THE BONNET UPON IT

Ah, the Wee Bonnet......more time consuming yet, oddly, easier to make than all the other chapeaux.....go figure.

Hmmmm.....the things a hat can teach you.

;)
xo
~Foxmorton

THE MAD PIRATE HAT

So, on to: HAT #4...THE ADVENTURE!

Hat #4 was started with a loftier goal in mind than that of all the other hats, namely: Gracing my head.

Now that I knew what I was doing (I figured) I had greatness in mind for this chapeau. Two toned....the perfect battered button.....lush plume falling just so......oh, this was going to be the hat to make all the other hats jealous!

So then, why is that not my head in the photo you ask all innocent faced.
(Well, those of you on MySpace and Facebook who get more views.)

I'll tell you.

The whole thing ended in a bloody battle on my back deck and the hat won.

Oh, it started out pleasant enough but the damnable thing just kept slipping and sliding and the interfacing mocked me and the worst part is no matter how big I cut these bloody things they end up shrinking in the sewing process. The millinery faux pas (Seika-here we go. What's the plural of faux pas?) that go on inside my hats would turn a respectable hatter mad! They're my Dirty Little Hat Secrets. ;)

It was rather like what the White Queen told Alice: "It's out of temper. I don't know what's wrong with it. I've pinned it here. I've pinned it there. There's no pleasing it!"

So, I let the chapeau have it's way and we were both the happier for it.
The hat took shape.....I began to like the way it turned out and the whole process went back to what it was originally intended to be....going forth and making hats.

I call this one the Paddington Pirate Hat...as I imagine that this would be the chapeau Padding Bear would choose were he to turn pirate.

And I like this hat. I like it a lot. Even if I can't wear it.

There's lots of things I like. And want. I'm just not willing to pay the price for them. Like cable TV with all the channels and real hardwood floors, and a high paying corporate job or a relationship that only half works.

So unless I'm willing to focus intently....measure exactly....cut accurately.....sew precisely......and (shudder) follow the rules set forth by professional milliners
I'll just have to take my chances on creating the perfect hat that fits.

So, back to the Tea Party......my very own chapeau is still out there.

THE MAD PIRATE HATTER

FOXMORTON'S CHAPEAU ADVENTURE: PART 2

(pic hat #3)



I learned a lot of things this summer.


For instance I learned that if you put an "x" at the end of a French word it makes it plural. ie: Chapeaux = more than 1 hat.
And since that's what I'm ending up with plus I'm too lazy to go back through all the blogs to change it I just promise that I'll get it right starting now. ;)


I learned that I have absolutely no concept of size as is evidenced by the way my hats seem to be getting progressively smaller as the brocade gets more expensive. But mayhap I'm just really stingy or terribly afraid. LOL


I learned that my granddaughter's head can be best covered by using the following measurements: My mother's castle platter x the matching soup bowl + my least favorite wooden salad bowl - two inches.


I totally made up that formula but those items are what I used to make the first pattern.


I learned that having a 38 pound abdominal tumor and being stuck at home makes you forget some things and remember a whole lot of others. Like the stuff that really matters.....family, friends, creativity and what will be important to me from now on.


I learned that I'm sorry to those of you I disappointed when I said in my last blog I was "shackled inside my home" and you though I was on house arrest. ;)


I learned that when you come home from the store and find a still icy Duncan Donuts iced berry-berry coffee on your front steps made exactly the way you love it (three Splendas & cream) with a thoughtful, still-wrapped, extra large straw beside it that you feel happy and sad all at the same time.


I learned that my daughter loves me enough to cater to my every insane whim without batting an eye or questioning my obsessive-compulsive requests and to be there every blessed second I wanted something. And I can't imagine any of it was easy.


I learned that my 14 year old granddaughter is capable of staying in my house for a week and ne'er moving a single thing out of place and still loving me when I returned home and said: "Can you pick up the dog poop before you go?"
(Of all people my friend Merlyn will appreciate the impossibility of this task!) ;)


I learned that my big dog snuggled next to me when I wake up in the middle of the night makes the pain go away better than another pill.


I learned that I have friends I didn't even realize I had.......friends I don't begin to appreciate enough.....friends who I'll adore forever......and friends I though I had....but didn't........


I learned that making hats makes me feel silly and good about myself and that creativity,
like big dogs, daughters and kindred friends has the power to heal.


So, much like getting my French plurals in the correct place I can't go back and change anything
about my life....I just promise I'll get it (more) right starting now.


Fair Winds and a followin' sea........
~Foxmorton

FOXMORTON'S CHAPEAUX ADVENTURE

Foxmorton's Chapeaux Adventure

Being the Summer of Naught for me for reasons that require a blog of their own I'm finding that being shackled inside my home for the summer has afforded me the opportunity to create 'till my heart's content. And that's a very good thing.


