An amazing day

I got a speeding ticket a while back, one of those photo radar tickets that came in the mail complete with a picture of the back end of my car.  This ticket has been sitting like an ugly toad on my desk ever since I got the thing.  It took my breath away when I looked at what they wanted to charge me.   In my defense, I didn't see any speed limit signs slowing down traffic so...well...  today, I screwed up my courage and took my self into the city on the train to plead with the court for a reduction of the fine. I'm pleased to say the officer was very sympathetic and reduced the charge by two thirds.  So, I celebrated-sushi lunch at the Devonian Gardens sitting amongst  the exotic greenery, soothed by the bubbling water fountains high above the hustle of Calgary's busy downtown streets.

The impromptu piano concert was lovely too.

 Wonderful wood carvings add to the ambiance and personality of the gardens., here   It really is a lovely spot, well used by the lunching office crowd.  There was lots of good people watching to be had.
I couldn't go home without a visit to Joe Fafard's wonderful horse sculptures sitting on the snowy prairie grasses at the Alberta Court House

These are amazing creatures, eternally galloping through the wind swept prairie grass surrounded by sky scrapers.

The roof of the sandstone court house is reflected in the glass windows of the sky scraper across the street..

A Sunday stroll down Kensington Avenue

Sign posts, interesting architecture, prayer flags flapping on the front of the Tibetan gift shop.

Hillhurst United Church and friendly tree lined streets shielding lovely old two story houses behind their antique fencing.

Dead end streets behind wrought Iron gates, funky signs, and amazing street art.  The trees are still fast asleep, but the birds are returning.  Perhaps spring isn't so far behind after all.

Ode to February

February is a gritty time in the foothills of Alberta, in Calgary where I live.

 Where I used to live, on Vancouver Island, spring is springing on mother nature’s own mysterious time clock and the first brave snow drops and crocus are blooming, daffodils are showing their green, and the earliest flowering trees are blooming their heads off.  Spring shines on Canada’s southern west coast. It is a grand showing off time.

But not here.  Here February is treacherous ice on the sidewalks and alleys as the snow melts under the onslaught of the mild Chinook temperatures and intense winds out of the west which polish  ice to a shiny  glare terrifying to walk on.  Here February is gritty streets full of the rock and sand thrown down by the sanding trucks and laying in wait to chuck at unsuspecting windshields, thrown up by the tires of the truck or car in front .  Here February is bare branches , sleeping plants,  and untidy gardens  left bare by the melting snow.  Here is sidewalks salted and graveled, battling the ice which forms overnight and melts in the daytime.    Two forlorn , wizened up apples still hang on the apple tree.  Even the birds don’t seem to want them.  They are probably fermented. 

Here is snow that has the sparkling consistency and sound of Styrofoam. It squeaks underfoot as we slip and slide our way along.  Here is a very substantial glacier in the back garden.  It won’t melt for a while yet I think.  I  love snow, but I don’t love this snow.

  

February is a short month, a small month, an in between month, sort of like being in the middle of the tunnel that is winter and unable to see light from either end.   February, with its pretentious little” r”, is a quiet month really.  It is a waiting month.  Gardeners and farmers wait for spring to finally come so they can get onto their plot of land however big it may be.   Skateboarders wait for clean sidewalks and roads to race on.  Runners and bikers are waiting too, unless they are all weather runners and bikers, in which case, they don all- weather gear and get out there no matter what the day brings, intrepid souls that they are. Dog walkers, like me, can't wait.  We go, in spite of the mean streets, and pray we don't end up flat on our backs staring into the surprised eyes of our four footed friend.  It hasn't happened yet.  My fingers stay crossed.

We are half way through February now and racing toward the finish line.  In little more than a month, the official start of spring comes with the equinox, except not in Alberta. Spring won’t be here for another month after that at least, and maybe more depending on the weather forcasters. We swarm into our gardens in May here.

Last night the TV meteorolegist made a delightful slip of the tongue as she was summerizing her forcast about the next snow on its way.  She said “look for snow to fart stall around midnight”. And then the dear girl broke apart and put her head on the anchor desk.  It was one of those funny little live moments that are all too rare these days.   We need more of those and we need some of that lovely white snow to fart stalling and cover up the grey, dirty left over’s and make it pretty again around here.   

Post cards

I had  fun this afternoon.  I made a post card.    Now, this post card is for a cause and the cause is to keep a dear little post office which is under threat, open.  The call went out from Jane Davies, fibre artist and owner of this post office which is located in rural Vermont, in the United States.  Apparently her little Post office, and its resident gaggle of chickens,  is in danger of being closed because the volume of mail is considered too low by the United States Postal Service.  Jane is determined this can't happen.  You can read about her Post Card project here.  You can even send her a post card or a letter to add to the volume that will hopefully convince the USPS to reconsider.  My post card is in a protective envelope, coming from Canada, and is ready to ship out tomorrow.  There is no way this little card would survive without protection, especially coming from another country.
Even more important, I learned something about myself making this little post card this afternoon.  It took me all of a couple of hours to complete, and I had such fun designing and constructing it.    I learned that art doesn't have to be complicated.  It doesn't have to be about something. It doesn't have to be for sale.  Art just has to be.  This little 4" x 6" card certainly isn't earth shaking art, but it is creative and it did come from my heart, and my goofy artistic vision of the moment.  It uses fibre, stitching, and some buttons.  Big deal eh?  But it came from my head, my heart and it gave me joy.  That is what making art should be all about.  I needed that lesson I think.  And hopefully Jane will get to keep her Post Office.

Under construction

The workroom is buzzing this week.  A new sock is under construction although I'm not at all sure I like the colour combinations.  The wool is Opal from Garn Studios and the colour name is "inspiration".  Hmmm.
Since I find it soothing to knit socks mostly in the evening while watching a movie or something on television, I was quite surprised to find out about the yellow stripe when I viewed the work in the daylight.  In the half light I swear that stripe looked white.   This big ball has been resting in my sock tub as part of the stash, so I must have chosen it at some point, but for the life of me I don't know why. I suprise myself sometimes.  At any rate, the socks or I should say sock number one is coming along.  I knit one at a time, from the cuff down on five 5" needles and this time I've decided to run the k1p1 rib all the way to the heel.  I think it might tame this wildness a bit.  I could be wrong. I'm also knitting circles to felt and then to embellish with beads and stitching, and I'm rolling felt beads.  All of this will be popped into the washing machine when I have enough to justify the hot water.  I'm giving myself some playtime.

I stopped everything a few days ago and pulled out some of my books looking for inspiration.  I started thinking about threads, which led me to connections, which led me to thinking about my mother and grandmothers, my aunts, cousins and friends, all of whom were and are handy and artistic.  And that lead to thinking about threads as lifelines, connectors, histories,  ravelling and unravelling with time.  And that is the story I want to tell in my work this year. 
A comment was made the other evening at the Etsy Alberta Street Team meet-up about fibre art being low on the Totem poll because it is considered "women's work" and home decoration.  The artist who made the comment is a quilter.  I fervently wish she wasn't right, but I'm afraid that is how much of this work is viewed generally - not at all appreciated for the imagination, skill, time and effort it takes actually to make this stuff.