Roamin 4X3 oil portrait SOLD

They say that people resemble their pets in appearance and temperament. I am not sure if I believe that. I sometimes prescribe to the belief that the animals choose you and you become the pet.

The painting above is of one such critter that became a part of my life by his family's choice and not mine. When we moved back to the Maritimes from Alberta we found ourselves in a small rural area with a collection of unique neighbors. The one next door to us welcomed us in and after a short conversation told us not to worry about the many and various assortments of feline wildlife in the area. They were his and he fed them. Don't worry he said I'll take care of them.

Other neighbors welcomed us and mentioned the cat issue with other words, and not all of them were so kind. Too bad you bought the house in the winter... in the summer you'll come to really appreciate all the cats! Much giggling was heard.

That summer we became quite aware of the extent of the cat issue. I clearly remember one summer evening where our family sat on the deck enjoying a BBQ, under close scrutiny of 32 cats. That number is fact as we had time to count them as they licked their furry lips in hopes of a flyaway morsel of food.

We adopted the live and let live philosophy. Kinda hard when the Toms use your hay for a litter box and even the horses won't sleep in its aromatic fibers but we decided ignorance of the issue was best. The cats were so feral many of them were only seen as earth coloured blurs and my horses and I became accustomed to the bolts of kitty streakers that usually ran between our legs. I have THE most bomb proof horses on the planet thanks to those finicky felines!

Late one August afternoon we arrived home and instantly noticed the lack of feline attendance. We had become accustomed to their presence on the steps and although one could never catch one we were slightly concerned at the lack of numbers.

Later that evening when I went out to close up the chickens I noticed one scrawny female nervously walking the deck. When I bent down in another futile attempt to get her to approach me I nearly fainted. The lower half of her jaw was partially missing. She yowled and sped off into the night. It was like she was telling me something bad had happened before she left.

In the days that followed my other neighbors told me the tale. One that was like a ritual. When the cat population got too high our "good neighbor" would load up his shotgun and practice population control. I was horrified. The problem was his in the making caused by his need to feed the wild cats. Having seen that female who survived I was incensed.

When she returned a week later, barely alive I couldn't help but feed the survivor. Soft canned food was all she could eat given her rearranged facial features and the next summer she gave birth to one female kitten. Jaws, as we called her promptly disappeared. Thus started the Fullerton Feline line of cats. Each year, a litter of kittens was born in the hay shed and of each litter only one female ever survived. We never knew why or how but as time grew on and my kids got faster each kitten would be captured, tamed and eventually adored. This went on for 7 years and when we moved from this community to our new location a small runt named "Kitten" came to.

We never fixed her as she was so small and misshapen that after 3 years and no pregnancy we assumed the line had come to an end without any human intervention. She lived in the barn with the horses and Max the dog and on really cold evenings she would totter off to the house to warm up by the stove. After a few hours she would sit patiently by the door and then return to the barn. We fed her and in return she tolerated us petting her. Decades of wild kitty succumbing to the charms of Purina and children.

On July 4 of the next summer what did we find in the hay but two small kittens. It appeared our belief that Kitten was sterile was erroneous. My kids quickly named the kittens in accordance to their temperament. Storm Cloud was a throw back to generations of wild kitty who deeply resented human interference. Roamin loved to wonder around people. As he grew older, Roamin would accompany me on my walks along the shore. My walks were frequently 3 or more kilometers long. I loved him like no other cat. His unique personality was a big as the ocean and when we built our new home he quickly became a favorite of the workers. He almost caused the death of one fellow as Roamin, true to his name, shocked a fellow working on the trusses. It was not a place one expected a cat to be but several times over the next couple of days we would come to the house to see Roamin proudly perched on the highest truss of our new roof.

Roamin visited neighbors and while we were gone during the day he would curl up at someone's house. He adored the attention...and the morsels! At 5pm he would be seen trotting across the lawn ready for his Fullerton Feast. Cloudy would usually lurk in the back of the garage hissing her dislike of Roamin and his antics. He ignored her. Roamin was the star.

As much as we loved our kitties we decided that they needed to be "fixed". We adored them but did not want a repeat of our last place. We were officially at two cats. Occasionally, Roamin had a friend visit him. Like most parents we were not too clear on whether or not his new friend was a good influence or not, but Roamin always made his rounds and always came home.

Late one summer evening my husband was driving his sister and her boyfriend back home after a trip to Greece. The next morning he woke me up and let me know that we had lost Roamin. David had found his and his friend's bodies on the nearby roadway. We had a proper burial and there were many tears shed.

