Today, company comes! The first wave of friends and food arrive soon. I can’t wait.

This year everything will just be perfect!

After all, Christmas is my favourite time of the year…
The cookies, trimming the tree, getting a puppy, resolving all past hurts, and even getting that promotion at work that I’ve worked so hard for will happen, but not without a little conflict first and it will probably snow.

More than anything though, I’m looking forward to falling in love with my old boy friend who left for Paris, ten years ago, and never called, but also never forgot his pinky swear that he will love me forever!

We will accidentally bump into each other at the book store, library, or old holiday inn, that he is trying to close down so he can build a mall, or condos for the super rich. But, I will fight to keep it open, without any money, because it was my dead fathers dream. I learned all about it from Santa who told me while I wished on a snow globe.

We will both see the error of our ways, I’ll dump the nice guy who likes, but doesn’t love me, after a snowball fight or a big dance. We will feed the homeless. I’ll wear high heels, sexy dresses and have perfect makeup and tousled hair. We will eat only cookies, and pie, I’ll drink wine alone and hot cocoa, and Folgers coffee with others. We will wrap presents with big bows. I will knit homemade scarfs and give them to the needy.

Then, my future husband, (who happens to be a hunk!) will wake out of the coma he got when he fell, after putting my favourite angel ornament on the towns Christmas tree. He will then realize he never should have gone to Paris in the first place, that his heart has always been in Podunk, Ohio and with ME!

Santa will grant my wish. I will have a perfect wedding, my best friend will be my bridesmaid, and get together with my old boyfriend. My hunky husband and I will save the library, bookstore, or inn, and then move to a farm, take in orphaned children, put a show on in the barn, and finally… finally we will kiss under the mistletoe!

Whew. More nog-egg please!
Merry Christmas everyone!

• I was glad to get out for a hike after the big storm yesterday.

I’ve been walking a particular trail the last week, an easy 5 km loop I can do from the house.

It didn’t take long to realize that the storm was rough all over the coast. Trees were down and branches were strewn all across across the trail. It was a mess.

It’s easy to see the damage on the coast, but holy moly, the havoc the wind caused in the bush was amazing. Seeing trees snapped in half is quite a sight.

As I walked, I found the need to duck and weave as branches lay across the trail both at eye and chest level. At first, I thought someone had actually put barriers up on purpose.

The trail had become dangerous. It was necessary to watch not only my footwork, so I wouldn’t trip, but also I had to watch that I didn’t get smacked in the face, or knocked in the head by a fallen branch.

I’ve been hiking for years now. I take full advantage of the trails and appreciate the condition I find them. I often wonder who goes in with chain saws and strong backs, doing the work of creating a trail matrix that is open to the public. Becky said mountain bike clubs groom trails often, and I’m sure park people do as well. Whom ever you are… Salute!

My dad used to say doing something good in the world and not talking about it is the hardest thing to do. I know he liked getting attention — we all do. There is a word that describes the phenomenon of not talking about your good deeds. I can’t think of it right now, and the google is no help. But, I need writing topics more than I need attention, but apples don’t fall far…

So, instead of hiking my hike and bobbing and weaving along the trail, I took some extra time and cleaned up what I could.

Some branches I tangled with were really awkward— others were easier to break up and move around. Really, the clean up was not that hard. My gloves got wet and my boots, and jeans were a muddy mess. Still, I was happy to do my part so the next person didn’t have to.

Ken walks with a small plastic garbage bag. He picks up trash when he wanders. He never says anything about it. But, like I said, I’m a Hudson, so look at me!

Besides, Ken doesn’t have a bloggy thing — he’s just a good guy.

Oh, the weather outside is frightful….

The South Coast of BC got beat up pretty bad yesterday. Wind, wind, and more wind.

BC Ferries cancelled most of their sailings from Tsawwassen and Horseshoe Bay, and the few boats that did run, provided wild rides with passengers “screaming and crying”!

I heard even the Bowen Island boat was sidelined for a few sailing. That’s rare. The Langdale Boat (the one we use to get us to the mainland) ran for most of the day, but I heard they cancelled the last sailing. Crazy times.

We were told once, that people on the coast spend an inordinate amount of time, talking about the ferry. But after all, the ferry is the road home for us, and yesterday, when it wasn’t closed, it was dangerous.

Docks and piers all around the coast were smashed and destroyed. While one nut bar went surfing, others had to be rescued from the waves. I heard at least one person died.

We were lucky. We stayed home. Our house was safe and warm. It never dawned on me to go out “in it.” Yet, I know friends who grabbed their camera and ran towards the waves! Yikes!

