I can’t believe that I forgot I hooked that rug! Yes, it went plumb out of my mind. Let me explain.
Unfinished and, therefore, unnamed rug being hooked with t-shirts sometime last fall.
Last night I was going through my laptop files looking for a particular rug photo. (I read a blog that encourages people to share their gardens and crafts and such. Of course, they want to see my rugs. 🙂 ) So, I’m combing through the blog file, the guild file, High on Hooking’s inventories, every file containing pics of rugs for whatever reason. And I come across this photo of an unfinished rug.
And I think, where the hell that rug?How come I haven’t been trying to sell that??? It was a pretty large, circular deal. About 28 inches in diameter.
Like many of you, I am not a woman who keeps things that bother me to myself. I less than casually mention it to Tom who responds with What rug? (Insert my eye roll here.) Once I show him the photo, oh, I remember that one! Thank God. I was starting to think senility might be creeping in. Then he asks about its whereabouts. Duh! Then he asks if I ever finished it. Of course, I finished it! I had to have done it before I started the big, blue floral rug around January 1.
I check the wicker trunk and the cedar chest. Nada. I take a cursory glance around the closet and laundry room, but they both hold my hooking raw materials, not finished rugs, most of which currently abide in my mobile store. It’s definitely not with them.
Again to the cedar chest. I do a better search, actually take things out. Nope. The rug seems to have vanished. I briefly consider that Melinda might’ve taken it. She reallyliked it when I was working on it. Nah, I would’ve seen it at her house. So, it has to be in mine!
Tom’s lost interest by now. I head back to the closet and the laundry room. Okay, I have not cleaned or sorted my laundry room counter in a very l-o-n-g time. Been too busy. This time I actually pick up some pile, move things around, and…lo and behold!…there, neatly folded, is that rug. I grab it, unfold it. Oh, the hooking is done – just like I remembered – but the finishing, not so much. Never bandy that word senility around so casually when you live in a glass house. It will come back to bite you in the ass.
I definitely hooked that rug. I most definitely did NOT finish that rug.
Now I have another job to do so that I can get this baby out to the Rail Yards and the other places I’m selling at this season. (That would include, I recently found out, the Sunflower Festival in Mountainair, here in New Mexico on August 26.) Since tonight I’ll finish hooking another rug (see photo below) and have yet to design something new, I guess that I’ll be sewing binding on the “Tree of Life” when I meet with some guild members tomorrow for a mini hook-in. Like you, I’d rather hook.
Last week brought some interesting news. Along with 59 other hookers who feel a need to share the hooking gospel via social media, specifically via a blog, High on Hooking’s blog was named one of the best 60 rug hooking blogs. (It didn’t specify where, so I’ll go with in the entire world.) I admit that when I saw the email that morning, I scoffed to Tom that it was some kind of scam, false news, as it were. But, no, when I got on Facebook later in the day, congratulations were flying. Thank you, Rug Hooking Magazine and Feedspot for a lovely and unexpected boost.
Lastly, Tynan is back with “The Rug on the Frame.” Though he did mention that it felt like a demotion after being allowed to write the blog last week. I told him that if he’s good, he’ll get another chance. And if he stops calling us idiots. This rug is a favorite of his, though he’d make me take out the “WOOF” and put in his name. Then I couldn’t sell it, I explained. Exactly, he said.
Tynan says, that rug should be mine. “Woof” is hooked all in t-shirt. Much cooler than wool this time of year.
Tynan the Welsh Springer Spaniel here. After using my likeness so many times to sell rugs, she finally let me write the damn blog. I’m choosing to tell you all about my, I mean, our trip to Pagosa Springs, Colorado, last week.
First thing to get off my chest: Freaking cheapskates should’ve sprung for the whole week at the condo. First time in two years I get out of New Mexico (sure, she’s jaunted off to Tucson two Januarys in a row to rug hook), and they give me just four nights away and out of the desert heat. Arses, both of them.
