canadian once daily cialis

canadian once daily cialis

Friday, August 31st, 2007

Traditionally, the first Monday of September has been the day set aside to honor the American worker by way of a holiday. The first Labor Day was celebrated on September 5, 1882 in New York City, and later spread to other cities and then, nationwide. Although the name of the person who actually founded the holiday has been disputed, there is no doubt that the celebration is a unique one.

The day usually represents the last blast of summer. From now on, nights will be cooler, children will be back in school, and the “lazy, hazy” days of our hottest season of the year will be but a memory.

This country was built on a base of determination and hard work. How fitting a tribute it is to honor the history of labor and to set aside time to think of the individuals in our own families, and beyond our own circles, who filled and continue to perform so many roles and provide for the needs of so many others.

When I think of the term “labor,” certain images come to mind. I think of the Chinese and Irish workers who built the transcontinental railroad. I recall fishermen sailing off into dangerous waters and sudden storms off the New England coast. I think of people who work on high scaffolds, washing windows in high rise buildings, or even constructing the buildings themselves. I ponder the work of doctors, struggling against all odds to save a heart patient, or the victim of multiple injuries.

Oh yes, to be sure, there are many people in our lives about whose work we can be thankful on this Labor Day…from the migrant workers in the fields and orchards, harvesting crops, to the musicians who help us to keep a song in our hearts; from the mothers (or fathers) who cook food for the family, to the museum directors who work so hard to keep history alive.

We all have our part in keeping America strong. We all have a “place in the choir.” For now, let’s take a day of rest, or even a long weekend of rest and relaxation. There is a time to work and a time to play. For just a little while, the “work” can wait.

Patricia

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Tuesday, August 28th, 2007

When FDR stated that we have nothing to fear but fear itself, reportedly he was referring to the need for Americans to develop more faith in the economy and increase spending. The oft quoted phrase is most often used to refer to war situations, or alternatively to the essence of the qualities of fear. If we are fearful, we are non-productive; we are non-creative. Fear is paralyzing and zaps our very strength and all of our energy.

The idea behind fear, in time of war, is “to get them before they get us,” a common mindset. The trouble is that the enemy is often an unknown entity. Fighting a ghost, we try to sidestep him, in our dreams. However, then he brings his friends along for support, and we are surrounded by leering, jeering, nebulous, almost-but-not-quite-there, images in our brains. The exercise is somewhat like shadow boxing.

I woke up from a similar nightmare this morning. In this dream sequence, I was surrounded by thugs in black leather jackets with metal studs. They wanted something of me. I knew not what. Jolting awake, I had the awareness of anger and the solid feeling that I would not go down without a fight.

Threatening behavior of others, whether in words or actions, is something I might have more easily walked away from in the past, and “let it go,” in the interest of peace. Now, I don’t encourage the bullies who would try to run roughshod over my psyche, like a roller attempting to mash down hot pavement and mold it into whatever shape they desire for their own USE.

I realize that my very own psychic reaction to threats is something I have in common with those who start wars. It is predictable that anyone would want to defend oneself, in the face of a despot, or a group of unsavory criminals.

While thinking all of these thoughts, I am also intensely aware of the fact that I dislike violence, and I REALLY DESPISE the current war, with its broken bodies, grieving loved ones, and blood spilled onto the earth, all for the fleeting ideologies of old men, who really can’t make up their minds about much of anything, except that they are “right.” Better to be right, I guess, than to be sensible.

We desperately need to get out of Iraq, and not think about invading yet a third country in the region, Pakistan, as Obama has suggested. We just keep becoming more and more enmeshed in the Middle East, and were it not for oil and business interests in the area, I doubt that we would pay much attention there.

As the death count rises, who can even keep track of how many soldiers or civilians have died? The number of disabled veterans is another sad story altogether. They, too, have given their “lives” for a cause that seemed like the right thing to do, at the time.

Yes, I am patriotic. Yes, I love this country. Yes, I support the troops. That is WHY, my friend, I would like to see our friends, our brothers, our sons and daughters, our husbands, our nephews, our nieces, our grandchildren, and our neighbors come home, where they belong.

The Home of the Brave Quilt Program is way behind in providing quilts for families of the deceased soldiers. While initially it was a nice idea, the thought of providing a quilt to each of the families of a fallen soldier was probably conceived at a time when the “war” was thought to be one of less duration.

