Linda Maclean's Reborn Dolls : Shyann and Cozy

I am having so much fun making these Reborn Dolls, and I'm getting paid to do it. How lucky is that!
After my visit to South Africa in early 2012 and my discovery of this relatively new art form, I have made two.
The response I get from these dolls in phenomenal, people materialize out of thin air (or so it seems) to hold and cuddle these incredible dolls. An automatic impulse seems to be 'to rock' and 'pat their little bums'. Major kudos have to go to the wonderful Reborn Doll designers out there without whom I could not have achieved this.
The first of my dolls was 'Shyann', who was a total learning curve. There were days when I became quite despondent, and others where I could only smile. One of those many 'smiles' was when one evening in the summer, Mike and I had just had our dinner, and we were watching the sunset over Musquodoboit Harbour.
Shyann's head, which I had painted and baked that day, was sitting on the coffee table in front of us. She still had no eyes and the sun shone through the vinyl and produced a 'demon glow' which radiated out between her eyelids. The Exorcist here we come! Unfortunately I don't have a picture of her, but I did take one of the sunset

One month after starting Shyann, she was completed and what fun we have had with her.

Shyann is weighted at 4.1lbs, and her head has to be supported just like a real child. She has veins, fingernails and hand rooted Mohair on her head, and eyelashes.
I took her off to see my doctor, who is also a family friend, and he spent more time with her than he did with me!
On another occasion, Mike and I left her in the car on a hot day during the summer and watched the stir that was caused by passers by who thought she was real. I did fess up! I think we are becoming known as the 'crazy doll people'.

                                                                        SHYANN

My second Reborn Doll, Cozy, was finished on the 12th November, 2012. A very different Reborn from Shyann, with blonde hair and closed eyes. A true thumb sucker and a cutie. It took me a little while to 'get into' making Cozy, but the end result was well worth it. His skin tone took a while for me to perfect, but I eventually got it right.
I did have a 'spot of trouble' whilst baking his head. I exploded! I was in complete shock after the amount of hours I had put into painting him. Fortunately all was 'fixed' when I phoned the Reborn people and they shipped me another within the hour. I was told that 'these things happen!' So back I went and started to paint him again. I put it down to getting more experience!
Once completed, I took him off to the pharmacy to get him weighed, and once again he was passed from pillar to post. Cozy was posted on Kijiji.ca (Halifax) and was sold within 24 hours. My Reborn 'babies' are becoming celebrities and people are asking when I am going to make the next one.
Thank you, thank you, thank you, for the wonderful response.

Stay tuned for number three: 'Muffin'.
If you are interested in contacting me, my email address is lindaamaclean@gmail.com

Linda Maclean's Reborn Doll 'Shyann'

I was on holiday in South Africa earlier in the year, and came across the term 'Reborn Dolls'. I had never heard of such a thing and was mighty curious to see one for myself. From what I was being told they were quite the thing. Reborn's are dolls that are made to look and feel like live babies.
I came across the first actual 'Reborn' doll in the Cape whilst staying with friends. June had collected a number of them and I was given a view of her lovely collection. These little faux humans had vein, true skin tone, and even finger nails. I was in awe! I left their home thinking about these dolls and decided that I would like to try my hand at making one.
Research in progress, and having bought an oven to 'bake' my baby in, I bought "Shyann" the model name of the first and only doll I have completed to date, created by Aleina Peterson. Shyann is a 19 inch doll when completed, with a vinyl head and three quarter vinyl limbs. Her body is cloth.
I had great fun experimenting with the painting and when eventually satisfied, baked the doll and started rooting the Mohair. This was a long and tedious process, and I went through 2 packs of Mo'. This was starting to be a very expensive little dolly! Hair rooting is also very messy and I was full of the stuff. I wore less of it as my technique improved.
Eventually the day was here when she was finished, washed and assembled. Shyann reborn by Linda Maclean of Linda's Jewels was born on the 4th July 2012, and weighed in at 3lbs 4oz. Attached are some pictures of her for you to see.

November Already!