Monday:
The master and I leaving the Wines of the San Juan Winery in Blanco, New Mexico. There are two bottles in that purple bag he’s carrying. And nothing for me.
So, the ride from Albuquerque to Pagosa Springs is just under four hours IF you take the most direct route. Do we take the most direct route? NOOOOoooo. Hey, I’m as good a car traveler as any other dog, but it’s still not my most favorite activity. (Favorite activities involve food and belly rubs.) Did they ask me about driving the long way just so’s they could visit a winery? NOOOooo. The Wines of the San Juan place was in the middle of nowhere. Really. But they were good people and even let me in the tasting room. Someone could’ve tossed me a pretzel, but at least there was AC. Apparently, my humans liked the wines because they picked up a bottle of the Serendipity Merlot and another of the Rosé of Dolcetto. Do they know how many Frosty Paws they could’ve bought for the same price?
Since we’re almost always in the middle of nowhere in New Mexico and Colorado – most of the ride was two-lane highway – they are so lucky I don’t puke in cars. More importantly, there was nowhere to stop for lunch. Okay, the chances of them buying me lunch are pretty much a big goose egg, but a dog can dream. I could tell she was getting a little cranky. All those pretzels he ate in the winery were definitely NOT gluten-free. She got nothing. Just like me. Ha!
The ride was kind of cool, especially as we moved from the high desert browns and tans and the juniper greens to the lush pines and aspens and all that grass on the cattle ranches. Man, being from Massachusetts, I’ve never seen so many cattle ranches. I’m not complaining. Who bitches about steak…on the hoof? She took tons of pictures – far more than any one person needs, if you ask me, which no one ever does – like she always does, even made him stop the car so she could get out and focus better. Perhaps I would’ve liked to have stretched my legs too. Nah, I just wanted to get there. Besides, I had the whole backseat to myself. At least they put my comfiest bed on it.
Part of Chimney Rock National Monument just west of Pagosa Springs. We didn’t go here, just drove by it a couple of times. But I think a return trip is going to happen.
Finally, I can tell we’re getting close to the place. They start discussing groceries and whether it’s cool enough to leave me in the car while they run in to pick up dinner stuff. I HATE it when they leave me in the car. Or at least that’s what I let them believe. So’s I start my usual whining and crying when they turn into the parking lot. Hunger clearly doesn’t agree with them; they tell me to shut up. What I put up with. I lie down in my bed perfectly comfy.
The view from the condo’s deck. Nice. Just look at all that green grass.
Fortunately, it doesn’t take them long, and even better, the condo’s less than a minute from the grocery store! They don’t even leash me when we get out of the car! The place was great! Surrounded by all this long, green grass. Real grass, not that fake shit we’ve got in our backyard back in Albuquerque. I pee (of course) then rub my face and whole body in the grass. So soft, so cool after those 105° days during the heatwave in the desert. Reminds me of the old place back in Massachusetts that we left behind. With the chipmunks which we don’t have in Albuquerque. I miss chipmunks, though the little punk geckos are pretty fun to hunt. But I digress.
The condo freaked me out a bit when we first got there. Strange sounds; damn, my own toenails sounded so loud on the fake wood floor. And I had to be careful all the time or I’d slip. I much prefer carpet. The deck was pretty cool. Real wood. I liked hanging out there, but I wish they’d have let me off to catch that stupid cat that sashayed by.
That night we went out to dinner at Kip’s. It was great. They bought me a plate of fish tacos. NOT! I sat in the car then got to hear about the tacos and fresh salsa all the way home. Typical.
Tuesday:
Tuesday morning was good; the mistress took me for a walk. On the leash. Not optimum like in the Bosqueat home where I get to run free most of the time, but okay. Or it was till we took that wrong turn that kept us out for 90 minutes instead of the hour she planned on. Idiot. I’ll give her, she didn’t do that again. After breakfast – theirs, not mine, but at least I scored some banana, I love bananas – we…get in the car again! Didn’t we drive enough the day before??? They say we’re not going far. And we’re going on a little hike. Okay, I like to hike.
