BLACK INK PAPERIE

upon finding herself on the naughty list, betty bawled....

2011-12-14T11:11:00.000-08:00

remember, we are never as nice as we think we are. its a shame but nonetheless true.

presents
i sent my mother a big box filled with guilt. puzzles, books.... small tokens of my eternal guilt. and today i'll send my mother an express envelope containing gift cards - the cash equivalent of guilt.

i've been reading on facebook recently a lot of chatter about bringing "my christ" back to christmas. because i rarely think things through - i thought it must be one of those word scramble things. well obviously i found christ right away, but where was my. there was ma christ but that sounded gangster. man, let's hang for "ma christmas" sorry my street talk needs some work. i then found sam christmas. that was a sort of a da vinci code moment for me. had i found some hidden message. i decided not. so in the end i failed to find my christ in christmas which is probably just as well because i would expect a present from him.

HONESTLY i love christmas and i am an extremely kind and generous person. but this time of year does require some resources to be diverted from my needs to meet the needs of others. and that sucks.

ho
bev

Taking my demons out for a bit of exercise......

2011-11-27T12:45:00.000-08:00

i think i mentioned awhile ago that i suffer from the crafting equivalent of erectile dysfunction. in fact, i'm probably the hugh hefner of the condition. i'm surrounded by beautiful product. i possess all the right equipment to make it happen.... and yet when i assume the crafting position; i am unable to perform. the problem is all in my head - like that's a big surprise. i feel such immense pressure to create. i'm the magician that reaches into his hat and expects to pull out the baby jesus instead of a rabbit. that would be something though.

i come from maritimes, specifically nova scotia, where women can craft with their eyes closed. non-crafters are looked upon with disdain. picture my mother, in her platform rocker, the cuff of a mitten taking shape. she waves her knitting needles about and punctuates each opinion by thrusting the end of her #7's in your direction. and she says "could you tell me what she does all day. if you ask me that's her problem - she's not keeping her hands busy."

and that my friends is what it boils down to - it's your own fault, whatever malady has befallen you could have been avoided if only you did not have idle hands. they say "an apple a day keeps the doctor away" well in the maritimes "a mitten a day keeps madness at bay"

harsh, i know but unavoidable. so with that in mind i started working on something. and here are the results

as you can tell i have given up my brief career as a professional picture taker. as a result all photos were taken on the couch, with my phone pointed slightly north of my lady bits. strictly low-end i know but christ i can't do everything.

bev

Nancy spots a whale and other tales - personal in nature......

2011-11-03T11:12:00.000-07:00

my oh my, how time flies when your losing your mind. where to start - not the beginning - that's too obvious - not the end..... i think i'll not start, i'll just carry on. let's pretend in april i sighed somewhat dramatically, took a sip drink of tea and then looked pensively out the window for awhile.

i went on an aeroplane. that practically ruined my entire summer. the anticipation of the crash. of whether i would ultimately sacrifice myself to save other passengers or in the flush of adrenalin i would toss them out in hopes of creating a soft pile to land on.

in the end i went and we did not crash. i hated every second of being on that plane. i sort of forgot about falling from the sky and instead found considerable issue with how uncomfortable i was, how confined and chubby if felt, how goddamn much a mini can of pringles cost, how long it was taking....

but then...
6 days in my mother's house. 6 days of sleeping on feather pillows that were created before WW2. 6 days of not eating any vegetables except canned peas. 6 days of laughing and laughing. 6 days of realizing i no longer belonged in this place. 6 days of soaking up the song of a people that is still my own. 6 days of my dear susan

i grew up among people who valued the art of the telling over the art of the tale. which meant we thrived on the details. god how i miss that. i miss the sheer thrill of the tell. where facts are passed over for the more speculative approach. where judgements are passed before plots have unfolded. and to have 6 days of that wonder and recognizing yourself in the words and cadence of those around you is just so lovely.

during those 6 days i had use of my mother's car. firstly she said - "i would appreciate if you didn't go over 80km." i didn't see that restriction coming. that's the great thing about my mom - you can't predict her next move. her offensive game is just outstanding. mom had other rules regarding her 1991 ford focus. no driving after dark. no rough roads. no unlocked doors or windows left down. no hitting deer.

the first time i sat in the car. i said "ok little ford focus, you better keep your frigging mouth shut about the next 6 days or i'm going to slam your tiny ass into a deer."

those 6 days were filled with immaturity and joy. my baby girl got to see humpback whales with here auntie sue. we ate clams and lobster and fish. we slept in the ancient lakelawn motel where we found blood, mysteriously smeared on the door and top sheet. we all had our theories and we felt delighted to have been assigned this family double. we found sea glass and iridescent blue plastic tampon holders on the beach. i was thrilled with both. we picked apples and ate them unwashed.

but mostly i looked in the face of my friend and found a happiness that i cannot find on my own.

bev

the farmer's wife

2011-04-18T11:38:00.000-07:00

god i hate spring in alberta. the never ending blizzards followed by the ridiculously hot weather. sometimes it thunders and lightning and snows. its like mother nature is trying to birth a 12lb baby. the thigh high snowbanks and the ankle deep muck. did i mention we farm. cows calve in the spring. my husband just came back from the vet's with scour medication (calf diarrhea) he bought so much the vet gave him the cardboard display box. the annual defrosting of fields and corrals, filling the air with an aromatic mixture of a winters worth of animal dung. i really wanted to say shit but i'm trying to clean my act up. i know now it's only a matter of time before my mother finds this blog. the day of reckoning is nigh. she found me on facebook. i spent over an hour explaining my selection of friends. was i involved in any funny business in chatrooms. my mother says faceBOOK, the emphasis on book. its only one of the charming terms from mom's technological vernacular. she also has a very CB radio view of the world wide web. she has been known to ask whether i can bring in nova scotia on my computer. let's face it she still thinks the answering machine message is live. every time i return a message from her she says "russell came on and SAID you weren't home" her message is always the same "russell" russell (long pause) its mom have bev phone me.........i am so going to hell.

back to the farm. i have a bit of a rage on for this pioneer woman. truthfully i have a bit of coveting going on. she's the internet sensation, famous for marrying a farmer, discovering ranch life and blogging about it. she even has a cookbook - which i bought for $30 just so i could lament over her genius. it could have been me. didn't i marry a farmer - didn't i have to learn to be the farmer's wife. i cook. i have children. one of which insisted on wearing her spurs everywhere for almost a year. i have cows, horses and various other farm animals. i even until recently had 2 morbidly obese turkey's named stump and potpie. we calve out cows, put up hay, plow fields. isn't my life full of pastoral pastimes like horseback riding and home canning. we even pursue more western pursuits like branding cattle and testicle extraction. hell we even eat the testicles and to top it off weren't my pretty brown hens hired by a hollywood production company to be in a movie being shot in southern alberta. and weren't those pretty hens paid $100 for their efforts. and didn't the hollywood production company phone again wishing to rehire the hens for another movie shoot. but tragically the hens were not available having been picked off one my one by stealthy coyotes. this rural life of mine seems noteworthy...... god that woman is living my life and getting paid.

bev

where the angel laid her finger and devil laid his thumb....

2011-03-18T10:57:00.001-07:00

first let me say this post is not meant to rain on any one's religious parade. it is simply my experience.

i remember going to church from a very early age. i can recall everything through eyes that spent about 45 minutes every sunday studying their surroundings. the smells and sounds are still with me. our minister was a quiet man who lead his flock in a voice free of fire and brimstone. his sermons would wash over his parishioners like a warm wave. i think my people came to church to rest. their week of labour over, they relaxed into the steady hum of praise for our god. there were no stars in our choir nor they did not sway to music. there was no band, just my aunt on the organ. our services were not interactive - there were no amens or praise the lord shout-outs. communion was truly a communal affair with little nuggets of bread and tiny glasses of grape juice that were always received sparingly so the leftovers would keep children quiet for the rest of the sermon. through this instruction i learned about god. he was very nice man who loved children. he had a place for you to go after you died. the description was a bit vague but we would be walking around on clouds. there really was no big interview process for getting into heaven. do your best and try to love everyone. the most important thing i learned was that god was love. it was that simple. the potential to follow these simple guidelines were in us all. there was never any mention of not succeeding. this love we possessed was a part of us like our eyes and legs and almost impossible not to use. it was a very good feeling and i took it to heart.

somewhere along the way this message became a bit boring for some people. a new church opened to complete for the souls of our community. it was flashy, raucous religious theater. i was introduced to new players in faith scene. in a lead roll was this devil guy, who lived somewhere in the middle of the earth. he was a mean bastard, with a tail and pitchfork. also there was a new god and he was fairly angry. there was some sort of war going on between the two of them and we were the prize. i must tell you it was all very exciting but it had nothing to do with me. i had my spiritual instructions and they definitely did not include any of this foolishness. so honestly, it was entertainment to me. i sat enraptured not with the message but the players. there was crying and shout outs. there was talking in tongues and moaning. people raising their hands and going forward to confess some very interesting sins. at times i had to sit on my hands to keep from clapping.

