Sew Succulent

M is for Maris

2009-02-17T15:20:00.002-05:00

My sweet friend Shelby welcomed her second child, Maris, into the world two weeks ago and boy is she cute. I made this little dress for her this weekend, and although it looks huge now, I bet she'll be in it by the time she's three months old.

I never want to find out the gender of my babies before I have them, but this time around it is much more tempting. With Andrew, I was just starting to sew. Now, I feel like there would be no end, especially with little girl things. Just as well I don't know, I suppose...

This is a easy pattern, New Look 6576. It sure does make me long to have a serger, though. I can never figure out the best way to bind those edges.

A Very, Very Romantic Valentine's Story

2009-02-13T14:27:00.003-05:00

Pete: " I'm going to Krogers - do you need anything?"

Me: "I could use some flour."

Pete: "Not to take the surprise out of it, but what kind of flowers do you want for Valentine's day?"

Me: "Oh, I don't care." [Then I start to think about how we're having company all weekend.] "Actually, don't worry about it because we're going to keep having to move them on and off the kitchen table for meals...."

Pete: "And they do jack up the prices this time of year..."

Me: "You're right. That's fine. Maybe we should just wait and get some next week."

Pete: "Sounds good."

YIKES!! (and an announcement)

2009-02-12T14:56:00.005-05:00

Oh, lordy! Where has the time gone? Actually, I can tell you. I just endured a rather unfortunate adventure in midwifery, so I have quit my job and am now (and hopefully temporarily) a kept woman. The crazy thing about creativity is that even though it can flourish during stressful situations, it can also wilt away. That's pretty much what happened. Ahem. So that's that.

I tend to love all spring holidays (or the two of them, Valentine's Day and Easter) and this year Andrew and I are going to a Valentine's party at our friend Julie's house. She has 2 cuties about A's age, and other neighborhood kids are coming too. Getting Andrew to sit down to make a Valentine was nightmarish, so I decided to take charge. Fortuitously, I got an email from The Toymaker. Such a lovely little website, and I decided to cut and construct these little paper chocolate trucks for the boys at the party (a 4:1 ratio!) and fill them with chocolates.

We're having company for the weekend, so I have done some cooking today: a carrot cake with orange-cream cheese frosting, orange scones, and passionfruit curd. The first two recipes are from my new very favorite cookbook, The Sweet Melissa Baking Book. I used to live just a few streets down from the bakery in Brooklyn and loved to go. In fact, I ate there all the time when I was pregnant with Andrew.

Sooooo, it is fitting that I cook and eat my way through it now as well, as Pete and I are expecting a sweet little addition of our own come late August. We are thrilled.

Check It

2009-01-08T13:53:00.001-05:00

I have a cool husband. In an effort to jump-start his creativity and get back into the hang of illustrating, he's posting a new illustration and story every day this year on his blog. Check it out.

Stop Train, Stop

2008-11-30T16:26:00.004-05:00

Last week I had the pleasure of hosting my friend Amy and another mutual friend for lunch. Amy was an amazing presence in my life in grad school, and it's been a thrill to grow our friendship. She still lives in Queens, so I needed to take my Yankee friend for a little spin around Durham. We hit the Federal and Vin Rouge, and she loved it. Two midwives out on the town... watch out.

I've got to get busy around this house. I started a new job about three weeks ago and also had a mega-order of cloths from The Red Hen to fill (check it out!!), so I feel soooo behind. This time last year I had my pantry spic-and-span for baking season, my Christmas decorations displayed and my holiday activities underway. Maybe it's because Thanksgiving came so late, or because of my recent flurry of obligations, but I feel like I'm running after a train on the move. (fyi, we rented Darjeeling Limited this weekend. Weird, but so, so beautiful.)

Thanksgiving was lovely, I have many pics and stories to share, but this horendous house beckons. 'Hope all of you made great memories too.

xo

Scrap Exchange

2008-11-05T16:43:00.002-05:00

I'm a big fan of Durham's Scrap Exchange, and recently received this email from a member of their board. Unfortunately I can't make this event, but I would encourage any locals to go!

5th Annual Charity Game Night for The Scrap Exchange
Mission - Promote creativity, environmental awareness and community through creative reuse of industrial discards.

Date: Saturday, November 8
Time: 7pm-10pm
Location: The Scrap Exchange Store, 548 Foster Street, Durham, NC

-No-limit Texas Hold-em is the game of choice.
-Beginner and veteran poker players welcome.
-For every $20 donated to The Scrap Exchange, players will receive $200 in poker chips and a tax deductible receipt.
-No need to pre-register but reserve your space by emailing Kelley at kdennings@gmail.com
-The player at each table with the most chips at the break and end of the night will receive a prize.
-Drinks and snacks provided.

Current prizes include gift certificates from: Carolina Rollergirls, Barnes & Noble, JJill, Drag Bingo, Phydeaux Dog Supplies, Frankie's, Consolidated Theaters, Galaxy Theater, Red Lobster, Nice Price Books, Sarla licensed massage therapist and more added daily.

Flying by...

2008-10-23T20:18:00.009-04:00

Lordy. It's a damn shame I only get around to writing every month. Horrible. Forgive me.

I work in a clinic of many, many women. Only female providers, nurses, and patients. My friend James is the lone buoy of testosterone in an estrogen sea. Plus, in any environment, dear James is a king among men. A few weeks ago, he told me that his wedding anniversary coincides with his birthday, and he wondered if I would try my hand at dessert for him and his sweet wife. Pictured above was my solution, a take on a lemon-meringue pie, although the crust was shortbread and the filling passionfruit curd.

Another reason I wanted to do something nice for James is that even though I love it, I have decided to leave public health to join a private practice. This was a tough thing to consider, especially since I wasn't looking for new work. However, (and pardon the cliche), my new practice simply made me an offer that I couldn't refuse. I am excited in a tentative sort of way...I am always suspicious of opportunities that just fall in my lap and seems too good to be true. Anyway, my last day is Halloween, arguably my favorite day of the year, so that has to be an auspicious sign, right? Right?

I don't know if it's the transition in my life, or just growing older, but this fall in particular feels like sand through my fingers. It seems like every year I just live for October, and this one has been so satisfying - all chilly and saturated with color. We took Andrew to a little pumpkin farm down the road a few weeks ago.

He loved the pumpkin-bowling but flat refused to do a hayride or a trip around the yard on a donkey. This was disappointing to me - I really wanted a hayride.

Today we went to the state fair. It made me kind of sad to think of last year and how I was so turned on by all the vibrancy and camp of everything there. I must have taken dozens of pics then, but today I felt a little flat. However, this is a great shot...how are these boys for precious pumpkins:

Honey Love

2008-09-19T16:32:00.004-04:00

Aren't these gorgeous? My succulent cousin Jennifer makes these and I'm just gonna say - They make me glad to be a woman.

They're little pearls and beads beautifully tangled up with silver wire around sterling hoops or loops.

Friends, let's all try to buy our holiday gifts, as much as possible, from talented crafters here in the US, shall we? Sites like Etsy have opened up a new world of beautiful items to conscious consumers and I am going to try to support our independent crafters and artisans. You in?

Jennifer's business is The Honeyfitz Factory and you can find it here:
www.thehoneyfitzfactory.etsy.com. Her prices are incredible and include free shipping. Get shoppin', girls!

French Kiss

2008-09-02T15:45:00.002-04:00

Let me just say that for years I have been attempting to learn how to make French macarons, the type I, and so many others first devoured at Laduree in Paris. They always, forever and without exception, failed. Anyway, I was doing my usual food-blog whoring around the other day and visited on of my favorite sites, Tartelette, and noticed that she had an excellent tutorial on how to make them here.

I do not think these are perfect (the little "feet" stick out, probably because the batter was just a tad too thin) but they are as close as I've ever gotten to the real thing. I filled them with the passionfruit curd I'd made yesterday, and aarrrrggghhhh.....my head is killing me from the sugar high.

I agree that this is probably more about technique than ingredients, since they consist solely of almonds, sugar and eggs. I know some people don't think it helps, but the big key here was to let the macarons dry out for an hour before baking. I also used egg whites that were a few days old, out of their shells.

My inner pastry chef loves when something a little exotic comes out of my kitchen. Which is to say, these are perfect for days when Durham is nice, but Paris is just so....you know.

Sugar Garden

2008-08-30T13:08:00.002-04:00

When we lived in New York, one of my favorite outings was a trip to NY Cake and Baking, serendipitously located just down the block from Pete's agency. This no-nonsense supplier is best suited, I suppose, for hard-core amateur and professional cake decorators, but I would spend hours and a fortune on the sparking, metallic dragees and gum-paste flowers so intricate they could hardly be discerned from the real thing. What I had most occasion to buy were the little hardened royal icing flowers, perfect for adorning the tops of cupcakes. I even carried some of these fragile treasures back from our most recent trip to the city because I can't find them in this area.

I have a little celebration coming up next weekend and wanted to use my little flowers on a dessert, but really didn't have enough of them. However, when I looked closely at them I couldn't help but remember nights spent in a back room at JC Penney, just 12-yr-old me and about eight other women over 60 taking a Wilton Cake Decorating Course. Surely I could make these suckers.

So this morning I got up and piped out about 120 little flowers, my own crystalline, edible garden. Some I am going to use for the party, and the rest I will just hold onto until the next time I make cupcakes or chocolate mousse. You really should try this. Once the consistency of the icing is correct, it is seriously easy. All instructions are found here. Just pipe them out and let them dry. This is not Ace of Cakes.

Last week I ordered a cookbook I have wanted for a long time, Apples for Jam by Tessa Kiros. Sometimes when I get a new cookbook, especially one this gorgeous, I am kind of paralyzed when trying to choose a recipe.

Everything in here is so achingly beautiful and simple that I literally do not know where to begin. I have to quickly shut the book and then my eyes to avoid overstimulation. Sometimes too, I think that I am almost afraid to try a recipe for fear that it won't be as luscious as it looks on the page, recipes which are beautiful but lack substance, a sad state of affairs in any situation.

Today I finally selected a recipe but started small, making her Ripe Tomato Salad, which basically just involved cutting up some ripe tomatoes, coating them in olive oil, and giving them a gentle toss with some oregano, fresh basil, a bashed-up garlic clove and some salt. Give it about an hour to enjoy it's savory bath and serve with good bread and cheese. A perfect lunch. Of course.

blue

2008-08-12T15:39:00.002-04:00

Last week we went blueberry picking at a local organic farm.