Early morning coffee on the sunny deck, pencil and notebook in hand, I've done more writing under less stress than I've ever done before in my life. I've nowhere to be and absolutely zero responsibilities other than keeping my self washed, fed and alive. Rather a blessing in disguise and I don't intend to waste a single, glorious moment.


But with days that stretch to the next bowl of blueberries or afternoon nap with the dog one finds that reading and writing, delicious as they are, will only fill up so much time and space and so one begins to search for something just a wee bit more creative to do. And so, in a fanciful burst I decided to make hats.


Do I know how to make a hat? No.
Do I ever use a sewing machine? Nope.
Do I have the slightest clue as to how to begin, much less finish, a hat? Nay.


And why should that stop me?


Googled about and came upon a site that pretty much reflected my way of thinking: (and here I paraphrase) 'I don't know what I'm doing and certainly not by millenary standards so please don't tell them I said this because none of what I'm about to tell you is actually correct by the professionals and they get touchy about that but here's the basics of what you need to know, now.........(and here's the part that stuck with me)....
"GO FORTH AND MAKE HATS!"


How absolutely beautiful is that?


Go forth and make hats.


You don't need to know what you're doing.....just go forth and make hats.


And so I did.


Hauled out some old brocade I didn't mind sacrificing and went at it. Started small (baby sized) just to see if I could do it and I ended up with THE wee-est, most perfect hat! I amazed myself.


And it's all done by hand (as I eschew machines of any kind). I'm not saying it looks like how I envisioned when I started-it sort of evolved as I went along-but as it grew into a chapeaux shape I was just so proud! It's quite jaunty if I do say so myself! I think I've a knack fer it.


And it's rather like me this summer.....not the shape I envisioned but evolving into something rather wee and yet grand all at the same time.


Of course now I'm fabric obsessed and can't wait to make many, many more and elaborate non-baby sized hats but hey, a wee bit of Chapeaux Therapy ne'er hurt a soul.


So bottom line.......I've staved off psychosis for another few days and save me your unwanted brocade scraps. (please)


Fair Winds......and remember...... take time to create.........
xox
~Foxmorton

PLOT TWIST-TH' FINAL

TH' SAILIN' O' VIOLET MOORFIELDS: TH' NOOSE AIN'T LOOSE
FINAL PLOT TWIST

Ahoy luvs!

'Tis wit' a wee bit o' sadness I post this final PLOT TWIST submitted by my dear new friend Libby Boswell. It has been fun recountin' th' Jacobite adventures o' Violet Moorfields and creatively sharin' along th' way. Oh, Violet ain't dead yet....jus' sailin' on a sea o' cheese.....and I watch th' horizon fer her return........

My sincere thanks t' ye all fer readin this far......

Fair Winds an' a followin' sea......

~Foxmorton

******************

Tis Libby's last word--and she has Violet to thank for it.




And ooooh she done right for the lobsterback’s liver she did. Well, says I, here’s me opportunity to get shed of the Cameron’s, the Atholl’s and those bloody soldiers. They raised a proper hue and cry, what with the officer’s shouting for men, and then, ah yes! a messenger to send word to the coast for a pursuing ship.



Well, well, maybe fortune might smile upon me yet. Now among the many things I have to thank Greta Van der Kuiken for, one of them just happens to be the finer points of using a cudgel. You do have to know where to hit, for fastest effect.



I do. Sadly, the messenger boy now does too—or I expect he did when he came to.



They do go down with such a nice sound, I must say. But I couldn’t linger.



It was but a hurried heartbeat to strip off my skirt, to the breeches I wore underneath, grab his coat, frisk him for the coin he was given, and leap into the saddle. I figured his coat would cover my bodice well enough till I was further away.



I clapped my heels to that poor beast and we went off hell for leather.



After a few miles I got to chuckling…Violet will make a very clean get away this time—no message will go to the headland, no ship will pursue: I have no intention of delivering it.



I suppose it were the sisterly thing to do. And oh, we may be that after all—what else, I suppose, would you call a person what leaves her husband for the sea, and the promise of treasure but a pirate, hmmm?



I slowed the horse to a better rhythm, and the miles went on, as I mused. Foolish Willie. He just can’t hold his whisky!



Of course he didn’t need to.



I was holding it—and pouring it down his gullet, him being tied to the bed and all. Funny how that worked out.



Men are simple creatures really, Greta once told me—offer them anything to do with their John Thomas, and you can end up leading them by it.