when the new church came it caused a division in our extended family. some family members preferred the big show to quaker-like silence in our church. there was great pressure to convert. the old guard stood firm." we are an anchor that cannot move, steadfast and sure while the billows roll". those words are from my favorite hymn and they remind me of that time. a great wave of religious revival was washing over us but most of us remained firm.

deliverance through fear is a very powerful concept. killer bees and army ants on their way, the end of the world, the fiery pits of devil's hell, and it unfolded that this new vengeful god had a fair number of conditions about entrance to heaven. there were in fact a set of gates on the place, pearly, but nonetheless gates. i understood they kept the undesirables out but maybe they kept people from leaving. and to top it off this god did not accept everyone. non-believers, homosexuals, jews, muslins the list was long and impressive. this heaven i thought must me quite roomy - an exclusive destination that specialized in exclusion.

this all became personal to me when my dad died. my father was a lovely, kind man who worked tirelessly for his community. he had the power to lift people up and make them believe that their voice was important. but he was also a bit of a hell raiser - he was a chain-smoking, liquor drinking, potty-mouth man with no alliance to any god. i am sad to say i have very few memories of him. he died when i was 6. i knew he loved me and i him. people told me wonderful stories of his good and bad deeds. after some time had passed my uncle took me aside one day after sunday school. (by this time the sunday school in our church had closed so we converged on new comers). my dear uncle whom i loved told me my father was in hell spending eternity burning alive. he told me my mother was headed that way as well because she would not convert. my father could not be saved but i could save my mother if i accepted jesus. this was all quite distressing. how in the hell did that happen. my father had been caught in the crossfire of this parallel religion. i had never even imagined that this could happen. of course i cried and then did what came naturally, i told everyone i knew this news. views were mixed but the general consensus seemed to debunk this theory. well, that was reassuring. this troubling theory stayed with me though, a nagging little problem in the back of my brain. i went over various plans of rescuing my father but mostly i wanted to make hell a bit more hospitable. i wanted an audience with this devil guy. if this new god was capable of vengeance and judgement then i reasoned this devil could not be all bad. i would explain to him that there were apparently quite a few of us coming his way and perhaps we could talk this out. no more fire, maybe a tv and ice water to drink. through it all i knew for certain i wanted nothing to do with this new god fellow. denying my father entrance through the gates was enough to get my ass up. i thought that maybe when i got through overhauling hell i could possibly agree to take on heaven.

as i grew up i was reminded often how sinful i was for not accepting jesus christ as my personal savior. that sounds silly now as i write it . personal saviour. its a bit like personal trainer or personal assistant or personal banker. but apparently back then personal attention was a new concept. i went through a period when i would cringe when hearing the world jesus used in any context other than cursing. i was only happy to judge my judges'. i finally realized that somewhere in this must be the lesson i am here to learn. i sometimes feel like a roman soldier and his lion that have been ordered to job retraining. i understand that when you lead with love the rest will fall away. but trying to love the enemy is a very hard pill to swallow.

i must admit that i have yet to fully make peace with the past. in many ways i am still that little girl quite willing to face the fires of hells, rather than take a peek behind the pearly gates. they do say "better the devil you know, than the angel you don't" i know for certain there is far more love in me than disdain or hate. my nana used to say that hate was just fear in really bright clothes. fear can makes enemies of the nicest people. i have never thought as god as a real person or heaven as a real place. i don't know if that makes me a heretic and i have ceased to care. i learned long ago that god was love with no strings attached. i may be far from a model citizen but i do find myself filled with love for almost every person i encounter from cashiers to babies. i feel a sense of tender responsibly for them all. we are all together on this planet. what will be will be, but for now, all we have is each other.

bev

when you find your self in the face of bonnie......

2011-03-10T14:06:00.000-08:00

i have always been someone who has wondered who i'm supposed to be. i watch others in awe as they effortlessly waltz to a song that i have never heard. for the most part, people really have everything figured out. they don't have to think about creating an identity; apparently they came with one. i feel compelled to try on other people's personalities like sweaters - attempting to feel what its like to know who you are and where you're going. i just have never accomplished this without those around me wondering what the hell was wrong with me.

my first attempt to build a better me came shortly after my 5th birthday. on my first day of school i encountered bonnie and the die was cast. she was everything i was not. i was at this point in my life described as awkward. my hands and feet were too big for me and i was forever covered in iodine and bandaids from stumbling over myself. mum would say "god, can't you see where you're going"?
(side note - in the 3rd grade my eyes were tested and i was found to be quite near-sighted. so apparently mum, i couldn't see where i was going.)

right before school started my mum made the decision to have my hair shorn off. she had had enough. my hair was a long, curly mess. it was often referred to as a rat's nest. my mom had this idea that my curls would not come back if my hair was cut against the curl. so she had her friend joyce carry out her big plan. i must tell you that against the curl was not my best look. my near military cut was accented with cow licks. not quite enough to form a pattern, just a enough to make people think i was unkempt. bonnie on the other hand was petite and perfect. her limbs matched the rest of her body. she had long pale yellow hair that was rod straight . she had sweater sets and cotton skirts and was shod in penny loafers. i dressed almost exclusively in a blue, slightly too small, snoopy sweatshirt and a tartan kilt held together with a giant safety pin - my massive feet crammed in sneakers. bonnie was quiet and sweet and she never spoke out of turn. she did not snort when she laugh. but without question her most enviable quality was her delicate nature. she seemed to be constantly in peril and she quickly became the focal point of our little world. we all fretted over bonnie. does bonnie have her mittens, don't show bonnie your cut because she'll faint. the dear little thing also needed a rest after lunch. we all hushed as bonnie lay quietly on the cot at the back of the classroom. how i loved that cot - it was metal and had a grey blanket with red stripes. i longed to stretch out upon it. i tried inventing and carrying out various scenarios which would end with me reposing and being the object of everyones pity and concern. sadly, a strong constitution and a lack of acting ability stood in my way. mrs teacher would step over my twitching body as i feigned a nervous spell. she'd be heading to her desk to get the strap. i guess she figured a few quick smacks would bring me around a lot quicker than any old cot.

i tried to be bonnie countless times, i could not be deterred by a strap or the frank bewilderment of my classmates. dammit, i would will myself delicate. my performances reached a fever pitch when bonnie returned to school after having her tonsils out. she practically lived on that cot - with teacher running back and forth with sips of cold water and cool cloths. we all sat on pins and needles wondering if she would live. at recess we would gather to express our concerns and stand crying at the thought of losing our bonnie. i was as worked up as anybody else but at the same time - what an opportunity. imagine all that love and attention. i begged my mother to have some part of my innards taken out. i tried to fake cough my tonsils out. i would repeat, loudly, over and over all day how bad my throat hurt. i would collapse, often and unexpectedly into a careful heap of woe. i made a fool of myself on a daily basis for over a month. bonnie did it so effortlessly and gracefully, she could lift up her tiny hand for you to hold, she would tear up if you discussed her impending death.

eventually, the school year ended and bonnie was forgotten but.... as luck would have it on the very first day of school the following year i met janice, a foul mouth, tomboy whose father was in the airforce. new grade, new me.

i wish i could say i learned my lesson - well, i can't. i apparently would need a near infinite number of lessons. i can't tell you how many times over the years i have made a fool of myself, suffered public humiliation and made my people wonder "what the hell". bonnie began my quest to evolve through mimicry. i really owe her a lot - although i never achieved my initial objective i did end up with the spotlight shinning brightly on me.... and really, that's all that mattered.

bev

ps i have left bonnie name uncapitalized to preserve her anonymity

where children fear to tread.......