Where have the summer months gone? It all seemed to be over in the blink of an eye. 
Now I don't know about the rest of you, but the summer months were short lived here on the East Coast of North America. One of those cherished summer months produced only three days of sunshine. THREE DAYS. We just about turned green and grew webs between our toes!
The gardens did well with all the rain. The plants came to life and turned into marauding monsters. We couldn't sit outdoors for long due to the darn Black Flies and Mosquitoes. And when the glorious days of summer did arrive, we were out there slaving away trying to round up those wayward plants. 
Phew!
Well as quickly as those summer days came, they went, and we are now in the cold throws of almost winter. The days are actually very beautiful with Forget-Me-Not blue skies, sapphire blue waters and what is left of the blazing Autumn colors on the trees. Lime, green, orange, rust and red - oh what a wonderful display. I think Mother Nature gives us just one more hoorah before she covers us in snow and ice! Thank you Ma'am.
Now back to work every one.
Oh by the way. Should you want my recipe of the month - Linda's Chicken, please go to www.FurnitureAndArtDecor.com/newsletters.html
Have a great month.
Linda

My Wayward Garden

The Dog Days of Spring in Nova Scotia

Today I was pried out of my office chair by Mike who insisted I needed to go for a walk! The truth is, I DO need the exercise. Winter has been long and hard on me this year! Mike told me to get a flu shot, I didn't, and guess what... need I say more. After 10 weeks I am now feeling human again, and the warmth in the sun and the slow miracle of life outside the window that is Spring has been calling to me.

It was a glorious day here in Nova Scotia, the snow has almost all gone, and our favourite walking trail, which was once a railway line, is now ice free and full of spectacular vistas. There are great granite outcrops and hills deposited during the last ice age, now covered in trees and lichen, babbling brooks and roaring rivers and many fabulous fishing lakes. The railway line was cut into this landscape back around 1910 and it was no easy task. The tracks were ripped up about 90 years later when the line had become abandoned and turned into a walking trail. It is also a great place to exercise our two energetic English Springer Spaniels!

Our dogs named Hunter and Britney, are brother and sister, born in a cosy den in our basement 10 years ago to a mother and a grandmother before them, also born in our basement. We do not bred dogs to sell, but bred only to propagate our own line of cherished pets.

Hunter is a rambunctious lad with a heart of gold. For a Springer, he is very calm and would have made a wonderful hospice dog. He's a big lad with huge feathered feet, a perfect blaze down his nose and a penchant for running. As a pheasant hunting dog he's a disaster as he is always a number of counties over from where he should be, and no good to the hunter at all. He also will go where 'no other dog has gone before'. Head shaking really!

Britney is the timid one and was slated as the family non-hunting pet. A beautiful petite dog with a big heart, delicate paws and a breathing problem - she snorts. In fact, she sounds just like a pig! She also seemed on the down side of the scale when God dished out intellect. Lack of luster is what we called it! But both dogs were trained to follow voice, hand and whistle commands and she did quite well.

When Hunter was officially retired in disgrace for disobedience from hunting at the tender age of 5, Mike decided to take Britney with him in Hunter's stead - more to give 'Little Missy' some exercise than anything else. Who would have thought that she would excel in the field - certainly not us! The light switch was flicked on in her brain, her eyes started to shine, and Britney suddenly realized there was a lot more to life than being the pampered pooch. She yipped with delighted excitement and became the almost perfect little huntress, perhaps the best hunting dog Mike has ever had.

How dogs know they are going for a walk is beyond me! You can walk out of the house to the car 10 times and they will be quite happy to go with you and settle on the deck. But the moment you leave the house to go for a walk, they start yipping/snorting with excitement and roiling around your feet. Once in the car they squirm with excitement and constantly 'talk'. Little squeaks and whines - yes, and snorts - which increase in volume the closer we get to the walking trail. They know each and every bump on the road and should we not turn into the designated parking lot, there is total consternation!

The doggy crowd of hikers seems to walk mid afternoon and we have got to know many other pets by their first names. Their owners on the other hand, go nameless as probably do we. Most dogs are allowed the luxury of running loose and are only leashed when other dogs or people are coming their way.