The most beautiful part of the Pagosa Valley. looks like a freaking movie set. I’m telling you.
We drive east, back through town. I can’t lie, there’s good scenery: mountains; lots of horses; the San Juan River and even river rafters; more steak-on-hooves and ranches that look like they’re straight out of a John Wayne movie. We go up, up, up on our way to the Wolf Creek Ski Area.
The master and I at the sign for the Continental Divide Trail up near Wolf Creek Pass. The idiots took pictures of this same sign back in 1995.
There was still snow up there! And this is how dumb my humans are. We come to a roadside stop for the Continental Divide, and they realize that they’ve been there before, back in 1995,
when they traveled around Colorado. They’d driven the same road (albeit in the opposite direction, from the east) on their way to Durango. Duh! We turned around at the ski area because our goal really was the hike to see Treasure Falls. Of course, there were more stops to take pictures before we got there. But the Falls were pretty cool.
That night we ate at the condo. Because it was vacation, I got a couple of bites of their steak. She didn’t even hassle him about how much it would cost him if I got pancreatitis from eating human food. Hey, I walked and hiked that day.
Wednesday:
Can you believe this, after our walk and breakfast, we get in the car again! Apparently, we were headed for Durango. Why? It’s not like they hadn’t been there before. They wanted to see if it was different. Duh, it’s been 22 years! Have you not heard that you can’t ever go home again? At least it was only an hour in the car. We left the alpine greens and headed back to the desert browns. I have to admit that Albuquerque seems a lot greener than Durango. (Never mind that I’m mostly colorblind. A dog can tell these things.)
The French crepe dude’s cart in Durango. And I’ve still never gotten to try a crepe.
So the idiots were kind of disappointed. We got caught in local traffic driving in. They seemed to think that the place was a crap-load bigger than in 1995. (Duh.) Eventually, we found a parking spot and headed into the Old Town/downtown area. Talk turned to lunch and how they had to find a place that had outdoor seating that allowed dogs. Pooh. I have great manners, and since I’ve become desert dog, I absolutely adore AC. Amazingly, they found a little stand with a French dude who made crepes – yes, crepes in the Southwest – and decided to stop there. Apparently, the crepes were quite yummy. Not that they gave me any, claimed there were green chiles in them. Right.
But there was a bright spot. Several, in fact. Most of the shops let dogs in! And several even had water and – get this – treats for us canines! At the expensive shoe store I managed to score two Milk Bones. Woo hoo! They liked me; found me quite attractive. And, since I’ve lost a couple of pounds and got the slimming haircut, I have to say that I am looking fine.
Thursday:
Yeah, this was supposed to be a day of rest. All we were planning on doing till we went out to dinner was to finally let Murphy’s ashes go. Murphy was my big brother. They’d adopted him out of Colorado six months before I arrived as a pup in 2008. He’d just turned 12 then and managed to live till he was 16 and a half! I think I can take some credit for that. I was five when he died. Five! They’ve been holding on to his ashes since then! But again, Murph was a Colorado dog, so taking home wasn’t a bad call.
My old buddy Murphy, the Colorado dog who spent his golden days in Massachusetts.
Murph was a cool dude, drove the idiots crazy those last years. (I loved it when he pissed on the mistress’s hand-painted cupboard in the foyer. Ha! And he was bullet-proof, would just look at her like “What? What? I’m old. What are you gonna do to me?) Anyway, he got them good last week too. They knew they wanted to let him go in a river somewhere kind of private rather than in the middle of Pagosa Springs. Mistress finds a river on the map not too far from the condo, though it required traversing the forest uphill on a dirt road. The master loves that shit in his Honda Accord. Not! Gets better. After his constant “Are we almost there?” she tells him “It’s just around this curve.” And it was, but it was a DRY river bed. I laughed and I laughed.