2011-02-20T13:02:00.000-08:00

i come from a people that believe the dead did not always rest easy. the ghosts and shadows that had passed on continued to inhabit our daily lives. i prefer to entertain all of this as not backward thinking but rather traditional folklore. i grew up in flurry of signs, superstitions and forerunners. i am sure you are familiar with some of the more common ones - itchy hands foretells money coming, a dropped teatowel indicates a visitor. and burning ears meant you were the subject of someones conversation. a few of the more obscure ones included whistling after dark which made the wind blow. or whistling women at any time caused the wind to change direction. crows had to be counted and a fate determined. a bad omen could be softened by spitting on the ground. no money aboard the boat, especially any thing involving the number 2. never turn a bucket upside down and for christ's sake don't sit on it; for if you did you could kiss the fish goodbye. never look back at a hearse. birds in the house - certain death or birds tapping on the window - certain illness. really, i could go on forever.

we played in the cemetery a lot especially when certain berries were present. we ate tea berries in the spring. i have no idea of the real name or even if they are edible. but we ate them because there was nothing else yet. no blueberries, raspberries, cranberries, fern roots which we called bananas, sea snails we called periwinkles or apples. a lot of our play involved finding things to eat. that said, we played among the graves, eating our tea berries and making up stories of the people who lay below the mounds. we speculated endlessly on the tiny unmarked baby graves in the back corner. we picked flowers and cleaned gull shit off the stones. we tried to find clues about inhabitants by tracing our fingers around the granite engravings and we would pick out spots to be buried. around dark we would dare each other to lay face down on the grave of someone who had had an untimely or violent death. soon we would start to hear things and the creepers would come over us and we would run for dear life out of the graveyard making sure to close the iron gate so none of the spirits could escape. people complained and tried to keep we, the screaming children outside the gate. they thought the dead didn't want their rest disturbed but we could not be denied

we regularly tied to call forth the dead. we had seances, and secret meetings to try and raise somebody, anybody. we chanted, tried to talk in tongues, danced around fires on the beach. god knows what we would have done if they had responded - pissed our pants most likely. we wore out more than one ouija board. we watched our parents play uptable. where they tried to make a card table rise without touching it.. overall we were a people determined to keep a channel open between this world and the next.

the telling of ghost stories permeated every layer of our existence. we eavesdropped when the adults told them to each other and listened entranced when they were told to us and we in turn told them to the younger children to scare them and keep them loyal. pirates, hidden treasure, ship wrecks, pacing widows with the spyglass, the phantom light that followed boats into the harbor, the restless spirits that walked the village looking for something. overall the quiet men told the best tales. low and earnest they recalled sighting a ghost ship in the fog. the sails in shreds, the hull creaking and the cries of drowning men. these somber stories would leave us - hearts pounding and afraid to fall asleep. i had an aunt who would tell me whenever she heard horses hooves on the cobblestones and that she said foretold a death. i would spend the next few days hoping it would be some old person that would go and not me.

we often combed the beaches that surrounded us looking for coloured seaglass, food, seal jawbones, and treasure. Sometimes we would come upon a rubber boot or a glove. we would encircle it and stand arguing over who should pick it up. would there be a skeletal foot or hand inside. we would give ourselves the willies thinking of what we would find. would the hand grab us in deathly grip or would the drowned soul appear and drag us into the sea to join him. it was serious stuff and we spent a lot of time poking at the object with sticks trying to get a sense of what was to come. usually one of us would grab it, eyes closed and fling it further down the beach. if nothing emerged we would eventually muster the courage to pick it up, disappointed when it revealed no bones or ghosts. we always left it where it lay. we would move on but we were always convinced we heard something or felt eyes on us.

i wonder sometimes why our lives were aligned so closely to the afterworld. was it because we lived from the sea and did we keep ourselves close to portents that helped protect us from such a demanding mistress. just like ancient tribes that prepared their hunters with spirit dances and rituals, we practiced our rites and tried to appease the gods. when i grew up i moved away from the sea and came to live on the prairie; there i found the air empty and oddly light. where are your dead, i wondered. do they pass over without a fight. i started to realize that people are rarely lost here on the land - they just die. where i'm from no one says all hands died, they instead say all hands were lost. and the lost can never rest.

bev

i am left chewing the cud of bitter fancies.......

2011-01-10T09:04:00.000-08:00

jesus people, that's going to leave a scar. if you had warned me i could have mentioned that i haven't seen my mom in awhile and i'm in no way battle-hardened.

but onto the business at hand. the private correspondence of bev and sue.

a big prairie yahoo goes out to........ SUE. the - what would i do without you sue. big close mouth kisses to you and a big padded envelope full of thanks.

that's right, sue also won the surprise bonus. a selection from the new melissa frances kitchy kitchen line and some of the gorgeous new ribbon from webster's pages.

i'll retreat now
bev

i've got dirt to scratch and eggs to lay........

2011-01-03T12:23:00.000-08:00

and so it begins - a new year - a new set of impossible expectations. i for one love it - starting things and then disappointing is one of my specialities. i thrive in no-win environments. but let's not give away the ending before the show has begun.

the RESOLUTION. there it stands, an irresistible temptation.. it beckons and you can't help but be seduced. whether it be secret resolve or public declaration, you announce your intentions

and so i come to you with list in hand and eager to proceed. my many pledges include...
- learn to use my camera
- gain weight
- discover i am talented embroiderer
- swear more
- be fearless

my 2011 motto comes courtesy of my dear friend eminem who often says to me "it's time to pull your dick out the dirt and go (bad word) the whole universe"

and trust me, he means that in the nicest possible way. so let's go.

these little notebooks were made by simply covering small composition books and adding a few accessories. they are quite plain and the stitching on the one is truly atrocious but it is what it is and i was in a hurry and the sewing machine wasn't working. i think jane (the cat) did a good job posing. you can purchase the note books at the dollarama for the low price of 4 for $1.00. or if you're truly desperate, i have a couple that i will sell you for a slightly inflated price. i used the new, october afternoon line - modern homemaker. it is so incredibly yummy that i think i peed my pants a bit when i first laid eyes on it. it is available along with all its irresistible sundries at the store.

which provides me with a nice segue for the following. i'm giving away (yes that's me, beautiful and generous) a modern homemaker 8 x 8 paper pad. all you have to do is leave a comment or if you're shy, an e-mail and say something nice. the nice comment doesn't necessarily have to be about me - but i'm just saying... then i will randomly draw a winner and announce it next monday(10th) you have until sunday(9th) midnight to enter and i don't care how many time you do it. i'll then collect your info and it will be dispatched to you forthwith. here's the prize

.

so ta ta my pretties. hope to hear from you. be back soon
bev

the santa diaries......

2010-12-16T11:22:00.000-08:00

season's greetings. first let's address that last post. christ, that was pitiful. i am of a mind to remove it - except i really like the picture and the warm, washed and waiting bit. maybe it needs a tiny edit - cut out all the confessions about my nether regions. i'll think on it - meanwhile we're here to discuss more pertinent issues. we'll get to christmas but first i am compelled to tell about my crafting ED. it has come to my attention that i may be suffering from erectile dysfunction. not the penis variety but the paper kind. the average ed sufferer and i have very parallel symptoms. we both think about it all the time. we both get it out and think we can use it. and then problems arise or doesn't arise (small funny). and in the end we both can't finish the job. i have been studying the top 2 pharmaceutical solutions - just to see if perhaps they would work for me. i think i should go for cylais. it allows you to pick your own go-to time. that seems to give you a bit more prep time. viagra seems to be more unpredictable. you could just go off at any time. one look at some melissa frances product and your making a fool of your self in micheals. and god forbid it lasts for more than 6 hours.

ok so on to christmas.

christmas has always been a very big deal for me. and sadly with my family, it was all about the presents. steady on now people, we had a naivety display in our living room and we were all happy for joesph and mary and that fantastic story of theirs. but if we're being honest i used the naivety figures as foreigners in my barbie tales. i am a good and noble person but the biblical version of christmas didn't include any gifts for me. but santa on the other hand had flying deer and a sack full of toys. you see, don't be so fast to judge.
where i'm from, christmas was a community event. that was one advantage to being related to everyone in your village. that and wide spread present exchange. everybody gave everybody else a present. the presents were not expensive - i remember my mom giving out boxes of kleenex. the gifts also had very strict gender lines. all the men received one sort of gift and the same followed for the women. my mom often gave each man a pack of playing cards and the women a pretty tea towel. children usually got mittens or a golden book. it was truly a lovely thing. small tokens of acknowledgement. we also did a little thing called "see the tree". after christmas families went from house to house seeing the tree and the gifts. each gift under the tree was shown by the recipient and admired. men were sometimes reluctant to join in but once they got started they proved to be quite the showmen. you would have a bit of a lunch or mug-up at the person's house and then you moved on. it was an intricate ballet with villagers dancing to and fro to familiar steps. but please don't get the idea it was all Dickens like. the men often complained they didn't receive the much coveted knitted pecker warmer and there were frequent nips of the demon rum

ok, so then there was santa. during the holiday season he was on tv every night. right after the weather forecast. magically there he was - in his grotto and beseeching us to follow the christmas pledge. the pledge had to be chanted aloud daily and it went as follows

i promise to be good in every way
so that i can help make everyday
almost as happy as christmas day.
ho ho ho

