~ A blog about creativity (knitting, sewing); art, literature and travel; other vintage detours; and fundamentally about the personal behind the specific
I hope everyone is well. I had a busy week but I did have one sewing interaction that got me thinking again about my missing creativity.
A sewing colleague stopped at my office to show a jacket she has made. It was a lovely jacket well made. She mentioned an indy I think for the pattern (Pauline maybe?) that I of course did not know, but it was a pretty jacket. Relatively unfitted so also practical. In a pretty pattern and colours.
It was interesting because the colleague made me think of the salad days of sewing blogs maybe fifteen years ago, when people were fired up about learning to sew and improving their skills. This colleague seems to be at that stage, despite being an older person who likely learned when young and let it go and then picked it up again. I envied her her motivation and passion!
I have been feeling very limp passion about everything lately. Actually that’s not true. I do feel the passion. It’s travelling the road between passion and action that is proving difficult! I also, as always, struggle between competing inspiration and then not enough time to get going and sustain the motivation. But that’s my own fault, my own time allocation issue.
For example, I have had a historical fiction piece in my head for a while, that has slowly been growing its storyline in my head. But would I ever have the motivation to write it all down? The drive to edit?
I constantly see knitting inspiration, but I can’t seem to finish any of the projects I get back to. So many half done sweaters!
(I do have a visitor at the moment so I am not entirely to blame for time use.)
Despite this I watch TV or movies sometimes and photograph inspiration from them, such as this hat on A N3tflix thing about Danish exploration last night (I don’t have a Greenland theme here; it just sort of happened!). The title was something about Ic3..will look it up. Story of my life. A nice little movie, especially if you enjoy frostbite.
There was even a sort of Faro3se sweater on one of the main characters.
Each time I see something I think, “Ooh I want to make something inspired by this!”
And then I don’t. Thud.
I did do some photography in the last couple of weeks and set up my painting desk. I do think I will be doing some painting this spring and summer, developing a portable practice. That felt urgent and still does.
But I miss my knitting and sewing. When I heard the colleague talking about taking courses to learn to sew beautiful plackets and cuffs etc. I could see the drive. Where’s mine??
I do watch that lovely All Cr3atures show on Sunday nights and all of the post-war sweaters make me want to knit them also…Doesn’t this look perfectly springy?
Tell me your stories of ins and outs and creative joy and creative pause.
I feel I want back in to my creative life and I need to give myself a push to go all in.
I had a feeling yesterday that I’d want to write this morning. I had such a lovely day yesterday, although I was intermittently feeling very cold. I had the longest hot shower when I got home.
I went to an outdoor winter festival on the grounds of the residence of the Governor General (the King’s representative in Canada, i.e. the one who officially dissolves Parliament at the request of the PM, when that occurs, but otherwise more of a ceremonial role). The actual Governor General is an Inuit woman who is currently on tour in Greenland, so she wasn’t there, but a lovely time was had by all nonetheless!
I was outside for five hours in -19C with wind gusts bringing the temperature down. I would have been fine had my feet not been cold, since I had plenty of layers on and a warm parka. There were plenty of families and wee kids in little snowsuits. They all seemed fine. I guess I’m old (!), with poor circulation to my toes, but I also discovered that indeed I do need to buy a new pair of winter boots (and I should have worn better socks – my fault). I realized that I normally don’t feel cold in the cold because I’m always walking quickly on my way somewhere. I never wait around. Yesterday I was with friends and we stopped at all of the booths to play the games and answer the trivia questions(and eat the snacks). I thought my feet were going to freeze solid!
I also had my fill of sugary drinks: mulled wine with the alcohol gone at the Nordic snack bar; hot spiced apple cider at the German tent; and hot chocolate everywhere else, including by the skating rink. I ran out of time for the Korean tea. The hot drinks do make a difference, but not when your feet hurt!
I remember during the pandemic when I saw a picture of a little yellow Swedish house on a highway somewhere outside of a city in Sweden and I dreamed of being there. Clearly I have fantasies of moving further north. I often think that if I were to move countries I’d want to move to Finland (for the pools and saunas, not the proximity to Russia). or Norway or Denmark. It’s so strange the way we fantasize about things like this. I think it’s the sense of design and the sense of humour, plus the small populations and aura of coziness about these places, despite the dark sides that exist in all cultures, not to mention the light situation. Mr G absolutely fell in love with Iceland when we were there, although I don’t know that he proposed moving there. We didn’t have blackout curtains in our rental and the light at midnight drove me insane!
All that said, I feel an affinity for northern peoples. I think maybe I need to move north again in my own country! Mr G is fascinated by Inuit art, although he might draw the line at moving to James Bay in my own province or the NWT or NU.