Hunter loves to run and once given the command will take off at a high rate of speed down the banks and into the countryside hoping to flush a pheasant. If he's successful he will follow it, tree it and then get very frustrated when the bird sits there on the branch mocking him. Britney on the other hand, will walk at heel and does not venture far. Should she pick up the scent of a pheasant, her nose will go down and she starts to track it, yipping and snorting as she goes. There is a great deal of excitement all around and it is wonderful to see these dogs work. They are absolutely and completely in their element.

At this time of year the little streams and ponds are still ice covered, but the ice is rotten and crumbling away. One of our biggest fears with the dogs is that they will go running out on the ice and fall through. When there is dense bush around, the recovery would not be easy, if not impossible, so we tend not to let the dogs range too far and are constantly calling Hunter back.

You can just see him plotting his escape as he walks along the trail and although told to go left or right, he leans in the direction he'd like to take, giving us his unintended warning. He will eye the escape route and then pretend to ignore it hoping we have not noticed, then before you can blink an eye, he's gone!

Down the bank he goes like a bullet into the undergrowth, all you can hear is the breaking of twigs, branches and the tinkling of a bell. Hunter now has a bell attached to his collar so that we can monitor his movements - kinda! If he is in pursuit of a pheasant, nothing on this green and rocky earth will stop him. Dad pipping on his whistle is totally ignored. This is considered very bad doggy behavior and unfortunately now becoming a fairly regular thing.

This afternoon he did just that. Mike and I were watching him knowing that he was going to try and bolt and then the moment we let our guard down, he was gone. All we could hear was the breaking of branches and the tinkle of the bell which grew fainter as the distance got farther. Then we heard the ice break!

The countryside stood silent, Mike and I looked horrified, and Britney stood at our feet wanting to get on with the walk. What started as little pips ended up being frantic blows on the whistle - but to no avail. There was nothing we could do but listen as the vegetation was too thick to follow the dog. Silence reigned!

Then, out in the far woods, in a totally different direction came the sound of a bell. It was a long way off but coming in our direction. A couple of minutes later Hunter appeared on the trail a hundred yards away looking very pleased with himself. He was literally smiling from ear to ear! Stern words were uttered to the pooch by both Mike and I. I must admit to having been overjoyed that he was safe and sound and my stern words didn't really mean much. Hunter was put on a leash and his venturing was over for the day.

Once home and settled in the kitchen on his nice warm bed with his sister. A very tired Hunter still smiled!

Linda Maclean was born and raised in Southern Africa where she lived for 25 years. She now lives on the Eastern Shore of Nova Scotia with her partner Mike and two Springer Spaniels. Article Source: http://EzineArticles.com/?expert=Linda_Maclean

Article Source: http://EzineArticles.com/6106816

Trafficking in Illegal Ivory.

Here in North America the spring flowers are up and the days are longer.  Warmth returns to the land, but in my Africa it is the reverse.  It's getting colder but the hunt for illegal traffickers in Elephant Ivory is heating up - and so it should. What wonderful animals these majestic beasts are and we need to do all we can for them. Well done to the Kenyan authorities.


Copyright © 2011 The Associated Press.

NAIROBI, Kenya (AP) — Authorities have seized the tusks of 58 elephants — totaling one ton of ivory — after sniffer dogs led investigators to containers at the country's main airport that were bound for Nigeria, officials said Friday.

Joseph Ngisa, the officer in charge of criminal investigation in the country's airports, said no arrests had been made. It was not immediately clear why the ivory was being transported to the West African nation; the most common destination for smuggled ivory is Asia.

"We are suspecting they could be from here or neighboring countries and we are on their toes. We must get them. They have killed many, many elephants and we cannot allow this," said Eunice Kiheko, the police chief in charge of all airports.

In 2007, Kenya lost only 47 elephants to poaching, Omondi said. In 2008 — the year the sale took place— Kenya lost 145 elephants. In 2009, 271 elephants were killed and 187 were killed in 2010. Omondi said Kenya has already lost 87 elephants this year.

The shipment arrived in April, but Duong said officials discovered the tusks on Thursday. It was addressed to a company in northern Quang Ninh province. The company denied knowing the tusks were included in the shipment.

Vietnam is a common destination for illegal animal products, including African elephant tusks and rhino horns, which fetch large amounts for their perceived medicinal benefits. Last month, Thailand confiscated two tons of ivory valued at $3.3 million that had been shipped from Kenya.Copyright © 2011 The Associated Press.