Somebody couldn't get enough.

I ended up making a blueberry cornmeal skillet cake and took it to work. Nurses are a kind audience for new recipes. It is excellent. Martha has redeemed herself.

I had the privilege of reading Haven Kimmel's book The Solace of Leaving Early in one glorious gulp on Sunday and am still not the same. She actually lives right here in Durham and her work is beyond description. Her new book is Iodine. I'm quickly working through them all. It's really all I want to do as the summer fades.

Baaaaaaaaad

2008-07-24T15:55:00.003-04:00

Not just bad. Awful. I made a simple rhubarb crisp the other night and it was so horrid I couldn't even eat more than a bite. It was grainy and pasty and disgusting. Characteristically, neither Pete nor I had the heart to chuck it out, so it sat, covered, on our counter for 2 days until he finally did the dirty work and sent it to its final resting place.

This has never happened before. Anyone else out there had that experience? Ugh. If several people have had this experience, that would explain why there aren't more rhubarb enthusiasts. And there was one other factor. A reason which seems almost blasphemous to name, but....I used a Martha Stewart recipe from her website. Martha is, of course, one of my Favorite Folks On This Earth, living or dead, forever and ever, amen. And maybe it's just me, but sometimes the recipes from her website leave something to be desired. Like the whole flippin' desert you were planning to have and now is just sitting sadly on your counter, like a dead fish in a bowl.

This is probably good, because I have to go to a wedding in just 2 short days and the dress I am going to have to wear is just a tiny bit too small. I've been subsisting on about 900 calories a day for the past week to squeeze my tush into it. I joke that it's like the diet from The Devil Wears Prada where she says, I don't eat anything all day, and when I feel I'm going to pass out I eat a cube of cheese. Anyway, my mother is visiting tonight, so I'm sure I will get a honest assessment. Mothers are good at those sorts of things.

Mall Rat

2008-07-10T15:53:00.010-04:00

I have a real love/hate relationship with the mall, most likely because I was raised in a small WV town where the best stores in the mall were Spencer's and Deb, and also because my parents are small business owners. Video killed the radio star.

But my kiddo really likes the activity at the mall, and Durham's Southpoint mall is nice. I went into Pottery Barn Kids today, again a store I have mixed feelings about, but I found these awesome placemats for $2.5o on clearance. I got pink and black. When I saw the black ones I thought, in an obvious stroke of genius, Wouldn't these be cool if you could write on them like a chalkboard? I ask the saleswoman about this, hoping to impress her with my ability to think outside the PB-box, and she said that in fact, you could use chalk on them. I smiled knowingly. When she rang me up, I saw on my receipt that these placemats are literally called - by the company - "Chalkboard Placemats". Oh, well. Nothing new under the sun. But aren't they cute?

No, your eyes do not deceive you - I may have to write another post about rhubarb. Arrrggghhh!!! First of all, I have such a problem with baked goods, the biggest being that I cannot refuse them at all. Last night I was browsing Amy Karol's site and discovered that she is wild for rhubarb as well and then saw this, and oh, my.

They are just delicious, and believe it or not, I have only had half of one. This is because I have sequestered myself to the upstairs of the house. Using her recipe I got about 5 pies, with some rhubarb left over. I also added a few chopped strawberries. The next time I make these I think I will throw in a little more sugar, but no harm done here - any tartness is completely off-set by the vanilla ice cream you will want to have on top.

I also recently became completely disgusted with the amount of extra cotton yarn I have lying around everywhere. This time last year, when I was just learning to crochet, I bought some really inexpensive cotton to play around on. Now that I'm much better I splurge on the good stuff, but that left dozens of half-used skeins on my hands. So, I've decided to make dishcloths with it. I made a red one the other night, very easy, just ch 31 and then sc until it's square. These dishcloths are so nice - heavy and textured and good. Perfect for scrubbing baked-on rhubarb.

Rhubarb Bars

2008-07-08T14:27:00.003-04:00

(courtesy Cooking Light)

I made these a long time ago, have in fact, been making them for years and years, but am just now getting around to posting them. Here is the recipe.

They will call to you while you're drying your hair, or cleaning out the car, or even reading a book. They're dangerous in their addictiveness. Of course, I feel that way about nearly everything rhubarb.

The first thing you do is to make a shortbread crust and bake it until lightly brown. While the crust is tanning in the oven, the rhubarb is combined with the makings of a custard. After the shortbread is ready, the eggy, rhubarby mixture is poured over the hot crust and baked.

Now you muster up every bit of patience you have and wait for it to cool. And it really does have to be cool. While it's cooling, make sure the ingredients for the cloud-like topping are coming to room temperature. It simply will not work if they're not.

Top, chill, and stand by with fork in one hand, a glass of prosecco in the other.

This recipe comes from Cooking Light, thereby implying that it is guiltless. It also clearly states that a moderate person should be able to get 40-some servings from this. Hardly. I would count on it serving 12-16, conservatively.

Portland, reinterpreted

2008-06-17T15:05:00.003-04:00

Around February of this year I suddenly got interested in the idea of folk-art quilts. I've only made a handful of quilts but they've all been carefully cut and pieced. When I started looking at more folk quilts I was excited by how everything just seemed to be cut on a whim and then sewn on, like coloring with fabric.

This is my sad little attempt at folk quilting, made for my friend Bo who spent a luscious, whirlwind year in Portland, OR. He's back in NYC now and he misses his sweet River City. When I gave this to him he joked that he was going to curl up underneath it and pretend he was back in Oregon.

Just like with so many things, simplicity is often harder than it looks. If I ever do another one of these I will probably plan a little more. What I really am proud of, though, is that this was the first quilt I've ever really quilted, using a free-motion foot. I think I'm off the quilting for a while, though. It's just too daggum hot to be working under folds of fabric.

Staff of Life

2008-06-15T14:45:00.007-04:00

Friday I bought the book Beautiful Breads and Fabulous Fillings by Margaux Sky. It's a lovely cookbook - gorgeous pictures of sandwiches piled high and creative sides as well. I have to admit though, when I order a sandwich I don't like a mountain to be placed before me. I like to eat most sandwiches with my hands, not a fork and knife. (Unless, of course, it is a Croque Madame, which I would gladly eat while hanging upside down by my toenails.)

She did include a chapter on sandwiches which were more like a stromboli, the fillings all rolled up inside the dough pinwheel-style, then baked. The beauty of this is that one can just slice off a big chunk of this loaf and chuck it into a lunch bag - no muss, no fuss. Her dough recipe looked heavenly, too, but honestly....1 cup of heavy cream? A stick of butter? I've not been known to run from fat, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. At least today.

So I looked around, revisited my Nigella cookbooks, and revised one of her bread recipes to create a sandwich anyone would be thrilled to find inside their Dukes of Hazzard lunch box. (oh, was that just me?)

I think this would be fabulous with almost any combination of ingredients you could imagine, and the recipe here just happened to be what I had lying around in the pantry and fridge.

Greek-ish Baked Sandwiches, a la Nigella and Margaux

For the dough, you want to combine 3.5 cups of all-purpose flour with a good teaspoon of salt and a teaspoon of sugar in a bowl. Add a tablespoon of yeast. (since I always buy my yeast in bulk, I'm not sure how many packets of yeast you will need. I'm guessing three or so.) Stir your dry ingredients together and then add 1 cup of warm water with 1/3 c. olive oil. Mix until it all comes together. You may want to add some more water if it seems dry. Knead until elastic and springy, or use a dough hook. Once you have a smooth, ivory ball, oil it with olive oil, cover the bowl, and leave it to rise until it's about doubled in size (an hour or so).

When the dough has risen, punch it down and roll it out on a floured board or counter until it's about 14" square or so. At this point I added my filling, just like you would add toppings to a pizza. I used about 1.5 cups of ground beef that had been mixed with 1/2 c. softened sauteed onion, a tsp of thyme, S&P and then browned. I also added about a half a cup of spinach that had been cooked, wrung dry, and seasoned with a little grated nutmeg and salt. I threw some chopped fresh mint and oregano over the beef and spinach and then added crumbled feta and chopped marinated artichokes.

Once my dough was covered with all of the goodness, I started at one end and carefully rolled it up, tucking the ends under when I was finished. I let this sit for about 20 minutes on a baking sheet and stuck it into an oven at 375 for about 20 minutes, or until the top was nice and golden. This will easily serve 6.

I think this bread is the ultimate meal when friends come over for lunch. It can be made well in advance and all you need on the side is a little salad.

Sweet Days of Summer, or, Why I Can't Lose Weight

2008-06-12T12:33:00.004-04:00

I think sometimes it's the smallest of your friend's preferences that speak to the heart of why you love them. I remember Kerri, one of my dearest dears, telling me when we were freshmen in college that she loved rhubarb. Ahhh, a soul mate. Kerri's from Alabama by way of Ohio, and I'm from southern WV, so I always assumed that rhubarb was one of many unusual and delicious southern crops. Only until I lived in the south did I realize that rhubarb is a gift from our Yankee friends.

It's actually sort of difficult to find rhubarb around these parts, even in season, and it tends to be sort of expensive, I think. Tuesday I went to the grocery store and saw rhubarb for $2.29 a lb. I bought all they had, three and a half pounds. When I got to the register, Andrew was screaming his head off. The young kid behind the counter holds up the long, fuchsia stalks and incredulously ask me what they are. I tell him rhubarb. It was only until I got home that I realized that instead of charging me for rhubarb he had actually charged me for rutabagas, at a mere $.99 a pound. Rhubarb. Kind of like rutabagas, but not really at all.

So what was I to do with all of this hot rhubarb on my hands and conscience? Rhubarb and Raspberry Grunt, of course, topped with homemade raspberry ripple ice cream. The grunt is a Martha recipe from her April 2008 Living. I adore me some Martha, but I grow weary when her ingredients are so prohibitively expensive. You can watch a video of her making this on her show with the lovely Seth Meyers, and she's talking about how it cost her something like $38 to get all the ingredients. Phooey. I used rhubarb in season and frozen berries. Even if I hadn't lifted the rhubarb, it still would have been a cheap dessert. It's heavenly. Ethereal. And you don't even have to turn on your oven. If you think you don't like rhubarb, I implore you - please try this. It will convert you. And you and I can be proper friends.

Here also is a picture of my Tarte Tatin, a la Julia Child. Another easy, gloriously elegant treat. No offense to my home country, but I would prefer a Tarte Tatin to most American apple pies any day. Or, as some my call it, Freedom Pie.