I studied once in Florence with a girl from Norway who had a lot of money to spend, back when I was a student. I remember she proposed we go to an expensive restaurant and I was counting my pennies. Then I understood why a young Norwegian would have so much cash. Something I remember is that she lamented the dating situation in Osl0, which was a city of half a million people at the time, saying that everyone was her cousin. (Clearly not true, but it was a change of perspective!)
In any case, the event yesterday was an annual event that I haven’t been to in many years. I don’t know why I haven’t been. I suppose I’ve been too lazy. Sometimes the weather is unpleasant, too, in February, with freezing rain topping the list of unpleasantness.
We’ve been having an icy winter this year, which is handy for the winter festival activities, although there is indeed a point at which too much ice is too much ice. I was cold yesterday. There was an Inuit girl there in the most beautiful green coat and sealskin boots and I’ll admit I wanted her boots and then some. Mr G has been trying to buy me a pair of sealskin mitts when we go to artisans’ fairs for years and I have declined for obvious reasons, but some of the Inuit youth had sealskin pants and coats and it makes sense for them to wear that gear of course.
A beautiful Icelandic horse. It made me want to try to ride horses yet another time, despite my very very unfortunate strong allergy to hay. (I tried once in Australia on a horseback riding weekend with friends, and I was so miserable, as asthma tends to do to a person.) What a beautiful horse, however, with a kind personality.
Mr G’s favourite item that he has seen in Canada is the narrow slit bone eye protection that the Inuit wear. He has declared them very elegant and I agree. Move over Luxx0tica. Move over Macr0n. 🙂
Personally I got very excited about the mention of traditional sweaters from the Far0e Islands. You can’t see the grey and white one very well that is in this photo. I remember reading on blogs nearly twenty years ago of the phenomenon written about on this poster, of a sweater that appears on a Danish crime show that became a fashion hit. I would love to make one of these, or something similarly inspired.
The longest lines were for the food and drink of course!
I wish I’d caught a photo of a Danish booth with a type of barrel piñata that the kids were invited to hit, but honestly photos were few and far between as I thought my fingers would fall off after a while without gloves on (see evidence in the thumbs in the random photos snapped). Eventually, after dozens of children came up to take their turn, the barrel broke, which was the point. The bottom fell out and hundreds of candies fell to the ground. My friends and I laughed so hard as almost instantaneously a couple dozen small children in puffy snowsuits were on their bellies, swarming all over each other like ants, trying to capture the candy. It was so spontaneous and delightful and fun, and I wished I were little and could dive on my belly again…
We tried a number of activities, including Canadian flag trivia, northern nations’ friendship trivia, the national trail system (Trans Canada trail) trivia and activities. We played ringette and watched people learn to cross-country ski. We watched little kids try to shoot pucks into a net at a Swedish booth and played games of table hockey with embassy reps. I was rather sorry that they did not have dog sled rides available as they did one year that I attended, many years ago, but I can see how that is difficult to plan with variable weather and possibly challenging for the dogs.
The longest line was at the German tent, since they had sausages. Good play, Germany! I laughed so hard as my friends and I tried to complete the excellent trivia game set up by the German embassy, again about similarities and relationships/friendship between our countries.
I also have always loved globes and any maps. I think I would have become a geographer had that seemed a real thing to me in youth. There was a huge map of the Arctic laid out in the snow that we got to walk around (on and over, although slippery!). That’s Greenland in white to the right of northern Quebec. I took pictures of my friends on Greenland, which is pretty well-scaled I believe in this projection.
And that is the residence of the Governor General!
My favourite part among many favourite parts perhaps was watching the Inuit youth demonstrate games, songs and dances:
There was also a wonderful performance by an indigenous girl from Quebec (Anishinab3) who performed a hoop dance, forming various winged creatures with the multiple hoops she danced with. It was beautiful, and we were told beautifully by her (in three languages) that the dance is meant to connect us with our own emotions. She was not meant to explain to us what we were meant to see or feel as a result of the dance, but rather the dance was intended to clean away negative spirit or energy (very welcome!). I’ll admit that I teared up during the performance, as it was not only elegant and beautiful, but as I watched the birds and butterflies and then what was perhaps a raven form and then what could only be the earth itself, I felt deeply the need to spend time this year connecting with nature – both in it and with my paintbrush. So there! Thank you to that young lady for a profound experience, beautifully told.
The long lines for German sausage, a profound experience in its own way. 🙂
There was a free shuttle bus from downtown to the grounds and everyone was in a jolly mood. If you’re ever in town in early February, consider looking this event up!
Wishing everyone a fabulous Sunday! I’m going to start sewing now before I have a chance to procrastinate any further!
XX
Hoop dancing! (Autocorrect wants to write “hope” and I agree.) Finger photo number three.