With 2,300 quilts made, so far, the program is short of its goals. Clouding the issue is the demand of divorced parents to have their own personal “remembrance” by way of a tribute quilt, and the demand also of a twin, or other family member, to also have one. It has been difficult to keep up with giving one quilt to a family, let alone providing multiples. If you’ve ever made a quilt, you certainly would better understand the amount of work involved. ‘Taint easy, or quick!

While it is a wonderful thing to acknowledge the sacrifices of the military, it would be a far GREATER accomplishment to bring the troops home. I do not see this happening soon. Armaments and personnel have been increased over there for a long period of time. Logistically, we cannot exit quickly. We are caught in a “Catch 22″ situation that has ripped this country apart, politically, emotionally, and financially. There has to be an end-point to this insanity of WAR.

We should be making war on “war.” Only then, can we make quilts to celebrate a victory, when this enemy of children, the arts, and living things, is conquered.

Patricia Cummings

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Tuesday, August 28th, 2007

This morning, I asked Jim if he was willing to “play hooky” with me and skip town for the day. After inquiring what I had in mind, and getting the response in two words, “Damariscotta, Maine,” we loaded up the cooler with some water and headed out, bright and early.

Maine has been aptly described as “Life in the slow lane,” and that is a good description. Another more recent logo is “Life as it should be.” Other signs along the roadway indicate “Moose Crossing.” Ironically, as many times as we have been to the state, the only moose I’ve seen was a dead one on the back of a trailer, destined to become “moosemeat.”

The sun was bright enough to need sunglasses, and as we traveled along, a few times we could see herons, standing in various bodies of water visible from the road. While seeing wildlife and wild birds is always a plus, our goal today was to visit an antiques shop that is one of my favorites.

I did find a late nineteenth century pieced quilt, with lots of Cadet Blue fabrics, to purchase. The quilt did come WITH a provenance, including the names of the three ladies who worked on it, their birth and death dates, and the town where they kept a sewing shop: Lambertville, New Jersey.

The last of the ladies died in 1937, and it is a relative who had put this item in the shop. How wonderful it is when historical information is willingly shared at point of sale, in a shop, but that is so very rare!

We experienced a delightful lunch at Schooner’s Landing in Damariscotta, where we have been a few times previously. The eating deck is right on (and actually, over) the water of the salt water bay. While munching, we were able watch loons, geese, ducks, seagulls, and people in small boats and kayaks. We had a cup of haddock chowder, quesadillas, and a piece of blueberry pie, made with wild Maine berries.

After that, we headed home, having spent enough money for one day, and having stayed away from our computers too long, and wanting to catch up on mail and phone messages. We always manage to have fun when we are together, and that is a good thing for a married couple who has paddled the same canoe for such a long time.

Other days, we are hard at work. Today, we wanted an “artists’ date” and that is exactly what happened. I know I’m spoiled.

“Thank God from whom all blessings flow.”

Patricia

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Sunday, August 26th, 2007

Today was going to be the day that I went to my studio, turned on some nice music, and embroidered, quilted, and ironed to my heart’s content. I entered the room, with high hopes and good intentions, but after turning on all the lights, I was dive-bombed by this swooping “thang.” Is it a bat? Is it a bird? Why, no! It is a most huge flying, biting insect (bee, wasp, killer bee?) that I have ever seen.

I was attempting to turn out the lights and did not succeed in shutting off the one on the other side of the room, for fear of being landed on. I slowly backed up, step by step, no sudden motions to attract this creature, and I closed the door.

One can only hope that the monster will wear itself out and fall to its death in exhaustion. That would be the best case scenario. I don’t want to spray any bug spray in that room, as I don’t want to smell it, and I wouldn’t want it getting on any textiles. If I have a fly swatter, I wouldn’t know where it is, and so I wait.

Isn’t this just life? You think you’ll go to the park and enjoy a picnic under a tall shade tree, and it rains. Same idea. Somehow, our best laid plans never seem to work out quite the way that we desire.

The way I described this flying beast to Jim, on the phone, he is about ready to come home and get out the shotgun. He said, “How BIG is this thing anyhow?”

Perhaps, it will not look so formidable when he sees it (with any luck). I just hope we 1) can find this intruder, and 2) that he’s gone to beast heaven, in the meantime.

This is the story of my life, such high drama, such roadblocks on the path to creativity. Looks like an afternoon of reading is ahead.

Patricia Cummings

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Saturday, August 25th, 2007

Hello, everyone!

