80 Things We Love About Arta: #43 - Be Fashion, Wear Large Jewelry

When I moved to Calgary in the mid-1990's I had a chance to spend time with Arta and several of her daughters. We would spend time talking and sharing stories while staring at the two racks of earrings on top of a tall dresser in the large basement bedroom. The racks were full of the most large, magnificent, shiny, metallic, glistening earrings I had ever seen. I thought I had worn large earrings. I thought I had amassed an amazing collection myself. No. Mine was insignificant.

An example of the type of earrings,
but not an actual pair.

Another example of the type of earrings,
but not actual earrings.

She began a family trend wherein a family members began wearing larger and larger earrings, necklaces, and rings. So may beautiful rings that took up a knuckle or more. 

Here is an email from my mother in 2015, when she was on one of her travel adventures, about jewelry and Arta:

"Tonia, I saw the biggest, nicest, outrageous lapis ring. I want to buy it but you will have to pay me back. It is a huge oval with twisted rope around the outside to finish it off. Only tomorrow left to go get it for you. It was less than half the price I paid for Arta's ring and my ring. It will fit the ring finger. Tell me to go buy it for you."

Of course she bought if for me and it is on my finger in this picture. This picture was taken at the Highwood Diner Buffet at SAIT, one of the Bates' favourite places to dine on Thursday at lunch. The most stunning buffet created by all the students in the culinary program. A lunch event that Arta's co-workers at the University of Calgary introduced her to many years before. Love these lunches and the amazing company!

Notice the beautiful and large jewelry we are both wearing.
My right hand is covering the lapis lazuli ring
my mother mentioned in the email. 

Then my parents moved to London, UK from 2006 - 2010 and my mother discovered Portobello Road, London, UK. She discovered a shop on the road (we will insert this information soon) where she goes to purchase stones, pearls, and beautiful accoutrements to make large jewelry. Arta and her daughters, and Wyona and her daughters all have a great time making purchases after Wyona's finishing her hard creation work.

Delightful pearls and necklaces.

Stunning Moon Stone rings.

It is too much?!?

Does anyone have any more pictures of Arta with large jewels on? Or perhaps pictures of Arta, Wyona, and Moiya dressing up and heading to Canadian Tire for an excited jewelled adventure?  Let me know and I will add them to this post.

In all, don't be afraid of large, metallic, shiny, wonderful pieces of jewelry. You are a star. You are magnificent. Say it with your bling.

Love,

Tonia

Anger

Anger can surprise. 

My anger can surprise me, and it can surprise those around me. 

Knowing my mother is dying makes me feel angry. Sometimes it makes me feel sad. But sometimes it makes me feel angry. 

I know death is the one thing we can all expect in life, but it still makes me angry. 

I have decided to try to release some anger, anger I have pushed down so long ago I don't even know what it is about.

I thought I would write about anger, but I stare at the screen and feel speechless. 

I check in with my breath, and find I am holding it, not allowing it out of my lungs lest it carry a wave of anger out into the world where it will harm those I love.

I tried drawing myself as angry, but was told to try again and make anger look less crazy.

But anger feels crazy. 

It feels out of control.

It feels weak.

It feels dangerous.

I asked, "How can I release anger in a safe way?" 

Here's what was shared with me by someone I trust.

• Anger is messy.
• Anger is released best through movement through time and space.
• Anger feels like pushing something away.
• Anger feels like a release not a containing.
• When I feel angry, and I do not have the energy to move my body, I grab my pastels and some paper and I scribble. I try not to narrate my anger, I do not put words to it, I do not try to make it into a picture, I just scribble, page after page, until the anger has been expressed.

I asked a friend to have an anger session with me. The plan? 

Sit at the same table. (I was afraid to do this alone.)

We each scribble, scribble for as long as we needed to. 

No talking.

No discussing.

No drawing.

Only scribbling.

Visceral noises accepted, but don't hurt yourself, no vocal fold abuse.

We began.

What colour is anger? I thought it would look like bile, or barf.

I didn't like my first scribble, so I scribbled over it. Then I scribbled over that.

The pastel marker felt so heavy on the paper. So much energy to move it, to scribble.