I have had a pretty typical week, but am mostly feeling very tired today. Most of my organizing and cleaning has been done, however, so I can stare out into space and not feel any obligation to get up and rearrange it! There will of course be more soup on the menu, but hey – a zebra cannot change its stripes overnight.
In thinking about how to pursue this weekend, I have decided that only small pleasures need to take centre stage, apart from some social engagements with friends that should be pleasant and will presumably include spiced apple cider or hot chocolate. It’s windy and cold, so I’ll need to bundle up in layers for sure when I venture out!
I stopped the other day to capture the winter sun as I was walking around. It hid behind a cloud and then it came out, barely, muffled. Other days are bright and brilliant, blue and crystalline. This photo is from the other day. Looking out the window right now the sky is likewise muffled, but the ground is covered by more new white stuff, with only a thin line for cars to trundle through.
A smaller group in Cort!na. I think these are mostly sledders. G and I were in Cortina the summer before last. We both preferred the smaller, lesser known towns in the region, but it’s a pretty area! There’s obviously a great deal of chaos surrounding these games and admittedly I’ve been sufficiently italianisata that I both shrug and delight in the stories of disorder, knowing that it will all work out in the end, in its way, as it always does in Italy. Mr G is particularly annoyed by the fact that they built a sledding run despite there being one not that far away across the border. We reminisced a bit about the tortuous roads in that area, slowed down by ice and snow. I’m glad we’re not driving there at the moment!
I don’t know about you, but I’ve become ambivalent about the Olymp!cs over the years. I’ve also always struggled with the rah rah nationalism part of it. Some of my favourite Olympic performances ever were not by Canadians, although there were a few of those (e.g., Ga3tan Bouch3r the speed skater – loved him). Eddie the Eagle, the British ski jumper in Calgary in 1988 was a huge favourite. When I lived in South Korea I remember watching judo all the time, not truly understanding the rules… Of course I have a soft spot from the summer Olympics for both the Canadian female rowers (e.g., Silk3n Laum@nn and Marnie McB3an, who were sort of my vintage, and with whom I had an indirect personal connection) and for Joan B3noit Samu3lson, the American, who won the first Olympic marathon for women in 1984, and whom I’ve met in person. Likewise Frank Short3r, who was the real winner in Montreal in 1976.
Anyway. On that note, I will also tell you that the sarta (lady tailor) in Italy gave me a pattern she had made for me for pleated trousers, so I can make my own from the pattern! (She seemed delighted and surprised that I know how to make my own.)
The older I get the more I start to dress like a man from the 1950s, but I’m honestly fine with that. It boils down to the principles that I follow, which have to do with quality and craftsmanship. I like that my shoes were mostly made in Italy and can be easily repaired when the heels or the soles wear down. I like that my jackets were mostly hand tailored at this point and made from durable, classic wools. I like that my trousers are made beautifully. I pulled the pockets out on my most recently made brown pair and the fantastic deep pockets with brown cotton insides and the perfectly stitched turn ups and the grosgrain ribbon inside the waistband connect me to a past when people bought quality clothes meant to last, and not too many. Just enough. I’ve started to whittle my wardrobe down to a collection of just a few handmade and well-made things, so there’s space opening up for my own contributions to that (obviously I have many floral shirts!)…which I will get to again later today and hopefully tomorrow. The most likely low-hanging fruit to begin with is the brown cord jacket already underway and with hand sewing to do. I do want to start making spring things, and the brown is no longer appealing, but I must admit that the -35C with the windchill outside today is reminding me that winter still has a bit of energy left in her. Two months’ worth, probably.
I wouldn’t be writing again so soon (no new soups to divulge in my thrust to save my country, one celeriac at at time ;)), but I had a very productive day yesterday reshaping creative space. I even found my van Gogh placemat in the process.
I bought that placemat right before the pandemic emerged in 2020. I recall that my friend and I had gone to Montreal for the immersive experience in February of that year. We didn’t know exactly what was to come, but I remember that we were already thinking about it. In fact, perhaps it was late January rather than February. By February we knew too much and might not have gone…
I’ve put it in a place of honour. Maybe I’ll even eat dinner on it.
My artist grandmother had a set of placements that she had purchased on one of her painting trips to Hawaii. I remember that she would lay those out in the kitchen for me to eat my lunch on when I was a little girl, each with a different scene of palm trees and beach. The conversation would then range across so many topics, including places she had visited. It always felt like a mini travel journey, as I ate my thin, lightly-buttered toast.
Look at that gaze! Like so much of the western world, I am very fond of Vincent.
But to the point, since I’m short on time. After writing yesterday, I was thinking about what I wanted to make. I kept on staring at the unused space I often occupy – the space with the best light – and it occurred to me suddenly that the solution was right in front of me. It was to move things around. So I did.
