All posts for the month December, 2013

Pass Times for the New Year

Published December 27, 2013 by megdedwards



I have lost the discipline of writing every day and my fingers and mind are rusty. But the space left by my constant tapping on the keyboard has been filled by rug hooking.

I have begun a free form interpretation of the bay outside our house in the autumn, on quite a large piece of framed burlap. I am excited about this project and I have already thought of another one I want to do after this one. But I also have a sore callous on one finger because when I start working I get ‘right intense’ and can’t stop.

That is a Maritime expression. It is generally used to describe weather or moods, such as, “She is right happy”, or, “It is right cold out there, boys”. 

Who knew I would be a ‘hooker’ so late in life? Sometimes Maude and I hook together, her on her little frame and me on my big frame. I call her ‘ the angry hooker’ because she gets frustrated by her hooking and yells and frowns and then tosses the little frame off with disgust.

I have a lot of plans for my rug hooking, some ideas include the Group of Seven, and the others may have expressions or poetry. Also, I would like to do a portrait. Rug hooking is a wonderful pass time. First of all, you could actually be making a rug to keep the cold from creeping up your legs. But mostly, I find it is creative without being fastidious. I find knitting quite a pain the ass. I can go for sometime without losing a stitch but once I do I really resent having to take out a line or get all the little hoops back in order. I do not have the patience for knitting. Crochet is more pleasant and satisfying for some reason. I find I can control it without it becoming an irritating task.

But rug hooking! It is like painting with texture. There are thick pieces of wool, or light and fluffy; you can use plaid or plain or paisley. Some little stripes of cloth look like a frothy wave and others are better for a dark patch of seaweed. And there is no pattern and there is not particular style and there is no one to say what it should look like because it is my own creation.

I never thought I would be a ‘crafter’!  Now when I see women selling their wares at a market I stop and discuss their style. I can’t imagine selling mine though, and at what cost? How much is my cramped hand worth? My visions? Hard to put a price on that sort of thing, but you never know. I might one day.


I am coming to full fruition as a homemaker. I can cook and bake very well without recipes. I can clean even faster. Although the trick to that, I have always thought, is to approach household chores as if you were Pippi Longstockings, Can you wash a floor with an old towel about to go in the wash, with your foot? Yes! 

I am finally becoming organized again. I was organized when I had one baby. Everything was in its place, i waxed the floors and wrote articles about computers in the afternoon when the baby slept. Then I had two children and we moved and then I worked outside the home and then we moved into an ancient house and then I had another baby, That is the story of how boxes accumulate. Now that all the babies have grown up I am sorting old boxes of photos and papers. Things are getting in order! It is incredibly satisfying on a very mundane level.  

I like the order and I am very happy about it, but I am now working on fulfilling creative dreams and rug hooking has slipped in unexpectedly. What I like most about it is sitting is a quiet room and working all by myself. I can do it around the television at night but my work is not as good. I am actually concentrating on it quite a bit when I am working, and while I am working my brain is quietly working on many other levels. And I let it go.

I am in good health and I have no worries but sometimes I feel sad for no particular reason. I am quite sure that this state of oceanic sadness is just part of being a woman. We are tied into the cycle of life; our bodies acting out life and death with every cycle.  My body is fluctuating now and I can feel the waves shift within me. The salt of my body is changing chemically. I wake in the middle of the night with the shifting, sweating, thinking. Where once I was woken by babies I am now woken by silence and thoughts. 

I don’t find menopause too troubling so far. I think that women must accept the conditions of their body to be happy. Don’t fight cramps, labour pain, breast feeding or premenstrual moods. Just accept them and move one. Fighting them just makes for stress, self pity and unnecessary medication.  

As I head into 2014, how many years are left in my back pocket? I am ready to explore some new resolutions. I want to learn how to play the ukulele this winter, so Maude and I will do that. And I had a revelation, if I like to write poetry and I love music, can I write a song?  It occurs to me that writing a song might be like rug hooking, a pleasurable pass time. 

I am always telling the children that they can do anything, be anyone; all is possible. The key to this realization is accepting that you can do things badly. You don’t have to be an expert at everything, or even anything. And when you look at the people out there doing stuff badly, you have got to realize that you can do it at least as badly as them, maybe even a little better!

So here is to half ass rug hooking and twanging on an old piano or ukulele!  Keep your hands busy and let your mind roam. Lots of love to all and everyone.






I missed you but I was busy thinking

Published December 2, 2013 by megdedwards

portrati of meg by frankI have gone through a quiet stage. I even hesitate to write in my journal.  Sometimes I feel tired just thinking about putting my thoughts into writing.

But I don’t feel bad or sad at all. I am cruising. I am thinking.

I remember talking with an American cousin of mine about whether natural birth changed the character of the person born. Did the painful and intense process of going through the birth channel make the person different compared to those that were born by opening up the belly and emerging directly into air?

She said something about ‘pra sess’ and I did not know what she said at first but then I recognized the American accent and the word ‘process’.  Now whenever I am thinking about the concept of ‘process’ in  psychological  development I say ‘pra sess’ to myself.

I am ‘pra sessing’.

My Mom died last spring on March 1 st.  I am still thinking about that and what it is like to go forward without a mother for the rest of my life. It did not  happen before time, in fact it happened at a natural time. It all happened very naturally.

Of course, I am shot forward in my head to my death and how many years I have left in my ‘back pocket’ as Mom put it to me one day as I sat in the sun on the phone, and waited for the school bus.

I still cry over missing my Dad. He died five years ago on December 15th. I realize now that his death really broke my heart. I was in such pain I actually felt physical pain in my heart and limbs.  I don’t know why it was so much more painful except that it was more sudden. And he had made he me feel less lonely in this world. Always.

During that time of physical exhaustion and mourning, two adolescent  boys, emerging from sort of squalid childhood hidden behind middle class conventions, sexually assaulted my baby child. We fought back, we protected her, we survived the police, social workers and general ignorance around this issue. 

So here I am, five years later, seriously aged but extremely grateful. In this seemingly short span of time my oldest daughter has grown up entirely and my middle child is turning into a man. My baby is no longer a baby. My marriage is stronger than ever. 

After more than a year looking for work I have given up. The final piece of the puzzle was handed to me when my youngest said she wanted to ‘home school’ again. After a day or two to ‘ pra sess’ I jumped in with my full mind and heart.

We are having a blast of full on love and joy every day. We do crafts and cook and clean. We walk and skate and swim. We talk and dream. Math sneaks its way in with no stress or anxiety. We learn as we go. 

I know that I allowed this time with my other children and I see that my life patterns don’t change. Having a baby at 40 meant extending my type of parenting for another 20 years.

I need to adjust, tighten the belt on the budget, and think about writing for money again!

My Mom moves through me. I feel her enjoyment with my domestic bliss. My Dad smiles on me too. They nod at each other, from their distant peaks,  like faulty Greek Gods, united in their pride.


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