at the time i was rabid follower - now i think - absolute effing genius on the part of the CBC. the canadian version of create a cult. scientology north. i'm here to tell you that while some may have said the pledge with absolute confidence there were some of us that treated it as the ultimate hail mary. my anxiety level sky rocketed around dec 1st. to even imagine that i might be held accountable for all of my transgressions was enough to have me asking for pepto bismo every night. it wasn't enough for you to repeat the pledge and mean it, you had to actually plan to be good the next day. whatever your particular behavior might be - nose picking, fire starting, excessive talking.... you had to give it up, cold turkey. i didn't stand a chance - i was a chronic hard core talker, how the hell was everyone around me going to know what i was thinking if i stopped talking. strapping, dunce hats, corner standing, blackboard writing, head cuffs, knuckle raps with the ruler - trust me if the provincial school system hadn't been able to shut me up did santa really stand a chance. the short answer would be no. i tried, i tried so hard but they snuck out, those little opinions, those little suggestions that surprisingly irritated people. and to make it all the more difficult santa man could see into your living room through the tv screen. he sometimes gave a call out to kids named bonnie or alan - good children. i never heard my name, not even something that could be mistaken for my name. he was watching me and he could tell i was a pledge dodger. so the build up to christmas was fraught with nervous twitches and compulsive pledge chanting. then the morning would arrive and i will say every year i torqued myself up for nothing - he came. but it would not always be immediately apparent. because that little elfin bastard would hide my presents. that's right he hid my presents. he seemed to be saying, all right little missy i brought you that farm-set but you're going to have to hunt for it. some years it wasn't too difficult - the a fore mentioned farm set was in the hall closet under the extra tea bags. the dawn dolls in the spinner of the hover washing machine. but really, my giant barbie head with the silken hair you could style was in fact in the trunk of the car. i nearly come undone with that one. i feel santa was truly being pissy that year.

i wish you a very happy christmas - whatever your inclinations or motivations for the holidays might be
bev

warm, washed and waiting........

2010-11-27T16:37:00.000-08:00

this was going to be a serious post - filled with store business and near truths about heart wrenching personal issues. but really can we all wait that long. do you see how long it has been. despite a good try i can't seem to get the foolishness out. perhaps it would be more prudent to start with a serious paragraph or at the very least - the simpler sincere sentence.

i'm here.

now, concerning the title. here i was driving down the rood and suddenly there it was plastered on a billboard. it was near midnight and for god's sake we were on a highway named in honor of our monarch. i thought holy mother "there's hookers at the airport" what else could it mean. i was informed by someone in the car that it was indeed an ad for a park and ride service. it was also pointed out that no one thinks of these dirty things but me. i don't know about you but when i see an add for warm, washed and waiting i immediately see a room full of buxom whores lounging on plush velvet furniture. what else is there. but after some careful thought i said to myself - self, we could make this work for advertising the shop. not in the whore sense but in a more genial way. picture this - me in the doorway of the shop - warm, washed and waiting for my beloved customers. honestly its better than the alternative - me cold, soiled and indifferent. see, it is quite catchy. should i include it on my business cards? let me know.

now, on with the show

i'm guessing you would like a bit of an explanation. well brace yourself effie. first the nots - i have not been in jail and or rehab - i have not been on a journey of personal discovery - i am not knocked up. ok, i'm going to tell you and it's not pretty. i had my period for about 2 months and yes i mean everyday. wait - my pride just got up and shuffled off. yes, it has come to that - talking about the inner workings of my front passage. this kind of dialogue is enough to make even the baby jesus cry. but we must solider on. i'm feeling better now all thanks to the barr laboratories in new york. they make a little thing called THE PILL. portable hormones in a convenient bubble pack. these people at the barr laboratories really know what they're doing - its practically on par with parting the red sea. sorry, no unpleasant visual intended. i would however like to take this time to thank the families of all the rats that lost their lives during the testing phase of this medication. your sacrifice does not go unheralded. i for one intend to work the hell out of this PILL thing. now that i'm just another regular girl i can't decide whether to begin the adulteress phase of my marriage but alas i fear i have left it a bit too long. my potential partner pool is rather shallow. i'm down to the aged, the infirmed and those strange little fellows who want me to dress like their mothers. maybe i'll keep my knees together. of course underneath i will be relishing the possibilities and the opportunities available to a girl whose packing hormonal heat.

the ever warm, washed and waiting
bev

ps thanks for the comments and emails. it is quite groovy to be missed

the barbie monologues

2010-09-19T16:17:00.000-07:00

i struggle sometimes with suitable topics to write about. yes, i could tell you tales that would shrivel your balls to the size of raisins but i can't do that. i could do it if i lived in france with my boyfriend hugh and only returned occasionally to canada to buy maple syrup but alas this is not so.

but we must talk about something or someone. so off we go.

i played barbies a lot as a child. i had enough of them to stage some really great sagas. as a child i was fascinated with disaster preparation and little house on the prairie so many episodes of my barbie soap opera involved panic and a covered wagon. i played on the bed and i constructed my roofless wagon out of tea towels and knitted blankets. i had many more girl barbies than boys so stories had to be adapted to include cousins, maids and addled aunts who would often wander off in a storm. i (Malibu barbie) always had a great number of children. i was the octo-mom of my time. the children had to brought in from a variety of odd sources. i had a couple of dawn dolls and a few tiny dolls with giant heads that served as the babies. i filled in gaps with my troll dolls ( they were forced to wear toilet paper clothes)and often i snuck my mother's small antique bisque dolls. although i was playing with these dolls on the sly and although my mother quite prized them (she kept them in the top drawer of her vanity) - i failed to protect them. sadly disasters do not lend themselves to gentle play and slowly but steadily the value and beauty of the little bisque dolls dropped. any attempt by my mam to find out what was befalling her treasures was met with my standard defense - talk and talk until the person just goes away. my mother had given up trying to discipline my by this age. by 8 i was a mystery to mam, i was a good kid and she probably liked me but she often would just look at me in way that suggested she had not encountered my species before. as often as not she would just say you are so queer. this was back when queer was still a heterosexual adjective. she would sometimes say "i've just about have had enough of you" i'll admit when i first remember hearing that i was quite taken aback. tiny little shards of fear would come hurdling at me. was it even possible for your mother to have had enough of you and especially enough of me - i was on the whole rather wonderful. the threat starting losing its sting when i started hearing it from other people like teachers or babysitters. it was then i realized they didn't mean it - they were just letting off a little steam. i was safe to carry on.

my mother was a knitter and so my barbies were dressed head to toe in her adaptions of the latest fashions. sweaters and dresses were fine but the bikinis and pants were difficult for even my imagination to overlook. the clothes were not knit from delicate baby fiber but good solid mitten yarn. swimwear was so bulky it was impossible for barbie to lay on her back to get a tan. the pants proved nearly impossible to get up the rubber legs and often ken was forced to wear his red chunky acyclic pants for the entire winter. god bless her though, as no occasion was overlooked. i had knitted bridal gowns, and veils, walking shorts and tank tops. everyone went around looking uncomfortable and they were, as you can well imagine, quite difficult to pose. but by god they could survive a blizzard, ken could last for days when he fell out of the wagon only the troll children in their 1 ply frocks succumbed to the bitter cold.

i sometimes played barbies with another little girl. when we played together it was not enough to have diaster and homesteading - we had to bring famous people into the mix. we were either part of the osmond or jackson family. but because we both liked the stars of the respective families and did not want to fight over them we thought it wise for us to become wed to one of the lesser family members. when we were the jacksons, i was the wife of tito and within the osmond clan i was betrothed to wayne.

i think it must have been quite a sight - mrs malibu barbie and her husband tito atop their tea towel wagon, each clutching one of their scantily clad troll children whilst trying to make their way through the swirling snow of a prairie blizzard.

tally ho
bev

an eye for the peculiar.....

