Life is just about the best drug available! 

It’s been too long. Returning is like a warm hug when you’ve been lost in the cold. 

Life, thank you. I’m not worthy but I’ll sure as hell give it all. 💗

A new outlook in 2015

I decided today, it being a new year and everything, to finally work on my one goal: To find myself! I guess I’m not actually lost physically, but as you might have guessed from my previous posts, I’m all about the inner journey, and so my uprooted existence and reliance on others, two things that un-nerve me THE most, have forced me to look at myself and ask the hard questions (that I never thought I’d ask). What I’ve discovered is that I don’t know what I want. I’m torn in too many directions and so I’m left deciding what is or isn’t really me. I’m sure you all have felt this way at least once, maybe? Well, it’s something that has consumed me from the very first time I heard my dearest life partner “hum a tune” as he prepared to go to work each day. The happiness he felt about what he chose as a life long career threw me off kilter. Why was he so happy about work? What did he find so delightful? How could he be excited to go to work?? Of course, I realized quickly that his work was like play! He loved his trade and was thrilled at the prospect that he not only got paid to do it, but that he was allowed to do it! He was qualified to do the work he dreamed of doing and make a living to boot! How totally thrilling!!! I knew then that’s what I wanted too. I’ll return to this storyline as I continue to blog along, but long story short, I have been slowly and steadily making my way to reaching the goal of finding my “play” job, or if truth be told, my dream life since that initial spark of inspiration from Chris 17 yeas ago. I may not “hum a tune” everyday, but finally I’m getting there!!! And this year I will just be “me” and hopefully get there a whole lot faster. No more excuses and distractions, just fearlessness and being me whist humming Nelly Furtado’s ‘Forca’ daily !!

Cast your nets out wide in 2015 my friends and haul’em in with all yer might!!

Much love!

Knitters Be-square!!!

To all you knitters out there!!! It’s time to fall in love with the Granny Square!!!!

Trust me, you will want to give crochet a GO!!!!!

I’m officially HOOKED! I never truly appreciated the making and the usefulness of the “Granny Square”. I mean, well, I like them alright, but I never thought “DAMN! I need to make granny squares”! Sooooo, that’s the truth. Appreciation of a thing doesn’t translate to the desire to make that thing.

That all changed the day I causally picked up a Noro magazine at my local news shop because I discovered Noro wool. I admire the raw and vibrant look of Noro Wool and the Noro designs/patterns are always interesting and oh-so-pretty! I’m a knitter first and foremost, so of course I knitted a beautiful Noro sweater with a gorgeous T design at the join of the body and sleeves. The colors are amazing and the body was made with a different color wool than the sleeves. However, as this post isn’t about that sweater (it now resides with my Niece in Newfoundland and of course I forgot to take a photo!) that’s enough said!

The whole point of this rambling is that I had enjoyed the Noro magazine so much, that I decided to pick up the next issue. It was then that I saw THE Tunic. In fact, everything I felt about the ole granny square changed because of this:


I fell instantly in LOVE with it and I simply had to make it! But disappointment soon followed; I had to make 60 granny squares and at a difficult level. I’m a novice at crochet and had only made some hats, booties and done some edgings around sweaters and blankets. Whatever was I going to do to make this tunic a reality?? Of course…I had to run to my woolshop ASAP and plead for help, shamelessly.

I am forever in-debited to Lesley for taking on such an impromptu teaching task that day; for over an hour too!! With good humor, and trust me I can be exasperating, she showed me how to work that square into submission! That said, even after that whirlwind lesson I had to go home and make about a thousand mistakes, tear my hair out and rip apart about a dozen squares before finally achieving a good result. Thank you Lesley for always extending your helping hand whenever I call regardless of what’s happening in your world! You are a rare and gorgeous gem and your kindness will NOT go unrewarded;


that’s a promise and you can count on it!