So how's this for funny? For ages I have been at my wit's end with our new Canon Powershot. I loathed it. Loooaattthhed. The pictures all turned out blurry and grainy and I spent hours on end on online help sites and poring through my manual. Nothing helped (see first pic below). Today I'm again whining about my predicament to Pete and he causally says, Why don't you try cleaning the lens? (see second pic.)

Thanks. I may need it.

Sanctuary

2008-06-10T20:08:00.002-04:00

Normally I think it's kind of creepy to post pictures of your intimate spaces but I had to share this picture of my bedroom taken this weekend. The large crocheted pieces were done by my great-grandmother and my mother had them framed for me the year before I was married. There's also a framed dogwood branch from my grandparent's lawn, home of said wedding.

Many of these had been hanging in my dining room for ages, in nearly every place we'd lived. However, we recently papered that room with a pattern that would have been too busy to accommodate the heirlooms. After a rather long and useless stint leaning against the desk in our studio, viola! - into the bedroom and all is right in my decorating world.

Jill and Julia

2008-06-05T15:25:00.004-04:00

So I'd bet that my #1, most favorite activity for ever and always is reading. On the contrary, I would also say that one of my decidedly less favorite activities is driving. I drive almost 35 minutes to and from work each day and by the time I hit my exit my eyes start to cross a little and my legs ache from lactic acid build-up - stop, go - stop, go.

My little neighborhood library recently started lending books-on-CD, and suddenly the genius of this concept hit me. It's like reading, when I'm driving. Brilliant. I knew from past experience, however, that I don't do well with fiction. I like fiction, but for some reason I don't like fiction to be read to me. This reminds me of something my friend Bill's Irish mother says: If it didn't happen, it's not true!!

The point of all of this is to say that there, tucked between the Deepak Chopra and Danielle Steele, was Julia Child's autobiography, My Life In France. As cooking, Paris, and succulent tall women are also among my favorite things, I snatched it up and have devoured it much like I would have her sole meuniere. The book is crisp, yet tender, solid, yet yielding. Perhaps what satisfies the palate also satisfies the mind.

I enjoyed the food in France very much, but have never had an overwhelming urge to prepare French food, especially entrees. Even Julie Powell's lovely book, Julie & Julia, didn't move me to the point of culinary action. But there's something about experiencing, in her own words, the seminal moments that defined Julia's rapture with food, that is a turn-on to the cuisine, if not the woman herself.

Tuesday I returned to said library and borrowed the only copy of Mastering the Art of French Cooking. While I doubt I'll ever systematically cook my way through each page, I did try my hand today at an easy recipe, Tarte Tatin, and it was a success. I'm feeling energized by the idea of exploring the rest of the cookbook and am dreading playing the last CD.

My One Beauty

2008-05-27T22:13:00.003-04:00

So, I have to thank you for your sweet condolences about my hair incident. The hair incident.

I'm not a particularly vain woman, but I have to say that my hair has always been my crowning glory. Every time I think about it I remember Beth (?) from Little Women, exclaiming after her sister has sold her hair for Papa, "Meg! Your one beauty!!".

It hasn't always behaved as I would like and I have been known to fight it's very nature, but... the color....that's winning the genetic lottery right there.

Here I am with Andrew as a baby (pre-hair trauma):

It's growing out. Slowly but surely. And Rose, you are right - I can hardly keep my hands off of my porcupine scalp!

Hair Hell

2008-05-22T22:21:00.002-04:00

I'm not going to post of picture of it here, because it would just be too awful.

Buuuut....let me just say that two weeks ago my lovely hair stylist chemically straightened my crazy-curly hair. She has done this twice before, and I have had it done many, many times in my life. In all these times, never even the slightest incident.

However, due to some freak of hair nature, the chemicals totally went berserk on my head, eating into my scalp and totally wrecking the cuticle of large chunks of my hair.

The worst part? Now my hair has literally broken off in huge patches leaving about 1/2" of growth. If you rub my hair it feels like a teenage boy who's shaved his head and it's just growing in a little. Except I am able to do a bit of a comb-over.

Yes, I do feel like a total brat for writing this when there are so many brave, brave souls losing their hair to chemo, and I know there is general misery in the world.

Please understand that I'm not really complaining, as I am in total disbelief every time I look in the mirror. It's sort of awful, sort of hilarious.

Guess Who Turns 1 Today?

2008-05-14T09:52:00.002-04:00

It's hard to believe that I've been keeping this blog for a year now, and although I am late to work, I couldn't let the day go by without acknowledging my first anniversary.

When I started writing this blog I guess I did it to escape some of the sad things that were going on in my life. It quickly turned into a safe, nurturing, creative space for me - the adult equivalent of a child's treehouse.

So on this day, I send thanks to all of you who have been readers, cheerleaders, and inspirations.

Thank you, thank you.

Blah, blah, blah

2008-04-29T12:57:00.006-04:00

Sometimes I don't know why I entitled this blog something sewing-related when all I seem to do is post pictures of food:

A cake for my friend Patrick

Andrew having internal struggles over the cake

Beautiful roasted-tomato bread from Martha Stewart's Baking Handbook (Please, you must. make. today.)

Even my breakfast.

I really have been sewing, but nothing terribly interesting, and if it is interesting then it's probably a gift for a friend and something I can't post yet. Because, of course, my projects intended for friends ebb and flow as I decide between Yes, they'll love it and No, it's just too awful to even give away.

So we redid our dining room recently, and although the room isn't done (because somebody didn't order enough wallpaper) I am still just completely in love with the paper that we did hang. And by "we", of course I mean Terry Jones of Horizon Wallpaper, a gifted hanger and the sweetest man to draw breath. Check out the before/after shots:

Once everything is in and gussied, I'll post more pics. I just love it. The dining room was my least favorite room of the house until recently. Now I just want to sit in it and stare at the walls.

Finally, at the risk of sounding like a blubbering fool about my deep love for Durham, I want to share with you a project that my friend Jeff started. It's called The Monti, and features live narratives and short real stories - think The Moth meets NC. He's having it once a month (right now it's in Chapel Hill) and I'm excited about attending the May one. Check it out.

The Full Manti

2008-04-20T11:04:00.001-04:00

2008-04-10T15:31:00.006-04:00

I think there must be a real art to photographing quilts, because every attempt I made at getting a shot of this one failed. I made this back in February and have been meaning to post a picture of it. I feel like that's all I say these days: "I've been meaning to..., I've been meaning to...".

This little wallhanging quilt is what I made my grandmother for her 82nd birthday. That's her in the picture, with my grandfather. They've been married 62 years. Sixty-two!! 6-2! They grew up in a small coal town in WV, very poor. My grandmother was one of 16 kids. Sixteen!! 1-6! That picture was when they were about 17. It's my favorite picture of them, besides this one:

I was inspired to make this quilt after discovering the most luscious little book called "Quilted Memories" by Lesley Riley. I'm a loser at scrapbooking, not having the skill or patience required, but I relax around fabric. When my friend Melissa and I went antiquing this winter I found a huge bag of antique linens for $10 and used two pieces on this hanging: one was a dinner napkin and the other a linen handkerchief. I told my mother that this was my most favorite of all the things I have ever sewn, both because of the subject and the ease. Easy, I tell you!!

Last week I started a new job as a midwife in a health-dept prenatal clinic. It's intense, non-stop, whirlwind work but I am slowly adapting and am able to stay up for more than an hour after I get home. I love to lay my hands on a big, rotund abdomen and feel the waves of baby movements underneath. All that to say that my craftier sewing has fallen by the wayside, but I am trying my hand at simple garments to wear to work. Several little skirts, embellished with trim and buttons. Pics to come!

Spring

2008-03-25T12:55:00.002-04:00

I know that I've confessed that Halloween is my favorite holiday, but Easter is right up there. I have so many sweet sentiments attached to Easter: as a baby I was baptized on Easter, 28 yrs later I found out I was pregnant on Easter, and a year after that my baby was baptized on Easter. Plus, being in our house is like living in a little Easter egg, with all of its cheery pastels.

This year we hosted some family over the weekend and I tried my hand at Nigella's chocolate honey cake. I had put off making this cake for years out of basic frugality - it calls for about a cup of honey. About 2 weeks ago a Rx rep brought lunch to our office and left about two cups of honey in a container for us to have with dessert. No one even opened it and it was about to meet its end in the trash (what a pity!!!). Fortuitously, I swooped in and greedily salvaged it for this recipe.

Although my affection for Nigella runs deep and wide, we almost had to break up after I baked this cake. For some reason, it caved in in the center and the glaze didn't do a very good job covering the bumpy sides. I spent a while cursing the loss of all that honey, but when I finally tasted it, Nigella was back in my most loving gastronomic embrace: it was heavenly. My eyes about rolled back in my head. It was both heady and light, rich but not so sweet, and the honey was mellow and subtle.

So, if you are planning to make this (and please do), might I offer the suggestion of baking it in a water bath, and then when glazing, add a bit more powered sugar and let it set up a bit before drenching your masterpiece. As for the marzipan bees, they're cute, but didn't add much to the cake. I simply had a can of marzipan ready to expire, so I used it here. But wouldn't some gold leaf be gorgeous on top?

My embroidery machine has been hot, hot, hot as well. I've gotten pretty good and navigating it and creating some spontaneous projects. Last fall I found these new, pretty pink napkins at Goodwill, and Friday I spent an hour running them through the machine for some personalization. Lately I've felt a real creative pull toward adornment and re-purposing of items. It's not so much in the name of being "green" as it is just taking pleasure in finding unexpected uses for common things. Plus - for the celebration of the Resurrection, what could be more satisfying than giving items new life?

You Mean You Don't Know What These Are?

2008-02-26T22:16:00.005-05:00

Come on, now, folks! Has no one who loved you ever taken the time to crochet you enormous pathogens of our good friends Chlamydia, Gonorrhea, Syphilis and Herpes?

Too bad. You must not work in an STD clinic and appreciate these types of gifts. My colleague Ashley's getting these tomorrow and she's going to love them.

If you want some of your very own (toy STDs, not real ones) go to this site, the inspiration for my little critters. However, if you already have some of your very own, you're going to have to email me directly, because kiddo, that's another blog entry all together.

MIA

2008-01-27T15:25:00.000-05:00

Oh, dear. I cannot believe how long it's been since I've written anything here. I'm not going to offer up excuses, but it seems like the holidays had their way with me and then there was January, a month sure to suck whatever life force you have right down the drain.