Cloudy became the sole feline occupant of the house and in accordance of her new responsibilities became somewhat more tolerant of us. She stopped being so bitter and allowed herself to enjoy all the perks of being a "kept pet".

It has been two years since I lost Roamin and when a friend mentioned she was doing a basket for raffle to raise money for a Cat hospice she and her friend ran, I couldn't think of a better item to include than a portrait of my own little wild man Roamin. Maybe because of Roamin having me as his pet I have become more tolerant of folks trying to help animals. I can relate to all types of people and their compassion for those less fortunate. I make it a habit not to shoot anyone.

Maybe I am like my cat, a little wild and crazy and looking for my own truss to climb. I want to experience all life has to offer and when it gets cold outside one can usually find me curled up someplace warm and safe. So what do you think? Do we chose our pets or do they chose us?

Busy Bees

Three Trees SOLD

Times are hectic and the days just don't seem to have enough hours in them.

My daughter had a belated birthday party in which she and several friends wanted to go see the new Harry Potter installment. It is a great movie and highly enjoyable.

The experience of organizing such an event, not so much.

I went early in the week with plans to buy the tickets to ensure that we would actually gain entrance to the movie. Imagine showing up with a horde of preteens and being denied entrance due to lack of seating for all the bodies you arrived with. Not a pretty sight to imagine and one I planned to avoid. My first attempt had me wondering around an empty theatre hoping to find an employee to sell me said tickets. It was a rather creepy experience. All I found were janitors who told me to return in 3 hours when they were actually open. I wondered why they would leave their doors open if not to allow the public in. The cleaning crew looked at me like I needed a brain adjustment.

At 7pm I arrive with hubby in tow with plans to spend some money. I was greeted nicely by some sort of a student who assured me that I would want the actor package and as she scribbled my name on a sheet of paper in a tattered binder beside a movie that was decidedly NOT Harry Potter sent me on my way with assurances that "All would be fine." Yeah, right.

Apparently fine for a childless teenager is somewhat skewed from that of an organized, in control, busy 25 hours a day mother with a horde of kids on her tail. I arrived at the theatre at the aforementioned time with only 1/2 the children in tow as it had started to snow and I, like many other mothers out there had to drive into town very slowly because our "I'll get done sometime soon, don't worry dear " husbands neglected to watch the weather channel and learn that the form of precipitation arriving would be white and not wet. Our studded winter tires sat nicely piled in their plastic wrappers in the garage and NOT on our cars as requested. Men. Insert a snort of derision here.

So I tried to explain to John or George (but who really cares at this point) that I was here to collect my tickets and my reserved seating in the back row as my daughter with perfect eyesight had requested. I wore new contacts for the event hoping to be able to see most of it with some sort of clarity. One would think that a 50 foot high Ron Weasly would be hard to miss.

Seems that Jim or Jack or Bob had never worked the cash register before so he toddled of to ask for help. Instead of dragging a mentor with him to aid in taking our money he repeated this performance for us another three times. After 15 minutes of "trot the lobby" we are joined by another teenager and a manager who thank the Lord above is over 19. He nicely tell us that there has been a mistake and that our requested seating has been given to part of the legion of Harry Potter fans who arrived 2 hours ago.

"I couldn't really move them." Smile. "At least not forcibly." Bigger smile. Obviously a Crest white user.

My son has mentioned to me that when I am not pleased with people that I should not smile. It looks rather scary when I try to smile when I am very angry. I figured the steam exiting my ears would have been a clue that my smile was not really sincere but a Canadian attempt at civility.

"Yes you could." I replied, as sweetly as I could muster. "Move them I mean. We did have reservations placed on Tuesday. We were here first." It was true. Justice out ranks squatters rights.

The manager stopped smiling.

"You want me to move them?"

"You want me to sit in the front row?" I smiled again. Connor shook his head and turned away. Audible groaning was heard, from the multitudes of girls who had waited all week for this movie and from the manager who would have rather dealt with a saber tooth tiger that endure another feigned smile from me. The line behind us was growing exponentially.

He scurried away to make arrangements and a duo of teenagers took our food orders. The inept Carl or Chris tried to ring in our order.

The manager arrived and flustering said "How about 3/4 of the way up?"

My daughter and her friends jumped on that as Anna whispered something unkind about my "special" abilities.

Yep. I had succeeded in embarrassing her and her friends and paid good money to do it. Lucky me and on a Saturday as well!