Do you find that too? I rarely rearrange furniture anymore, but sometimes rearranging furniture is exactly right. It opens up new possibilities. Admittedly, I have too many books. I need some better bookcases, too, as this IKEA one that I moved to near my reading chair is falling apart. I had so much fun removing books and deciding which books I wanted as decoration in the near space to where I might sit to read again. I put all of my art books on the bottom shelf. It’s nice to have them more handy.
I know it reaches a point at which you should try to get rid of books. I have boxes in the spare bedroom that probably need to be dispensed with, but I don’t think I can do that. What a roadmap of discovery. What a delightful reverie it is also to think about how one acquired a particular book, who supplied the book…
The art desk, although small, has been freed. Let’s see if this helps me to sit down and get working…
Does cleaning and rearranging also help you when you are feeling stuck? Ceci got me thinking about how that can be with certain creative pursuits. I kept on putting off the reorganizing, after crowding things too much during the pandemic, when I was largely working and creating in one part of my space. All it took to flip the switch was to ask myself why I didn’t feel comfortable painting from the spot where the desk was located…
Anyway, gotta run. Wishing you reverie and creative fun this week, in whatever angle you prefer.
I don’t really have much to say, which is probably why I didn’t say it yesterday!
Actually, I did think of writing yesterday, mostly while making celeriac potage.
Yes, that sounds fancy but it’s just celery root soup. I made the broth from scratch though, debating with myself whether you should really make broth from celery roots, and then feeling like “O Pioneer!” that I am ;). I’ve officially become the Soup Lady of Winter 2026. My farm ancestors would be proud, if bewildered. They’d probably think I was the weird one, off in a reverie over soup…
I’m working my way through my À la soupe book (di Stas!o).
I don’t make soup every day, but probably every second day. It’s a winter for soup.
It’s a winter for comfort.
I woke up this morning early and then I pushed off the alarm and allowed myself another REM cycle. In fairness, I had stayed up too late on Friday night and so I probably didn’t sleep enough on Friday night into Saturday, since I did get up at a “normal” time yesterday. Do you do this too? The health experts would be telling me that the best way to live is to have sleep and wake times that deviate very little each day, but…night owl. Very difficult for me to do. I guess I’ll die early. I would trade in a couple of years for more nights of reverie.
Speaking of dying…Cath3rine O’Har@! No. No no no.
Otherwise, I have been embracing quiet this weekend. I really need to turn off work. I was going to stay entirely alone, in quiet yesterday, and then my friend called me and we chatted for a long while. He has a terrible habit of getting pulled into talking at length about work eventually…and other broader political issues and I had to cut him off at one point, which makes me feel like a terrible friend, but…I just need some space with no words in it, unless they are about celeriac* or maybe snow.
*And I’m sorry to say that when I was thinking of cooking with celeriac, I laughed when thinking of a post I saw somewhere on an article, where a French Canadian man said that he was eating celeriac from Quebec instead of celery this winter, because he’s boycotting American celery. (I don’t know of any place that we grow it here.)
I’ll admit that I am also boycotting American products right now, quite assiduously, even though I love many of my American neighbours (you know that, I hope). Truthfully, I was laughing with a colleague on Friday as we discussed this, as I mentioned that I have been wanting to make something with cauliflower, but each time I pass by the cauliflower in the supermarket it is from the U.S., and then I feel sad and guilty when I pass by the organic cauliflower, also from the U.S., and I imagine the nice people who lovingly grow organic cauliflower and how they would possibly even be my friends…so why am I rejecting the thing they do to make their livelihood? I’m still debating about whether I will buy cauliflower. I bought celeriac and also some good old Canadian parsnips instead. Mmm…parsnips.
Well, maybe up to a point. I’m a little tired of parsnips. It reminds me of how tired I was of apples when I was a kid by the end of the winter, since we ate stored apples every day in the cafeteria at school. Every day: some sort of stew, or macaroni, or hot sandwich, and then an apple plunked down, and a little milk box, and I don’t like cow’s milk. I’ve never liked drinking milk.
(Another aside: Last week I saw an article about cows being smart in the sense of having been proven to know how to use tools, based on a cow who figured out how to use a stick to scratch herself with. When I sent it to my mother, who always buys me cow things since she knows how much I adore cows, she sad, “You always thought they were smart!” I thought about it though and I don’t think I ever believed that cows were smart. I just find them very peaceful and calm. They give me that feeling. Aesthetically, too, I mean.)
But every day there is a new threat. I can’t help but believe that goodness and level headedness will win out in the end, even if it will be a long road.
And let me say that this has nothing to do with the horrors that real people are experiencing in other ways, and the violence, which is profoundly disturbing and my heart is with those people…
Today my intention is to enjoy the bright sunshine streaming in the windows, and then start a sketch and a sewing project. I discovered the most important thing about my rebellious tendency (cry cry), and it’s truly that if I don’t make a list with an assignment of something to a particular day, I’m much more likely to actually do something or be productive. The analysts had me figured out – I’m as transparent as that – and if I don’t feel as though someone (even if it’s me) told me to do something, then I will happily do it.