So since I last wrote, 2 significant things have happened: I turned 31 and (more significantly) I got an embroidery machine for Christmas. Oh the joy!!! The ironic thing about the obscene amount of pleasure I am taking in this machine is that I myself am not a big fan of monogramming and embroidered things. I liked them when I got them for Andrew, but I don't think I took it upon myself to have even one thing personalized for him. But now....lordy. Everything is in danger of being branded with initials or some other charming doodad. It really is loads of fun and makes such wonderful gifts.

Honestly, I have to fight the impulse to embroider inappropriate things on items, because custom embroidered things are usually so, well...precious. My friend and colleague Ashley (and remember, I work as a practitioner in an STD clinic) is always kidding about how she is the self-designated Queen of Syphilis (although she jokingly pronounces it "Slif-lus"), since she somehow seems to treat so many folks with it. It is all I can do to restrain myself from stitching that on a shirt for her. I really may have to do it.

So...from syphilis to cooking. I've been trying my hand at some eclectic cuisine with fabulous results. When we lived in NYC my sister and her Turkish boyfriend would take us to a restaurant called Ali Baba in the east 30s. I would always order Manti (and nearly everything else on the menu) and have craved them ever since. When I saw the recipe in Martha Stewart Living I decided to try my hand at them. They're like a tiny little ravioli, but in typical middle-Eastern style, delicate and delicious and very frustrating to master. But totally worth it. Pete said they might be his very favorite food ever.

I have to go now - a neighbor is bringing over hot scones (how luscious!) but I promise to not be such a blogging loser anymore. It feels good to be home.

birthdays

2007-12-11T14:12:00.001-05:00

I had such a sweet time making the little Lucias from Alicia's kit. I noticed today that she set up a flickr group for folks to share images of their little creations, but for lazy me, this is as far as I got in terms of photographing them, all naked and disembodied.

Andrew turned 2 last week and we really didn't do a very good job of celebrating in style. He wanted soy-dogs and pickles for dinner, so that's what he got, along with a chocolate-chip muffin disguised as a cupcake. It's Nigella's recipe and true to the British custom of not being achingly sweet. I could have eaten four in one sitting. Pete brought me flowers for our little man's birthday , a tradition I love. One of my close friends, Cory, had her second baby on Sunday. She and I went to midwifery school together and were neighbors in Brooklyn and pregnant at the same time with our firsts. She's a midwife now at the fabulous, deeply-needed birth center at Roosevelt Hosp. in NYC. Cory's the yin to my yang - she's in all ways very soft, very tender. When I asked her how her birth was, she said, "Terrible". When I asked her why, she sighed, "Well, you know - it was normal". Although I hate she had a rough labor (I'm sure waiting in traffic at the Holland Tunnel nearly in transition didn't help) I am oddly comforted by the fact that even she, who acquiesces so effortlessly through the jagged bits of life, was challenged by the overwhelming task of labor.

Maybe it's just because I'm a midwife, but I've always been curious about why the birth part of Christmas isn't addressed more. I can't imagine the vulnerability of Mary as she struggled along the streets of Bethlehem, looking for a place to have her baby. And I love the idea that most of the most meaningful events of our lives happen in common places, lowly places...that we can find our greatest joys in times of struggle and stillness.

Wherefore Art Thou?

2007-12-04T11:35:00.000-05:00

Hello! Here I am.

Sorry I've been so MIA. I think I'm finally starting to feel the effects of my new job juxtaposed with my more "creative" life. The job is wonderful but there is no denying I have less time (and mojo) than I did a month ago.

Christmas is in full swing here in our little house. I started coming up with some decorations this summer and it's been a real treat to start accessorizing with shiny baubles. Last Saturday I made a trip to the Scrap Exchange to check out their Christmas stock. All in all, a total success. Here's a picture of me upon my return. Pete wouldn't even let me in the door before he captured my gluttonous holiday hoarding. But all for less than $30! And yes, those are three trees you see, for a grand total of 4 in our home, hence a level of festivity Bo and I decided was markedly redneck. But only one is lit, which brings the tacky quotient down a little. However, it is made out of white tinsel, so I guess I'm back where I started.

I received the Lucia Doll Kit yesterday from Alicia and it is so darling. This afternoon I am going to huddle up in my studio, sip hot chocolate, listen to old holiday episodes of This American Life and construct the little Lucias. I've also been giving a lot of thought about what to give friends this year. I've never been a big shopper or extravagant gift-giver but I think it's lovely to leave a little "happy" for the people who've been so special and generous all year long. This year I think I'm going to give bags filled with large cubed, powdered-sugar dusted homemade marshmallows and a tin of Trader Joe's sipping chocolate.

I've made marshmallows once before, under different circumstances. In the fall of 2003 NYC was so painfully frigid I would literally go to the furthest lengths of reason to avoid going outside unnecessarily. The day before Thanksgiving I was making some rocky-road fudge to take to my in-laws when I realized I was out of marshmallows. Instead of hauling my body 10 blocks up along the Hudson to the grocery store I decided to make the marshmallows instead. Our kitchen was so tiny - more like a small walk-in closet with an oven and a sink, and the marshmallows were a horrific mess. But....absolutely sublime.

Giving Thanks

2007-11-22T19:29:00.000-05:00

I think it's fair to say that the past year has been pretty rough, family wise. Not with me and Pete, but with others who are important to us. There have been many sad times coping with these new challenges, this redefining of what it is to be in relationship with others. The changes have also meant some geographic shifts as well, and for the first time in our lives we were without family at Thanksgiving.

Although we joked about how fun it would be just to order pizza and watch movies all day, I felt a little sad at the starkness of it all. Thanksgiving has always been one of my very favorite holidays and the idea of passing it by unceremoniously seemed a shame.

Sunday we ran into our good friend Julie at the park. She and her husband have two beautiful young children and we've been blessed with the friendship of her family this year. She asked about our Thanksgiving plans and learning we had none, immediately invited us to join her family for dinner.

I baked some sides and desserts and today we congregated at Julie's with another family from the neighborhood, also with family far away. Both Julie and her husband have lost their mothers within the last year, and my own losses were heavy in my heart. There we were, three young couples gathered together, bringing food to share, celebrating the gifts in our lives, nourishing bodies and souls in the midst of a challenging year.

I know that many years from now when we likely will have a house full of our own children and even grandchildren, when the wrinkles of this year have long been smoothed, I will think back on this year, this tender afternoon, as one of my most cherished feasts...truly connected to the spirit of the first thanks-giving.

Fever

2007-11-18T08:57:00.000-05:00

Every time I finish a little quilt I think, "That was fun, but never again."

But look at this! Isn't she beautiful? I think I have the fever. Joelle Hoverson's book is really incredible - and just in time for the holidays.

Does anyone have any tips on prewashing fabric? I did this for the first time yesterday and spent an hour between the washing and drying cutting out the huge thread knots that developed in the wash and bound all my pieces into one huge ball of mess.

Micromovements

2007-11-12T15:34:00.000-05:00

Today I feel like one of those spazzy little moths at a porch light. All these things need to get done, and I attempt them, but only in little erratic chunks. I feel exhausted from having been out of town but also restless. It's a day when I just put one little step ahead of the other, little micromovements to stave off futility. I think I'm suffering from a bit of craft burn-out too. So many projects other people are doing are so interesting and inspiring and festive, but something isn't connecting the crafting center in my brain to the actual doing center.

The only task of significance that I was able to accomplish in its entirety today was a culinary exploration of our new Gourmet cookbook. Pete found it at a thrift shop ($3!) and I spent our whole car ride yesterday pouring over the recipes. I made turkey meatloaf for dinner tonight, and I'm serving almond-flecked green beans and garlic mashed potatoes. I even made soft ginger-molasses spice cookies for dessert. Honestly, this is a type of all-American meal that I hardly every cook, but I know it's Pete's ultimate comfort food and I enjoy it too, on these dark, chilly evenings.

Baked Goods

2007-11-07T12:48:00.001-05:00

My house smells so delicious right now I just want to walk around with my tongue out, attempting to taste the air. The braided sweet breads above have been passed down to me from grandmother to mother and have become a bit of my specialty as well. I start baking them in November and work straight through the holidays, kneading and rolling and filling and braiding. I find them gratifying in every way: they look impressive, smell heavenly, and taste so good it's all I can do not to go at them face-first.

So here's the recipe, and I'm sorry I can't find the source. I cannot urge you strongly enough to make these. They're a bit fiddley, but not difficult. One caveat: I would encourage you to make these on a day when you have a long stretch of time to kill. Light the fire, turn on TCM or NPR , and prepare to be adored.

Special Occasion Sweet Braids

Makes 4 large braids

Dough: Dissolve 2 pkgs yeast and 1 t. sugar in one cup of warm water. Wait 5 minutes. Combine 2/3 c. sugar, 1 t. salt, 1/2 c. soft butter, and 1/2 c. shortening in mixer bowl. Add 1 c. hot water, stirring until fats melt. Cool slightly. Add dissolved yeast mixture and stir well. Add 2 eggs (slightly beaten) and 3 c. flour, sifted. Beat at med. speed until dough is smooth. Gradually add 3.5 more cups flour until you have a soft, smooth dough. Grease bowl and let rise for and hour or more, until doubled in bulk. Turn onto floured surface and punch down. Divide into 4 equal portions and roll each portion into 9" by 12" rectangles. Cut each rectangle into 3 strips, longwise. Spread 1/4 c. fillling (recipe below) and seal strips. Fold ends under and braid. Transfer to sheet pan to rise about 40 minutes. Bake at 325 for 35-40 minutes. Drizzle glaze (recipe below) on warm breads.

Filling:

Mix 2 pkgs cream cheese (softened) with 1/2 c. soft butter, 3/4 c. brown sugar, 2 t. cinnamon, 1 t. vanoilla and 1/2 c. walnuts or pecans.

Glaze: 1/4 c. soft butter, 1 lb. powered sugar, 1/3-1/2 c. milk, 1 t. vanilla.

These freeze beautifully and I think they're even better after being thawed.

So the market went pretty well, but remember this post? Yeah, kinda how I felt when I first got there. It's hard not to be intimidated by all of the other folks there - really incredible things.

For me, the most fantastic thing about this show were the lovely people I met. I had the incredible fortune of sitting beside Miss Tess of Made By Tess, and across the way from Brooke Cassady, who made this beautiful vessel:

Tess traded me some cakes for this apron. Sweets for sweets.

'Started my job last week and am looooving it, but very tired. Off to bed.