The worst part... I never got my food. I guess those teenagers had not reached that section in their education where they could successfully add. I guess it really is true when they say math is a lost art form in our schools. I am the one who made multiple visits to the theatre, paid out my money to view a movie I would have normally waited to view on CD and I am the bad guy. Moms get no respect.

I accepted defeat and sat in the movie reveling in the vivid colours that can only be attained from putting in a new pair of contacts and the belief that my pants wouldn't be tighter when I left the movie.

Rememberance Day

A Symbol of Our Fallen

Today is Remembrance Day in Canada. It is a day where we as a Nation take pause and celebrate our servicemen and women. It is a day that we remember those who we give thanks to for our present freedoms.

It has been many years since I personally attended a ceremony. It was something I was rather ashamed of as I stood among a group of many in our small community today. I was surprised at the large number of young people in the crowd. A youth that has been untouched by civil strife stood side by side with veterans of many wars . It made me humble.

I watched in silence as did the crowd as each group came forth with their wreath to lay upon the memorial. A member of our Nations finest escorted each and every presenter and in strict accordance to protocol he would salute briskly, even as the presenter, often confused on their role fidgeted, unsure whether they should stand and salute or leave. This was never more poignant than when a group of Girl Guides came up, bearing their wreath, six little hands clasping their brilliant green and red gift of thanks.

They could not have been more than 7 years old and their anxious eyes watched the young officer hoping for some guidance in this sea of silent onlookers. A daunting task for any adult, it seemed almost paralyzing for these small girls. Six tiny hands laid the wreath at his feet and then looked at the crowd and unable to find any parental aid looked up at the young officer and waited patiently for guidance.

The young man was standing solemn and when he briskly saluted the memorial the three girls jumped. The littlest one poked the young mans leg. A silent but not too subtle way of saying,

"What do I do next?"

Much like the guards at Buckingham Palace who are trained to resist any and all prompting those little fingers, not understanding protocol, poked him again.

The young officer, resplescent in his crisp uniform flickered his attention to the young girls, meeting their gaze in quiet understanding and ever so slightly tilted his head towards the crowd. Smiling with acknowledgement they straightened their little shoulders and walked briskly at his side as they left.

I admit I lost the battle to remain impassive. My makeup was not quite so crisp when I finally reached the car after the service. I am not ashamed of those tears, nor will I be of any in the future. There are many brave young men and women who have given their lives in service of this country. There are many more still answering this call. A call that many of us ignore. Cries of wars in foreign lands often fall on deaf ears in lands where peace is accepted without the personal knowledge of the toll it demands in payment.

Today I not only remembered the past but the present.

I remembered that we still fight for freedom and peace.

More Wool!

Chloe In Wool!

Chloe In Wool! Part 2

I must say I have found this whole new craft of needle felting a wonderous way to de-stress. With each poke of the needle through the wool I find my aggravations and worries disappear and as the successions of needling continues I see before me something beautiful being created.

The above model is my usual muse, Chloe. My appaloosa mare is my buddy and we get along great. She doesn't care if she ever gets ridden or if she is kept at a 5 star stable, she is quite content to stroll among my pastures protecting her flock of sheep and generally keeping tabs on her human. That would be me. Anytime I want to try a new style of art I usually look at my muse. Chloe never disappoints and usually my efforts turn out to be quite acceptable.

I may not show her this latest work. Simialar to Manfred on Ice Age "Yes Chloe this wool makes you look poofy"! My darling mare in reality does not have such behemoth legs or quite so much coat but it is quite a good likeness of her.

I used pipecleaners for her structure, Clun Forest wool for the body fill and then decided to use Alpaca fiber for the outer covering. This was the start of my demise.

While the colour was very close to Chloe's natural hue it was not the ideal thing to work with in this instance. It did not needle felt well and added to her bulk. No female ever wants to hear that her clothing is adding to "her bulk", hence the reason I will neglect to show Chloe this model. She does after all have control over how long I remain in the upright position while riding her!

The Wool Gatherers

Blue Bird of Joy

Chicken Little

The Swan

I may not be able to get into the studio lately and paint but I have been joyfully creating none the less.

I was fortunate enough a few weeks ago to organize a wool needle felting workshop where a friend of mine taught over 20 people how to create items from wool. I was blown away by the imagination and creativity that all the people , young and old, expressed. The fantastic thing was that none of them were classically trained artists yet each of them created something that made everone go "WOW".

So inspired was I that I started to pick away at a few things myself and quickly I found myself with these little gems above. I figure since I have sheep, I have wool and since I only receive about $0.05/pound if I sell it locally that I might as well enjoy using it in some artistic manner. An economist may call it "value added", I just call it fun.