No talking I said to myself in an inside the head voice. No bossing me it replied to itself.

I wanted to rip, tear, and  shred my paper, but I  tried to instead  keep scribbling. 

More words came to my mind.

I tried to let them go, let the sentences stop unfinished, let them float away in on a storm cloud of rage.

Anger was exhausting.

I tried to let anger be messy, uncontained, unarticulated, just expressed with colour.

Soon I had covered the entire page with colour.

Anger was not all one colour. 

My anger needed more pushing away.

I put down the pastels, and began to drag the colours with my fingers, my knuckles, my elbow.

Anger felt powerful. 

Anger felt like control.

Anger couldn't contain tears.

Unexpectedly, anger was done.

Done? 

Done.

I was expecting to need a nap, but when clean up was done, I felt energized and social.

We sat down on the couches and knitted side by side, my friend and I.

Clack, clack, clack when my needles. I felt contented. I felt connected.

Anger can surprise.

Ruffles

It's all in the naming.

I have heard people asking about this same product but in different ways. 

Nomenclature matters, -- does she have a baby monitor, does she have pull-ups, is her food blended, and does she have a warm sweater. 

I idly listen and decide I didn't want to wear something named Pull-Ups or even worse, Diapers for Adults, so I take a close look at the product in front of me. I notice the name the “Men’s Pull Ups”. 

 I notice there is an old sewing technique around the legs, at least something that looks what was formerly called rauching. 

But this isn’t made of fabric but of plastic. 

 It must have a name. But I think time has moved on, synthetic products have changed and what is thinking about this space as one of beautify, though I do.

I think back to all of my grade 9 home skills. Some come rushing back to me, even some weightier points of the more advanced dressmaking skills of grades 12 return to me. I decide that the plastic at that point around the leg looks nicely done and the plastic is working in the role of rauching so it should be called just that. Whatever else other people called that product, I decided it am going to call the product, my Ruffles. They come in the following colours: salmon, charcoal gray, heavenly white. There is a lot to be said about where they carry their padding and I am going to watch that over the next few weeks.

I know this is not going to be a naming convention that catches on, but I feel more dignified calling that product my Ruffles, than my diapers, or my Pull-Ups, because more than either of those names they are and have fabulous Ruffles

I tested out the naming convention and Mary and Rebecca just said oh, whatever.

Next I tested it out on my lovely Doctor Mueller. I told her why I was calling this product my Ruffles.

Just a trace of a smile crossed her face.

She is well aware this will not become the universal name for a product that comes iwith new names in the vocabulary of the dying of many with different brains for name brand names. For me the name is just a marker for a fabulous item that makes me feel pretty amazing about myself.

I love my new accessory – the fact of its diversity of colour and stye.

They bring everything the advertising say they will: confidence, control, comfort, safety – now try to get all of that out of a scarf or a bejewelled pin.

I am amazed about the place where I've often run into the name of Ruffles before – all off those comfortable zones have been in the family.

When I ask for my Ruffle, it just seems obvious what I'm talking about and where they're placed and why I am needing them to make.

I got home from the hospital, and Rebecca and Mary had taken a quick step out of the house. I was on my own with Steve as my helper, person who is just watching over me on my first 10 minutes home. suddenly I needed the help or ruffles.

Yes to “Bring me my ruffle”.

Mary says I don’t even have to say please.

Arta

Ruffles Give Me Help

I am participating in BC Health Care interviews about 1.5 hours ahead of when I will need the information contained in the interview. For example, I received information telling me that I don’t have an appropriate BC Health Care Palliative number, and will be needing one soon. Surely enough, that was true.

I'm going to mark this down to a fabulous health care system that is at the very least, efficient since it is not hard for me to keep these ideas at the forefront of my mind: that I just am recovering from procedures that have saved my life.

All is well, I  have warmth at my neck.

Within 2 hours of being home, I had an extended in-home, health care interview, one with questions about the usefulness of the equipment that just has the efficacy of equipment installed by the Red Cross being tested out. Still, all good.

One product being tested out was what the nurse called “do you have your baby monitor”. A blank look must have crossed my face when the healthcare worker asked how is it with the baby monitor.