Here’s a closer look at the squares and let me tell you, these babies are harder than they look:




I finally wore it out yesterday and it was not only comfortable, it got plenty of looks! Now I don’t know if they were looks of “admiration” or “what is she wearing???”, but I’m hoping it’s the former! Who cares anyway!? I love it and it is me to a T 🙂 It makes me want to dance and twirl!! What’s that song? “I feel pretty, oh so pretty, I feel pretty, witty and gay, or was it wise or both…”?

Since making that Tunic, a whole new world of creativity has opened up, and crochet is way easier than knitting. Honest! So give it a try and go beyond the Granny Square norm of the pot holder, the blanket or table cloth! Make a jacket, a dress,a lamp shade or this lovely and colorful Tunic!!

Here’s a final photo of the Tunic. I had to photograph it in the sunny outdoors to bring it to life and to show off all those glorious colors!! Hummmmm, maybe it’s the silk in the Noro wool, but I never, ever thought it could feel so luxurious to wear a Granny Square Tunic! True story!!


Happy creating and knitters…….BE-SQUARE!!! 

BEWARE of the Granny Square!; It’s truly addictive!!!!

Peace and Love!

Luck O’the Irish!


May the luck of the Irish be with ya! I got in touch with my Irish heritage. This Irish inspired beanie was made for my Irish friend’s new baby, Pierce. He’s a jolly baby with the palest blue eyes I’ve ever seen. Gorgeous! He looked so Irish in his beanie too.
Erin Go Bragh!!!

Paris, Red Sonja and ME

My first drawing was of Red Sonja. Not a terrible subject; just not typical! That defines me in a nutshell! Haha. So what do you think? Not too bad for a novice! Trust me, I was equally shocked I could draw. I always loved art and drama. It was my best subject in school along with biology. My cell drawings were top notch! But no one ever saw a talent that would send me on an artist’s career path; I certainly never did. We weren’t an overly artsy family. My family were hard workers, blue collar I believe, although where I come from we don’t use terms like that.


When I was less than 10 years old my sister and I would write plays and have shows. They are some of the clearest memories I have of being a kid. On the flipside, I also had a science lab under our basement stairs. I was proof that art and science can go nicely together. I asked my mother to give me the chicken liver, kidneys and heart from any roast chicken that was on the way to our table. I dissected them :)) Man did I know how to have fun or what??? Forget Barbie, give me a chicken heart! I was odd, did I mention that? Ha!!!

Ok, so let me explain how Red Sonja came to be…

Recall “Bored in Paris”? Well, armed with my first sketch pad, a few carefully chosen graphite pencils, and a new found sense of excitement I hadn’t felt in yonks, I quickly made it back to our freezing, yet cute, in a poor student way, French “closet” – It was so small that it came to be known as our closet rather than our apartment. The building was typical early 20th century French architecture next to the corner of Ave. Andre Morizet and blvd Generale LeClerc in Boulogne Billancourt; Adjacent to the metro exit Marcel Sembat on the M9.

Did I mention how small our apartment was??? While perched on the toilet you could soak your feet in the shower basin. Wait, was there a basin? Ok, maybe my feet were in on the shower tiles cause I’m pretty sure there was a hole in the floor to drain the water. The kitchen (and bathroom) was basically a hallway between the front door and the “living room/dining room/bedroom”; our bed, dubbed “the hammock”, doubled as an extra chair for our “livdinbeding room” – my brain likes making up words and this one truly classifies our only living space that was maybe 2.5m x 1.5m. The bed was a single bed without proper structure to hold one person up, let alone two! Hence the hammock! And yes, we both slept in it. Good thing we were madly in love! And I literally mean that the kitchen and bathroom were in a short hallway between our livdinbeding room and the front door; Someone decided to throw a kitchen and bathroom in the hallway and call it an apartment. We developed a habit of knocking on the front door before entering because if you opened the front door and someone was coming out of the shower or toilet you could whack ’em, bonk, right in the mind! Haha

Europeans amaze me in that they really know how to make good use of every scrap of space. It was beyond tiny, maybe minuscule is a better word, but it was home for 3 months. One amazing thing was the procession of people that came to stay with us. This was astounding given that there wasn’t anywhere for anyone to lie down and have a sensible sleep and we all had to dance around each other to move! It was glorious all the same and we had the best time. We paid 5 francs for our wine, Le Gamay! Ahhhhh! Good times indeed.