2010-09-01T12:48:00.000-07:00

welcome back. where the hell have you been? we, i mean the store and i are on a bit of a break from each other. the same as a dating break but we live together so the best we can do is sort of ignore each other. we're not seeing other people. we're not breaking up. its just that disillusion and disappointment have began to seep into our cracks. the shop whispers to me "i need to be more" and i whisper back "i need you to be more" we are like former beauty queens arguing over whose crown weighs them down the most. just reflect for a moment - tiara fatigue. no worries though, we will work it out and in the mean time it's business as usual because as vain as we are we would never fight in front of the kids.

so sue here is your tale

i come from a place where people's crazy is just below the surface, not buried deep but visible to even the most untrained eye. this is neither here nor there in terms of correctness but you must learn early how to tread water. you must never come right out and point out the obvious. but instead you must watch and wait. the man with the wheelbarrow, the hermit with over 100 cats, the woman with the shrine to rex humbard. they were everywhere, literally you could not swing a dead cat and not have one pop out of hiding. i wasn't one to shy away. bring on your crazy. i'll take a look. my mother recognized early on that i could be counted on when the situation called for an audience. "let beverly go", she's say, "she doesn't mind that kind of thing". and strangely, i didn't. i could pet imaginary cats and listen to ranting all the live long day - well the promise of a bit of lunch was always appreciated. you learned that crazy was dangerously close to the path, one miss step and you be living an entirely different life. this kind of early training has served me well. normal became an wide expanse. sanity as odd as the alternate but in the mean time you must maneuver your way through both worlds and you must learn to live with the envy. because believe me there is a crazy that is so inviting, so liberating that even as a child you watched it in awe.

i had an old auntie that inhabited that kind of wonderland. i was too young to appreciate the tragedy that sent her there. i could only revel in the place she had come. there was tea and mayonnaise sandwiches. the table was always set to include Queen Elizabeth, my aunties sister and a long dead prime minister who had become her priest. the absent people were represented with framed photos and my auntie spoke to them. i never heard the photos speak, i never saw elizabeth drink the tea or the priest make the blessing but my auntie did. this was enough for me and the sheer contentment i felt would sometimes take my breath away. after the refreshments we all went to the parlor and elizabeth and the priest would watch while auntie and i did the highland jig. the same scenes were played out for nearly every visit. it was for me how happy feels.

another wondrous woman i visited with was the wife of let's say my eye doctor. this was a case of my mother volunteering me for a bit of psychiatric nurse training. me being under 10 didn't bother anyone. just sit with her for a while - give the caretaker a break. i loved it. i was at times a wee bit scared - this gal was unpredictable. she wore wildly flowered caftans and her hair was piled high on her head in curls we called bubbles. she smoked and things sometimes caught fire. as soon as we were alone she always asked if i wanted a boiled egg and i always did. she would put an egg in a pot sans water and turn up the heat. smoke and or fire usually was the finale of all our visits. i would always catch hell from the returnees about not stopping her. stopping her never occurred to me. the fear i felt was tempered greatly by the anticipation of what would happen next. what i could possibly miss if i ran screaming from the room. so i happily sat next to a smouldering pillow or listened to conspiracy theories because personal danger cannot compete with entertainment. the highlight of most visits involved a tray of rings. the kind of ring you get for a successful doctor's visit. well mrs had her own large tray. we would sit like two young debutantes and try on rings. picking our favorites from each row. we discussed what situation would be best for each ring. when we had exhausted our imaginations the rings were returned to the tray and she would light a smoke and i wondered how a person could get their hands on such a large tray of rings. i always left with the idea that this was the type of life i wanted to lead.

i have always suspected i might be crazy or at the very least a crazy magnet. in real life i have attracted some pretty freaky people. to be honest i've been known to campaign for them. but, i have been very fortunate to also have attracted some really sensible people. they sort of hold on the balloon string and keep me from floating off to god knows where. because sometimes i like to inhabit that place where reason is often pushed aside for something more entertaining. and as an added value - here is my favorite poem.

first fig

My candle burns at both ends;
It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends--
It gives a lovely light!

i feel this way approximately ALL the time. it runs through my head at least once a day. a mantra if you will

so light her up
bev

i will tell you a story......

2010-08-17T21:08:00.000-07:00

well, it appears a stranger named karma has come to call. maybe i should think twice before dissing a cranky customer. maybe i should think twice; but really thinking once before i open my mouth is a long shot.

so i'll use this emotionally devastating time to tell you a story. a story that pretty much explains my entire life. when i was little, about 8, i told a story in sunday school that to my complete surprise didn't go over well. I don't remember where i came across the fabulous information that i was about to unveil. but i remember being pretty excited to share it. before we go on let's make it clear i thought i had come across yet to be released biblical insight. i was so sure it was true but apparently fact checking was a yet to be acquired skill. i don't even remember how i got to church but you can be certain i was there early. i remember i was fairly bursting to get back to the lesson rooms. i loved the songs with all the funky hand movements but this week i was breaking news. once we were in the back and in our classroom, i was off. interrupting was legitimate - my story certainly trumped any loaves and fishes. "EXCUSE ME, did you know?" i started. that on the ark noah removed all the male animals dinkies ( that was the go-to word for it then) because he didn't want any fooling around (more retro talk) on the voyage. surprisingly this was not my big news. i'm sure i had a dramatic pause just about then. hell, i probably stood up. well, i continued , "when the ark landed noah gave everyone back their parts. except he mixed up the donkey and camel's dinkies and that's why camels have such small ones and donkey's have such biggies.

whatever i thought was going to happen at this point did not happen. i just remember being so frantic to get this new information out there. mr sunday school teacher was not impressed. i was immediately escorted from the room. after a very long, damnation filled talk i was placed on church probation. i apparently posed a risk to the other children's salvation. i was devastated, not for being in trouble, not for getting my ass chewed out but that my story was not going to be written down by a scribe and included in future lessons. they thought i was being a blasphemous smart ass not a religious correspondent

this theme has repeated over and over again in all parts of my life. i am an incredibly slow learner. i love the tell - the big reveal. when i got older i remember thinking , before letting loose, this probably isn't going to go well. but the urge to tell the tale was always too great. and besides most to the time the kids liked it. a historical footnote: my church probation stayed intact till around 11 when i discovered and shared some fascination info on mary magdalene. i was turfed from sunday school.

cheers,
bev

retail gymnastics - olympic tryouts

2010-07-31T14:12:00.000-07:00

the shop has been in a very odd place this week. i'm not complaining - that would be sinful. but still, it's like my little retail wonderland has been the shooting location for a made for tv movie. a very low budget tv movie. everything has had a very dream-like quality. normally trusty crafting customers have collectively veered off the path of preordained interaction - or they're huffing solvents between their car and my shop door. people are asking for things that to my knowledge don't exist. maybe it's me. maybe they're speaking in code that i'm not hip enough to get. there can't be porn paper - can there. i have never thought of the possibility until now. do you suppose there is an underground dirty paper market. should we google it - perhaps not.

i've had people showing up at all hours. which is sort of ok. i'm not one to turn down a few quid. but let's face it i'm barely at my best during shop hours. my meds don't stand a chance in the delicate hours before 11am. cars have just randomly been showing up which suggests to me that it might not be random (movie tie-in). my kid shouts "car at the shop" and i fly out of bed. "its 9:30am on sunday" i think. i fly to the shop bleary eyed, braless and my hair flattened against my head. ta-da

i had a cranky customer on wednesday. i've only ever had 2 and quite frankly she had nothing on the first one. but still, she was stunning in her own right. she told me, right up front, she usually shopped at the dollarama and i just jacked up prices for the same thing. i've got to admit she threw it down. but its hard to have a cockfight in such a small space. i tried winning her over with gems from my extensive charm repository; but she was impervious. she was just a chippy girl accustomed to inferior adhesive. ultimately, she was seduced by fab product and my low-ball pricing. she bought some stuff, double-checked the receipt, bitched about the final price and left in a closing volley of praise for her beloved dollarama. i wished her well but i feel she won't be back. i'll miss her. the girl had game

the next day a car drove up and woman emerged that i instantly recognized as dollarama girl - the remix. i've seen her look before, the - you missy are quite the disappointment - look. i felt i should take immediate preemptive action. negative energy warps my paper. "jesus, you look pretty," i cooed, "that colour looks wicked on you." well, we just turned that frown upside down. after that she and i got on like gangsters, turns out she was just having a bad month. i sold her some stuff, gave her sound advice and a complimentary reusable kraft bag.

so you see kids, all turned out well. love won out in the end. it took patience and a little verbal magic but we emerged from the week unscathed and a wee bit wealthier. i'm confident that next week the world will have righted itself and everyone will be back to their joyfilled selves and the movie will have wrapped

here at long last are some pics of the recipe mini. feel free to criticize - i can probably take it.

see you soon
cheers bev

and it was all mighty western.......