I'll get you, my pretty!

2007-10-29T14:50:00.001-04:00

Saturday we hosted a Halloween party for 20 of our sweet friends and their kiddos. I think it will have to be the first annual.

I made lots of sweet treats and watched our home fill up with witches and lions and monkeys - oh, my!

It was one of those warm, sweet autumn days...

Even though I feel as if I have a thousand irons in the fire, I took a singular pleasure in throwing this little party. No pressure, and it was such a scrumptious way to start off the holiday season.

Giving and Receiving

2007-10-22T14:14:00.000-04:00

We've just returned from a long weekend in WV. We went because my friend Beth was having a baby shower and since my mother is in CA we had the pleasure of staying with my grandparents, who live next door to the home in which I grew up.

There's no place on earth as comforting to me as my grandparent's sweet house. Although my family life has largely not turned out as I thought it would, my grandparents and their haven in the woods have stayed constant. I'm one of the very few and fortunate people who have a set of idyllic grandparents straight out of a movie. They're among my favorite people on earth, and the only people that these days I can spend time with and feel utterly cared for. I've been needing that kind of connection and tenderness for a long time.

Their home is sacred ground to me, not only because I practically grew up in it, but also because I was married there. See that rhododendron bush in the background behind the little statue? We were married right in front of it.

My grandmother is 4'11" tall and I am nearly 6 ft, and although we are a completely mismatched pair we are alot the same on the inside. Except she is infinitely gentle and kind. Mammy is a gifted cook and certainly the reason I have such an affinity for the kitchen myself. When I think of the tastes of my life I inevitably come back to her food: hot rolls, roast beef, apple pies, biscuits, stewed apples, creamed tomatoes. Many years ago I began to ask her to teach me how to make her food and she would spend hours guiding me through pie crusts and yeast breads. It is painful beyond words to think of my own children not knowing her they way I have, so I'm nearly obsessed with filling their memories with the tastes and aromas of her home so they can always have a connection to her.

Check out her pantry. Pete and I just crack up:

I finished up the quilt just in time for the shower and I think Beth really liked it.

I'm curious.... Does anyone else sometimes struggle with giving handmade gifts? I'm just asking because I feel that my spirit of gift-giving changes if I've actually made the gift. When I make something for someone else I usually don't have feelings that I want to keep it, but what I do struggle with are the expectations I have of the recipient. It's really so unfair, because so much of the crafter goes into a gift, what is an appropriate response? This really isn't about this particular gift because she was totally tickled with the quilt, but any time I give a handcrafted gift, I really do give a bit of my heart away with it. And I suppose in gift-giving, as in love, you need to be careful who you give your heart to. I guess I'm fortunate to have lots of sappy friends who love sentimental stuff as much as I do.

The Handmade Market is in just 2 weeks and I am really working furiously to try to get everything completed in time, so please forgive me if I am Bad Blogger for the next little bit. I'm also hosting a Cut-the-Pumpkin Party for the neighborhood kids on Saturday and haven't even planned a daggum thing. But what could be bad about even a lame Halloween party? Absolutely nothing.

Sunday Fair

2007-10-14T22:32:00.001-04:00

There's something so old-fashioned about a state fair. So Rogers and Hammerstein. I just love them.

I'd never been to the NC fair before but was so delighted by our morning there.

We saw the sweetest little animals. These piglets remind me of the one that my sister had as a child. Don't be fooled: they are strong and loud. We lived in a nice residential neighborhood and before the pig got too big my sister would put a fuchsia and rhinestone leash on it, don high heels, and walk that swine around the block. As it got older it would get out of its pin and folks would leave messages on our voicemail saying, "Uhmmm...there's a pig in our yard, and I'm thinking it might be yours... ".

This is I.M. That's his name. His owner told me that he is a stud donkey and that he has 12 girlfriends. What a job. I told him I thought I.M.'s name should be Hef.

So of course the best thing about a fair is the crap food, and Pete and I ate our fair share of tubular meat and funnel cakes and apple cider.

The fair has a sweet, Mayberry-type feel to it. We were there on Sunday morning so there were gospel sings.

I think these are mules. Such docile creatures, and so content.

It does. It really does.

Withdrawal

2007-10-12T17:07:00.001-04:00

In an unfortunate turn of fate, we lost our internet connection sometime Monday night. When I woke up Tues morning to persistent "cannot find server" messages I thought I was going to be sick and hysterical all at the same time and went around the house screaming, "But it's my only contact with the outside world!!!!".

So for three days I have soldiered on, trying to imagine how I got through my life before the days of the WWW. Several times a day I would frantically check - has it come back on? Nothing. My name is Jill and I have an internet addiction.

But then this afternoon - a miracle!! It's fixed!! My hands literally shook with glee as I bopped from one site to another, barely daring to believe it's true. My son, who has never watched a TV program was allowed 30 minutes of all-access Thomas the Train viewing on YouTube. It was the virtual equivalent of the scene in Willy Wonka where the gluttonous children are allowed to gorge themselves on the edible world. That was me - the fat kid from Germany.

Workin'. Sorta.

2007-10-07T16:43:00.000-04:00

There's come to be a running joke in our house that by the time the market rolls around in early November, my hands will be so gnarled and arthritic from incessant crocheting that if anyone wants to buy an item I will have to wrap it up with my toes and have them place the money between my teeth.

I did manage to step away long enough this weekend to have a lovely visit with one of my BFFs, Kerri, and her cute kiddo. I wish I'd gotten some pictures, but it's hard to balance a camera when you have a glass of wine in one hand and a honkin' slab of flourless chocolate cake in the other. And the girl brought me homemade apple butter. Bless her.

Thanks for all of your generous congrats about my job. I decided to take down the post I wrote last Friday because even though I don't like to be my own worst censor, I do try to be conscientious of the energy contained in a post. I was feeling crabby and funky when I wrote that, so I kicked it to the curb. But I did save your kind words - y'all are just the nicest.

You Asked for It

2007-10-03T22:28:00.000-04:00

too. much. wine.

must. sleeeeeeep.

But before I do, here's the recipe for the cake, taken from Martha's Baking Handbook. I'm sure I'm violating tons of copyright laws by publishing this, so copy it quickly - or better yet, buy her book. You won't regret it.

Apple Spice Cake with Goat-Cheese Frosting

Ingredients:
1 3/4 cups plus 1/3 cup sugar
1 1/2 lbs (about 4) McIntosh apples, peeled cored and cut into chunks
2 tsp fresh lemon juice
2 sticks (1 cup) unsalted butter at room temperature
3 1/4 cups all purpose flour, plus more for pans
2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp cinnamon
1/4 tsp all spice
1/4 tsp ground ginger
1/8 tsp grated nutmeg
1/2 cup milk
1 tsp vanilla
1/4 cup honey
4 large eggs
Cream Cheese Frosting

Directions:

In a medium sauce pan, spread 1/3 cup sugar in an even layer, cook over medium high hear, without stirring, until sugar begins to turn golden and melt around the edges (3-4 min). Using a wooden spoon, slowly stir until meted and mixture is a translucent golden amber. Add apple chunks and lemon juice, and stir to coat apple pieces with caramel. Cover and cook over low heat until apples fall apart, 6-8 minutes. Continue cooking, stirring frequently, until mixture reaches the consistency of applesauce and generously coats the back of the spoon, about 5 minutes more. Remove from heat and cool completely.

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Using butter wrappers, grease 3 6-2” round cake pans (or 2 9-2” pans); line bottoms with parchment paper. Butter parchment, and dust with flour, tapping out excess; set aside. Into a medium bowl, sift together flour, baking soda, baking powder, salt, cinnamon, allspice, ginger and nutmeg; set aside. In a small bowl, combine milk and vanilla; set aside.

In the bowl of an electric mixer, beat the butter, remaining 1 3/4 cups of sugar, and honey on medium high speed until light and fluffy, 3-4 minutes, scraping down the sides of the bowl as needed. Add eggs, one at a time, beating for 1 minute after each addition, until smooth.

With mixer on low speed, add flour mixture in 3 parts, alternating with the milk mixture and beginning and ending with flour, beat until just combined after each, being careful not to overmix. Add cooled applesauce; mix to combine, about 1 minute.

Divide the batter among prepaired pans. Bake, rotating pans halfway through (don’t think you can get away w/o rotating the pans, until the cakes pull away from the sides of the pans and a toothpick inserted in the centers comes out clean, 35-40 minutes (40-45 min if using 9” pans). Transfer pans to a wire rack to cool 20 minutes. Run a knife or offset spatula around the edges. Invert cakes onto the rack; peel off parchment paper. Reinvert cakes and let them cool completely, top sides up.

Frost with Goat Cheese Icing . You can use all cream cheese if you want, but the goat cheese was delish.

Goat Cheese Frosting

12 oz. goat cheese, room temperature
4 ounces cream cheese, room temperature
1 cup confectioners’ sugar
2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract

Put cheeses into the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the paddle attachment. Mix on medium-high speed until smooth. Reduce speed to medium-low, and mix in sugar and vanilla. Raise speed to medium-high, and mix until fluffy, 5 to 7 minutes.

So much to say so little. And cake.

2007-10-01T11:11:00.000-04:00

You know when something happens that is humiliating or embarrassing and everyone takes that opportunity to remind you that one day you'll laugh about it? So not true.

In October, 1996, my college BFF, Kerri, and I decided to, on a whim, audition for a production at our small college. Typically these productions were the near-exclusive purvey of the theatre department, but we went to the auditions with relative confidence because we'd gotten it on good authority that the "real" actors - those souls brave enough to declare a theatre major - weren't interested in the show and therefore wouldn't be auditioning. We knew most of those folks socially, a few even a bit more than socially, and neither one of us wanted to make fools of ourselves with an audience. It was only under the condition of their absence we even considered it - we were sensible biology and psych majors whose only interest in college theatre up to this point was trying to score a little play with the actors themselves. (Bad pun, and really it was only me - Kerri knew better.) We'd just go for fun, we decided, because who wants to be in a play about Pentecostal snake handlers anyway? This would just be good practice in case we ever really did want parts in a show. Like My Fair Lady.

Long story short, we end up auditioning and - surprise! - were joined in said audition by every single member of the theatre department. It was an open audition and so, so embarrassing, and Kerri and I were going about it all kind of half-assed and badly, and all these cute theatre boys we were friends with and kind of liked (again, I guess just me) were staring at us like we were nuts and I went through the motions thinking, Oh my God - I just want to be home studying mitochondria.