We did our small part and offered refuge to our friends and their dogs, who tried in vain, to get home to Port Alberni from Vancouver. While we are hardly “on the way,” we were able to offer leftover Chinese takeout and a place to sleep, to the weary travelers.  They set out early this morning, and I predict will be safely home later tonight.

Sometimes you need a port, and sometimes you are the port.

There were a lot of folks who did not get to sleep in a safe place last night. Havoc was wreaked all over the coast. And I in my night-shirt and pa in his cap… oops… I got side tracked.

This morning looks calm, and clear – so, as the clean up begins, remember to tip your servers, and please give a shout out of thanks to all the people who work hard keeping us safe during hard times, especially the ferry workers.

We’ve all seen the video of the little girl taking to herself in the bathroom mirror.

She goes on and on, at length, about how she is good enough, strong enough, beautiful enough, etc, etc. etc… she does this, so as to learn.

I’ve been looking for writing topics and went back to some notes I wrote for Today’s Step. (That’s the app I wrote years ago, and Allyson developed.) Today’s Step is full of daily sayings to encourage a practice for people in recouvery.

At first glance, I was flabbergasted.
I started to wonder if perhaps maybe, because of the fact that I’m retired and my interests have changed, maybe… I wasn’t exactly sure… but I found, when I was reading, the wise sayings … today, they seemed… uhm… silly. No, not silly … they seemed obvious.

At the time, I wrote them with sincerity, and honesty. I would read them daily for encouragement and inspiration. So it was odd to feel… nothing.

And, because I didn’t have the same feelings, that I had in the past, it bothered me.

So  … I’m just writing out loud now… maybe, because I don’t feel the same way, perhaps, I don’t need the same encouragement today — maybe I actually learned the lessons they meant to inspire.

Perhaps. that’s why the words now seem … dare I say, quaint or even trite?

Once again, I seem to be on the theme of, when you know, you know.

For example…
There are 1,440 minutes in a day — take 20 for your own practice. • Notice you’re all right, right now • Keep going • Be curious • Enjoy your hands • Accept the limits of your influence • Dream big dreams • Put out fires • Be generous • Belong, Be Strong. • Embrace your strengths, embrace your friends.• If you do not know where to start, start with your breath. • Go walking to look within, not around • Your body is not your masterpiece — your life is. • Courage, intelligence and love are never out of place. • Do the next right thing.

Well, Duh…

I’m about the luckiest woman in the world.
I had the great privilege to stay sober and practice an art, that I happen to get good at. I got really good because I taught and practiced. And because I taught and practiced – I learned.

Ring a bell.

In Wilson Creek, about a 15 minutes drive from our house is Wildflower Quilt Studios. A beautiful big building in a wooded setting, with several out buildings. The place has multiple work rooms, and two long arm quilting machines.

A friendly, and talented woman named Tess owns Wildflower. It’s a lovely place to visit.

I’ve had two quilts quilted there now, and while I miss dealing with the incomparable Jo Baner — Tess is local. (Plus, she has two Portuguese Water Dogs, I get to pet.)

I’ve been to Wildflower quite a few times now. Tess keeps the place hopping. She offers quilts shows, demos, lessons, and fabric sales. There is also an on-going “open studio” with space for quilters to come and work on projects.

The other day, we were out there for about an hour. That is where I found the Bali knots score. But… we left before the real action began. Besides the fabric sale — the day was packed  full with demos and show & tells. Quilters from all around the coast were there.

I heard snacks were served and still, it didn’t dawn on me to hang around.

My mom was in several quilt guilds. Wildflower would be a place she would join in a heartbeat. Alice loved social quilting. She participate in challenge quilts and loved block exchanges. She was always working on a project for the fair or a show. Her funeral was packed with quilter friends.

Mom went to quilt camp the way I went to Tai Chi camp. The women in her quilt guild were as important to her, as my training partners were to me.

Alas, Alice and I differ.

I am a solo quilter. I tried to imagine myself sitting with those women, as a world class quilter, shared techniques and ideas. I wondered who I would have sat next to, what new idea I would come home with, who in that room might become a friend or mentor.

But no, I’m not a social quilter.

I’ve been quilting since 1984. Honestly, I could use a lesson. I’m really not very good. I’ve only taken two lessons in all those years. I tend to rip and sew. I know a lesson or workshop would be an excellent idea… but meh… I’m not interested.

Nope, I’m not a social quilter. Some things you go at alone!