When visitors were with us it was fun and exciting, but alone there, while Chris worked, it could be dreary and dull. Which brings me to the point of all this mundane detail describing our Closet, besides to entertain you! There wasn’t much to do in our little bitty Closet; our small slice of Parisian living. It was a boring, cloudy and grey day like most days in the Fall and winter, and it was freezing too. Plus, there wouldn’t be heat in our building (radiator) until November and it was only the end of September! Now that you are familiar with how draughty and icy cold our Closet was, you’ll see exactly why I needed to get out and find a warm cafe and have a cafe creme bien chaud!! Honestly, I’m not exaggerating, it was THAT cold that a barrage of complaints poured out from all the tenants, so the owner decided to install electric heaters. Now we would have to pay the bill for any heating outside the “normale” season! Sooooo French!! But on this day, when I found the art shop, I was blindingly bored and frozen down to my toes; they couldn’t move! Isn’t it amazing how such mundane things can lead you to events that change you forever?

When I finally returned to our Closet bursting to use my new art tools, the only thing interesting to sketch was Red Sonja on a book cover, or so I thought. There were only two books in our petit Closet, The Hobbit and Red Sonja. I read both on my first day of utter boredom – ok, just know that I was coming out of work mode and I failed to see that exploring a new city was more exciting than work. Also, I didn’t know I’d become obsessed with art! A whole city filled with art lay before me and I was ignorant. I was also alone and paralysingly afraid that I’d be robbed or worse!!! I might get lost! GAWD!! I had very little money and without Chris or my lab work I didn’t know what to do with myself. I was a shell, a hollow vessel needing to be filled.

Within days I had moved on to drawing still life. We had nice cookery and Parisian flowers, produce and wine were cheap, but made nice still life….for a beginner. I framed some things using our only French-style window in the livdinbeding room. Here’s a couple of drawings I still enjoy looking at…



The mirror started speaking to me every time I saw myself. Initially, it was a whisper telling me to really see myself for once; to WAKE UP! I had to stop pleasing everyone and live my own life. I put it off as boredom, but it was just me slowing down finally. I began trawling all of Paris for things to sketch and found a love of exploring the unknown. In the 19th arrondissement I did get rocks and tin cans thrown at me in the deserted park des Buttes Chaumont. I survived! ha! I hunted down the cheapest ways to get into the best museums and drew everything that caught my eye….mostly subjects that were painted or sculpted from the masters. Sadly, I lost a good bit of my early work.

WOW! I had found happiness and it had been in me all the time. The missing parts of me were found, but I wasn’t aware of it at the time. Only, I knew I felt contented and peaceful for the first time in my life. What’s the moral of my story? Don’t be afraid, especially of taking the time to go where your feet want to take you. Give up planning even for a short while because you never know what’s waiting for you around a corner. I was looking for a cosy cafe and I found an art store and was forever changed. Like a magnet, it drew my metallic-like feet inside. I had never been in a real art store before and I felt like a fake. It was like wearing square shoes that rubbed and felt uncomfortable, but you wear them because they’re gorgeous and you feel great inside. Plus, it takes time for new shoes to mould to your feet. So put on those square shoes and just go!

I hope you enjoyed my short story. Thanks for reading!!

Oh! And our hammock got switched out near the end of our three month stay, but that’s a whole other miraculous story to come. When I get around to telling you about it, you’ll know why I chose the word “miraculous”!

Be a kid again with pastels!

On and off I feel like experimenting with pastels! It hits me when I I’m feeling “airy”, like walking on clouds, and I want to be a kid again! I grab some paper, I’m into colored paper lately, and my new box of 50+ Rembrandt pastels and just let my imagination take over. I was inspired for this one by a vase:


What I really like about pastels, I’m learning, is that mistakes become the highlights and that to truly get into the joy of it, you must get dirty!!! So let your mind loose and grab some pretty chalk or if you’re lucky some lovely pastels and paper. Inspiration is all around us; a flower, a chair, a face, a glass, or even a ball of wool!!!