Mary said, “Baby monitor?”

The interviewer replied, “You know, baby monitor, so you can know how Arta is doing if you are in another room?”

Mary dropped her shoulders a bit, tucked the crest of her own arm into a scarf on her arm, looked around all four corners of the room as though in spy mode, and then, speaking directly into the middle of her elbow said. “Alexa? Call Rebecca.”

Of course, the technology worked.  Rebecca went running after her phone (in the other room), which Alexa had dialed in response to the request.  I don't think the interviewer in our room found this as funny as the three of us did, but we are getting to have a relationship with Alexa, and know how she needs to be present for quick help. She is almost as good as google …., almost.

Now Alexa is acting as an advance in-home model of the baby monitor. As well she has great powers: electronics that turn off and on lights and my radio, besides telephoning loved ones.

Oh, I thought to myself and then the interview continued on a pace. I took notes. I can only, at the very least, at this point, let what is going on, go and let, and someone else take care of implementing it

Anybody who has just come home from the hospital, knows there is a long list of products that need to be purchased at the local drugstore, and at the five-and-dime, and so the helpers get on with the job. I was too tired and laid down to let the shopping trips continue.

I wanted to be alone for a bit.   And so that is what happened.

When I woke up I couldn't figure out if it were day or night. I looked on my own wrist to figure that out.

I made it to the toilet that is in my bedroom.  No worries.   But at some point, I knew I needed to use some help with "ruffles" [The code name for adult gastro-intestinal support under-clothing]

I didn't know who was in the house and could help me out. Usually one of the girls assists me with this.  But desperation longs for any kind of help.

I could figure out how I could ask Alexa to find Mary for me. I remembered Mary tucking her head into the crack of her arm and calling for someone. So I tried to do the same thing. “Alexa, call Rebecca.”

Rebecca answered her phone.

“Where are you guys?”, I asked.

“We're driving down Quadra Street. Where are you?“

“I'm needing some help, but it is obvious I'm not going to get it from you.”

By this time, I believed that any necessary conversation with Rebecca was finished since how can someone driving a car, help?

Indeed.   And instantly, Steve was at my door, having overheard a conversation going on with Alexa or Rebecca, and knowing she was gone, and wondering whom I was speaking with or why I would talking to anyone at all and he came to investigate.  I was inside the bathroom, and he was outside my door in the hallway. So our conversation went like this:

ARTA: “Okay Steve, it is just you and me and some problem-solving ahead.” 

STEVE:  “What do you think you want me to do?”

ARTA: “You're on standby. “Walk into my bedroom backwards, pick up the new pair of ruffles I had dropped to the floor since I had been investigating how it was made, then exit my bedroom with them. Make the best curved football throw you can with one fresh, beautiful ruffle. Have it curve around the corner and into my ensuite bathroom where I am be standing waiting to receive them akin to a possible touchdown in football, with all of the cheering."

He did as I asked.

I made a catch in the first instance.

Steve then said that the women were on their way home. 

STEVE: "They've just driven up the driveway,”

ARTA: “Quick. we're going to finish this off. I don't want Rebecca and Mary to think that we can't manage without them."

Steve was still game to do my plan. 

ARTA:  “Take these ruffles. Back up, advancing until you are just in front of me. Be looking in the same direction as I am looking. When you can see the tip of my foot, then back up until you can tip one of one legs into a hole through where I can slip my foot into the ruffle, and then this specific leg hole of the other, exit the room, and then leave the rest to me.

He did.

I safely got into that ruffle. 

I was cool.

What I like is that Steve knew what I was talking about when I was saying, “go get my ruffle”.

Steve and I are the good guys. We got good practice using refined, even superior household body language about women's clothing.

Arta

May 1 - Photo Shoot with Arta

It won't surprise anyone that Arta like to get dressed for the day as soon as she wakes up.  No lounging around in pajamas.  Especially after almost 3 weeks in a hospital gown.  We decided this morning after choosing a pearl necklace and a silk scarf that would compliment her new glasses, that a photo shoot on Rebecca and Steve's back deck was in order. We did two takes -- changing one thing in the scene, planning to do a "spot the difference" sort of post with both photos. 

