Beach Walking

The skies were so clear and blue yesterday, lovely after several days of rain. We took Gracie and Mischa down to one of Gabriola's beautiful beaches after the Love-In. These California poppies were blooming in a garden fronting onto the beach.

Some poor guy was standing out in the water, shivering. (You can see him in the upper right of the picture.) The girl with him was jumping in and out, swimming and playing. He just stood there with his arms folded - no wonder he was cold.

There were some interesting textures and shapes.

Dogs love the water of course. Gracie hunted for sticks that I might throw for her.

Check out this Golden Retriever, standing eagerly at the prow of his master's boat. That's Nanaimo harbour in the background.

The old tin boats pulled up on the shore were also a great mix of colour and texture.

Everything is Groovy...Still!

"Hey punk, where are ya going with those flowers in your hair?" To the Love-In, of course! The Gabriola Museum has unveiled a new exhibit featuring the hippies who came to the island back in the '70's, and kicked it off with a celebration. I tried to dress appropriately.

 Couldn't match this trippy couple! 

 Or this fabulous jacket! Like wow, man!

Prior to the event, I had been advised by a guy down at the recycling centre that the brownies on the left were the "good" ones. Sadly, I think he was misinformed.

 Some more psychedelic finery, recycled from Dad's tie rack.

 Tie dye was the order of the day.

 Topped only by tie-dyed patchwork!

 And here's a pair of original flares, circa 1972. Remember when all you had to do to look like a rebel was modify your jeans?

Love, love, love those rainbow suspenders paired with the Che Guevera shirt! And I don't think this guy consciously dressed for the event either. Authentic hippy all the way.

 And I couldn't resist taking a picture of this little three-wheeler, a Messerschmidt. It wasn't part of the exhibit, but just imagine the Fabulous Furry Freak Brother piling out of it!

Well, It's About Time!

The Quilt, otherwise known as the "Project Without End" has finally been completed. Yesterday, all I had to do was trim it (above), and bind it (below). After countless hours of hand stitching, using the machine felt like a cheat. But there was no way I was going to attach the binding by hand.

Appropriately enough, I delivered the quilt on Mother's Day to Judy, the daughter of Melba, who began the project a long time ago. We are not sure if 2001 is indeed when she started. The pattern itself , an Orange Blossom applique, dates from 1947, published by Mountain Mist. Judy intends to give the quilt to her own daughter next month as a 50th birthday present. 

Thank goodness for the elves in the washing machine, who transformed the grubby, flat cloth into something much closer to a soft, puffy, much-loved heirloom. I had to use lemon juice and a bit of hydrogen peroxide to get out some old stains that pre-dated my relationship with the piece.

Now I can get back to my own stitching. No, wait. I have to sew a graduation suit for a friend's son, and create a chuppah for another friend's wedding. Stick around, elves, I've got more to keep you busy!

It Takes All Kinds

Online Dating for Middle-Aged Women

Dear Louisa of Damselfly's Delights has asked me to share more of the details surrounding my last, deliberately cryptic post. Those who know me well may have already guessed that more than endless white-on-white stitching was occupying my time. I have a self-imposed, somewhat flexible boundary on how much of my personal life I blog about: I aspire to stay on topic, such as it is; personal details might involve other people whose privacy I respect; the personal can become a bit of a wallow; there is a fine line between being open about personal things and just being a narcissist (something bloggers in general are often accused of.)

However, in the spirit of sharing experience in the hopes that it may be interesting, relevant and/or helpful to others, let me recount some of me recent adventures in the wide world of online dating.

When I returned to Lasqueti, I was determined that there would be no more men in my life. I was too old, too cynical, too battered and bruised. A life of pure, devoted creative production, unsullied by troublesome romance beckoned. A friend came up to to me and said, "Heather, I have your next relationship lined up!" I scoffed, and said I was out of action in that department. She replied that I was the kind of person who would always be in action, which I considered a bit of a cheeky assumption at the time, but it did make me wonder about myself.