Oh the stories we tell…



Of course, where the hell he thought I was going to find a willing Hessian in that lot, I will never know, but it sufficed to get me his half of the treasure key, some of his clothes, and a very sharp little boot knife with a stag handle, along with his boots to put it in, and get him foxed enough to forget his own mother, let alone where his ‘wife’ may have taken herself off to.



Soon…soon…the hooves drummed along, taking me further away from hated respectability.



Soon, we could hit the coast, and look for a ship. Then soon it would be back to Albany…the jenever cache… and then maybe a trip up the coast to deal with Greta’s turncoat nephew what sold her to the Frogs.



I wonder if Violet might be interested in a joint venture…I know where there’s a sweet little snow that just begs to spread her white wings to a good wind and what might need new owners…


submitted this day by
---Libby Boswell

PLOT TWIST III

AND THE PLOT THICKENS...OR TWISTS AS THE CASE MAY BE.......
ANOTHER WEIGH-IN FROM LIBBY BOSWELL......
~Foxmorton
****************

Part the third of the Boswell backstory--why Libby turned in Violet, and the proper response for unruly singing males.


“EEEEEeeww!! I’m not marrying HER”
“Fauuugh!! I am NOT marryin’ HIM!!”


Which was how I, and me prospective groom, greeted the concept of wedlock, one to the other.


What?


I am not wandering off on tangent, dammit!! Ye did want to know why I was there to turn Violet in, don’t ye?


Well I’m telling ye—because I am…


for my sins…


married into the peripheral clan of the Camerons.


Aye well, it happens.


I tipped the Forces That Be about Violet to save me own neck. Well, technically our necks, but as I am married to good master William only under gravest duress and necessity I like to forget about him as often as I can.


Which hasn’t been easy of late—being in such close proximity with half the Camerons in Christendom about.


Ye see, Willie is one of Lady Cameron’s godsons, and loving, caring icon that she be, she has begun to ask embarrassing questions about Lack of Heirs, with many a pointed glare at my still flat (and going to stay so if ‘n I have anything to do with it) belly.


Pointed comments served with very noxious tea-like substances and oddly shaped,
charm-like nosegays have been appearing with regular frequency—or as regular as a bloody-minded Papist can stomach practicing such hexery.


So... I bethought me to get everyone’s eyes focused elsewhere for a change.


It worked.


But is it enough of a diversion to get me an Willie back to New-Yorke, before one or both of us is exposed? That will be the challenge.


I did mention that Willie and I are married only under necessity? Well, that and slightly false pretenses, besides. You see, it is just barely possible that he is married already and besides we’ve never consummated said marriage.


Oh not for lack of rum, wine or any other spirit and trying—but Willie, fair, green-eyed paragon that he is, possesses no soft rounded bits.


And I have none of the facial hair, and dangly bits he is seeking.


What we do have, each, is half of a key that leads to a fortune in finest Dutch gin and the wee black booke full of the names and secrets of merchants and shippers what are deeply in the debt of one Greta Van Der Kuiken , tavern-keeper of Albany.


Ye see, I were landed in New-Yorke as just one of a multiple of poor wretches needing to fill out an indenture. I didn’t, however, “take” at auction—maybe I spit a bit too much and I suppose the knee to the ballocks of the one turd what groped me, didn’t help either.


We, the other malcontents and I, were led out in a shuffling line by a soul-driver into the countryside, and it were there that I met up with my salvation, in so many ways—the formidable Mevrouw Greta Van Der Kuiken, relict of the late Jost Van Der Kuiken, taverneer of Albany.


Ah…yes…and fortunate me! Greta, were ne’er averse to a little bedwarming of slow winter’s eve and many was the night I drifted off to sleep pillowed deep in goosedown and Greta.


While she freely admitted that she had taken me on only because she were lookin for another doxy to liven up the tavern of an evening, she find out quick enough I wasn’t to most men’s taste, nor they to mine.


I do have other skills, such as reading, ciphering and an excellent eye for spotting a forgery, so she overlooked my penchant for braining a man with an alepot at 20 paces for taking liberties, and kept me at work behind the scenes.


O, I can tell at a glance—a glance! if a coin’s been washed or clipped, and can spot even the best German-printed counterfeit note before it hits the counter. I were an asset to the business, and was rewarded for such.


But so was Willie—William Ian Kilbourne, to name him rightly. He is quite the skilled card sharp, and can play well and play deep—thanks to his skill. He knows when to quit the cards and let the mark win, and always gives his cut to Greta, who kept him on to keep the nobs coming.


But pretty Willie, has a flaw, however--besides possibly being still married, since the woman in question went missing, and hasn't been seen since the last time the King's Light Infantry came through town....hmmmm.


But he is also a bad Scot for He canna hold his whiskey.


At all--it’s the matter of only a few drams and his sauve demeanor changes. ‘Miss Thing’ will go a-prancing, a veritable molly, fit to do a turn down the arcades of the Royal Exchange, and singing loudly and badly, all the while.