There is a supply of legal ivory out there which is covered by 
CITES.  The legal ivory is collected from government culls where only the terminally sick are taken. Villages are given 
the meat from these culls and the Ivory, skins and hair are sold. The money made on these sales are reinvested in the national parks and used to hire guards to protect the animals from poaching. 

Of Leopards, Granite Forts, Old Souls and a .410 Shotgun

On my 10th birthday I was given a gun. Not an air gun or a pellet gun, but a .410 shotgun. The country I was born in was becoming 'unstable' and my parents wanted me to be able to protect myself should the need arise. I didn't want a gun and to be quite honest with you, my father played with it more than I did.

Being a scrawny female brat, the gun was almost as big as I was, and toting it around was no easy job. One of the first things we did when I got the .410, was to go out into the African veld where my parents set up bottles and cans for target practice. Both my parents were good shots, but I certainly needed the practice. After an hour or so, we would clean up the mess of bottle glass and metal cans and head for home. Once home, the gun was stripped, cleaned, oiled and reassembled. This whole exercise was repeated until I was a 'good little shot'. Not once did I aim at a bird or animal, but I did aim at a threatening human being many years later!

This episode happened just after I had been judged capable of safely using the .410 shotgun on my own and being responsible enough to do so.

My family had gone to stay at a friend's cottage just outside of Bonda Mission in the soft rolling hills and huge granite mountains and kopies or boulders of what was then known as Inyanga. We went there often at weekends or for short 'get-aways'. Inyanga is a Zulu word that means 'traditional herbal healer' and the area is indeed full of old spirits, mystery and charm!

There are rivers that spew from the mountainsides and then follow along dark ferny water courses. Here you can find the remnants of old civilizations. Caves can be found in the intriguing granite fissures with glorious prehistoric wall art depicting the hunting of antelope, giraffe and lions. Not only are the granite workings and art very old, but the local vegetation is prehistoric!

Many an old granite fort, ancients stairs leading through the rocks, terraces and walled pits can be found - and not far from where we were staying. These old sites fascinated me from the first time I saw them as a very small child picnicking with my parents. I was taught to respect them and to listen to what they told us. Needless to say, I got to know this area well and often walked it alone. Just me and my gun, sometimes Duke the dog came too.

It was a different world back then. A little white girl the size of a grasshopper walking around the African bush by herself - even without the gun, was generally quite safe. The local natives I met along the way obviously knew who I was, even if I did not know them. They would smile and give a greeting, some would even talk and share a treat before continuing along on their merry way. Never did I feel threatened!

This day was glorious as only Central African days can be - day, after day, after day. I had decided to go for a walk minus Duke the dog, had taken the .410 shotgun. I headed down the drive in my shorts and 'T' shirt with the gun over my shoulder, the safety on, no ammunition other than the one up the spout, no hat on my head, no sunscreen and no shoes. This is how it was done! We didn't think of skin cancer back then.

I don't recall having any destination in mind, but just wandered around visiting the ancient pits and walking the paths that had been there for millennia. I had wondered quite a way when I decided it was time to go home. It was getting late and I had to be home before dark. In Africa, sunset is a fleeting thing and the bush gets very dark and if not interesting, down right scary.

I was approaching home from the back side of the property where there were lots of big granite boulders or kopies, some the size of towering buildings with the golden sunset in my eyes. Following the path which wound its way between the boulders I went towards Johnny the caretakers house. Johnny's home was a well kept single dwelling with a nicely tended vegetable garden which had a fence to keep the marauding animals out. Johnny was not home at this hour as he had to light all the paraffin lamps at the cottage, get everything settled for the night and ready for the morning to come. There was no electricity and everything was run off paraffin or wood.

As the sunset started to bruise in the sky, I rounded one of the last big kopies that stood between me and home when I almost bumped into a leopard! He was big and beautiful in the twilight, his tawny eyes huge and liquid - and only a couple of feet separated us. What he was doing obviously distracted him so completely that he had not heard me coming up the path. Let me tell you that we both looked absolutely startled. For fleeting seconds we contemplated each other. He then went 'Hummph', turned away and ran for the hills whilst I went 'Hummph' and ran for home!