Then, a couple of months later, I ran into Wendy at yoga. She was brand new to the island, having just moved in with one of the island's few eligible bachelors. I asked her how they had met, and she somewhat ruefully (but with a big smile) said "Plenty of Fish". Hmmn. I had done online dating in the past, on Craigslist, before it became the unformatted vortex of strange desires it is today. I have always been interested in how we present ourselves to the world, and reading personal ads has long been an amusing diversion for me. How do we condense who we are and what we want into a few pithy sentences? From what I have seen, it is an art form that succeeds in the hands of a very few. Most of us stumble, erring either on the side of "I'll tell you more when we meet in person", or blathering on for paragraphs about one's entire life story.

So, more as an exercise in exploring who I might be, I went to Plenty of Fish, and browsed around. Unlike Craigslist, POF has forms to fill out, and claims to be much more structured (and successful) in finding matches. I concocted a profile, striving to create the most honest, accurate version of myself possible. I also thought deeply about what I wanted in my life, still convinced I would never actually make it public. I eventually posted it, but kept it private, which meant I could look at other people's profiles, but they wouldn't see mine unless I contacted them.

A week or so went by and I saw that while there was a huge contingent of unsuitable men, there were also a few that looked, well, interesting. I decided to make my profile public and see what happened. Almost instantly my inbox was filled with "Likes" and "Want to Meets". Yikes! I sifted through them, discarded most, and began a few tentative email conversations.

Around this time, I found a book at the library called "I Love You, Let's Meet". It is a fascinating, funny book that should be mandatory reading for online daters. Author Virginia Vitzthum reveals the greedy, manipulative business side of the dating sites, and explores the psychological aspects of creating a profile, and why people lie so much about themselves.

I was shocked! People lie? Jeez, how naive I am. Apparently up to 40% of online daters are actually married. Most people lie about their age, height, weight, income...well, almost anything. In a way, online dating sites provide a means for people to imagine a better, more desirable version of themselves. This certainly helped explain why some seemingly charming guys I chatted with suddenly disappeared when I suggested we might meet.

Armed with this knowledge, I narrowed my gaze, but the site was somewhat addictive, always offering potential matches. I quickly decided that I would not respond to anyone whose pictures featured them holding up a great big dead fish (these guys seemed to take the name of the site literally), sitting on their big ugly Harley (wannabe bikers don't do it for me), snapping their own photo in the bathroom mirror (jeez, don't you even have a friend to take your picture?), or posing with their arm around their mother ('nuff said). I also used the ability to spell as a filter - if they couldn't spell, they were out, no matter how promising otherwise. I ruled out the guy who claimed to converse with trees and plants, as well as the guy who said he liked to watch UFO's hover over Nanaimo. The post-apocalyptic pan-denominational Christian was a non-starter. I learned that some men used a drift net approach to dating, contacting every woman within a 100 mile radius, while others were fly fishers, casting their line with thoughtfulness and skill.

I eventually had an actual in-person date. The guy who had seemed so sweet on my computer screen spent the whole time staring at my boobs. I didn't see him again. Later, I met another man, whom I initially said I wouldn't meet because he was so far out of my carefully refined specifications, and he turned out to be quite cool and interesting - hitting the mark in many ways. But he then surprised me by saying he wanted to get back together with his ex, while keeping me on the side. Uh, NO!

Now, I must confess to my own deception. After reading that "I Love You, Let's Meet" book, I decided to see what it felt like posting a profile of myself that wasn't scrupulously honest. Being me, I couldn't really go wild with an alternate reality, but I did give myself a different name and different interests, made myself a little younger, and said I lived in a completely different part of the province. Amazingly, I still got lots of responses. One of them was from an impossibly good-looking (ie. Brad Pitt or Calvin Klein underwear model) guy. I started a flirtation with him that quickly became rather steamy. I was surprised by how much fun it was to have a saucy conversation with a complete stranger, especially one that I assumed looked nothing like his pictures. This went on for a few days, until I speculated he might actually be a POF employee, working out of his parent's basement in Sheboygan, Wisconsin, just buttering me up so I would pay for an upgrade on my account. I didn't hear another word from him. Go figure!

Just as that virtual liaison ended, I was idly browsing through my suggested "Matches" when one face leapt out from the rest. It was like his picture was surrounded by a bright light. He glowed. I clicked.