People - they made us sing. Alone.

After that debacle she and I left the theatre clutching our abdomens in pain and embarrassment and I think I even threw up a little. Eleven years later the memory of that evening still causes bile to rise in my throat. It was so bad, it just never got funny. Kerri agrees.

My close friend Bo - front and center - was always the star of these productions (weren't 'cha, Bo? Don't deny it.) and true to form he was to play the Star Snake Handler. In quite possibly the worst consolation prize of all time, the stage manager asked me (after decidedly not being cast in the show) to be assistant stage manager. The show was quite dramatic, and at in one scene Bo had to violently destroy a wooden crate (you know - the kind they keep snakes in at your church. They do keep snakes in wooden crates at your church, don't they?). Taking one for Team Theatre (and we all know what team that is), he ended up squishing a finger which quickly turned a deep shade of aubergine. Ever crafty, I knit him a bright red finger cozy to hide his disfigurement. A bright red finger cozy. Beat that, Martha.

All of that to say that when Bo joked on my last post that I needed a finger cozy, he was so right. My middle finger on my left hand is agonizingly tender and callused after 3 straight days of crocheting pieces of fruit and flowers the size of my thumbnail. But aren't they cute? Norma Lynn gave me permission to recreate them and I'm donating the proceeds from them to an animal charity in her honor.

I made this cake as well over the weekend. It's the same one Kerri made for us a few weeks ago, and I spread the wealth to my visiting grandparents. It was prettier in life, and absolutely heavenly. You just can't beat a homemade cake.

The Chosen One

2007-09-28T10:02:00.001-04:00

Yea! I was one of the vendors selected to participate in The Handmade Market, a bi-annual showcase and sale of wares from local and national artists and craftspeople. Vendor submissions are juried in and so I didn't figure I stood much of a chance, but who knew?

It will be held in Raleigh on November 3rd. Since nearly everything I make is made-to-order I have next to no inventory. It's been one big scramble since I found out to craft, craft, craft. I'll be selling my baby cloths, the banners, and lots of fabulous crocheted beauties.

Up again all night at a fabulous delivery, so I'm writing once again from a birth-induced stupor. Oh, FYI - things are looking good on the professional front. Thanks for all of your words of support...I'll fill you in as things become a bit more concrete.

Enjoy your weekend, friends...

xoxo

Done

2007-09-26T08:51:00.000-04:00

The quilt is finally pieced! I finished it up late last night and am so pleased with it. Every time I quilt I am hyper-critical and panicked up until the very last second, then all of a sudden, magically, it seems to come together. I will post a picture of it when it is quilted and bound. Thank you to all of you who had such fabulous ideas for the center square - they made me want to attempt them all! It was Johanna, however, whose idea ended up in the final piece...it beautifully captured the sentiment I wanted to communicate. Thanks, Johanna.

I have been on a domestic bender lately. This weekend I cleaned out my pantry to prepare for the high holy days, Baking Season. I made sure my foodstuffs were stocked and organized, took inventory of my spices, and purchased all the staples necessary to whip up fall deliciousness. In an act of rare kitchen meticulousness I even took my baking sheets into the back yard, saturated them with oven-cleaner and scrubbed them down to their original silver complexion.

Monday night I made Martha's polenta with mushrooms, but I didn't plan far enough in advance so we ended up having the mushrooms over soft polenta - I highly recommend it. Last night I made Sara Foster's salad of roasted butternut squash with black-eyed peas and goat cheese. We about licked our plates. And pear crisp. How lucky is Peter?

Does anyone else start to feel a little itchy this time of year? Galadriel is so right about September - I'm always glad to see it come and always glad to see it go, so I can get down to the real business of fall. I've also been doing a little investigating into finding some part-time work. I think it's time - I've really sensed lately that Andrew would benefit from some time out of the house, and even more than that - I would too.

I graduated from midwifery school in May of 2005 and then had Andrew in December, so I never got to really practice. Now as I'm looking for clinic work I often feel a little insecure - partly because I don't have tons of experience, and partly because I've been out of the 'force for a while. What's worse than feeling insecure is feeling desperate. I feel kinda' desperate. Like right now I'm waiting to hear about a position at an STD clinic (don't laugh - I would love the job) and it's making me a little bit of a nervous wreck.

I think when you're not out there, it's hard to have a grasp on the big professional picture. Every suitable job presents itself to me as a singular treasure - it's now or never. But of course that isn't true. I have found, though, that while doing the work of mothering, society's thankless job, I am much more vulnerable to any kind of perceived derision of my professional value. I think that's because on my lowest days of mothering, when I question every judgment, every feeling I'm having, somewhere in the back of my mind I know what I am good at. I know this because, daggumit, NYU told me so! It even gave me honors in it! So when I'm not interviewed, or told that I'm not a great fit for a position, my core competencies - that small reserve of certainty - feel threatened.

My friend Stephanie maintains that it doesn't have to be an all-or-nothing thing; most mothers are just looking for balance. I feel this really acutely much of the time...it reminds me of that old commercial where people walked through their day completely tilted toward one side.

But until I'm balanced in that way, I'm moving forward, finding peace in my home.

Sleep-Deprived

2007-09-23T16:55:00.001-04:00

When Pete and I moved to North Carolina I was 36 weeks pregnant and I had exactly one weekend (by myself) to find a home for us and our new family. I chose one on the outskirts of Durham against my better judgment. Now I wish I hadn't been such a little snob.

Durham is a really lovely town - kinda gritty, kinda highbrow - qualities I love in both cities and friends. We went to the farmer's market on Saturday and ran into some birth center friends (and babies!) and got lots of yummy finds. Check out the purple pepper!

Pete made a pizza to celebrate the weekend. Man, it was good.

I worked most of the night at the birth center last night so that's why this post probably doesn't make much sense. For some reason I had a hard time falling asleep this morning so I went to Trader Joe's by myself and it was lovely. Sometimes after I've assisted with a birth and I do something really ordinary like go to the grocery store I think, " I wonder if anyone else in here saw a birth this morning?". Probably not.

I'd never bought fresh figs before and something told me to get them while I could. I don't know what I was prepared for, but I had always thought that the skin of a fig was tough and bitter. Wrong. It's tender and yielding and fragile. And the inside of a fig...no wonder it's associated with fertility.

I hope you had a wonderful weekend. I really need to get some food and sleep, but until next time, here's a flower for you:

Stitchin'

2007-09-19T09:05:00.001-04:00

Lots of sewing around these parts.

I wanted to share with you some more of the banners I've been making. I've come up with a construction that's working really well: 1/8" Pellon interfacing between the layers of fabric. The interfacing makes them stiff but not too rigid. I've also been trying my hand at machine applique and have been tickled with the results.

This first picture is of a banner that a friend asked me to make for a baby shower. The rest of the nursery had come from this cute set at Target, and she wanted something that would match (apparently the mom is very matchy-matchy). I photoshopped the banner into the Target product pic.

This one I was asked to make for a little guy in the neighborhood, Mr. Jack, who arrived 6 weeks early to a half-decorated pirate-themed room. The end pieces on these were especially cute.

Ah, so many projects, so little nap-time for Andrew...

A Rose City By Any Other Name

2007-09-18T09:11:00.000-04:00

Hello again, friends!! Have you missed me?

When my dear friend Bo told me last year that he was thinking about moving from NYC to Portland, OR, I thought he was a bit full of it, since up until a few months before we'd never lived more than a few miles from each other. But daggum if he didn't do it.

So after a few months of planning, I flew out to Oregon, all alone (!) to visit with my sweet friend and see what all the hub-bub was about. So I have to admit: aaahhhhhhhh. Portland is incredible. Did y'all know this?

He took me all around town, to Saint Honore Boulangerie, which I'd first read about on Alicia's blog, and then of course to the Rose Garden, where those sweet little flowers had waited on me before deciding to give up for the season.

We rented a car (Which is an another blog entry in itself. Let's just say we drove something like 15 hrs without a CD player or a tape deck, and the only stations that ever came in completely clear were Contemporary Christian. Those stations must stream straight from God, because they never lost strength, even in the most rural of Oregon back-country. There's a metaphor in there somewhere.) and drove I-5 down to Grant's Pass and then up 17 of the most curvy-hairpin roads I've even been on. And I'm from WV. If you were on this road that day you may have seen us: We were the ones in the electric-blue compact, a cute guy at the wheel and his travel companion leaning her head out the side window, trying not to vomit.

What awaited for us was lovely and worth it, The Chateau at the Oregon Caves, or as Bo calls it, The Ewok Village. As good little tourists should, we hauled it through a tour through the caves and then on a little hike over the mountain.

Driving away, we repeated the same sad scene on the way down the mountain and then headed over toward the coast on a road that remains nameless. Not for confidentiality, just truly nameless. After winding our way through a one-lane path for about 15 miles, we came to this:

Lovely. We took it pretty well.

So up the coast via another route, to the coup de grace: The Oregon Dunes, undoubtedly the highlight of our journey. To get to the beach, you must hike first down the grand dunes and then through a bit of a dense trail. I told Bo I though we should reenact that heartbreaking scene from The English Patient where Ralph Fiennes carries Kristin Scott Thomas's limp body out of the cave and down the dunes. Surprisingly, he declined.

It's funny: ever since Bo moved clear across the country I have been desperate to have him back east. I hate the time difference and knowing that our visits are so infrequent after over 10 yrs of being joined at the proverbial hip. But seeing Oregon, I just fell in love with it too. It's like when your best friend tells you she's dating the most wonderful man and you will just love him and won't mind that he's moving her to some place like Provo and you are just sooo ready not to like him. But then you meet him, and of course you do just love him, and see how happy she is and instead of saying, "Nope - not worth it - just come back to me," you end up saying, "You are a lucky duck - have fun in Provo!!!".

That's how I feel.

On another note, thank you for all of your quilt suggestions. I didn't give much detail about the situation with this quilt in an earlier post because I didn't want my friend to see it, but since I am almost positive that she doesn't read this thing, I will give you a little more info. My friend is Beth and has been one of my best friends since I was about 9 yrs old. Her lovely mother died very suddenly of cancer when we were 14. At 25 yrs old, married for less than a year, she was faced with a heartbreaking decision: her brother had a daughter from a relationship years ago. The mother of her niece had subsequently had another daughter with another man. All parents involved became unable to care for the girls and they were going to be placed in foster care. So, overnight, she and her amazing husband decided to take the girls, then aged 8 and 5. They since have fought for, and won, permanent custody. Now, 5 yrs later, she and her husband are expecting another girl in December.