I ran around the kopie, up some ancient stone stairs, crossed a granite ledge, came down the other side and was home before you could spit. Why that leopard didn't decide I was dinner is still beyond me as I played the perfect mouse. Only once I was home did I remember the shotgun still on my shoulder.

I marvel when looking back on the incident all these years later. How close I was to a gorgeous wild animal who was no more intent on doing me harm than I was it. Thank goodness it all ended as it did, and I hope that that wonderful animal with the tawny liquid eyes had a good long life in the mysterious world with old souls that was to me Inyanga, and is now known as Nyanga.

As for the .410 shotgun, I'd stick to shooting bottles and cans.

Was I Born Scared of Snakes?

Anything that slithers is not a favorite of mine, but in particular snakes! I was raised with their stories, saw people get bitten or spat at by them, and was alway told to watch where I was walking. "Pay attention to what's on the path Linda, watch for snakes" was a constant cry from adults around me. It was whispered to me when I was in my mother's belly - and long before that, when I was just a twinkle in my daddy's eye.

I have a number of snake stories that I would like to share with you - if you are brave enough to read them. Tee hee! This is the first.

The first time I was really shocked and frightened by a snake was when I was about 5 years old.

My parents and I had gone to stay with friends who had a farm just outside of a small town called Marandellas. It was a lovely farm, with a gorgeous thatched farmhouse that had a partial moat around it. It was really the farm dam, but designed and built with fun. One one side of the causeway was a lovely grove of Eucalyptus trees that at that time must have been 50 or 60 feet tall. These giant trees were a favorite during the colonial times as they grew so very quickly. South Africa has now banned these Australian imports as their roots go very deep and they take way too much water resulting in the water table dropping.

It was a sunny afternoon and Ita (the farm's resident grandmother who was then very old) and I had gone for a little walk. She was a small frail sweetie pie and one of my favorite people. I enjoyed my time with Ita and she was never grumpy or sent me away. We had crossed the lawn and gently headed down the footpath that wove its way amongst the Eucalyptus trees. I remember holding Ita's hand as she talked to me, and also that she let my hand go when I decided it was time to run or dance, or whatever gets into a 5 year old girls mind.

I had broken away from Ita and was running as fast as I could along the past ahead of her. She was quite a way behind me when I ran around a corner in the path and there lying right in front of me was a snake! Well, my little feet were already running as fast as they could go before I rounded the corner - and there was nothing I could do to slow down and get away from it. I still see it in my mind, black and oily in the mottled sunshine. It was a big snake and all I could do was jump over it and keep on running in my panic, shouting a warning to Ita as I did.

I had run about 15 feet further up the path before stopping and as I turned back to watch, Ita having heeded my warning,slowly came round the corner into view. The snake had already coiled itself, it's head up and it's fanned throat extended ready to strike - it was a Cobra.

In Africa snakes are fast and deadly. A Cobra can cover many yards in seconds, a King Cobra can outrunning a horse, and they WILL strike first. One strike from a Cobra and in 30 minutes you are paralyzed, in an hour you are dead, the neurotoxin painfully eating your flesh! Unless you are given the correct antivenom within the hour you may as well just sit down and wait to die.

Now there is a strange thing about snakes, they gauge their danger by the vibrations coming off the ground. I was obviously small and in a hurry - so not much of a threat! Ita on the other hand, although a small adult and slower, was heavier and gave off enough of a vibration that the snake felt threatened.

Ita rounded the corner of the path and cold, deadly, black, beady eyes met her soft blue ones. Neither moved! None of us moved! The stand-off lasted about 60 seconds - 60 seconds of complete and eerie silence, 60 seconds of sheer terror. Then the Cobra sank it's head to the ground and slithered off the path into the ankle high African grass.

It was maybe a minute or two before Ita or I moved. My cue being taken from her. My sweaty little hand was happily retrieved by a larger sweaty hand and reunited we continued along the path until we got to the road and headed home.

What a story we had to tell over a cup of tea later in the afternoon! This was not one of the best moments in my life, but a cherished one. One I shared with Ita.

Ita passed away when I was about nine year old, of plain old age.