We are back home after spending an invigorating day in the north country of New Hampshire where air does not get any cleaner, where the folks are friendly, and where the quilters are traditional. There is a new file on our website that includes our “moose” sighting, , and various other photogenic scenes.

Wild Turkeys feeding in a field

As I said in the file, these wild turkeys were totally unfettered by the canadian once daily cialis taking photos of them.

Pat and Jim

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Thursday, August 23rd, 2007

mini quilt

The miniature quilt above was “born” in the most unconventional of ways. Let me tell you about the inspirations behind it. I was in an antiques store and spotted a fairly large, white box of hexagons (six-sided shapes.) They were still clinging to the paper shapes upon which they had been basted with white thread.

While I was looking through them, at the various colors and designs, I noticed that a green calico one with small motifs. This fabric was pieced over a black and white magazine print image of some official standing on the back of a train. Who was it?

Looking through a magnifying glass, my husband, Jim, and I discovered that the image was that of Harry Truman. A canadian once daily cialis magazine article online, “,” by Hugh Sidey, tells the story of how Truman made a major campaign sweep across the country, by rail, in 1948, making 356 speeches from the back of the train, and covering 31,700 miles.

I decided that this green fabric was special because of this association. So, I picked out the basting stitches on the larger hexagon shape, and cut much smaller hexagons to create the flower that you see above. Free hand, I added some stems and leaves with embroidery floss, for this abstract creation, and then decided to enclose the motif in an oval.

Undoing a picture frame, I overlaid the glass on top of the flower design in order to draw the shape I wanted. Then I pinned lace around, on the pencil mark, pinning the lace in place and tacking it in place with a yellow chain stitch. Since I’d just purchased some beads, with no particular intent in mind, I added those at intervals, and surprisingly, they were placed in an equidistant manner, all the way around, as you can see.

Next I decided that I wanted embroidered hearts in the corners. I added some borders and a little quilting, and here we are, a mini quilt that means something special to me just because it reminds me of a significant historical event in the history of the United States.

Keep in mind that this quilt seemed to develop on its own. I had no master plan in mind. I was just “tinkering.” Sometimes it is just fun to “play.” I was not making the quilt to enter into a show, or to publish in a magazine, or to be impressive, or to sell. I was simply creating something from the heart so that it could “be,” and for some unknown reason, I had to do it.
Remember to play. It’s good for the soul.

Pat

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Wednesday, August 22nd, 2007

Look around your house. Do you see your family members standing around the kitchen counter to eat, rather than sitting down at the dining room table? If you are a quilter, and the answer to that question is “yes,” you may be one of the victims of HTMS syndrome. HTMS is characterized by having every flat surface in your home covered with sewing machines, sergers, quilt magazines, fabrics, collected textiles, a camera, quilt books, spools of thread, and sewing implements.

HTMS (better known as “have too much stuff”) is a common malady among quilters who have been “at it” for some time now. The magazines reproduce, like little bunny rabbits, during the night. Every day, you wake up, and there seems to be more, yet, the other side of this syndrome, HTMS, is CGROA (can’t get rid of anything.)

You’d best be aware of these too situations. In some cases, they have led to divorce. In other cases, they have precipitated an afternoon in bed while you ponder what you can possibly do to “downsize.” Take the word, “downsize,” … please!

Downsizing is attempted by the well-meaning person and the idea goes well until decisions must be made. The internal conversation goes something like this, “Oh, no, I cannot possibly part with the original painting that little Bart made in kindergarten, and I will never give away the hat with homemade roses made of construction paper, made by Aunt Flossie in the nursing home. Her creative talents really shone through at the age of ninety.” We can think up all kinds of reasons for keeping all kinds of things, and therein lies the true problem.

Other Warning Signs

The main characteristic of those who have these co-existing maladies (HTMS and CGROA) is that they save everything. Part of the disorder is being HTAC (happier than a clam) to hoard material goods.

With “downsizing” being the buzz word of baby boomers, we will hear more and more groans about these sudden attacks of the above syndromes that conflict with each other. It’s a dilemma with which we will have to deal, lest all those decisions are taken out of hands, in one fell swoop, by fate. I don’t know about you, but the thought of someone else going through my stash of things could make me break out in hives, and that, in itself, is a good incentive to buckle down and start dispensing with some of my earthly goods.

