The weather and me. In terms of weather it's a lovely complaint to have in this usually cool, dank rain forest. When it comes to me I can usually cope, but the combination of the two produces painting time.
Black Oak in snow.
There's something about painting snow when it's too hot to knit. Off to watercolour class, but there's no snow on the agenda today. Our choices are barns or butterflies.
Further to my last post, this is what I learned as a promoter's mother:
First of all, in my own home I was asked, "Do you work for Spry Bry (his professional name)? No, I'm his mother. Like this is his house and I'm his employee. I guess motherhood feels that way sometimes.
Band members, touring in a bus with nine bunks for eight hours, having had their sleep interrupted by immigration for 2 1/2 hours at the border, get grumpy. I would, too.
Band bus drivers, especially ones who have done it for an entire career, have very interesting stories.
I can communicate efficiently in Franglish. That's French, Spanish and English, a requirement in this situation. It was an exhausting proposition.
Band's contract riders contain interesting items such as 30 white cotton newly laundered towels (mostly onstage sweat towels), the equivalent of 10 drinks (beer, good wine, and specific brands of rum and vodka) each, water only in plastic bottles and wine glasses only made of glass so I guess it's not about breakage…reasonable requests compared to the stories you hear. One famous group always asked for bowls of M&M's with the brown ones removed. It was supposedly a test of the promoter's attention to detail.
Negotiations continue throughout the day and everything is negotiable: sound equipment, food, accommodation. It gets heated at times.
Communication counts. Get it in writing or as they said way back when, when I was in grad school "If it ain't documented it didn't happen. Thank goodness the boy kept e-mails that came in handy in resolving above disputes. The only bedroom that I had to give up was for the bus driver and his wife, who sleep while the band is engaged in sound checks and the concert itself. After everything is sung and done they board the bus at 2:00a.m., off to the next stop on the tour.
When it came to what really matters, the band's performance was amazing, they were true professionals:
And the boy, Mr. Spry Bry, with a sold out venue, came through unscathed. So did his mom.
Last week: "Mom, I'm bringing in a band from France. Can they park their vehicle at our house?"
This morning, phone rings: "Howdy, Maam, this is Uncle Don, you ready for a 48 foot rock and roll bus at your house?"
"Bryaannntttt???!!!
Bus arrives, as big as the house.
Knock on door, in steps tour manager. "…So, Can I have a look at zee bedrooms?"
Goodness, Bryant, can I get some warning here?
Welcome to my life.
And welcome to the amazing Caravan Palace The band, not the new name for my house.
Stay tuned for updates on what I'm sure will prove to be a most exciting weekend.
Today, first it's a kitty blog:
To confuse matters, the cat's name is Monkey. There's yarn in there so that counts as knitting content. He's not ours, my yarn was at his house for a visit.
And a foodie and friends blog:
That's Blogless Marsha, more knitting content. It's not pictured, but she's working on her Cedar Leaf Shawlette. That name intrigues me as Cedars don't have leaves. I know. I live in a rain forest of cedars.
An interesting sky blog:
And of course, it's a watercolour blog:
On the topic of creativity I'm finding the secret for satisfaction is a dedicated area. Now I 've taken over two rooms, one for knitting supplies and one for painting. God help me when we have to downsize. Right now everything is organized and handy, no digging in closets or buried containers. Pure luxury.
Scheduled for my third or fourth flower painting class, I couldn't wait. On my lunchtime walk I discoverd a row of magnolias in full bloom. Never thinking I'd need one, that's when the phone camera comes in handy.
The framing app also helps, saving a lot of money by helping with the decision of what's possibly frame worthy.
Back in the knitting saddle, the finger healed to a point where you can hardly see where eight stitches lived. The tip is numb to the touch, but it works for knitting. At long last I've started Taize, a project of Angie's that I've admired for years, putting my second Pashmina purchase to good use. That post of Angie's is a wonderful retrospective account of her knitting blog. She and I are old timers in that regard.