My mother always said I was this way, and I think we are all feeling great sympathy for my mom in this moment. I always thought she was exaggerating and being critical, but no, she was not.
Do you ever cringe when you think of various iterations of yourself? I do. There are a few memories that when they come to me I just feel so profoundly embarrassed about I could hide, even though there is no one there. It’s difficult to detach my younger self from my older self (e.g., crying at a dance when a boy didn’t like me, even though I was the date of another boy (OK we were not really boys and girls, we were older than that..)…ugh cringe..what a horrible person; can I erase that memory from the track of memories of my life, please? I tell myself that I’m quite sure that the better boy of the two ended up happily partnered and is living a wonderful life. Still if I knew where he was I’d probably call him up to apologize, I feel so guilty about that memory.).
Admittedly, my older, current self is surprisingly happy, which I never would have guessed. EVEN in this terrifying and stupid juncture in history, I have regular moments of genuine giddiness and delight. I have genuine moments of calm and contentment. I have full days of calm and contentment. I sometimes spontaneously dance in public. I am that. Who would have thought?
I love being the first to put footprints in fresh snow.
We’ve had a lot of that so far this winter.
It has also been very cold. I’m so happy with this. It feels like a real winter. There’s nothing worse than when it’s warm and wet and slushy and it’s yet still cold in the grand scheme of things, but things are muddy and brown or grey. Each day I look out the window and it’s white everywhere, and crystalline or simply clean-looking. Look at the cold in the air here:
Just glorious!
I walk by this museum often and it glows in the snow. I like the photo with the red streetlight glowing, too.
I’m not going to assign a project to myself for today, other than starting that painting that I fussed over inspiration images for yesterday. I do have a bunch of knitting and sewing things lying around so I’m going to hope the assignment finds itself and the rebel can stay quiet for a wee stretch.
I hope all are well. We got more snow last night, so the world is fluffy and white. I’m trying not to interpret that as “slow slog” rather than “opportunity to frolic.”
Admittedly, I struggled this weekend seeing the profoundly disturbing news and absorbing it and feeling I needed to see the follow up. I keep on telling myself to draw a line, but on the other hand you want to witness, thinking you have a way to help things not becoming worse or spreading elsewhere, thinking you can mentally exist in solidarity with right and good. Information is the only thing about which we don’t feel helpless, maybe.
In any case, I naturally decided yesterday evening, writing out a list of potential garments to make, that I have to just move forward without thinking deeply about the possibilities of what I can do in my little life, my little space, here. I just need to pick. Hang on to the good and beautiful. Use the reference photos I have taken to paint and paint them. I have plenty of supplies waiting for me, waiting to be made into something lovely. Waiting to keep my hands busy.
Yesterday, I mostly cleaned out the armoires in my bedroom, which needed to be done, too. Sometimes when you haven’t been through in a while you have disturbing surprises of things you have kept and you wonder why on earth you were still holding noto things? Then again, one doesn’t have time to go through everything all the time. I also in the process discovered that clearly I have been eating too many of the biscotti and other treats that Mr sent back with me at Christmas, so some summer pants are tight. Oops. This morning I promptly made some steel cut oats for breakfast….
I did knit on both Saturday and Sunday, having decided that although making a floral shirt is appealing, I can wait a month or two until the weather is warmer and I’m more likely to wear one! It makes most sense to make sweaters now so I am going to do that.
Interestingly, I also think I’m going to toile the loose 1950s or 60s jacket pattern Stephanie sent me a while back. It’s in a size that is too large but I wonder if the oversized shape might be nice, especially since it has drape. I might aim to try that next weekend. I have some fabric in mind for it that a certain someone bought for me years ago. I can then figure out how it might need to be adjusted.
Sweater knitting, in a sufficiently moody morning photo. I’m working on the raglan armholes of the body right now. I decided for a change to just do a yarn over pattern to create a sort of a lace pattern rather than the usual. We’ll see how that goes.
I’m already eager to get this one done and to move on to another one, which might be the colourful fair isle I bought some yarn for back in the summertime. I think I had decided on a blue green background and oranges and browns. In fact, I wrote this list last evening:
List of possibilities:
-brown corduroy jacket (cut out), sewing started
-rose sweater?
-fair isle – greenish blue with oranges? and browns – what was yellow equivalent (marzipan?)
-iceberg sweater – fancy wool?
-rose and blue shirt
-Stephanie beautiful fabric – puffy sleeves?
-purple silk blouse
-soft jacket w/ G fabric
….