Ta-ta for now and here’s another pastel drawing I did by finding inspiration from some flowers I bought. I still have much to learn about how to use pastels to create various different effects, but half the fun of learning is making mistakes and just going for it!

Hope you enjoy!


Bunny Face

She’s a long way from her first appearance as a sole leg!! Bunny is finally finished and she’s ready to go to her new home overseas.

She’s a little nervous, but I reassured her that the baby girl she’s going to stay with will give her lots of cuddles and kisses. I know she’s going to a good home and I hope that she’ll give all my love – that I’ll miss giving – to the newest wee member of our family arriving soon! She looks un petit Francais? Non? Ha!

If anyone would like the pattern, it’s in Filati issue 54, but the dress is mine and I’m not sure I remember it, but I’d give it a go!


I dreamed of you. We played hide and seek. I could hear you giggle as you glanced back saying “catch me if you can”. So I did….


You are “zee wife” and he is “zee worker”

Paris 1998

Notice the title? This is exactly what an astute French woman said to me, while pointing her beautifully manicured finger at Chris, my husband, at Le Mairie de Boulogne Billancourt (town hall of Boulogne Billancourt, France). She was the one woman standing between me and my freedom. I was not a happy wife. I just spent 10 months in Houston without a work visa and the only thing that kept me sane was knowing that I’d get a work visa in Paris! I had envisioned myself working in a posh research lab, maybe at the Currie Institute….ok that might have been an unrealistic fantasy, but the sheer joy of dreaming about the possibilities was the pinnacle of life so far! This was my big chance to finally make something of myself!!

We had just received back our passports with our visas at the Mairie. I had examined my passport and the visa laminated inside it, but it didn’t have the word “travail (work)” on it like my husband’s had. I knew instantly that I had been duped! “Ou est ma carte de travailler (where is my work visa)?” I calmly whispered through my clenched teeth. “Non, c’est une carte de famille (no it’s a family visa)” the French woman sharply stated staring down her nose at me behind her lunettes. “There’s some mistake, I’m suppose to have a work visa!” There was no interpreter there this time to convey my meaning as this woman was obviously confused or deranged!! We were only picking up our visas so we didn’t think we needed an interpreter. I needed more than an interpreter! I’d need a lobotomy if I didn’t get that work visa!!! I blabbed on and on in French and English and back to French trying to tell her there was some mistake. I must have gone over the line…..

Within that span of about 15 minutes max. I was launched into a blinding vortex and my Grandmother’s words screamed in my ears. I was being utterly destroyed within that short period of time, but I see it all now slow motion. All my dignity, independence and all my hopes and dreams for my chance to prove what I could do out here in the big world was being peeled away; like my skin being ripped apart to expose core in that dark cold Mairie. All I could do was seethe in anger as we walked away because otherwise I’d have been washed away in my own tears. The Executioner Lady (as I had nicknamed her because she killed my hopes) spelled out clearly for me what my Nan had tried to tell me nearly a year ago, except this woman said it as if it was the guillotine she was throwing down on me, and in a very bad English accent: “NON!” she exclaimed while pointing and wagging her impatient finger at me, “you are ZEEEE wife and he is ZEEEE worker.” Luckily there was about two inches of plexiglass separating me from her bony neck that I wanted to strangle! That was that. She slammed her window closed.

HEY!!! Did my Nan call you or something??? I was defeated that day.

Flashback to the summer of 1997 just days before our speedy little wedding (no bun in the oven!) when I was having a nice cup of tea at my Nan’s house and talking with her about our upcoming nuptials. Truthfully, I was bitterly complaining about how suddenly old fashioned my husband-to-be was being about marriage etc….imagine! Me taking someone else’s name just because we decided mutually to spend our life together!