Besides that, maybe if I clear out a few items, we’ll actually be able to find the surface of the table again, to enjoy eating there. :)
Patricia Cummings, geezerette

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Sunday, August 19th, 2007

Here are a few tips on how to spot a true Yankee, that is, someone from northern New England, say, New Hampshire, Vermont, or Maine, preferably a born and bred native. If you are not already a true Yankee, consider this: too many years are required to “become” one, and by that time, you’d be dead. So, if that is your situation, adjust to your status of “newcomer.” Whether you’ve lived here ten years or forty, newcomer you will be.

A true Yankee has some, but perhaps not all, of the following characteristics:

1) He wears his pants too short. This may be a habit with roots in childhood. Having short pants could be advantageous when walking through a cow pasture, for example, and could help dear old Mom cut down on laundry time, hauling water from the pump and heating it to wash clothes, or else beating the clothes on the rocks of a nearby stream. Ah, but now, I do exaggerate!

2) The true Yankee, always wears a hat on his head, except in the House of the Lord. The hat is to hide a balding head or the lack of a haircut, and the hat is ceremoniously removed when a person is desirous of a senior citizen discount at a local fast-food eatery.

3) We northern New England Yankees have heard of them there Ivy League schools, and we know that the folks in Texas, for example, think we have ALL gone to either Harvard, Yale, or Smith. The fact is, most of us haven’t. The only “ivy” with which we have much experience is that “poison ivy” growing in the backyard.

4) Now, you may have heard that Yankees are “cheap.” I want you to know that the word is a total misnomer, yes, completely misleading. We are “selective spenders.” There is a difference. A certain relative of ours prefers to substitute the word “frugal” for “cheap,” when it comes to her spending habits. We reserve the word “cheap” for paid “ladies of the night,” and sleazy motels with bedbugs.

5) Yankees enjoy the simple pleasures of life…like ignoring the neighbors! Oh, yes, they may be nice people. We will never know. We “tend to our own knitting,” and nothing would be more obnoxious than to constantly have our lives interrupted by someone dropping in for a spot of tea. Anti-social, we are not…well, maybe a tad. Perhaps, I should say we are “busy” – sounds more friendly.

There you have it, a few tips on how to spot a Yankee. Look for the too-short pants, the white socks (health is a BIG concern), the balding head with hat, or not, the indecisive penny-pincher who lingers over items in the store, weighing and balancing and counting change, and the neighbor who waves, but quickly goes inside.

We are a friendly bunch…just don’t push the issue.

Patricia Cummings, born and raised in the Granite State :-)

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Saturday, August 18th, 2007

If you appreciate life in the slow lane, then you would probably enjoy seeing the image above. This is a small pillow that features a turtle. The textile started life as a printed quilt block, in some unknown person’s stash of goodies to embroider.

Found in the same shop, on the same day, is the above item, a tablerunner, with a stagecoach and galloping horses at both ends of the textile.

I can’t help but appreciate the juxtaposition of these embroidered images: the first, a turtle among the flowers, with butterfly hovering overhead; the second, someone trying to get to some other place…like yesterday!

Me? I’d rather ponder the posies.

Pat

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Friday, August 17th, 2007

Side of quilt shop nearest the parking lot

The Norton House Quilt Shop in , is one of our favorite destinations. To read more about Wilmington and to see photos that Jim took, around town, of statues and painted bears, visit our new file. This town in Vermont is a great destination!

bear

Pat and Jim Cummings

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Friday, August 17th, 2007

I am sitting here weeping, after just having viewed some of the photos and reports coming out of Peru. The devastation is total, and the United States, Canada, and Japan, have already stepped up to the plate to offer millions of dollars in aid.

This has been a “bad week,” on the news front. The suicide-bombers/genocide in northern Iraq, the trapped coal miners and the loss and injury of would-be rescuers, and the severe decline of the stock market – (a harbinger of another recession?)

With all of those horrible things happening, even the most avid needleworker has to sit up and take notice, and perhaps, ponder the totality of LIFE, not just our own little interests. Of course, quilting and embroidery are huge preoccupations, but as we scramble to find “just the right color,” or to sign up for “just the right class,” we all need to stop for a moment and think about what I call “The Big Picture.”

If you spend some time alone with yourself, without the intrusion of a cell phone, interruptions, and demands of other people, you will have the chance to begin to listen to your soul. You will have the opportunity to try to make sense of your time on earth, and what it means, and what might or might not be in store for you, “after.”