I can hardly write her story without sobbing, and I want the quilt to really honor all of the women in her life: the one who left her so early, and the three who she is now mothering. Really, she should probably get some sort of show in her honor from Oprah, but for now the quilt will have to do. It means alot to me that your kind and thoughtful suggestions are now part of the spirit of my gift to her.

I woke up this morning to the best 'welcome home' present ever - cool weather. Between that and my trip, my spirits are soaring. Grease the popover pan - fall's finally here.

Call for Submissions

2007-09-11T23:00:00.000-04:00

Without getting into too much detail, I have a question for my talented readers:

I am making a quilt for a baby and would love for the center medallion to reflect the lineage of women in her family. Any suggestions? Thank you, thank you, thank you.

This thing has to be made soon. Oh, dear.

A Sorta' Fairytale

2007-09-11T10:24:00.001-04:00

Once upon a time there was a lovely princess, who lived in a beautiful bungalow in the great kingdom of North Carolina.

This princess was loved by everyone. She was so gentle and kind it was hard to hate her for having rock-hard postpartum abs.

When company would come from far and wide to visit her kingdom and royal family she and Prince PM would prepare lavish meals for a feast in the countryside.

Like chilled blueberry soup.

And proper tea sandwiches.

As a treat to the fair ladies, she would take them to Royal Fabric Palace, where you could acquire things like this:

and this:

Upon returning to her magical cottage, great banquets would appear and guests would immediately be stuffed with delicious food and fine wine.

Little nymphs would be present for entertainment.

And there in her enchanted manor, the princess and her family lived happily ever after.

The end.

Gussy

2007-09-07T16:43:00.000-04:00

There is positively no indication around these parts that we are now well into September, as the temperature continues to hover in the 90s. However, I know that The Most Fabulous Day of The Year, Halloween, is on the way when I start seeing little ones wearing their costumes at the grocery store. I just love that. I remember being a child and being so excited about my get-up, aching to wear it every day, sad that it was the annual version of a wedding dress: much ado about a few hours.

I remain a huge fan of playing dress-up. I bought some fantastic clothes this week for an upcoming trip and spent the entire evening trying them on with nearly everything else in my closet, bugging Pete every 15 minutes to Look At Me!!! How cute am I??

My sister Suzanne and I grew up in a small town in WV and we were kinda obsessed with New York City (where, sure enough, we would both end up living). When Suzanne was in high school she scored a copy of Kevin Aucoin's Making Faces and we would spend hour upon hour at our matching vanities, trying to replicate his magic. We have a great-aunt who used to live in NYC in the forties because she was married to a war-correspondent from the NY Times. They never had children, he died ages ago, and when she moved out of her home into assisted-care (she's in her 90s), her belongings were divvied up between family members. Suzanne and I nearly lost our minds as we were given carte blanche access to swanky vintage gowns, bags, scarves and gloves - which we both still wear.

my pretty sister

I don't think this love of "gettin' gussied" has ever left either one of us. To this day, when Suzanne walks in a room you notice. Sadly, these days What I Wear is simply What Isn't Very Dirty. But on those rare occasions when I dress-up, I feel her inside of me...that 6-yr-old who never wanted to take off her Wonder Woman costume, the armor of power and beauty.

Again,

2007-09-05T22:42:00.000-04:00

thank you. Your incredible words of advice put me into a different perspective, well-needed and appreciated by all.

You ladies are fantastic and wise.

xoxo to you.

j.

21 Months

2007-09-05T12:04:00.000-04:00

Andrew turns 21 months old today. So I am laying myself at the feet of you more experienced mothers and pleading: Does it get any easier?

Some days he is a sweet as spring rain, and others (many others) he behaves as the Angel of Death.

I feel like my bag of tricks is empty, and my patience is in critical condition.

Did anyone else want to dotate their 21-month-old gypsies on occasion?? No one seems to talk about it. So far, this post from Dooce is my only consolation.

Longing

2007-09-04T10:07:00.000-04:00

I'm not much of a clothing shopper. I tend to let my wardrobe reach desperate stages before I buy new clothes, partly because I hate to try stuff on my post-partum body, and partly because I hate to spend the money.

Yesterday, in an uncharacteristic spurt of retail-induced energy, I browsed our local mall and ended up in J. Crew. I like J. Crew all right, it's just never really been love. Until now. When I locked eyes upon these beauties my heart skipped a beat, my mouth went dry and my knees weak. I had to have them.

But, alas, at nearly $200 a pop, I would have to love from afar.

It's like seeing the most beautiful boy at school, all to discover he dates the head cheerleader.

Damn cheerleaders.

To Market, To Market

2007-09-02T20:35:00.001-04:00

I always need to remind myself that if I want to enjoy a day but am uncertain what to do, I should proceed directly to the Farmer's Market.

I ate a whole pound of cherry tomatoes, dirt and all, while selecting other produce.

We made a dinner from our finds and ate it outside in this gorgeous weather.

This is the sweetest little peach I saw all day, though:

Popover Morning

2007-09-02T09:46:00.000-04:00

Popovers are the magical breakfast food.

Such humble beginnings, such triumphant results.

Popover Recipe

makes 6, adapted from Martha Stewart's Baking Handbook:

Preheat oven to 425. Grease popover pan with butter.

Whisk together 3/4 c. whole milk, 3 eggs.

Add 3/4 c. flour and a good pinch of salt. Maybe some sugar too.

Whisk until smooth, pour into popover pan and bake for 25-30 min.

No peeking!

While popovers are still in the pan, poke them with a skewer to let steam escape.

Serve them hot, hot, hot with good soft butter and jam.

Sweet Souls

2007-09-01T21:36:00.000-04:00

I can imagine that most people who write blogs started doing so primarily for themselves. Started simple, no particular audience, just a desire to experience the subtle psychic change that comes about when you decide to document your life. At least, that's why I did it. So I could not have imagined, in just a few short months, the incredible community of readers and bloggers with whom I am now involved.

Your lovely, tender, thoughtful comments were just what I needed at the end of last week. Little buoys of hope and connection, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart - the vulnerable, dark, insecure place now illuminated by your radiance.

I love being a part of your lives, and treasure this gentle exchange of little mercies.

xoxo,
j.

Of Mice and Men

2007-08-31T09:53:00.001-04:00

What is in the air, people? Seems like everywhere I turn these days, inwardly or outwardly, sweet souls are suffering. Suffering from loss or loneliness or purposelessness. Some have some real biggies going on: deaths of loved ones, ends of relationships, isolation from their support system. And the rest of us? Just feeling low and lost. Whenever a big wave of a particular emotion washes over, collectively, those I love, I am oddly reassured. What did Anne Morrow Lindbergh say? We are all islands in a common sea.

For two weeks now I've felt a bit out of my body. Maybe because I've been a little ill...I don't know, but my energy level and spirits have been low. But yesterday, miraculously, in the most unlikely place, I was blessed with a little karmic boost, and just that tiny nudge seems to have directed me back to a more gentle path.

I have one friend, Amy, who so intuitively knows when to reach out to me that sometimes it's a bit shocking. She's one of my closest friends from midwifery school and still lives in NY, so our contact isn't terribly frequent. The occurrence of her calls, though, is always so serendipitously timed that I often have that Addams Family sensation - the one where an unsuspecting guest shows up at the haunted house and accepts something graciously from a ghost, and then does a double-take. Nearly every time Amy calls I do the same thing, looking around the room suspiciously and thinking, "Who told her??".

My conversations with Amy are inevitably nourishing, as this is how she is in her life, in all things. She is a Healer, a calm and steady presence. Amy treads lightly upon the earth, lives consciously and with purpose. She cans vegetables and makes her own cheese, all in her Astoria home. How did all this wisdom and tenderness get crammed into a beautiful NY broad? - hard to say. I'm just glad we're friends.

The only creative pursuit I've been able to fulfill is my crochet-frenzy. I found these wonderful patterns on Crochet Pattern Central and have been making Andrew some veggies and mice. I never grow tired of this kind of crocheting, and Pete has even caught the fever. He's getting it down pat, and it's an oddly intimate and enjoyable thing to do together. For a man who's taught me so much, it's fun to teach him a thing or two. About mice. And turnips.

What Ails Ya

2007-08-28T21:26:00.000-04:00

Just when I thought the worst was over, boom - back to my sick self. However, on Monday I did manage to rouse my couch-bound body from an Anthony Bourdain marathon to make Nigella's Chocolate and Peanut Granola.

Although it seems as if I am endless grocery shopping, I am always surprised when I find a recipe and miraculously have all ingredients on hand. I took this as an urgent directive from the culinary goddesses and went straight to work on the granola, half expecting to see the likeness of Jesus or the Virgin Mother appear within the countours of my baked oat clusters.

It was pretty incredible, I have to tell you, as evidenced by the fact that it is already gone. Just a few suggestions, offered on behalf of my very crude palate: I think that when I make it again, I will use less ginger and cinnamon and maybe leave out the sesame seeds all together. I appreciate this about Nigella - I find her recipes very adaptable and subtly refined, just like her.

On the Mend

2007-08-26T17:09:00.000-04:00

Feeling better - thanks for your sweet wishes of wellness.

I've had one of those weekends where I've been really busy but feel as if I've accomplished nothing. How is that possible?

Well, I guess I have accomplished something - I've nearly completed the garlands that I have been making for The Red Hen. They will also will be available on my website very soon. I'm psyched about them - they are made of cloth and heavy interfacing and are appliqued. I will be offering standard phrases (Happy Birthday, Congratulations, etc) as well as custom garlands.

Hope y'all had a wonderful weekend - hard to believe that summer's winding down.

Agony

2007-08-23T16:29:00.000-04:00

No wonder I was feeling crabby the other day. You would be too if you were secretly gestating the UTI from which I am currently suffering. Ahhh, the misery. I woke up kind of sick yesterday morning, and by lunch I was really feeling it. My midwife said she'd call in a prescription if I promised to go to my local Labcorp and give a sample. Hard to say which part was more agonizing: suffering through this infection, or suffering through the inhumane treatment at the lab. So now I am chock-full of antibiotics but still feeling kind of flu-y and tired. With no appetite. Figures. The Bacteria-Ravaged Body Diet is the only one I've ever been good at.