Unexpectedly, my Nan stops drying the dishes and looks me straight in the eye and says “Rhonda, your marriage is going to be like the taming of the shrew”. Damn! I never read that piece of Shakespeare!!! I knew I’d regret it someday! I also knew it couldn’t be a complement by the look in her eyes. Well, I wasn’t about to give away the truth that I really had no idea what she meant by that. Besides, my Nan was one of the most loving and caring people I knew, so I wasn’t about to have a hissy-fit and be on the outs with Nan before my wedding.

I loved my Nan. She was better than a mother, like all good nannies, because she could be someone other than my mother. She made me tea and toast, listened to my woes, fed me some more, tucked a blanket around me and let me watch TV and then sent me off home, eventually. When I was much younger and Pepsi was banned by my parents, in large quantities, she let me have as much as I liked. Sally, my Nan, was the smartest woman I knew, and if she said Pepsi was ok, it was. Now I know that she was spoiling me because she loved me more than anything in this world. I loved her too, more than anyone. Still do, even though she’s gone from this world. And in parallel, because I’m a mother now, I know my parents banned things like Pepsi because they loved me more than anything in this world. Funny isn’t it! But parents have to be parents and grandparents can be otherwise, that’s the beauty of having Grandchildren I guess.

Sometimes I wish I had discussed marriage with Nan a bit further, but I figured she wasn’t modern enough to understand. In hindsight, she might have passed on some good advice about how to live equally as husband and wife, not that she lived it, but I learned over time that she was wise beyond her own life’s circumstances. She might have saved me from a few battle wounds whilst fighting the war on marriage equality.

Hey, what can I say? I’m a dreamer and what appears to be “reality” is not my thing; I find it ugly and distressing most of the time. Usually, I live with my head in the clouds, it’s much more entertaining and everyone is happy; funny. Is it so wrong to want equality? For all people regardless of what it is? Live how we want, love who and how we want and accept that we are all here under the same sky just living and dreaming of a good life. Inequality brings doom and disaster to all of us. Well! That was quite a tangent! If you knew what was in my mind, you’d go blind! ha! It overwhelms me most of the time.

Ok….so back to the discussion at hand…

You have just read (if you’re still with me…) a very small sample of writing meant to indicate how much I desire equality between the sexes and especially within a marriage, and yes, I did keep my pre-married family name. The idea that we would not be equal in marriage has been a point of contention for me from day 1 and it’s why marriage scares me to death (even though Chris has truly wanted us to have equality, I think). If I’m honestly divulging the truth here, I’d have to admit that my first thought upon waking – in the most beautiful room in a Victorian Heritage Bed and Breakfast – the morning after our wedding was “what the hell have I done” and then had a complete panic attack, quietly so that Chris couldn’t hear me. However, I must clarify here that I was also taking off to Houston in less than 48 hours to live away with my new husband for, quite possibly, the rest of my life as we didn’t know if we would ever return home to stay. As it turns out we didn’t return home to stay, but I’m getting way ahead of myself. So, please allow me a little wiggle room here for panic post I-DO’s. That said, here I am today, still married and most definitely financially dependent on my husband. Can you imagine then, how much that French woman’s words has bothered me, taunted me and haunted me for years even to this very day. Perhaps writing about it will give me closure and I can let go. Letting go is my trouble.

No other words uttered in my lifetime were ever truer. I am “zee wife” and Chris is “zee worker”. I believed she had cursed me to living a life of marital inequality, not that Chris wants it that way or likes it that way, it just is that way. At the very least, she put into simple yet cutting words what I feared the most; the loss of my independence, of myself and to live a shadowed existence as someone’s wife. What I know now is that it was the first of many lessons in letting go; to give up control and just let it all be….

It was a gift to me not to be able to work. My curse was a gift! I was literally given the time to find myself and really live my dreams, not the dreams I thought would get me the approval and praise I craved, not the kind that proved I was clever enough, but the dreams I had been creating since I knew I existed.