Twenty verses of ‘My Thing is Mine Own’ later and even Greta would take an alepot to his head.


And Willie knew it, too, so he chose to stay far away from home, where he could discretely make his fortune, or fail without creating a major scandal, and everyone made sure to keep him out of the whiskey.

That were the state of affairs.


Now, tonight, from this vantage point, watching the sparks from the cook fire pop and sail up into the darksome night, it seems so long ago and so good.


But all good things must come to an end...


submitted by
--Libby Boswell

WHY? WHY DO I NEED A BLOG?

"Why? Why? Why do I need a blog?"
"Because it is time." said Merlyn. "Trust me."

It wasn't the first nor will it probably be the last time I listened to one of my closest mates and kindred spirits. Though, you'd think I'd learn. But, I love that she loves me and wants me to have a life. Sometimes more than I do. And so, I follow her advice.

I peeked in at MySpace...yeah, THAT'S not gonna happen. I'd probably figure out the control panel on that Death Thing whatchamacallit space ship before I had the time, patience and where with all to maintain that kind of real estate. I'm absolutely no good at making things sparkle with a computer. I still write in bed with a pencil and notebook for pity's sake. I can't even force myself to use ink until I'm really sure of what I want to say. Plus, people are always dropping in....unannounced....like they sometimes do on a Saturday when all I really want is my pirate jammies...a Dunkin' Donuts large hazelnut (4 Splenda's-extra cream) a snuggly place under my Yellow Dog and my siamese cat for a head piece.

Plus, I was afraid to take the 'What Color Crayon Are You? quiz.

I compromised. I though, a blog seems quiet...peaceful...no one even knows I'm in here.
And so, I can write. Which is all I ever wanted to do anyway since the first grade when I got this fat, gold star at the top of my paper: 'See Spot Be Happy'....something like that. I don't remember the story but (and I am not making this up) I still have the star. Of course, that's also the same day that Sister Mary Supressyercreativity smacked Odd Gerald in the head with a ruler for being "stupid" (I'm not making that up, either).....so, I was a little conflicted after that. Catholic school will do that to you. It was shortly after that that I fell out of favor when I started using all the "wrong" colors on my color book assignments. And adding things that weren't "supposed" to be there. (Look! I felt the tree needed a purse and some sunglasses. WHAT is the big deal?) You've NO idea what kind of an uproar that can cause amongst a bunch of nuns in full habit on an excessively hot June day in a school without air conditioning.
I believe my report card said "overly dramatic" but they were always careful with stuff like that. Parents were paying tuition.

Designing the front page of this blog was actually what got me hooked. Color! Oh, how I love color! The inside of my head is crammed full of color, images, ideas and thoughts all fighting to find its way out! Ordinary life, the kind of life that most other people live, holds not much interest for me.....but, oh.....give me a creative project and that's when I'm the happiest! That and when I'm living my life on paper.

I'm lucky. I work in the arts. I have a job that allows me the freedom to pursue project after project of my own choosing and put it out there for the public to see. Research, art, storytelling, piracy, character creation and all my wildest dreams get center stage in my little corner of the world. It's a tiny corner. But it's my corner. And it makes me happy. I like being happy in my work..... and that makes all the difference.

Originally I was born in Heidelberg, Germany and quickly whisked away to a small Catholic orphanage near, what they tell me, was The Castle. And (long story) I ended up here.
Though I don't remember it I'm pretty sure I must have had a window overlooking said Castle....and that's where all my fairytale wishes began. Sadly, they never went away.....which makes for rough seas out there in the (shudder) Real World. The absolute lack of pirates, gnomes, faeries, knights, sprites, elves and noblemen (not to mention men on horseback) walking about the streets is always something of a shock to me.
Though, if you think about it it's pretty amazing that I never dated a NYC horse cop.......
or a Mountie....hmmm...I never thought about a Mountie........huh, maybe I'll try moving to Canada.......

I'm not sure exactly who to thank but I'm grateful everyday that the gods and goddesses saw fit to bless me with a way to do Really Weird Crap whilst getting paid enough to buy groceries and the odd bit of pirate swag. I worry that I keep up to their expectations. And so....I create.
Sometimes to my detriment......but that never stops me from still coloring the grass blue.....

I'm feeling more confident about this site. It's starting to become mine now that I've mussed it up with all my words and colors. If I'm lucky I'll figure out how to fancy it up with little pirates and pictures and things that sparkle. But for now....here I am....just me.

I thought to make Merlyn even happier by taking the "What Color Crayon Are You?" quiz....
but I already know the answer: I'm the WHOLE bloody box!

MLRF
'06