His profile was beautifully written, expressing values and experience that mirrored my own. He said he was an artist. I had been doing this POF thing long enough to know that here was a live one. I sent him a message immediately, saying I would like to see his art. If his work was anything remotely passable, I was in. It turned out that his work literally had me on my knees, praising God that such a man was in the world. We exchanged a few brief emails, had a long phone conversation the next day, and met in person a day after that.

And this is the part where words fail me. I start to sound like a giddy adolescent, spouting banal superlatives. Amazing, wonderful, gorgeous, fantastic, brilliant, blissful, astonishing. All that and more. Given my history, I can't tell people about how I feel without them rolling their eyes and saying, "But Heather, you always find wonderful men." How can I convince them it's different this time? But actually, I don't care if no one believes me, if no one else thinks I may have finally found the one.

But I'm posting about it anyway. If my experience inspires others to take a chance, and surprise themselves, I extend my blessings. The world is an amazing, mysterious place, and happiness exists. Seek it out.

Status Report

When I say I'm in love, you best believe I'm in love L-U-V

Bad Blogger

Aww, I'm sorry. I know it must seem as if I have forgotten all about my dear readers. A confluence of boring detail has kept me from the computer:

First off, the stitching on the quilt-for-hire project has been endless white-on-white, not very photogenic.

 This is the mess I have to repair. Tangled threads, knots on the surface, poor quality thread. It's sad evidence that the original quilter was faltering in her skill. I try to tidy it up by working over her stitches. Not perfect, but better.

Second, I once again face the prospect of moving. This alone is enough to short circuit my brain as I dither over whether to move to a place down the road, where I will have to again move from in the fall, or to move to a different island altogether.Whatever I decide, I will have to face that burdonsome pile of boxes of stuff that I have been lugging around for an eternity.

And third,Craft Therapists (for a Plugged-in Society), as Jennifer Brant and I call ourselves, are headed to Portland next month for our presentation at Open Engagement. Here's the blurb I just wrote:

 "Free Store" occupies a space in the context of community and exchange. As artists who live on a small, off-grid island we must be much more conscious of the stuff we deal with in our daily life. It is difficult to get things on and off the island and we have limited landfill options.(Our little island can be viewed as a microcosm of Mother Earth.) One strategy we rely on as a means of keeping stuff in the hands of people who can use it is our wonderful Free Store. We are delighted to share a Free Store with the Open Engagement community.  

At Free Store, we add value by mending and altering donated clothing, turning something disposable into something meaningful and precious. We circumvent consumer alienation, where we have no connection to the origin of the clothes that we wear, by adding elements of connection, story and personal meaning. 

We celebrate the concept of "exuberant frugality", wherein we find pleasure, joy and richness in the shared wealth of our community, while spending little or no money. At Free Store you can visit with friends, exchange stories and be entertained, while browsing the racks, having your favourite jeans repaired, or customizing a shirt. Bring a garment or two to add to the collective fun.

Little Houses in the Woods

Shari White's Fairy Houses

 Last Friday we had an art and storytelling show at our little Arts Centre. The theme was originally "Little Houses in the Dark Woods", intended to explore our winter experience on this island. But various events conspired to delay the show and it ended up more as a celebration of spring, and emerging from our cozy dark lairs into the light of day.

 I don't think my Codex pieces were quite as appropriate for the revised theme, but I hung them anyway. You can see the owls on the left wall.

 Sophia Rosenberg showed four paintings from a major series exploring the story of Little Red Riding Hood.

 The bears are tucked in between one of Valeria deRege's sculptures, and Otis Running's intricate drawings.

 Richard set up the storytelling circle and built the campfire. Later, old t-shirts were laid over the log stools to prevent something called "sapbutt", a phenomenon I was previously unaware of, but which is a hazard with newly cut rounds of fir.

Lots of people came to the viewing. I had some very nice comments, but was also reminded of how uncomfortable I am at openings. It can be nerve wracking!

The little house on the left is the Art Centre's generator shed. It was built out of cob by the Mud Girls, our local women's building collective. Yup, we're a little out of the mainstream here. Or maybe just ahead of our time.

False Bay was perfectly calm as I rode my bike home. This is where the ferry comes in, and this view as one comes down the hill toward the bay always makes my heart fill with love for this place.