sweater was a charmer, with clusters of crocheted cherries scattered over it. Isn't a child's wish a siren call to spring into action?

It took a few months to find a pink sweater that was the right color. Isn't pink a happy color?

And it took a little longer to crochet cherries and leaves. Isn't it exhilarating to learn something new?

And a little longer to stitch them on in just the right spots? Isn't it strange that it takes planning to make things look randomly placed?

Cherish

 I thought I would talk about crochet in honour of the letter C but as I sat huddled and cold, watching my grandson play hockey this morning while birds slept, I realized the letter C was all around me.  Not just the cold either.  There are coaches. Some, the definition of cool, calm control and others, “sound and fury.”

There is the constant crunch and crash as players launch themselves into the path of danger.  And a whole lot of checking and cheering. 

But the biggest C by far is the clock.  The large fickle clock that goes far too slowly when your team is perilously in the lead and far too fast when you are clawing your way from behind. 

The clock that says there is ten minutes left but you know by doing a series of complicated mathematical formulas that there is actually19 minutes of play left. 

And when you straggle out into the light of day, older and wiser, you are thankful because you know those moments are a limited time offer and therefore, something to cherish. 

Sociable squirrel

 As my granddaughter dashed down the driveway with the recycle bin, a squirrel dashed beside her, branch to branch. When she stopped, the squirrel stopped. When she pressed on, thus did the squirrel. 

This morning as we hurried to the car, the squirrel was watching us.  Down the tree trunk it scrambled, black eyes locking with ours. 

Such a sociable squirrel.

twice as nice

 If crocheting with one color is pretty, two is twice as nice.

she asked

 She asked for a bucket hat, green and goggle-eyed.

air dry

Last year, which sounds longer ago than it was, Otter coop gave little packets of air dry clay with purchases as a promotion. The color was a surprise although some colors were as rare as hens teeth and I ended up buying a box of clay to get all the colors which was likely the point of the promotion. 

Air dry clay is wonderful for making jewelry because it is so incredibly light when it has dried. Well, it is light before it dries too. No baking in the oven. No fumes. No glue. Lovely.

My granddaughters eyes lit up at the mere sight of it. Earrings!!

My oldest granddaughter created rainbows. Giant rainbows that would have been terrifyingly heavy in any other clay. These were weightless. 

                                                                                

 

 My youngest granddaughter quickly fashioned several sets of earring hopefuls. 

 

I decided on a necklace because my ears have nary a piercing.

Licorice Allsorts remind me of my Dad....and my husband. What better inspiration can a woman have for jewelry than the men in her life.

winter baby

 

My granddaughter gave me a pad of watercolor paper that is two and a half inches by three and a half. I absolutely LOVE painting that size!!

This is a birthday card for my winter baby.

once for all

"Have you seen the robin eggs yet?" my granddaughter asks. "No," I say, leaping from the lawn chair in anticipation.  Away we dash,  around the corner of the house and up the stairs to the deck. Bumping into each other, clutching arms, and holding our breath, we tip toe towards the far corner. 

A robin has faithfully nested year after year in our yard and this trek to the deck has become a yearly pilgrimage.  We have knelt, bowing slowly, our foreheads touching the dry dusty boards, eyes zooming in and out of focus, the nest a few inches below. 

This year my granddaughter became the guide (and the tech support). She asked for my phone and placed it over the space between the boards, screen side up and there were the eggs! Three dusky green eggs glowing in the golden grass of the nest. No bending or bowing. She even snapped a picture for posterity, suggesting this new view would be less stressful for the mother robin, a sort of once for all and all for once.

georgie

 

My granddaughters are two of Moriah Elizabeth's six million fans. They love to curl up and watch her brandish her paintbrush. She has created dozens of 'squishie' characters but Georgie, the pineapple duck is a legend in his own time. 

 

With stars in my eyes, I stitched up a little felt version of Georgie.

 

 

To impress my granddaughters. 

 

But alas, their hearts belong to Pickle. (the dinosaur) 

 

 

Fame has tarnished Georgie as fame often does.

little

 She wanted a Kitten dressed in green with Mary Janes to match. And she mentioned she was 'desperate.'

Her sister wanted a Bunny with a white pom-pom tail, a bend in one ear and a tie-dyed t-shirt. Little felt friends.

worth the effort

It is equally important to remember the bumps in the road as it is to remember the perspective gained from them and so I offer a disclaimer with this story. I offer it because 2021 is still fresh and new, like a field of snow with no footprints, while this woeful tale unfolded way back in well trampled 2020.  

The happy hum of voices changed and I could hear my granddaughters quibbling. Is there a sound that is sadder to the ear of a grandparent than the sound of their grandchildren quibbling? The Younger One began to cry and was soon recounting the Human Rights Violations of her older sister, not so much in that moment, but as a past pattern in her perspective. The Older One seemed determined to placate and negotiate but to no avail. The past and the present have a way of being viewed as a single force when the chips are down. Thank goodness the unkindness of yesterday is not written with indelible marker. It takes a bit of scrubbing sometimes but its worth the effort for the shine underneath.

list

My granddaughter gave me her Christmas list. It was so long she kindly put it in a duo-tang folder.

my whole heart

"Can you make me a hamster Gramma?" she asked, her voice so hopeful.

Requests from Grandchildren are sort of like relay races and the passing of the baton.

Here they come, their eyes bright with hope.

Their arms are stretched out towards you for all they're worth.

Your eyes lock.

You feel the weighty responsibility of trust.

You seize their request with determination.

And off you sprint.

It is up to you now.

You MUST not fail.

The finish line is THERE, just ahead.

You hurl yourself onward.

Abandoning the idea of a crocheted hamster,
I don't crochet,

or a knitted one so sweet,
don't really knit either,

or a felted one,

or a pom pom one...

Wait, a pom pom one!

That could be it!

I didn't have yarn because I neither knit nor crochet but maybe I could GET yarn.

I donned a mask and ventured to a Dollar Store.

I was as socially distant as I could be, standing afar.

Inside at last, I bought the only ball that could remotely be considered hamster-ish.

Smugly clutching a ball of thick and fluffy brown, rust, tan, beige yarn, I hastened home and whipped up a pom pom.

It promptly disintegrated.

Who knew some fluffy yarns are made with fibre threaded onto a center strand.

My hamster would have shed, and molted and been as mangy as can be in no time at all.

The finish line wavered briefly.

Felt!!

There is always felt!

When all else fails, sew.

I rounded the last curve and made a dash for it with my whole heart.

made for walking

Very tall boots

for a very tall doll

who never takes off her ballet slippers

 (They have ribbons that needed to be covered)

when she isn't dancing. 

THESE boots are made for walking.