I don't know how long any of you spend comparing these two photos, but the joke is on you.  We did one photo shoot on Arta's phone and the other on mine....  and I only have access to my own photos. 

Stay tuned for Part 2 in which we post the other photos from Arta's camera.

Arta out of the Hospital...and we have a Sushi Picnic (Mary reports)

We can always find time for a group selfie!

After nearly a month in the Hospital, Arta was finally released to return to Rebecca's house.   

We spent the first two days getting things arranged with all the amazing palliative and hospice care resources that will surround the family on this journey.  

On Friday, I needed to drop my van off at the mechanics to check out some weird sounds.  Arta and Rebecca followed me to give me a ride home.  

Raven chatting with us about our food choices

It was Arta's first outing in over a month that didn't involve the hospital.  A celebration was in order.  

We stopped by Rebecca's favourite sushi place (Fujiya) to get some take out. 

We decided to eat it at the top of Mount Tolmie, which has a special and endangered ecosystem called Garry Oak Meadow.  For more information check out this link: Garry Oak Meadow Preservation Society

Mary rushed down to the picnic table to set up the feast.  

A raven friend was there to see what was on the menu.

From the picnic table Mary could see Arta and Rebecca exiting the car for the short walk to the picnic.

The trees framed the shot!

The picnic table was less than 100 steps from the car.  Almost not worth Arta's insistence on wearing her fitbit.

We set out our feast on the picnic table, nestled under a Garry Oak, with a view across to the water.

The branches shaded us, bobbing in the breeze...

Mary taking picture of Rebecca taking picture....

The view from the picnic table beautiful, and I had the fun of taking of photo of someone else taking a photo.

And this is the picture Rebecca was taking... a closeup!

Food is just so darned tasty!

Let the feast begin. 

An assortment of sushi, burdock salad, gyoza (sort of like dumplings), pickled ginger, and black sesame mochi for dessert.

Were our eyes bigger than our bellies?

Then time to head back to the car, but not before Mary took a few more pictures.

Garry Oak reaching its arms out

Yes, there are camas growing in the grass below

Close up of the Garry Oak leaves...so glossy!

Rebecca also enjoyed taking pictures of Mary taking pictures.  Reflexivity!

If you look out in another direction from the top of Mount Tolmie, you can see the peak of PKOLS.  That will be the location for our next picnic outing.  Stay tuned! 

PKOLS in the distance

 

Baker's Best Chocolate Cookbook Reprise

Baker's Best Chocolate Cookbook.

I loved the antique fork in this photo that accompanied
the pecan pie recipe

That is the name of a cookbook which came with the compliments of Baker's Chocolate. I've always substituted callebaut, light or brown for either the light or the dark chocolate as requested. Mary owns this book. Rebecca has this cookbook. I have a copy of this book. I don't know which parts of the book are important to me: the pictures or the feel as though I'm on a very expensive food demo when I as the look through the book.

I feel as though I have gone to Paris and then that I am taking a class done by a chef, though I know very few people have had the same experience with chocolate that I've had, at least in not in the total number of hours of having my hand immersed in the chocolate.

My birthday is coming up -- Mary asked me what I wanted for a cake. There is a bar in this book and I made it once, took it with me to the library, Sacher torte in immitatioin, which I had to look up.

I do want my birthday cake to be made in the style of sacher torte, with that apricot filling, or at least we could make the bars, and that could be called my birthday cake. I had Mary take some pictures so that you can see how beautiful chocolate photography is -- just stunning. How do you like the fold-up fork beside the cake? If I were making a list of all the things in life I haven't done but I've wanted to do, eating using a fork like this would be one. Or even better having one, though I'm trying to divest at this point, not collect.

I was touching every page in this book today, looking at every side of the picture, every ingredient in the list. 

That has been how exquisite my day has been. 

I must add as per the idea of the photography of dishes, the china that the chocolate is served on has also been outstanding.

If you ever see this book in a rummage sale, think about who in your life might like it.

Including you.

Arta 

Eight Days of Birthday Happiness Coming Up