I only wish that I had enough of it for Angie's wider version, but there's plenty of stash available for that.
On the theme of soft as down, last night on the power line in front of our house, was a sweet juvenile Northern Flicker:
The frustration being the inability to post from my IPad. Hey Apple, what's up with that? On to the festivities. We celebrated Ms. M's Master's in Medical Physics:
Had Father's Day brunch at Calgary's Danish Canadian Club:
Packed in lots of family time with the favourite grandchild. I do believe there's special privilege in being the only one on both sides.
All in all a good trip at a lovely time of year, which included dramatic prairie skies, a successful evening fishing trip and, as we worked our way north, the ability to sniff the lilacs in sequential full bloom in three cities.
Knitting and painting to follow.
Update: Listening to the news this morning we realize how dramatic those skies became, causing massive flooding and evacuations in the area. We flew through Calgary last night, having no idea how bad it was. Apparently it's going to get worse. On a positive note this morning, the mayor reports there as not been a single injury, but tough times ahead for his vital city. We are fortunate that M lives in the northwest part of the city near the university and is unaffected.
Life seems to wierdify weekly. Quite the year we've had. Despite the loss of Gracee I'm still taking my daily walk to the local dog park to watch the dear tail wagging beasts and their owners. As if by magic one Friday, a Scottie appeared, something I had never seen in all the years I've walked that trail. It felt so good to interact with one again.
The next Friday, at the same time as the previous week, I returned hoping to happen upon Hamish and his owner. No luck. Instead, out of the blue, uprovoked, a little poodle with sharp teeth attempted to make me his lunch; effectively chomping through my jeans, making it the fourth dog bite of my life – two German Shepherds, a Westie and now, a Poodle. What made this incident all the more bizarre was the owner was a former next door neighbour, having acquired the dog after her move.
On to the cat. I am not a cat person, however there have been several in my life that behave distinctly doglike, enamouring me to certain specimens of the species. Yesterday, walking in our yard I was surprised by movement in the Weeping Katsura. Lo and behold, it was our neighbour's Gracee coloured cat. Charlie was quite content to hang out in his hidey spot, rolling over for belly rubs just like a dog.
The fang marked and bruised leg have me laying low, but the finger has healed enough to wield a hook of the crocheting kind, and I've put that Jojoland Rhythm to good use for a New Wave Throw:
The Gates was an impressive art installation, comprised of 7503 "gates" over 23 miles of Central Park, by artists "Christo and Jean Claude." What I found amazing was the effort for a 15 day exhibit. During that time it snowed, adding dramatic contrast to the orange flags. Not sure if this was taken before or after the major snow:
My sister turned 50 five years ago and when I asked her what she wanted for a gift, she requested that I paint her a picture. I wrote about it in a post not too long ago. Knowing how much she enjoyed the Gates that seemed the perfect subject. Problem: I had never painted snow. For heaven's sake, for all the watercolour classes I'd taken to that point, only one painting had ever felt worthy of a frame.
It took time, but here's my attempt to simplify and adapt the above scene into the day of the storm:
Painting, like knitting, is good therapy. And I like painting snow, soon there will be one more in this snow series of three.
Thanks to all for your supportive comments. Gracee lived as long as as our first Scottie, almost to the day and really, it was on borrowed time. She was supposed to be put down at six months, but we took her in with serious health issues. We were told she would live until age 7 or 8 due to her lifelong prednisone dose and we had her for 11 1/2.
I miss her company and the way, when she occasionally slept on the foot of our bed, she would use my ankle as a pillow. I still expect to see her when I enter a room. You welcome a dog into your family and the inevitable heartbreak eventually happens. It's the difficult part of dog ownership.
No knitting yet, the finger is not quite healed, but I engaged in some therapeutic shopping with a yarn purchase. Elann.com had Jojoland Rhythm on sale and I bought enough for a blanket. A comfort purchase indeed.
Life's a Stitch 