Just a year after our wedding, Chris surprised me with a 2nd honeymoon! All I knew was that I was going to Ajaccio. Not having a clue where that was, I was utterly delighted to see that we were in Corsica!!! I was in heaven and for the first time that year I forgot about not working and my loss of independence and just allowed myself to be happy: This is what came from forgetting who I thought I was and what would make me happy and just enjoyed my gift!

photo (33)

The beginning of a watercolor life and so much more!

Return to Paris

photo (24)

It was no Eden, but it was close enough. Would my eyes never be drawn to that Tower, ever?
I’m still wondering 14 years later and I don’t live there anymore; sadly.
“Bored in Paris” was a very brief memoir describing my introduction to Europe, and seeing and living in Paris for the first time at the age of 26 years.  I’ll come back to that period in my life as I blog along because it was pivotal in helping me to find the fountain of creativity within myself.
Things were different upon my return; I was two years older and married. Honestly, there is so much to say about the first few weeks of my return to Paris. The words have always just spun around in my head and blinded me, I liken it to being caught in a blizzard, on a frozen lake with nothing visible to orient myself and I’m lost. This is where I always freeze in my writing. I’d like to say literally, because my mind shuts off and there is no way forward, yet, my body keeps moving. Writer’s block I believe? It’s the strangest sensation only because the world keeps moving, the body keeps going and I eat, drink, sleep and talk as if everything is as usual. Still, in the smallest corner of my brain the words are frozen and the Ice Queen is dead and can’t set them free. It’s taken me 15 years to find the right words and they are here for you to read; if you would like to. 

Springtime in Paris

Cliche or truly sublime?

Paris was, at it’s best, heavenly, at it’s worst, hell on Earth. Except in Spring when nothing was dark or dreary and Le Metro Face (a term we used to describe the face of thousands of passengers travelling on the trains of Paris’s underground) vanished. Parisians came back to life and smiled regularly…even if le cafe (tiniest coffee on the planet) wasn’t bien chaud (good and hot). The best thing? Art shows bloomed in every museum and gallery and color returned to the old grey Dame. No! Paris in spring is not a tacky cliche, it’s a sublime cliche and as a traveler, it’s the only time to really see the true beauty in all those old stones and it’s people.
There are literally hundreds of art exhibits and artists forever enmeshed in my memory (not the masters!). I roamed every arrondissement-all 20 of them-and saw every attraction that Paris had to offer, except the catacombs – I hate roaming around in the dark below the earth – the smell makes me sick. After only 3 years of living there, I know Paris because I was her stalker. I wanted no secrets between us, so I sat and watched and followed her roads and alleys, obsessed. Even now, if I sit quietly and close my eyes I can go back anywhere. Give me a metro exit, a monument or a landmark and I can describe to you what is there; even what is beyond the derby of the peripherique. It may take a little while, but it’s all still there like imprinting in a new-born duckling.
It’s no surprise to anyone, except me, that I should find my passion for art in Paris. What a gift! It was one of those moments, as I described in “Bored in Paris”, where I was taken completely unaware that I even had talent, let alone the drive to draw, paint, to create a world of my own; my watercolor life, as I now call it. It seems so dreamy doesn’t it? Well, it was , it is, time stands still and all I hear is music. It’s only now that I value it like treasure and I will make a life with it – I want to live the dreams that have been locked away in my mind.
The title is very literal. “My watercolor life” is my life recorded in watercolor sketches. Instead of simply carrying a journal with me everywhere I went, I painted a 15 year journal of places I had visited; some I knew I’d never see again. I wrote a little memoir with each sketch, but it’s the watercolors that tell the stories that my words have failed to convey about my life…a life of following my life partner abroad to strange, beautiful and sometimes ordinary places, and of course a life of following Love: A destination to which is wondrous but in reality is often unreachable, but we keep travelling, hoping to arrive, at the very least, alongside it. There’s so much to tell, so I hope you can sit still together with me just long enough to read it all. 
Here is the first entry in my very first watercolor travel journal….it’s young, amateurish, but shows potential! XR