I’m quite impressed with both the amount of reading I did this year, and the quality of books I read. Sure there were a few dogs, but there were also some great reads. So, toot-toot!

Reading is reading to me — but, I’ve listed the audio books separate from the book books. I happen to think audio books are the greatest thing since sliced bread. Without audio books, I wouldn’t even attempt books like Anna Karenina or Kristin Lavransdatter for example. Plus, I can “read” while I sew and I like that a lot.

I marked my favourites with a * and put a # by titles I did not finish.

My number one author this year is Drew Hayden Taylor! My favourite read this year was either Floating in my Mothers Palm by Ursula Hegi or The Signature of All Things by Elizabeth Gilbert. I will say The Never-Ending Present and Moby Dick were boring! Winter Stroll and Mistletoe Promise were holiday fluff and I’m a little embarrassed I actually read them.

I will say, I am grateful. Being able to read is the greatest gift and having a library card is the bow on the package.

There are still a couple of weeks left in the year and I’m still reading, so this list will be a book or two longer when 2019 comes a calling.

These books were audio
Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy
Big Little Lies by Liane Moriaty
Kristin Lavransdatter by Sigrid Undset
A Gentleman in Moscow by Armor Towles
* The True Story of the Kelly Gang by Peter Carey
* The Signature of All Things by Elizabeth Gilbert
* The Great Alone by Kristen Hannah
* Pachinko by Min Jin Lee
* Run, Hide, Repeat by Pauline Dakin
# The Never-Ending Present: The Story of Gord Downie & the Tragically Hip by Michael Barclay
All My Puny Sorrows by Miriam Toews
The Wanderers by Meg Howey
# Moby Dick by Herman Melville
* Bless me Ultima by Rudolfo Anaya
Winter Stroll by Elin Hilderbrand
Mistletoe Promise by Richard Evans
# Becoming by Michelle Obama
The Secret Diary of Hendrik Groen by Hendrik Groen

The following books were book books
A Number of Things by Jane Urquhart
Woman Enters Left by Jessica Brockmole
Please Proceed to the Nearest Exit by Jessica Raya
Bossy Pants by Tina Fey
Yes Please by Amy Poehler
* The Reluctant Fundamentalist by Mohsin Hamid
Commonwealth by Ann Patchett
* Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet by Jamie Ford
Day After Night by Anita Diamant
The Whole of His Life by Elizabeth Hay
Paper Shadows by Wayson Choy
Light Lifting by Alexander McColl Smith
* Me Funny by Drew Hayden Taylor
# Barbarian Days – William Finnegan
A man called Ove by Fredrik Backman
Mrs. Queen takes the Train by William Kuhn
The Husband’s Secret by Liane Moriarty
# Own the Day by Aubrey Marcus
Let me Lie by Clare Mackintosh
The Closer we are to Dying by Joe Fiorito
The Year of Living Virtuously by Teresa Jordan
The Flight Attendant by Chris Bohjalian
Don’t Let Go by Harlen Coben
# The Man Who Carried Cash by Julie Chadwick
Other People’s Houses by Abby Waxman
The Hypnotist’s Love Story by Liane Moriarty
* Berlin Blues by Drew Hayden Taylor
* The Baby Blues by Drew Hayden Taylor
* 400 Kilometres by Drew Hayden Taylor
First Comes Love by Emily Giffin
# Tiger Tiger by Johanna Skibsrud
Love over Scotland by Alexander McCall Smith
# Tales of the City by Armistead Maupin
* The Little Stranger by Sarah Waters
* Pieces of Her by Karin Slaughter
Keeper by Mal Peet
The Zoo by Christopher Wilson
* The Tattooist of Auschwitz by Heather Morris
* The Masterpiece by Fiona Davis
* Floating in my Mothers Palm by Ursula Hegi
How the Light Gets In by Louise Penny
I’ll be there for you by Kelsey Miller
The Good Pilot Peter Woodhouse by Alexander McCall Smith
A Northern Light by Jennifer Donnelly

Call me Alice!
That’s right — we went to a fabric sale yesterday and I did a little shopping.

Ken was a generous enabler as well. I did try to put a few things back, but he put them on the check out counter and said, “If there was a big sale on wood, you know I’d be stocking up.”

Granted, we don’t do the “tit for tat” thing when we shop, but we also don’t say no to each other. We are lucky, we can afford to support our hobbies and well a sale is a sale!

Plus, on the advice of painting teacher, and friend extraordinaire, Jess Rice, who said, “Paint like a millionaire.” The advice is hobby fluid.

Usually, when I buy fabric I get fat quarters — yesterday, I discovered Bali Knots!