2010-07-19T14:42:00.000-07:00

brace yourself evie. its another non-crafting post. honestly, if you people are waiting for tutorials or industry news, i'm probably not your girl. i am most likely what is referred to as "a crafting one-night stand" i take part of that back - the public keeps distracting me with their goofy antics and my pre-menopausal hormones are wrecking havoc with my already fragile attention span. so do you want to hear about the farmer's market and rodeo.... or would you like to hear my thoughts on CHA and aversion to copic markers. one involves nudity and the police. just as i thought..off we go

the farmer's market has been slightly uneventful. sure there's the infighting surrounding table issues. location - location. in case you're not in the know - the place you want to be is against the wall and near the front. and nowhere near the tupperware chick. you absolutely do not want to be in the centre isle. back to back tables. i imagine it to be like general population in prison. except old craft ladies have no tats but they do have lots of gas. i don't mind spreading myself around but i don't do general population - well i might do it intoxicated. you should know this is not the part with the interesting ending. well every saturday involves a bit of trash talking by the ladies. opera whispering about what delores did to get table 3. it sounds boring but if you've got a dp in your hand - it's a teenie bit like dinner and a show.

the whole thing got a bit ramped up during rodeo weekend. we're all supposed to be on our best behavior - personally that translated to my being on time and no dirty talk. sooo we were encouraged to dress the part - you know western wear or period costume (cowboy or hooker). i was given a purple dress to don but i protested "i want to be a cowboy" i whined "i'm ALWAYS the hooker". god, i was pathetic. in the end i got my ass up and wouldn't wear the fetching frock. i went modern day, gender neutral- something for everyone look.

the rodeo parade (that started from the community hall) was your basic 3 float/100 horse variety. the "spotlight" float was entitled - old queens. you know, i can't add anything to that. it's it own little fill in the blank joke. well off the cavalcade went in a blaze of square dance music and intermittent rain. somewhere, eye witness accounts vary, the whole moving spectacle came to unceremonious halt- the pomp police officer leading the procession had to leap from his cruiser to break up a fist fight. the chaos ensued - horse shit everywhere, old queens flailing their scepters. i'm sure we won't make the brochure for small town living. the fight between 2 middle age men was over a parking spot.

trouble took a risque turn later at the local hotel. think towels on the table to soak up the spilled ale kind of hotel. a lady disrobed while riding the mechanical bull. i wasn't there, i can't say how much she had on to begin with. this much from a town of less than 600 people. imagine what we could do with more players.

so you see, my capacity for mature, creative endeavors has been reduced by all this foolishness.

cheers,
bev

stalking normal.......

2010-07-06T09:06:00.000-07:00

I am seduced by the normal - you think I jest? I am intoxicated by normal - hockey moms, blond highlights, ice tea, facebook, acronyms like LOL. it's all a sparkily twirling light show. i watch in amazement as people maneuver through this maze - everyone knowing which behavior, emotion and facial expression goes where. normal people also recognize their kind. you never feel awkward in a crowd. never without your magnetic north. sometimes i get close - let's say a conversation about cleaning windows with newsprint - then i brick up and ask if any words from the newsprint ever randomly get transferred to the glass and how cool that would be. at this point the light goes on for most people, they tilt their head, look at me with a strange mix of pity and annoyance, sigh and move on. At the farmer's market on saturday i was positioned across the aisle from an impressive display of normal. tight perm kind of normal - she was so sweet, i could have wept. it was pretty much love at first sight for me. not track lighting, vest wearing kind of love. the other kind. i spent the better part of the 3 hour tour trying not to scare the bejesus out of her. she spent the entire show crocheting a shopping bag out of beige phentex yarn. and the look on her face - mother mary could not have looked more serene. hopefully she and i will become confidants before the end of the summer - i bet she doesn't even own a freak flag.

i am partaking in two activities right now that pretty much put my mean age at 12. i can't confess, i'm not strong enough

and the dry spell continues. maybe my phentex muse will intercede, maybe i'll start lifting her work.

and and i will be posting an interview soon. real or imagined people want to talk to me

cheers,
bev

Close your eyes and think of England.......

2010-07-01T10:12:00.000-07:00

yes, it has come to that. i seem to be in a bit of a crafting funk. it's time to take one for the team. bury my face in the pillow and do it for my resume. i'm certain you've heard them all. it has occurred to me that i may simply have nothing left to make. i haul it all out and look expectantly at the paper. where are you, you little project? maybe i suck or maybe i'm lazy. maybe i'm all dried up - a withered old paper whore. that was a bit harsh. bear with me, i can sometimes be a prayer challenge. so, at sometime today, i must do the deed - brace myself and remember the empire. I have more but I won't use them. I am known locally as THE model of restraint.

wish me luck
bev

on being a super model.....

2010-06-20T11:45:00.000-07:00

I forget, did i mention I'm a supermodel and fabulously rich. My tiny clothes are often so loose i am forced to cinch myself in. Not everyone is aware of these little info nuggets. I suppose it's not immediately apparent when you see me. i don't like to show off. The chub, the national geographic body and 900sq ft farmhouse are a ruse. Now that you know, don't hate me.

well, I'm glad that's off my chest. I'm in the car, driving speedy quick to the capital. I think we'll go to the antique mall, costco and Fort Edmonton. We are staying over at the bff's. we'll probably spend the night talking about how pretty we are.

i'm not high or anything. I'm just listening to gaga and all that foolishness has gone to my head. yes, lady gaga. we all have our dirty little secrets. i'm talking about all you twilight readers.

should we talk about the shop. i've probably lost all the crafty readers by now. just the morbidly curious are hanging on. i had a pretty exciting saturday. I was representing at the farmer's market. i love, love, love going. people walk past the table, so serious and then when you smile and say hi. they light up like a christmas tree. Except the kids and old women, sometimes they're hard nuts to crack. They're wary, and really there's nothing wrong with that. I meet such interesting peeps. i think i lead a extremely sheltered life - people flit around the country in their slide-outs. my brain could not under any circumstances handle that much stimuli.

after the market i had ladies from away visit the shop. more creative, globe-trotting chicks. i met my mam's success quota and spent the rest of the day feeling groovy

got to run. the city awaits. i'll endeavor to post something crafty tomorrow

cheers
bev

The maternal wave of sunshine has left Miss Esteem looking for her self......

2010-06-10T09:58:00.000-07:00

and that is all there is to say about that....except maybe, never underestimate the elderly.

sorry it has been so long. I post every day - in my head. If I could plug a internet connection directly in my brain you all would be in for some serious entertainment.

I have amazing ladies come to the shop. maybe all ladies are amazing but i think not. new ones, familiar ones.... I can't tell you how wonderful it feels. it scares the shit out of me but that is all part of my wonderland. I watch them go about the shop, amazed by their creative might. i want to be like them. inspiration in human form. thank you for coming.

and thank you for reading the blog. let me apologize for my frequent and painful misuse of the comma and my general attack on my mother tongue. a sweet lady named wendy wrote about the blog and her recent visit to the shop. holy mother, that was cool. the response to the envelope book has been lovely. I have a recipe book and a birthday book almost ready for inspection. posting projects is like handing someone a gun and asking them to shoot you. It's a leap of faith i'm very uncomfortable with. but one must grow

ending on a rather soppy note, aren't i. I will endeavor to blog more often. I certainly appreciate my daily reads and marvel at the commitment it takes to keep a blog fresh and updated.

cheers, bev

the hard and the easy.......

2010-04-20T13:54:00.000-07:00

sometimes i miss my old home....the one by the sea. i realize that many of the things that i long for are long past but...... i miss my friend. i miss walking on the beach. i miss the sound of the water. but if i were there i would miss my new home....the one on the prairie. and i would miss the smell of the earth. the endless land and sky. our little farm.

After that depressing little intro I'm sure you're dying to go on. Let's talk about crafting. Here is one of the little mini books I have been working on. I tell you I'm quite taken with this format. I often feel a huge sense of inadequacy in terms of the scrapbook. I'm not a photo taker. My children's memories are haphazardly strewn throughout our home. I am, however, seduced by and bound to, old yellowed photos. Strangers... but so familiar to me... I can almost see their lives swirl beneath their images. I want to ask - Why do you look so pensive? Do you smell your cake burning? Does your husband beat you? Are you tired? god, it's pure crack. I also eat up old hand-written recipe books. You can just feel the pride bursting through the careful script. Thousands of budding authors just wishing to be heard. It's a hard copy blog complete with oven temps and penciled in edits.

Clearly I strayed off topic. Back to the cute little Kraft albums. This one is a photo album made with October Afternoon's Farm Fresh. Despite the previous post still one of my favorite paper providers. I work slow, sometimes painfully so but for you keener's out there this is easily a 1 day project.

Photos go on the right and a wee journal card is in the left hand pocket. The pocket could also hold extra photos or drugs(sorry). Also very sorry for the poor photos. Photoing is second only to lyrical dance in skills to be acquired soon.

cheers,
bev

the perils of modern space flight.....

2010-04-20T08:43:00.000-07:00

Salutations my little buds. Let's not talk about where I've been - let's just say -what goes up, must come down. I wish I had some words of wisdom, warning or wonder but it is what it is. Whether seen from space or ground level - life is good.

OK, so I removed the last post. It made me sad or uncomfortable - take your pick. Sincere closed mouthed kisses to Followers 1 and 4 for noticing. On a completely different note, I'm getting quite pissy with October Afternoon. I realize with that statement I've removed myself from the running for any fab new product consultant position but speak the truth and the truth will speak. The wait for the new lines has been going on and on and on. I am so sick of looking at projects made with these absent products. Apparently every second person in the known world received a box full of freebies to "PLAY" with. By the way, that word, play, makes me a bit nauseous, for the most part we are grown-ass women - only children and small foreign speaking fairies should play. I know that the lines will be beautiful when they get here and I'll regret this little tant but Good God people I've been staring at the preview since January. This situation falls under a name we had for certain girls in high school. Those girls made my life a whole lot busier.