Even looking at the list made me feel better, and as it turns out, I made another list on Saturday, after Ceci mentioned her bean soup. I went into my soup book (À la Soupe) and went wild buying soup ingredients (I lied about not going out in the cold), as so many of the recipes were appealing. I did make one yesterday (a lightly curried asparagus number), but I think I have four different soups lined up for the coming days. Thanks, Ceci!
We’re in a deep freeze. Of course, this is relatively normal for us. I’ve certainly engaged in leisure activities outside in colder weather, although I don’t like the wind when it dips below -35C with the windchill, so I do make a dash of it. I left work a little bit early yesterday to avoid the colder winds walking home as the temperature dipped and my sinuses still felt a little bit fried afterwards.
But all the more reason to mostly stay indoors this weekend. No skating for sure. Just the occasional mad dash to the bakery or maybe the gym.
That said, it’s lovely when you have a good reason to stay at home and just focus on your art and sewing activities. It’s especially useful for me to see the frosty winds rising outside the window, convincing me to not invent another errand that needs to be done…
I had a very interesting week, of course. That said, the trend I noticed over the holidays of wanting to only read French continues. In the evenings I just put on the French channel and watch movies. For years I told myself that I “should” do this, to deepen my French, but now that’s all that I want to do and I think it’s all about turning off the other channels. Makes me think about Charles V saying this: “I speak Spanish to G0d, Italian to women, French to men, and G3rman (insert English here) to my horse.” I always thought it was “French for diplomacy,” but maybe someone else said that.
All that said, and Charles V’s biases aside, I’m happy to find a refuge that changes the track, because the track is exhausting. That’s where sewing boxers or a shirt or something this weekend will take me away to a friendlier place.That said, my oppositional self is of course delighted with frankness. I’m not a pretender and never have been. It’s a relief to call a spade a spade. Or a hatchet.
In my French watching, I was delighted to see the film Sag3 F3mme (midwife) on the channel the other night. I saw that a number of years ago on a plane and loved it, didn’t know how to see it again. I don’t know why I love it so much – maybe because a mature woman confronts both her brittleness and her fundamental inability to be other than empathetic. It’s lovely. No exploding anything and no neat bow. Just life. And Catherine Fr0t and Catherine D3neuve, too.
I also watched La R!tourn3lle with Isabelle Hupp3rt, which was a more questionable film but of course I love the spirit and the outfits. She validated my floral shirt loyalty.
So you see two things that are back in my little making brain as doable things for this weekend: a floral shirt maybe with something already cut out; and something striped. The obvious one would be this half-made feather and fan one. I no longer think pink is in my best colour palette, but maybe I’m just too pallid at the moment!
I spent about an hour online last night looking at knitting kits and random striped sweaters…and then of course I concluded that I’ve even bought new yarn in the last six months that I haven’t used yet.
I was at an event this week and was gabbing away to a friend and colleague when he said, “The wife of X who made a significant speech just walked by.” “No, what?” I didn’t believe him. Then I asked what she was wearing and he said, “Hmm..I think red.” And then I asked, “Are you sure? Did she wear her hair in this way (she has a usual way of wearing her hair)?” And then he said “I think yes.” And then after the event lo and behold I saw her myself, exiting in front of us, and she was indeed wearing red and everything else I had asked. Of course she was whisked into a waiting car with a dude in a dark parka walking behind her and I was not, disgorged instead out into the cold, but I did say to my friend, “Man, I want you around as a witness if I ever, in some cruel twist of fate, get mugged or something like that.” (And let me note that more than being a Mrs anything, she is an accomplished woman in her own right.) Honestly, it’s not a Canadian thing to pay attention to famous people’s private lives, so I would otherwise be more discreet. It was just such a moment in a week full of moments that I had to share it.
Technically I’m waiting for the temperature to rise. It’s really cold this morning. But what better way to distract oneself than by writing!
I tried out my new skates on the canal on Sunday. It’s so funny how things change as one ages. I used to be so fearless, and now I’m a scaredy cat with a helmet, skating cautiously. It’s such a drag. But then so is three months healing a broken ankle or a month with a broken arm…
I did see a woman who was eighty if she was a day out on the canal and and elderly man, too, although in his case he was skating with one of those learners cages (a bit like a walker). Not a bad idea. Oh future, I see you. Argh.
I did slip on the ice already twice this week, when I wasn’t being careful and ignored the possibility of ice under fluffy snow by my door and also on a sidewalk. One must remain on guard.
Can you tell that I am trying to do everything to distract myself from the dystopian nightmare going on in the world? I get it on two sides since I get the European report every evening. Then I go through a brief state of anguish and even panic, and then I start reading something and doing something else and it abates in a temporary way. But you know…
But there’s skating. And fresh snow. Plans and creative ideas. We must soldier on, eh? Poor choice of words, probably.