Where we let Murph’s ashes go on the San Juan River in the San Juan National Forest. Pretty sweet, no?
Now they’re desperate. It’s our last day in Colorado; dude can’t go back to New Mexico with us. She tells him there’s a place on the completely other side of town…she thinks. Okay, they want to do right by Murph, so we head back east toward Treasure Falls. We find the parking area and the trail. But her map is sketchy. Not a lot of info. We head down the trail towards the river. And get maybe a third of a mile before the path just…ends. We turn around, head back to the car. They’re testy. “It has to be farther up the dirt road.” (Another dirt road; he loves that.) “No, the dirt road goes uphill, up into mountains.” “We can’t tell that; the river is to the right. It has to cross in front of us near here.”
As usual she breaks him and we head up the dirt road. Lo and behold! Maybe a half-mile up and down the road we find the river. We have a little ceremony (me from the car so that I don’t go swimming), and now Murph is running free in the San Juan National Forest. You go, guy. I miss you. And I’m still laughing because what should’ve been a half-hour commemoration took us two hours! Even in death, Murph wins.
FRIDAY:
After our daily walk, we packed up and were out of the condo by 10:00 a.m. Thank goodness, they opted to take the more direct route home. One more drive through the center of Pagosa Springs, a right turn onto Route 84, another two-lane, and we were on our way. We only made three stops. We’d never been to Chama where the Cumbres & Toltec Scenic Railroad is. We checked it out, used their bathrooms. The humans want to go back one day to take the train ride. I’m guessing that dogs are personas non grata, so perhaps I’ll be left at a doggy hotel for that trip.
Rug yarn at Tierra Wools in Los Ojos, New Mexico.
Back in New Mexico she made us drive two miles out of our way to visit, yes, a freaking fiber place, Tierra Wools. The master and I are in agreement here about these kinds of stops. At least they let me in to hang in the AC. She didn’t buy anything, but made sure she took pics of the rug wool colors for when she needs some. The master rolled his eyes like he always does.
We made one more stop at a cool place called Echo Amphitheater. While I was grateful to get out of the car to stretch my legs, it was NOT my favorite place. They might as well name it the “Fuck-Your-Dog-Over Amphitheater.” Yeah, the idiots thought it was great fun to call me and have it echo from the rock formation. I had no idea who was calling me and where the voices were coming from. Next time I’ll stay in the car, thank you very much.
And, just like that, we were home by around 3:30 in the afternoon. Our vacation over. I miss Colorado. It was cooler up there, and we’re back in another heatwave here. Ah, well. At least they’re talking more get-aways. In October it looks like we’re heading back to New England for the first time since we moved out here two years ago. And then in January, she’ll probably take us to Tuscon. No, we’re not going to the Old Pueblo Rug Hookers Hook-In with her, but the next day, we’re hoping to drive down to Puerto Peñasco, Mexico, for a week. Very cool!
Hopefully, she’ll let me write more of these posts rather than just pose with her rug of the week. You’ll have to find that on the High on Hooking Facebook page later this week. Until then, thanks for reading.
Signing off and hoping I get to write again,
Tynan
Tynan the Welsh Springer Spaniel of High on Hooking
So the muse called yesterday. Not from anywhere far from home, but right in the backyard and even in the house. Fortunately, she called while I was watering the plants and before we hit the jackpot temperatures we’ve been getting lately. Yes, we are “enjoying” that heatwave that’s the talk of the Southwest. But if you stay in the shade and don’t move around too much, it’s not bad. It really is all about the humidity. And the fact that we live in New Mexico, NOT Phoenix with its 119º. Okay, it helps that both of our AC units are back online. Last week we had to limp along with just one of them for several days.
