A Little Red Tricycle


I had my first two wheel bike when I was ten. I bought it myself – or at least in partnership with my brother. We had both saved our money and were the proud owners of a $ 7.00 second hand bike. I can’t  remember much else about that bike – my brother probably used it more than me – but that I had saved and purchased it myself is a strong memory. It was obviously an important purchase as here I am fifty years later still proud of that first bike and how I obtained it.

Yesterday I dropped in on #1 son who was working on the Blueberry Muffin, and there, in the middle of chaos, was a little red tricycle. It was destined for the dump because, according to him, he couldn’t find anyone who’d take it. He’d messaged a couple people, but no thanks.

It hurts to see good stuff like this end up in the landfill, we are a ‘stuff’ people, and I am as bad as the worst, but unfortunately, we don’t care for OR keep our stuff. Too many of us don’t even try to recycle. So I bought the little red cycle home and cleaned it up. I put it on Facebook. It’s yours if you like, free for the taking. Surely someone can give the little red bike a home!

Update:   Two days later …  The little red tricycle is gone. Yayyyy!



I painted stars in the sky last night. For you. Your constellation. It was quite dreadful actually. “Nightmare on Elm Street,”  I told Jackie. But such fun! You would have said it was lovely.

The event was hosted by Earth and Sky Healing Gallery as a fundraiser to support local initiatives targeted at creating mental health awareness.

It was nice to see so many participants. No doubt we all had our reasons for being there and our own stories to tell, but there was no bitterness last night, no sadness, no tears – just laughter and a sense of accomplishment as we surprised ourselves with what we could do.

Sarah was the artist in residence and she was so kind – like a kindergarten teacher – telling us all how beautiful our work was. And we beamed beneath her gentle praise. There were several teachers there. I hope they practice the same in their own classrooms with their own students. Words have such power.

Sunday Drives, Ice-cream and a Blueberry Muffin


The boys were getting rambunctious. They’d been outside all day playing with their Dad but I could see a spat brewing and to give their Dad a break, I offered ice-cream. We all piled into the car and at the last minute, Dad jumped in too which sort of surprised me as I thought he’d appreciate the breather.

So we went for ice-cream and a drive around town. And then we stopped and bought a house.

Yep. “Stop!” He yelled. And I did. And there she was, The Blueberry Muffin, a little blue house that looked only a shade better than a pile of planks ready for the dump. We all jumped out and clambered up over a rickety set of stairs to peek in the windows.

But as bad as she looked, we had lucked in. Built as a home, not as a house, the muffin was very well made – solid – nothing slapped up here! In no time, with the help of a very good friend, the little house became what I call The Blueberry Muffin – new windows, siding, shingles as well as front and back decks.

Both lack of time and funds called a halt to the project, but we are ready to start again and in the next month we hope to get the wiring and plumbing completed. Then the fun begins. This little house is once again becoming a home!

Twice loved!!

A Stitch in Time …

There’s crafting – and there’s mending – which is sooo not crafting and almost always finds its way to the bottom of the basket until, in desperation, it’s handed off to Mother.

Yep, 61 years old, and if I needed a pair of pants hemmed or a busted seam fixed up, I called upon my 84 year old mother. My son even bypassed me and went straight to his Grandma though I certainly know my way around a sewing machine and have for many years.

But Mom passed away earlier this year and we’re both lost without her. She will be missed for many, many reasons. Mending- guilty as charged – is but one!

So I’m on my own now and could hardly believe how proud I felt after hemming my first pair of pants! Such a sense of accomplishment!

Am I a complete convert? Not likely. I still shove mending to  the bottom of  the basket, but when MY grandson came to ME last week to repair something when he’d always gone to GiGi before (Great Grandma) ….  By gosh, I felt pretty darn good.

And in he comes today with another little stuffed toy for me to mend! Gotta love it!

So keep on crafting, but keep on mending too. I saw a documentary about the amount of clothes we buy and then toss away. The waste is frightening! These are my son’s old jeans – work pants, patched and ready for another day at the worksite. Repair. Reuse. Recycle. Twice loved!



Stormy Seas


My Mom was in her fifties, maybe even early sixties, when she began to paint. And she was really quite good. We had several of her paintings hung about the house. I remember showing an acquaintance, who was ‘in’ with the arts, a few of her works. As we walked into my living room, she pointed at a tiny print. “That’s nice. Did your Mom paint that one too?”

“No,” I replied, poker-faced. “That’s a Picasso.” And yes, I think I have a little of the devil in me because I got a great chuckle out of that. Mother and Picasso (Walmart version) on the same page. Too funny!

The lesson here, I guess, is that most of us are not art critics. We don’t know Picasso or Rembrandt or Van Gogh. We just know what we like, what touches us.

My latest art acquisitions are two originals, Stormy Seas by Sam, age eight, and Sunset by Asher, age five. Both love to draw and paint and colour but Sam is the true artist, I believe, because his art brings him so much joy.

Today, he called, quite excited. In looking for unicorn pictures, he happened upon Etsy. Upon realizing that Etsy was a place where you could show and sell your art to the world, he had his Dad help him set up shop. That in itself was an exercise in creativity. I’m not allowed to buy anything, I was told, but I don’t think he’d mind me giving him a shout out here.



Let’s Break for Lunch


I watch my son prepare school lunches for his three boys and I wonder at the calm with which he packs three bags night after night without totally losing his mind. This week I had to help out a little and more than anything, it was the packing of those lunches that made me feel inadequate. Of course, rarely do the three boys like the same thing and while I know Little Bear loved blueberries last week, this week he doesn’t want to touch them! This week he’s back on strawberries that are going at like about eight bucks for a tablespoon full! And so it goes. Hats off to all the dads and moms and grandpas and grandmas who are out there packing lunches. You have to be creative in a big way to pack healthy and happy without breaking the bank! And if you happened to peek into the boys’ snack bags this week, please don’t be too critical of that plastic tub of cold, plain pasta. They like it! They really do!

Kiss Me, I’m Irish


We made cupcakes this week to celebrate St. Patrick and all things Irish. The first lot of icing – not so good. Somehow I mistook flour for icing sugar! Two cups in before I noticed something amiss. Didn’t mind tossing the flour but tossing out a cup of real butter … OUCH!  I lay no claim to fame in the kitchen but my littlest grandson, whom I routinely call Little Bear, didn’t seem to care much about quality. As far as Little Bear was concerned, the fun was definitely in the making and not in the eating. I tend to agree. Not quite sure how I got to be so lucky, but I have three grandsons who own great big chunks of my heart. Perhaps with luck like that, I’m more Irish than I realize!

And … In case you’re wondering, these cupcakes are really leprechauns hiding in the green, green grass of Ireland. The grass, of course, is covered with a few sprinkles of rainbow dust. As I’m sure you are all aware, if you are lucky enough to find a leprechaun, you will almost certainly find rainbow dust!

Soooo… May your day be covered with rainbow dust as well – not just St. Paddy’s Day, but every day. Most days are, if we only look closely enough.