I have to admit that I’ve been questioning my plans again. Just as in August I start to think about fall and winter clothing, something about being in the winter makes me start thinking about colour and springtime again. It’s rather ridiculous, since I never finished my pink feather and fan short sleeved sweater in progress (maybe I could return to it?), but I photographed this from the TV when watching what G calls the “veterinarian show,” on Sunday (All Cr3atures). It does remind me so much of my dad when I was a kid. He had those books. It’s one of the most calming balms I can find, despite the post-war rationing!
Truthfully, I think what I like about it is the combination of colours, which is so cheerful. I could make this so easily! Yellow, cream, blue, red! What do you think?
I should probably stick with things I have already started…
Honestly, I think that colourful stripes might be a theme for me, following my brown escapade (really, I’ve been wearing a lot of brown this winter, which is supposedly on trend, but maybe it’s time to switch a bit). While I was in Italy, there was a commercial on TV with a woman in a multi-coloured striped sweater and I kept on thinking that I wanted to knit that. Sometimes inspiration comes in that way.
When I was at the art supply store, too, I remembered that I’d bought my embroidery floss there a few years ago. It occurred to me to embroider a blouse, too. I’m not sure where that is coming from.
Anyway, that’s enough procrastination, I’m afraid. I need to go. Leaving with this Canadiana. All you’re missing is the smell of woodsmoke at the hot chocolate and pastry stop…That’s the whole point of skating sometimes.
I hope you are doing well. I had perfect day of pottering around in a joyous haze yesterday, which likely means that today will not quite live up to the same level, in accordance with the laws of nature about perfect happiness.
If you knew then (in youth) what you know now about perfect happiness, how would you have behaved differently? That’s not a fair question, I know.
Like most people, I put off doing the things I aspire to most, in an almost interminable way. Such as painting. But I digress.
I mentioned an Oliv3r Burk3man piece from the Guardi@n a few posts ago, about prioritizing pleasure in 2026.
That resonated deeply with me, and with where I am right now. (By the way, I’ve never liked it when people invert that phrase to “I resonate with…” Doesn’t seem to make sense to me when phrased that way…)
Anyway. Not to be snarky. Just curious.
After the fresh snowfall the other day:
Yesterday I took a long long walk…That perhaps wasn’t the smartest thing to do, as I was wandering in winter boots in slippery snow (by the end of the day my toes were hurting!). I walked at least six kilometres to get to a shop selling ice skates, since I left my ice skates in Europe at a certain someone’s suggestion. Also, I had no room in my suitcase to bring them back. I needed a more comfortable pair anyway, so I decided to bite the bullet and go there and it was too nice a day to drive around in. It merited a walk.
As I passed over the canal on my long walk to the industrial park where the skate shop is located, I saw the people skating on the canal and desperately wanted to be one of those out there! Today I will comply with this urge:
A winter tradition.
Whenever I see the canal, I think of the first time I skated on it, in the 1970s. My grandparents were living in Ottawa, as my grandfather completed his career working as an economic advisor to a minister of the government. My mom’s younger brother, who must have been in late high school or early university I suppose by then, was always a kind uncle and patiently took me out on the canal for hours. I wonder if he remembers it? Probably not as I do. The canal was so long and big and the ice surface gleaming. I remember skating under a bridge. It was magical. Far from the frozen ponds my mother had taught me to skate on, or the city indoor rinks with music that we visited on school physical education trips.
I remember skating, years later, in a red woollen sweater my friend had knitted and given to me (the same one I visited recently in Vancouver), racing to meet my younger brother who was studying at university by then. We skated the eight kilometre length of the canal in a race that only siblings undertake.
So I am pleased to report that I have skates again and will wear my new helmet 🙂 and will be extra careful to be sure I don’t become an orthopaedic victim of the canal as unfortunately my doctor referred to it when I broke my arm on it maybe seventeen or eighteen years ago…
Man, time flies. I grow old. I grow old. I will wear the bottom of my trousers roll3d…Or not.
I wondered why yesterday was so special, but I didn’t need to think very hard about it. The light was exquisite in the morning, looking out on the snow. If I were a painter the way I would want to be, it’s this exact light that I would paint – that soft winter light that softens edges and grants peace, in the hibernating sense.
I’ve always loved wintertime. I know it wears on people when it drags on. January and February are so special, however, as the days gradually lengthen and the world is quiet and yet teeming with life.
On my long walk I took a route through some bike paths in the woods that I had never taken before, and I delighted in seeing the cross-country skiers out in full force.
Swoosh. Swoosh. I wanted to do that, too. But I had errands to run.
Something I find so inviting about wandering the city on foot (and I walked a good ten kilometres yesterday), is that you get to know the city in a way that you don’t know it in a car. You see how people are going about their daily lives. I stopped a young man with his headphones in, to make sure I was on the right bike path to get where I wanted to go. I walked under a pass through of a new train station. I saw a man scurrying along a large road with his skis and poles in hand, hurrying to the river bank to take advantage of the fluffy snow. It felt magical. All of the parts of the city working separately and yet together.