But back to the muse; I’m calling her the muse of minutiae because I was looking at things close-up rather than trying to see the big picture as I often do. Really, I wanted to find something extraordinary in the hum-ho of the yard I look at each day. But who really looks closely at their backyard every day? Guess I need to practice that more, particularly at off times. It is a nice backyard, especially at the end of the day when the hummingbirds visit while you sit out with a glass of wine.
This is a close-up of a painting by my aunt Pat Croke. Talk about the muse’s energy, people!I’m a big lover of all things sun – hell, why else would I have chosen to live out here in the desert? This is part of a chiminea that the original owner of our house left. If we touch it, it’ll break. It has to stay.
Taken as I am by the sun on the chiminea, I’d never noticed this almost shadow of a kokopelli hiding down near the ground. Who isn’t inspired by the happy flute-player?
What do you see in the shadows?
What a treat to find a rose like this one blooming during this heatwave!
Then there’s texture. Who’s not excited by the muse of touch?LIke I said, the god of sunshine is always here in my Albuquerque backyard.And he brings his a-muse-d friends.
Meanwhile, someone else is not enjoying the heat one iota! Tynan barely agreed to show you “what’s on the frame” this week. He’s barely looking me in the eye to shoot the pic. Instead he insisted that he was too hot to pose, to move even. That is until I got the shot and mentioned the usual treat. He was up like a puppy – not a heat-stricken nine-year old. He’ll feel better when he gets his hair cut tomorrow.
Maybe he’s just embarrassed by the shameless commercial nature of this new rug. Even if he was its muse!
A reminder, the blog will be back in a couple of weeks. I think I mentioned that Tom and Tynan and I are off to Pagosa Springs in southern Colorado soon for a little R&R. Nothing big; it’ll be just as warm there. But nothing sounds better than morning hikes and afternoons spent lolling on the patio with books and beverages. Pics to come!
What fun are you up to now that summer’s fully set in?
The Thimbleweed Quilters of Rio Rancho, New Mexico, welcomed the world to their 2017 Great Outdoor Quilt Show on Sunday, April 23.
I still can’t believe that I got Tom to go to the Thimbleweeds quilt show on Sunday. But it was a beautiful day: blue sky, a breeze, not too warm. And we needed to get out. But what finally got him was “And we can take the dog.” Tynan’s always up for a field trip.
Love the colors!
We headed up to Rio Rancho where the Thimbleweed Quilters are based (about 20 minutes from the house). The Great Outdoor Quilt Show is held annually, but that doesn’t mean that it runs annually. If there’s one thing I’ve learned living here in New Mexico, it’s that spring can be a bit tricky. And almost always windy; windy enough to take down a quilt show. But not this year. So off we went.
Enjoy the pics. Sadly, there was no way for me to record the artists.
This quilt was extraordinary with all the tactile “stuff” going on. It was also difficult to get a good shot given the breeze.
So, just who’s sleeping under this quilt?
It was a quilt-copia!Hm, maybe someone would be willing to trade a quilt for a rug…
I would definitely NOT kick this baby off my bed!Looks suspiciously like another New England transplant to me.I tell myself that I’d like to learn to quilt, but it looks like SO MUCH WORK! Rug hooking is much more “Zen” to me.
In the end, Tom agreed that checking out the Thimbleweeds’ quilts on a sunny, spring afternoon was a pleasant way to pass some time. And Tynan was a rock star! Lots of complements. Who says 9-year old dogs can’t be “cute”?
Now if the weather can just make it a repeat performance this coming weekend when High on Hooking’s 2017 selling season starts up again, this time at the ABQ Recycled Art Fair. If you’re in the area, please stop by and say hi. Mention this blog post and I’ll give you a 10% discount. See you there!
We finally did it! After like eight hundred LONG years (okay, really it was only eight years, still really LONG), Tom and I were finally able to get away for a few nights of adventure. Our empty-nestedness still holding, last Monday we loaded up the car with bags, snacks, hiking boots, and, of course, Tynan and headed south towards Silver City.