I was demonstrating how to do this at a local art show and one young man stopped to watch. Within seconds he was smiling and he said to me

"Out in a field somewhere there is a sheep screaming "Ouch..Ouch.... Ouch!" Each ouch coincided with a needle punch!

This young fellow suggested that I start making wool humans and selling them as Voodoo dolls so that students may poke an offending teacher when the mood arose!

Remind me never to piss off a young person!!

Mother Nature is a Hoot!

Anikan Skywalkers Owner


It's a Boy!

I love you

Houston, We have a problem!

Anyone who says Mother Nature doesn't have a sense of humour obviously has never grown carrots! Our garden this year has been a source of many a good chuckle and been the brunt of many an off colour joke. Trust me when I say these photos are pretty tame. At Fullerton Farm we eat the worst of the offenders!

I couldn't resist sharing these with you because I can't resist a good laugh. That is why I must relay an honest to God real "yes -it -happened -at -my -workplace -and -I -did -not -read -it -on -the -internet" event. I am very sad that I was not there personally to expereince it but my boss, who was there and had to deal with it retold it so well I am still laughing my ass off about it.

At work, the maintance fellows needed to do some repairs on our heating and ventilation systems and in order to do the job correctly they needed to tear down an external wall. This wall is concrete block and since it was going to be a long and dirty process it was decided to seal off that section from the rest of our facility to ensure that our workplace remained clean and undistrubed by the construction workers.

'Cause lets face it, construction workers are the grubbiest most inconsiderate people on the planet when it comes to regarding the lives they affect. They use any and all workspace as a personal landfill and come and go as they please with an air of arragance that makes any sane individual want to handle an pneumatic nail gun as a weapon. Trust me, I have built a house. It does not matter the specialization they deal in they will leave a trail through your property that will have you gritting your teeth so hard your molars are loose. Dentists love to hear that their patients are renovating, those antigrinding plates increase in sales dramatically when construction folk enter the scene.

So, in an effort to avoid any and all interaction with the previously afore mentioned critters, we made sure that the door that would allow them access our facility was not only locked and barred, we disabled the unlocking mechanism to ensure that even the most intrepid of fellows could not gain enterance.

After months of having a gaping hole in our wall, I am talking 9+ (it is easier to get pregnant have an child and get back home than it is to hurry a construction firm) the hole was filled in yesterday.

This is where the hilarity begins.

Since we can not and have not entered that room in quite some time you can imagine my bosses surprise when at 3:50 pm she can hear a knocking on this door as she is leaving for the day. Surprised she leans against the door, still disbeleiving her ears. The knocking persists and it is now followed by a

"Hello? Can anyone hear me?"

Knowing that the room is scheduled for repair and disgusted at the extreme lenght of time it took to do the job my boss is rather angry and considers leaving the disembodied voice to fend for itself. But being the kind soul that she is ( I should know, she has hired me back 3 x already...I think she deserves a medal for that alone...or an extended vacation stay at the nearest governemntal facility!) she replies,

"Yes?"

There is a pause and then ,

"Can you open the door?"

"NO."

"Can you open the door please?"

"Why? and NO."

There is quite a long pause. I am assuming it is this person trying to determine which boot will taste the best when he realizes that he must ask a woman for assitance. That is in the same line as a man asking for directions...a man just doesn't do that and when you add the extra weight of construction gear and a good dose of testosterone poisoning, I am pretty sure this fellow was considering eating his shorts instead of asking this rather cross and in control female for any aid.

"I repaired your wall."

"Good. What do you want?" It can be hard to hear through a locked and plastic covered door.

Another pause.

"I want to leave."

Like my boss I would be thinking, please do so. I have 9 months of your crap to clean up. Go, hurry, scurry scatter. Take your pick.

Another pause.

"I can't."

You've heard of peole who paint their floor, then promptly paint themselves into the furthest corner from the door in that room? Imagine this fellow, bright boy that he is (and probably fertile with over a dozen kids at home ready to add to the gene pool), standing in a room with the door disabled so that it can not ever be opened from his side with a brand spanking new wonderful 9 month overdue freshly bricked up concrete wall. Four beautiful, intact finished concrete walls complete with a disabled inpenetrable door.

24 hours later and my boss is still laughing her ass of about it!

Our construction wizard didn't just lock himself out of his house he barricaded himself with a neatly stacked cement block wall that took him over a day to complete and at no point in time did Einstein ever consider how he was going to go home at the end of his job.

That's why you send a women to do a man's job. We would have done it right the first time .