Now, I’m not a preacher, nor ever make the pretense of being one. However, I do have the time to be alone, quite a lot, and looking beyond the sadness of life, I have come to believe that we have to attempt to overcome and transcend all that is so consummately painful that it is unfathomable, like loss, and like death.

In Peru, hundreds of people were killed when the roof of a church fell in. Amazingly, a statue of Christ stands unscathed among the rubble, and a painting of Him is complete, in another spot. To me, a believer, this seems to be a sign. To others, it would be just a fluke of fate. Whatever you believe, no tragedy on earth will make sense to you, until you couch it within the terms of faith, whichever faith that may be.

I am frightened that something could have happened to my friend in Peru. No doubt, all the lines of communication are out, as he lives in the area that was discombobulated by the earthquake. I pray that Pedro is safe. In the meantime, tears continue to stream from my eyes, thinking of all the tiny coffins lined up, the homeless people sleeping on the street, and the dogs searching for people. The thought of all of this is overwhelming. To save my own sanity, I think I’ll go find something creative to work on.

Pat

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Thursday, August 16th, 2007

A few years ago, after I had collected some examples of panels, I wrote about them. The file is still on our website.

Yesterday, two different readers wrote to inquire about the age of some that they have and to ask for more information than what is provided in the lengthy online file.

Egyptian scene with camel

Teresa Davis sent the image above.
To narrow down the age of any of these panels is difficult. Mainly, one must look at the condition of the fabrics and the state of their deterioration, or so it seems. As far as motifs, the themes are ubiquitous: camels, donkeys, people doing all sorts of things, pyramids, and other typically Egyptian motifs.

Egyptian Wall Hanging

Egyptian Wall Hanging owned by Barbara of Australia

Barbara comments that this panel reminds her of the “Donkeys” textile I had posted on my internet file. Curiously, these donkeys, like my example, lack enough “legs.”

Surely, I am no expert on Egyptology, or the textiles of Egypt. I simply enjoy them. So, if anyone has any additional information, please feel free to share it with us.

Patricia Cummings,

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Wednesday, August 15th, 2007

This morning, I have been thinking a bit about how life has changed within the last hundred years, and how it is constantly evolving today, due to technology. Much of the allure that antiques of all kinds hold for me is that they remind me of the more simple ways of the past.

For example, I like the old apple corer/peeler devices, the treadle sewing machines, and the pitcher and washbasin, even though water had to be brought in from the well and heated on a wood stove. Somehow, we were more dependent on the land, and we had more respect for it. Animals needed to graze there, or we had to grow our vegetable crops. Open land was not just another site to build condominiums.

Gilman Farm, Barnard, Vermont

Seen in this photo, by Charlotte Croft, is the Clark Farm in Barnard, Vermont, a vision of loveliness on this clear summer’s day.

Looking back at the stories that people tell of life and hardships, even as experienced in the early twentieth century, makes me realize how much we take for granted today, and what a spoiled bunch of people we’ve become. A child in school without his/her own cell phone is just unimaginable. A sixteen year old “child,” without his/her own car is equally unfathomable, in some circles.

I like to sit here and think about the street outside my house at a time when it was more narrow, and lined with Elm trees, and trafficked by horses and buggies. A few years ago, Jim tore down the carriage shed on our property, before it fell down. However, it represented a different time and place that can only be re-visited by looking at old pictures of a history book of this part of town.

Of course, if I lived in any other age, I would not be writing to you on this fine day and reaching you in Australia, Canada, Germany, Peru, and many other points of the globe from where I know that readers visit this blog and our website.

Nonetheless, I can’t help but wax nostalgic over times past, and wish that I could “go there,” if only for a few days, to see and to live what it was like to try to survive in the nineteenth century, a time whose needlework I often visit.

Patricia Cummings

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Monday, August 13th, 2007

Today, I wrote a summary of what I know about hooked rugs (which is not a lot!). You can read the (relatively short) file, with great photos.

small hooked rug from the Lewis collection

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Monday, August 13th, 2007

Vermont footbridge
This is a photo of a footbridge seen in (W. Danville?), Vermont that is in the style of a covered bridge. This was located near a (damaged) statue of a Native American called “Indian Joe.” There is a little plaque in this roadside park that is a tribute to him.

Marker at Joe's Pond, VT

If anyone can identify the location of the town where these features are, please write to us at: I just thought you might enjoy seeing Jim’s photos.

Patricia Cummings

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