Looking back to the east on our way to Silver City. Just outside of Hillsboro, NM. Make sure to pray for no car trouble because your cell phone is worthless here.
Anyone else see a rug hooking possibility in this photo?It’s spring and the cholla’s blooming!Mixed feelings alert! This pic was taking at the Chino Mine Vista Point. It’s the best place to attempt to take in the immensity of what we read is the third largest open pit mine in the world (!!!). The Chino Mine facilities clearly make a HUGE mess of the natural surroundings. On a scale that boggles the mind. That being said, they’ve been here since the 1800s. More importantly, I surmise that the employment they provide to locals is pretty important. I wish I had an answer…
Driving to Silver City is almost a “you can’t get there form here” experience. It certainly reminds us that we aren’t in New England any more. First you head down Interstate 25 for a few hours. After Truth or Consequences, you bang a right off an exit that puts the Rio Grande River to your backside, and you head east/southeast eventually into the far reaches of the Gila National Forest. You’re on a narrow road with lots of ups and downs and twisty-turnies. And fabulous views. More hours than you think later, you level out, the road straightens, and Silver City is almost within sight. If it weren’t for more mountains, mines, big sky, cows, and sweeping vistas. But you will make it; I promise.
Blistering on tree bark caused by a forest fire slooks like dragon scales. (Karen Miller of Karen D. Miller Studio, I was thinking of you!)
Despite being known as a tourist destination, Silver City is mostly a town filled with friendly working folks, artists, college students, and retirees going about their daily lives. It’s colorful, lots of art – galleries, shops, studios. Very shabby chic and a little on the edge what with a number of empty storefronts along the main drag. One hopes that summer’s activities and tourists
There be more dragons in these hills!
can change that, fill the place up a little more, provide some employment for the locals. There are plenty of restaurants, but be advised that a number are closed on Mondays – at least during shoulder season.
The supercilious attitude of these deer was palpable when I took the shot. “F-ing tourists…”
Mr. (or Mrs.?) Quail didn’t give a crap about me either.
Nope, our trip was about getting away, relaxing – when we weren’t driving, that is. The one full day we stayed in town was spent on a fairly leisurely hike, finding a great lunch, and poking in and out of little shops. I swam in the hotel pool and read my book. Later we headed into the tiny community of Piños Altos for dinner at the Buckhorn Saloon and Opera House. The historic bar was authentic though I doubt that back in the 1860s they were serving goat cheese and aioli with their burgers. Still, very yummy. Excellent fries and a good beverage list.
Somewhere north of Silver City in Big Sky Country. (I think you could fit Rhode Island in just this picture!)
Tynan contemplating the beginning of the Catwalk.
Wednesday we climbed back into the car and headed up north along the Arizona border. It’s a desolate and supremely beautiful ride. Lots of ranch land, not a lot of people or infrastructure. Gas up in Silver City, people! This is Big Valley for real! And big mountains too. We detoured to the Catwalk Recreation Area because I’d seen pictures that looked quite intriguing. (New Englanders, this is the Flume on steroids. With a lot less trees and humidity.) We even got to ford a river. Twice. In a Honda Accord, that can be rather…exciting. We made it, so it was okay. Just like I told Tom it would be. Even though I wasn’t driving…
The Catwalk trail built into the sides of the slot canyon and hanging over the river. Tynan really didn’t like walking on the catwalk. We tried to tell him it was just a name, that they could have just as easily named it the dogwalk.
Now that Tom and I remember how to do the get-away thing, we plan on making it the habit it was a couple of decades ago. And since the snow’s on its way out up north, it’s almost time to go that way. And west; there’s still plenty of west between us and the Pacific. We didn’t move all the way cross country to sit on our butts.
Someone installed this mosaic into the side of a Silver City building. To me it screams this is the southwest, a little rough, but filled with unexpected beauty.
Have any travel ideas for High on Hooking? List’em here in the comments ’cause we’re raring to roam everywhere now!