After I bought my skates, taking a number and trying to make it quick for the patient young man serving me, I decided to continue walking another few kilometres to a shopping centre with an art supply store. (Who knew that so many people were out buying hockey equipment for their kids on a Saturday afternoon? Oops. I guess that’s rather logical, if you are plugged into normal life…)
I bought myself a lot of paint. I know. The odd thing about it was that as I was spending several hundred dollars on paints, buying the oil paints I have wanted to buy for so long and topping up my acrylics collection, I felt so guilty about it. It was such a strange sensation that I immediately recognized as absolutely foolish. I don’t buy many clothes anymore, but I would spend money on an item of clothing (and just did, on a tweed suit, in the sales in Italy), that I might wear a dozen times a year, but that has little value (and that, frankly, I could make myself). Here I was feeling guilty about buying something that is a much better investment: an investment in my creativity and the deep pleasure I feel when I make things and draw and use colour. It’s an investment in how I want to spend my time in retirement, too. More than that, it’s an investment in what gets to the deep core of how I translate beauty in the world in some inner, secret place. There’s no time like the present to start being who you might have been…
I need to read the Burk3man piece again.
I don’t know if any of that resonates with you, but as soon as I start being creative in one area of my life, I start to feel more creative in all of the other areas. More than that, I feel a deep inner peace that doesn’t come easily in the hustle and bustle of life.
I was clever enough to decide to take the bus home rather than haul my skates and paints on foot. The bus was nearly empty and the female bus driver cheerful. I sat in the low light of the bus as dusk fell, passing through the snow on the fifty-five minute journey home, watching the people in their neighbourhoods and the gentle, soft illumination of the city in the snow. A group of four senior citizens got on and they were chatting cheerfully, animatedly. I wondered what they had been doing in downtown.
In the evening, I made a curried carrot soup with crunchy chickpea topping that my mother made when I was out on the west coast a month ago. I heated the fresh bread I had bought at the bakery after my workout yesterday morning. I sat in the glow of the snowy world beyond my window, with only twinkle lights plugged in, dipping my bread in the delicious soup, looking at my new paints. This is happiness…to be dissolved into something complete and great (W Cath3r, of course). The things don’t change. We don’t change. Our willingness to find our way back there changes sometimes.
Anyway. I ABSOLUTELY must sew or knit today. I have a commitment late in the day but there is time for something. I’m looking at some yellow yarn and there is of course the brown cord jacket already cut out. I have so many ideas. The first time I wore the trees blouse at work (last week) I immediately got compliments from a young woman. Yesterday at the gym I complimented a young woman wearing a hodge podge of vintage garments. I remembered how charming and beautiful it is to be adventurous and most of all true to oneself.
I’m exhausted. It turns out that missing sleep and travelling for twenty-four hours can take it out of you! I’m relieved it’s actually Friday (rather than Thursday is the new Friday) and I can expect a full weekend of relaxation.
That is not to say complacency. I had the thought either yesterday or Wednesday that I had found the secret to everything, which is to simply double down on my humanity. The opposition to all of the bad things and cruel things is to be kinder and more compassionate – with everyone, including oneself.
The collective energy to put beauty out into the world matters very much, even in the face of relentless attacks, in the face of despair.
The other evening I was sitting on the couch doing some calculations (as one does) and Sl33pless in S3attle was on TV. It was probably on TV for sad reasons, and as ridiculous as the plot is, I just can’t stop thinking of the scenes with the actual rotary telephone. I was thinking about the rotary telephone last night as I was setting my stupid cellphone alarm in bed. Do I remember what it was like to set an alarm clock itself? Yes, I do.
I remind myself that each day is precious and must be used fruitfully on the goodness mission! Hence, a plan of action for this weekend is necessary.
What are you going to make this weekend?
I’ve got to run, but the first thing I have on my list is to go and buy a new pair of skates (old skates left in Europe, intentionally!). We got a foot or two of snow yesterday and it’s rather crisp and cold, so I can only imagine that the canal will reopen!
I need to make something. Post haste. What will my fingers get working on? In the minimum, I know that I can pick up the green and the cream fair isle sweaters.
Some beautiful inspiration for some future sewing or knitting project – from the baptistry in Florence.
My beautiful willow market basket arrived from BC. My mom mailed it. I did not think I could easily bring it back on the plane. I can’t wait to go and buy my vegetables with it. It was made by a lovely young woman who also grows things and loves to sew. We had a great conversation about sewing after speaking about her basketmaking. She was very excited about some fabric from M3rchant and Mills on that day.
My Vintage Inspiration 