Well, now that's out of the way. Better out than in. Here on the other hand is a bit of Cosmo Cricket. The always speedy quick shipped, Cosmo Cricket. Material Girl has been in the shop for awhile and is quite fetching.

I'll leave you with that little bit of angry bev and a little bit of crafty bev.

cheers,
bev

the beating of my heart........

2010-03-14T20:24:00.000-07:00

Hello my sweets. Here are my babes. I just wanted to write a wee little love note about them. This is all I know about being a mother..... Every time my children's hearts beat it is a reminder to them that they are not alone, I am there and all is well. I will not forsake them. I am forever theirs. And when my heart beats, it is their voices I hear and I am reminded that love is all there is.

cheers,
angie and amy's mom

From inside the whale's belly

2010-02-13T21:49:00.000-08:00

Holy mother its black in here. The only thing keeping me the slightest bit entertained, besides you of course, is the bright red exit light shining in my eyes. I'm so unhappy. How? - Why? - Gosh fearless entrepreneur, are you ok. (I can here you saying that). I'm fine - well perhaps a bit giddy. I am after all laying here in the pitch black dark with 14 people who could be described as mostly strangers to me. I am supposed to be going to sleep. Listen, right now there are 2 distinct snoring voices echoing through this cavernous wonderland. And all of this action is taking place in a peaceful mountain village. I realize this sounds more like a Nancy Drew novel and not the opening volley of a crafting blog, but....

I'm on location. Yes, the Black Ink papermobile is bringing the love to Banff. Of course the budget is so small I'm shacked up in the town's Boy Scout hall with the above mentioned strangers. How you ask? Well, in a nutshell it goes like this..... Amy went on an guided ice walk today (because of the location it became an overnight 4-H activity) and to round out the day's fun I agreed to teach the club a workshop on cardmaking. Honestly, you can incorporate a selling opportunity into almost any situation. So here we are - in the above mentioned building, with the above mentioned people. Which brings us to now. The people are fine. The setup - just about my second worst nightmare. This place was not intended for this type of interaction and group sleeping is just dirty wrong. For God sake, I'm an artist. I need privacy and a place to sit my dp.

Would you like a couple of pics of some cards I've made or should we just sit here quietly and try not to dwell on having to pee. I choose cards and considering just how much I fear rejection, that should demonstrate my level of desperation. The cards were made using October Afternoon's - Farm Fresh line. This release continues to be one of the most popular with my peeps. HOLD UP, someones walking around with a flashlight. Could it be my faux, lover Bill, here to find me or perhaps its the troop leader coming to speak to me about the faint light and the gentle tapping coming from this side of the great big damn room. I'll quickly go and fetch the cards.

good news, only 7 hours until morning

cheers, Bev

Sweet Complusions

2010-01-27T08:58:00.000-08:00

Hello precious ones. Well, I'm here. I've been here all along. Thoughts surrounding this blog take up a generous piece of my cerebral cortex. We will have to see if all that thinking can produce a bit of good, clean, award-winning fun.

So - welcome to the 2010 version of your life. Are we setting little creative goals?? Are we practicing the principles of gratitude?? Are we taking care of our monkeys?? I should delete the monkey bit, but not right now. You may notice, over the next while, this blog becoming more personal- don't be alarmed or fear for my safety, it's all part of my plot to take over the world. You probably noticed it took longer than anticipated to return to this little spot. I was trying to allow myself some time to think and act upon projects I have for the store, the blog and my own creative pursuits. Well, to be completely honest I also spent quite a bit of time napping. How, oh how to fit everything in - family, homeschooling, friends, the store, the blog, the house duties, and my own desire to create and work on all the ideas I have. Sometimes it all seems so attainable - dancing around, just out of my reach. But for the most part it feels like an impossible task - like filling the ice-cube tray in hell. Nonetheless it is an amazing, beautiful struggle. I love every part of every part of my life. I even love the fact that I'm so disorganized - it allows me to make at least 10 very pleasant discoveries almost everyday of my life.

Enough of that. This is later - days later. We are in the car, driving speedy quick down the highway. I think I'll just post this and start something new. I have to get over this first blog of the year trepidation. Maybe I'll look for a picture. Hang on - I think I've got a recent photo

cheers, Bev

Be Brave - Be Bold - Be Kind

2009-12-10T14:19:00.000-08:00

Good afternoon my beauties. It is breathtaking here in sunny Alberta. The snow is deep and a shade of white that isn't found in your colour box, it hurts your eyes to look. Everything appears like a picture card. This is what they came for - the people who came west - the endless grey sky and land that seems to go on forever. Then they got out of their covered wagon and froze their pioneer asses off. Cold, cold, cold - thirty below zero.

Sunday I went to the Christmas Farmer's Market. Despite the wintery conditions I stuck my lily-white face out the door and prepared to meet the people. I had a grand time. Of course, I had to compete with the knitted barbie toilet paper holders and all the precious grey haired ladies. What will become of all those groovey items that are created from non-natural fiber. I don't want to buy them but I don't want them to disappear. People who can knit a handy tote from plastic grocery bags are probably good to have around.

Anyway I could talk about my passion for senior crafters forever but the show must go on. I had a great sale. My table was back to back with the enthusiastic lady selling knives. I was afeared most of the afternoon. Her carrot demonstrations were practically animated. She sold me a completely unless $19 item on the promise it would sharpen my scissors. I thought she was telling the truth. She was wearing an apron and looked as sharp as her knives. Well the moral of this wee tale - opportunities for disappointment are everywhere and they cost $19.

Much later......

Well, it is almost Christmas. I'm almost ready. I have almost all of the gifts bought and wrapped. I'm almost relaxed. I'll wrap up this post and take a wee break over the holiday. During which - I have to figure out how to be a more consistent blogger. I think about writing and the blog all the time. Fear keeps me from posting projects, I must work on that too. I also have to be brave enough to put things in my etsy store. I must be a better businesswoman and strive to be a bit more organized. I don't think I can express how much this little school project means to me and how many ideas I have but first things first. So come on, gather up your fears and put them in airtight container, we'll head somewhere where you can leave that bundle. Everyone hold my hand and let's make our way through the turney bits.

Here are some tags I made. My lovely, practically famous friend Karen photoed them.

Cheers,
Bev

How Happy Feels

2009-11-29T10:57:00.001-08:00

Hello my pretties. Miss me?? Come on, you know you did. Well, I know I missed me. I'm better! That's right, better, better than ever, better than before and best of all, a better person. And this on top of being a pretty grand girl to start with.

Sorry for that public display of self-love. I'll try to keep that kind of thing to myself. The store has been so busy this past week. When I look out and see a car at the shop I have this instant rush of panic. I will be a disappointment to them, I'm sure of that. Then that passes and I adjust my underpinnings and prepare to start the show. Such sweet, sweet women come... At first everyone is overwhelmed, too much to see - sensory overload. I want to say. "It's OK. Take small bites and breathe through your eyelids. Sometimes I do say that and I scare them. Its a risk, you know, to let your thoughts out. And when they find that thing that makes them have a happy breath, its pure joy for both of us. They pick up a little piece of possibility and then they imagine something that wasn't there before.... it's creation at its finest. And that, is how happy feels.

That's it for now. I'll be back soon

cheers, Bev

Room with a View

2009-11-18T16:32:00.000-08:00

Great book and great descriptive of my presents circumstances. I, along with the rest of my unit, remain confined to the homestead. THE FLU, that's what we've got. I'm not even going to talk about it. People who want to talk about their sore-throats and about being down with the flu haven't really had THE FLU they've had some lower-case version. People who have had THE FLU do not want to talk about it - they just want to praise Allah and vow to be a better person.

This will be a short and insignificant post. The shop has been busy and I feel like I have main-lined Martha. I have the most incredible urge to create and not just with paper. I want to make checker-board cookies and a wreath and god forbid..... I even want a little tinsel. I swear as soon as I'm feeling better I'm donning an apron and cranking up The Judd's Christmas CD.
Gosh Darn - I'm sick.