I had never heard of them before — but now that I know — holy moly, ring a bell – I can’t unknow and life is good!

Bail knots are scrap strips of batiks, that are discarded (at the distributor’s warehouse) during the process of transferring batik fabric from HUGE rolls to smaller cardboard sleeves. A machine unrolls the fabric, and a worker supervises the process. When the worker comes upon a seam, they will cut and remove the seam and continue rolling the fabric.

The woman who owned the fabric store in Gibsons, bought these discarded strips, that 2 – 4 inches wide, and 44 inches long. She then mixed up the colours, gathered 12 – 14 strips, and tied them in a knot.

Bali knots!

She used them for display in her store, and now that she’s gone out of business, she was selling them for $8.95. a knot.

I came home with this delight of colour and spent yesterday pressing and sorting the fabric and loading up the bins in my stash!

Over the years, as I’ve culled and sewn through my moms hoard, and sometimes slowly, sometime quickly, built up my own stash of fabric. I see, that I favour batiks, and with the very small exception of fabric — pretty much all I hoard is sweet batik!

Starting a new project is fun and easy with a load of fabric on hand. My stash is organized the way I used to organize tai chi books, — by colour.

Since all the books I had at one time were all on the same topic, organizing them by the colour made perfect sense. And now that the majority of my fabric stash is pretty much all batiks – I’m happy to say, I’ve blue bin and red bin and yellow bin — you get the idea.

Life is good here in the Parker house.

I’m sewing like a millionaire!

We have two bells in our house. There is a sick bell and a bell of enlightenment.

The first is obvious. If you get sick, a bell is put near your bed or chair. When said, sick person needs anything, they ring the bell. Then the healthy person in the house, comes running to be of whatever service is needed. Usually, the sickie just needs attention or a poor baby,

The other bell in the house, is one we use to ring in any form of enlightenment.

I feel the moments of clarity we enjoy in life deserve celebration. My friend Kathy, would in lieu of a bell, give you a, “Toot-toot!” There are times we need to toot our own horn, or ring our own bell.

Last night was one of those time for me. Ding ding, toot-toot! Bells were ringing and horns were tooting! I had a moment of clarity and my privilege is showing.

This last month, I’ve been tying to listen to Becoming by Michelle Obama. I’m struggling with it.

Okay – Michelle Obama is a brilliant woman, good writer, and easy to listen to. I admire her. Her life experiences are interesting for sure, and still, I have put her book on pause three times now. I’ve needed to changed gears and listen to other books. I come back to her for a chapter or two and then again I turn her off.

Why? Everyone I speak to LOVES the book is.
Hmmmmm…

Ring the bell – I realize I am uncomfortable reading about politics, racism, sexism in the same way I don’t want to read about war and violence.

Besides, with the exception of Sasha’s swimming lessons and Michelle’s private gatherings with girlfriends, we know a lot about the Obamas. We followed their successes, and failures and sadly, we know what happen when they left.

Yes, she goes high when others go low. And maybe because, so many people, go so very low, so very often… it’s frustrating. I’m tired of shaking my head when I read. No wonder I want to stop.

I don’t want to hear about the fucker Trump, the GOP, and all the haters. It makes me sick when I hear about and see the damage these people seem to cause on purpose and at times, with glee.

I’ll say it again, I do not like stories about war, violence, or injustice. Ring the bell, I now also know I don’t want to read about politics, racism and sexism.

Ding – ding.

When I quit a book I want to know why.
Moby Dick was boring. Becoming, is not boring, but I was uncomfortable and had that sick feeling in my gut when I listened. The same goes for Hillary Clinton’s book. Nope.

I admire Hillary Clinton and Michelle Obama very much. I salute their work and persistence. I cannot fathom the obstacles they encounter basically for the fact of their sex and race. They stand tall while being called names, are disregarded and diminished. They are two shakers and movers in the world I want to live in. They are role models and heroes. They are not perfect, but they are about 10 million times better than the men who constantly attacked them.

I am not turning my back to the realities of sexism, racism, and stupidism. How can I? Yet, right now, I have the extreme privilege to hold a library card, that enables me to read, watch and listen to what I want.

I don’t need books to stress me out. So ring the bell of enlightenment and bring me the lastest Alexander McColl Smith book.

I love New York, so when a show about Bergdorf Goodmans came on TV last night – I grabbed the popcorn!

Bergdorf Goodmans is the crown jewel of New York shopping! We are talking about serious fashion, fancy people, ridiculous designers, and money, money, money.