And that is what I originally wanted to speak to you about - What's a girl like me to do in our new "hand-sanitizing -mask wearing" reality. I can't keep my hands out of mouth for 2 minutes let alone an entire trip to town. My whole thought process revolves around me chewing on my fingernail. I am doomed. I am the horrible example people speak of. I am going to have to become Mary-Louise Alcott - confined to my room, lowering gingerbread down to the neighbourhood children.

that's all I've got. Don't worry, I'll be fine.

cheer, Bev

Fear of Clowns

2009-11-08T11:54:00.000-08:00

I had this thought that if I'm ever going to stop my arse from growing I may have to implement clown fear. Run, Beverly, run a clown is chasing you. I have a paralysing fear of clowns but no inspirational motive to lose weight. No internal need to strong and fit. I don't have to exercise to feel better, the research team at Pfizer have taken care of that. And let's be realistic - how stunning can my results be? I'm not the bow flex Grannie, I'm the National Geographic Grannie.

Well perhaps I should spend SOME time not talking about myself. The store is lovely, all ready for Christmas. The papers are all nestled into their racks and the ribbons and embellishments are dancing on their heads. I'm in my lounge wear and ready to serve. Lately, there have been some random customers. You know, strangers. They catch me off guard and it takes some doing on my part to stop my heart from pounding and start the show. What are they thinking? What makes them happy? Are they put off by a lounge wear wearing, DP drinking saleslady? Who knows? You just have to do your best and hide the stuff you don't want to sell.

The Christmas papers are lovely.

and that was it....for then she got the flu. when I say she, I mean me

this is 2 weeks later and I still have the flu but I'm going to post this incomplete stream of conscious thought.

cheers, Bev

let's not dwell in the past......

2009-10-13T09:43:00.000-07:00

I hardly know where to begin... so let's just start her up. I took the little shop on the road to Edmonton. We attended the Creative Stitching Alive and Scrapbook Carnival. Well something like that. Whoever came up with that catchy title should be flogged with a pack of brads. Honestly, who thinks up these things, especially the alive bit. Anyway I'll move on, the little shop and all its ribbon and bits piled into the Kia and away we went. It was the best weekend in my shopkeeping career thus far. If you see Kim, Krissy and Lizzy go on up and kiss them full on the mouth because they were the reason I was able to do it.

Let's start a new paragraph and I'll tell you about the show. It was big and I was woefully unprepared to roll with the pro's. Arriving there I said to myself "self, this is going to require focus and my self said "we're not noted for our focus". God knows what people thought of me, I was a like a Walmart greeter on Red Bull and sweet tarts. I didn't just meet the people, I went after them. I was compelled to press the flesh and to give lean-in hugs. But I LOVED it! I loved, loved all the people. It's an incredible feeling to be surrounded by hundreds of people who love this art form. I hope I was able to impart my passion for the products I sell and my genuine interest in people's project's and ideas. This all sounds a bit dodgy and revival like but I tell you it was very groovy. And in the end, I made some money, met some really nice people and I'm sure scared the shit out of a fair number of folks.

You know what? I've got to go and so soon too - sorry but I'll be back - soon. Miss Regularity is my new middle name or my only pageant title. Pick your favorite and think of me often. Before I go....classes start Oct 22nd and the Oct card challenge is out. Email me for all the exciting details. Please keep in mind that unfortunately classes will not be televised and challenge prizes are small (in comparison to say Wheel of Fortune prizes) but if your still interested mail me at
bevy@telusplanet.net

cheers
Bev

There's nothing like bringing in the herd.......

2009-08-27T11:41:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was a busy day at the shop. I had customers. I was going to say how many but I don't want to startle potential sponsors. I sold some of my favorite paper and embellishments. God, you have no idea how much I wanted to rip it out of their hands and say, "This is a GALLERY - items are not permitted to leave the premises. It's a little problem I'm working on..... and let's leave that be.

On occasion (daily) random things come out of mouth. For the most part I don't even know they're coming. They are not necessarily untrue.....just unknown to me until that moment. Sometimes, like yesterday, they come out as paragraphs. I spilled out an astounding amount of information on up coming classes. Suddenly out it came, a self-contained verbal unit, I'm always as surprised as the recipient and try to make my facial expressions to match the out coming announcement. So.... apparently I'm having drop in classes this fall. I'm a bit fuzzy on the 15 minutes of detail my brain gave out but what I remember sounds grand. Stay tuned for details.

Other news...... We moved cattle last night to their fall pasture. The kids on the quad, me in the Kia and my husband on horseback. He wore his spurs. Pitiful really, like wearing a condom to a family reunion....completely unnecessary. Sorry that was just dirty talk, I'll try to keep that kind of thing in check. I forgot my camera so just close your eyes and imagine it.

Cheers,
Bev

I Sense An Excuse Coming On......

2009-08-19T08:12:00.000-07:00

I could say I'm sorry but that would be redundant so let's just begin again. But where do you begin, not at the beginning that's too early. Let's just join the story already in progress. I'm telling you it's a wonder I can walk and talk at all. Yesterday I went to perhaps the 3rd happiness place on earth. ANTROPOLOGIE. When you enter the store you are enveloped in this womanly goodness - you feel all sexy - it's very cool. Everything is quite dear but when you're there it all seems rather reasonable. Before I knew it I had purchased a huge carpet bag and a pair of pants and I walked out a changed girl.

But I digress, this tale is about Black Ink. Anyway you get almost the same feeling when you enter my store - Antropologie Lite - potent but not as expensive. I have been putting out lots of new papers. October Afternoon and their lovely "Ducks in a Row," "Cherry Hill" and "Detours." All these lines have yummy embellishments and accessories. I love October Afternoon paper, it's very clean just like your Aunt Blanche's kitchen. As my husband does not do computers, I'll reveal that I've ordered the brand new OA. It's just lickable. The fall line-up also includes some Basic Grey, MME, Pink Pasiliee, Making Memories and Cosmo Cricket. It's almost more than I can take.

I'm going to post this now as something odd is happening and my autosave has failed. But I'll be back soon......

cheers
Bev

Let Me Explain......

2009-08-05T15:28:00.000-07:00

This paragraph is for my 1 dear follower. Loyal little soul, do you wonder where have I been? This blog thing is quite hard. I must say, I now have great respect for the daily blogger- pounding out posts, taking and loading pictures, giving tutorials - perhaps I'm on the wrong medications. I kid you. I just have to find blog time and I'm certain I will. I pledge to you my 1 dear follower I'll be with you more often.

Now for the rest of you chicks......when I last left you I was headed to the Farmer's Market. Well I went and it was a grand day. My gorgeous city friend and her husband showed up. We visited, laughed and partook in (as my mother would say) quite a bit of foolishness. I think our behavior must have been quite contagious because the other vendors loosened up and the whole market took on a tail-gate party kind of feel. I had an OK day, sales wise, I did have a few mercy buys - people coming and buying something just so they could see what the hell was going on down at my table. After the FM, my friends came to our farm and we spent the rest of the day and evening crafting, reading mags, napping and eating. It was one of those lovely days that stay crystal clear in your memory for a long time.

The shop has been perking along. I now (if you don't mind) am going to be seen advertising in 2 magazines. Mind you it will be in the mags directories, not a quarter page spread or anything. But still, a big deal for my ego. Also, I have finally ordered my signs. I know what you saying, how can one possibly have a shop and have it in no way identified. Well you can but it probably won't prove to be a brilliant sales booster. That's all in the past now kids -I'm going to have 4 signs - I imagine it will look like an election campaign, my signs in your face everywhere you go.

I must go and feed the farm. I will post this later this evening. here are a couple of pics from the store.

cheers,

Bev

And just like that the tale began........

2009-07-24T14:34:00.000-07:00

How to begin? Introductions and explanations - Hello. Black Ink Paperie is my tiny paper shop located on our cattle farm in rural Alberta. I am Beverly - owner and your hostess. I have overcame my crippling fear of the comma to be with you today. It's hot here today over 30 - everything is shimmering in the heat. The cows are bawling for water and shade. I hope they will decide, as a group, to head there soon. Here's the view from the veranda of the store. Dirt roads and cattle.

The shop - think paper goodness on a bun. The smells and sights in this place can be quite intoxicating. Paper, ink, rubber, buttons, ribbon are all combined to set you on your arse and make you realize how great life can be. It's brilliant, I kid you not. Here's a wee peek...

You can procure items through my etsy shop- soon. I hope to post things over the weekend. Bear with me - at this moment I have no idea how to post anything. This is indeed, as they say, my first rodeo. I'm sure I can figure it out-given enough diet pepsi.

Tomorrow is Farmer's Market day. I love Farmer's Market day. I adore all the people- especially the odd ones. Old farmers talk to me about the weather and the grasshoppers. Old ladies talk about their crafting speciality. The summer visitors with their curious tans and their big rings . The hum of all the voices, the oppressive heat in the curling arena, the smell of fresh produce and dust. It all makes for a great day. And in the summer it's my busiest day of the week !

That's all for now chicks. Time to make supper - BBQ burgers, salad, beans and chips (I knew you would want to know). Join me tomorrow for all the happenings and gossip from the Farmer's market.......

Cheers Bev