That world is so incredibly different from the life I lead and I could not look away.

While I am a small town girl, I’m not a stranger to New York City.
Both of my parents grew up in New York City. We visited often as children. My dads father was a cop who walked a beat. My other Grandfather was a doctor who lived on West End Avenue. My Grandma worked in a bakery and served John and Bobby Kennedy when they were boys. (She said they were very polite.)

My Grandmother Chambers shopped at Bergdorfs Goodmans and brought my mother with her when she was a girl. I know this because she both told me stories and she took me there as well.  Also, I found several BG boxes with beautiful, never worn, elbow length, fancy gloves, in my moms stuff, when we cleaned out mom’s hoard.

The opulence of the store is over the top in so many ways. I’m going out on a limb here and will guess the cost of the window decorations at Christmas is a tad more than the yearly budget for our homeless shelter here on the coast!

The shoes, handbags, furs, jewellery… they sell the designer’s name more so than the actual item. Begging the question… Who are you wearing? More so, though, you aren’t a designer, not really… if your line isn’t in Bergdorf Goodmans.

The thing I got a kick out of with the show was they made a point about how the owners (Mr. and Mrs. Goodman) lived “above the store.” Just like regular shopkeepers! Okay, so they had the top two floors of the building with eight windows over looking Central Park and five windows watching Fifth Avenue. How quaint!

Customer service is, shall we say important at BG. They call the clerks, personal shoppers, and they work on commission. Most are known to make upward of $500,000 a year. They are trained well and when the question is “how much is that?” The answer is straightforward. “It’s very expensive.”

A few years ago, Sandie and I went to Bergdorf Goodmans when we were in New York. I tried on a $15,000 vest. It might have been one on sale, because it actually had a price tag on it!

This vest would have been a “special occasion” type of vest, not your everyday vest. Certainly not something you would get years of use from. Sure, it was lovely and well made, but the $15,000 vest was not meant to be an investment in quality clothing. whoever bought that vest would have done so as a folly — maybe it would be worn once to a holiday party.

They talked about Yoko Ono buying $400,000. worth of furs at Christmas. Oh, to be on her gift list! They told the story of the lady who wanted her ashes spread at Bergdorfs when she died and they also remembered how sales fell – the day after Bernie Madoff was arrested.

I remember, thinking how strange it was that we (Sandie and I) were allowed to try these fancy things on without adult supervision. I don’t remember a sales person approaching us that day. As I said, they work on commission… perhaps, they knew, Sandie and I didn’t have a party to go to that night!

I drive Ken mad because I don’t plan creative projects.

On the whole, I’m a very organized person. I make lists of chores, I know what bills need paying, and when. I’m very good at follow though. I can plan for trips, meals, and visitors. I check things off a list in an orderly and timely fashion.

But, when it comes to being “creative,” at least with fabric… I cut and sew.

There are a few times, I have a general idea of what I’d like the project to look like, but rarely, and that is a true fact of life, rarely, does the finished project look anything like my first idea.

For instance, I started a quilt last week, and sort of had a plan! Okay, not a plan, but an idea.

I went to Ken because — contrary to my ideal life — quilting uses math, and math makes me crazy, and Ken calms my crazy.

Over the years, I’ve struggled with words and for the most part, I’m happy to say that while I’m sure I still miss a lot, words and reading are easier for me than ever before. Math on the other hand has NEVER made sense and I’ve ALWAYS struggled with it.

In high school I had to have a math credit. I had no chance of success in algebra or geometry. Finally, I was put in a class that tried like hell to teach me, and one other guy how to make change. Hell, addition and subtraction put my brain in a tizzy.

Ken taught junior high math class years ago. Lord knows he has done his best to teach me. I’ve done my best to learn, but nine times out of 10, I end up in tears of frustration. My mind goes blank – I don’t get it. I don’t see it, I can’t.

“Just tell me the answer.” I beg.

Last week, I was reading a book about Buffy Saint-Marie. In the very first chapter, she revealed that she had a form a dyslexia that made it hard for her to read music. The symbols looked like goobly gook to her. She mentioned that there was also a form of dyslexia for numbers called, dyscalculia. It is a learning difficulty associate with numeracy and affects the ability to acquire mathematical skills.

Ding, ding, ding!

Well, that stopped me in my tracks. I had to look up the word right away and holy moly, as some cats in the world say, “If it fits, I sits!”

Dyscalculia!

I’ve heard say, that knowing what is wrong, getting a diagnosis for instance, can bring almost as much relief to a person as an actual cure can.

Knowing what is “wrong” … helps.