I think the crappiest part about being kinda sick is how mentally I am at my most ambitious when my body is ailing. I create lofty aspirations because I know that I have a dynamite excuse for not doing them. For example, right now I am thinking about how I would really love to be cleaning the kitchen floor and folding all the laundry or sewing up new orders, but - alas - I am sick and achy and couldn't possibly withstand the exertion. I can convince myself that if I were not sick and achy the house would shine like a new diamond and my latent craft projects would be nearly complete.

Clearly, I should have been diagnosed with dementia as well.

Family Reunion

2007-08-22T14:40:00.000-04:00

I've worked at the birth center for about a year and a half now, and although most women are thrilled with their birth experience, nearly every woman I've met immediately after delivery swears she is never going to do that again. And then, of course, she is back a year or two later again in the throws of labor. Post-delivery, there are two pieces of Jill-trivia that I like to tell women at the center: 1) My husband weighed 12 (yes, twelve) pounds when he was born, and 2) My maternal grandmother is one of 16 (yes, sixteen) children, all single births. This makes my great-grandmother some sort of fertility-goddess made flesh. No wonder I grew up to be a midwife. Birth was in my blood.

Although my immediate family is pretty small, as an adult I'm touched by the unique experience of growing up with such a large extended family. There are literally hundreds of us on this earth because of the union of John and Jennie Hall at the turn of the century, and I have many cousins I've yet to meet. Every summer, for as long as I can remember, the Sixteen (or what's left of them) meet for a week at a WV state park, their children and grandchildren (and sometimes great-grandchildren) in tow.

My memories of childhood are punctuated with weeks spent at "Camp": my flamboyant aunts and uncles playing practical jokes on each other and the kids; white-elephant sales; dimly-lit late night treks through the forest, "haunted" by my older cousins; square dancing with my uncle Louie - a champion caller who taught me to Texas Two-Step to "Amarillo by Morning". I have memories of my Aunt Oleta and her daughter Naomi, both bosomy women who would miraculously pull two or three metallic tubes of lipstick out of their ample brassieres, my uncle Blaine and his foul-talking parrot Zeke, and most of all - hours and hours of my great-aunts lounging in chairs under shade trees, shelling pole-beans, laughing until one of them had to get up to pee.

Oh, and the food. The food. What an singular pleasure it was to spend a week with my relatives, briefly pulled together from the four corners of the world, and share the foods that linked us all as a family. My grandmother, an unrivaled home-cook, makes hot rolls worth fighting over. My Aunt Norma owned a Dairy Bar (like a Dairy Queen) and would bring her chili con carne, Aunt Dee (from NY - she married in) made 6" high cheesecakes, and Aunt Jessie, who married Italian Louie, simmered vat upon vat on spaghetti sauce. We pot-lucked al fresco, sometimes nearly 200 of us, and as a child it seemed as if the banquet tables went on forever.

My favorite Camp tradition was watching my aunts and uncles make huge kettles of applebutter. It was a colonial scene: a copper pot large enough to boil a small child, a wood fire, and a large paddle to stir the mellow, spicy mixture. In the hot June days, a group would form around the kettle, everyone taking turns with the paddle. A batch took all day to create. The applebutter was poured into Ball jars, sealed, and then distributed to the family.

I haven't been to camp in a long time...the tradition carries on, even though many of my dear aunts and uncles have passed away and the cousins I looked forward to seeing all year are grown with families of their own. Three weeks ago my grandparents came to visit and brought me a jar of 'Camp' applebutter. Eating it is a little like a sacred ritual for me. I can taste in it the summers in the woods, the laughter of my aunts, the soul of my family. I love to share it with Andrew, knowing that with every bite, he's more a part of the generations before him.

So, here's to the 16: Lela, Lola, Oleta, Mary, Margaret, Leslie, Ivan, Blaine, John, Norma, Jessie, Virginia, Kathleen, Charles, William, and Helen.

Grumps

2007-08-21T09:15:00.000-04:00

Feeling grumpy. I love that word. It sounds just exactly like what it means. Onomatopoeia.

Think I need to get out of the house for a bit, before the sun's vicious rays singe off my top layer of skin. This weather's getting to me. A very, very inconvenient truth.

On a more adorable note:

Wuv, Trooo Wuv

2007-08-20T12:50:00.000-04:00

Well, this was an anniversary to remember. Just delicious. The final installment of my presents was so sweet and fantastic that it made me cry, and really too worthy of extensive description to go into now. Let it suffice to say that after any living thing, it is the one item I would run back into a burning house to retrieve. We spent Friday night, our anniversary proper, making cheese fondue and listening to old standards and just talking and it was wonderful.

Pete wasn't the only one with some tricks up his sleeve, though. We were engaged during a trip to Winston-Salem, NC (where I went to college) and had such a gorgeous weekend there 6 years ago. As a surprise, I booked a night at the B&B where we stayed that fateful weekend, along with an extravagant dinner at an old haunt as well. My mother took care of Andrew and Pete was very surprised - a huge feat for me. Somehow this guy always catches on to the slightest nuances.

The inn is in a lovely part of the town, an old Moravian community that is strikingly preserved in downtown W-S. There's alot to appreciate about Old Salem, but my favorite part has always been the sugar cake, still made fresh every day in the old colonial Moravian bakery. When we went to buy it they sent us straight to the kitchen to get a fresh, warm one. We ate the whole thing in one sitting.

To finish of our anniversary extravaganza, our sweet friends Austin and Melissa gave us Rascal Flatts tickets for Sunday night. I just love that group. Love them. We felt like the oldest people there, but it was magical to be outside in the warm August air listening to one of my favorite bands.

I have to say: just when I thought the weekend was nearly perfect, Melissa called with news that totally gilded the lily - she and Austin are engaged! My heart nearly burst. To see the union of two incredible, beautiful individuals into an even more spectacular couple....it's just divine. Congratulations, you two sweeties - we couldn't be happier for you. xoxoxo

More Today Than Yesterday

2007-08-16T15:05:00.001-04:00

I don't even know what to say about how much I love this man, so I've attached the Pablo Neruda sonnet which was printed in our wedding program, 5 yrs ago tomorrow. He says it best.

I don't love you as if you were the salt-rose, topaz
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:
I love you as certain dark things are loved,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that doesn't bloom and carries
hidden within itself the light of those flowers,
and thanks to your love, darkly in my body
lives the dense fragrance that rises from the earth.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I love you simply, without problems or pride:
I love you in this way because I don't know any other way of loving

but this, in which there is no I or you,
so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand,
so intimate that when I fall asleep it is your eyes that close.

My heart just explodes with all the things you are to me, Peter. Thank you.

Prizes

2007-08-15T21:19:00.000-04:00

Here are some of the very succulent treasures Pete has showered upon me this week, all for being such a good little wife for 5 yrs.

Monday:

Tuesday (it is the wood anniversary, after all):

Wednesday:

Notice the "Take 5" bar...so punny, that guy.

Cutest confetti ever. Hard to believe he grew up to be my love slave.

There was more candy but of course I ate it the second it came into view.

Can't wait for tomorrow!

101 Degrees of Procrastination

2007-08-15T13:00:00.000-04:00

I am useless. Just take me out back and shoot me.

Every bit of mojo I've had to do even the slightest thing is gone, partly because of the oppressive heat, and partly because I've spent a lot of time at the birth center lately and am just knackered. The birth center work is intense, but I challenge you to find a more delicious sensation than nuzzling the hair of a 30-minute-old baby. I just melt into one big puddle on the floor.

I've been wanting to post a pic of the pillowcases that I made for my niece's birthday. I've had them done for a while, but since she just had her birthday I didn't want to ruin the surprise. This is an old Vogart pattern and it was just about the cutest thing. I don't know if you can tell or not, but I downloaded the font from DaFont and it looks like rope. I tied the package up with a little birthday cake I had crocheted...I think she really liked it.

So let me tell you - if you thought I was bragging about the depression glass, you ain't heard nothin' yet. Pete and I will be celebrating our 5-yr anniversary on Friday and so on Monday evening he comes up to me all serious and says that since we've been married for 5 yrs, he has a treat planned for me every day for the 5 days leading up to the 17th. Kind of like the 12 days of Christmas. Except that my true love gave to me one fabulous book (Monday) and two beautiful earring with wood inlays (Tuesday). Oh - and he gives me a little clue earlier in the day to get me thinking. What a man. I told him that I thought this was a wonderful tradition because by the time we're married for 50 years, it will be solid treats for almost 2 months.

And they said we wouldn't make it....

Envy and the 8-hr Quilt

2007-08-12T15:26:00.000-04:00

My mother's birthday was last week, and I love to hear her tell the story of when she was about 8 yrs old and she got a new bike for her birthday. She just loved that sucker. The afternoon of her birthday she was riding it around the neighborhood and one of the little kids next door was admiring her new treasure and she said to him, "Don't you wish you had a bike like this?".

To hear my mom tell it, the question was asked not in a boastful way, but simply with the intention of expressing gratitude for her enormous blessing. Unfortunately for her, her father overheard her comment, interpreted it as a completely snotty statement, and took the bike away from her for a month. This is the same man who to this day will drive his pick-up to church because he can't bear others knowing his dirty little secret, his hidden shame.... that locked up in his immaculate garage is a $50K Mercedes. What would God think??

So after receiving 2 huge boxes yesterday from my grandmother marked "fragile" and then unwrapping them to discover a staggering collection of pink depression glass, it really is all I can do not to say, "Don't you wish you had all this pink glass? Don't 'cha? Don't 'cha??".

I am willing to concede that you may not love depression glass as much as I do and therefore have no more envy than if I had suddenly come into the possession of the TV Guide collection my husband procured as a child. But if you do love it, you will understand my glee. And if you come visit me, I promise we will eat truffles and lace cookies off of it.

On another note, there are things people could say about me that would hurt my feelings. For example, if you said I have bad teeth (not true). Or if you said that I have B.O. (mostly not true). However, if you were to spread the nasty rumor that I am the World's Worst Quilter, I would have no option but to agree. I am.

I decided on Friday afternoon to piece together a quilt from my scraps, kind of borrowing from this color scheme. I'd found this really gorgeous flannel fabric a while ago and wanted something simple for the top - something to cuddle up under this winter.

I cut out all the squares and started to sew them together, and by Saturday evening the whole things was pieced and ready to be sandwiched and quilted. That's when it went south, simply because, to be blunt, I don't give a shit. I cannot seem to sew a straight line when I have about 30 lbs of fabric on my lap and scrunched up in my machine, and then I just don't care. I let the needle go where it may, bunching what it will. I told Pete it was in the quilting style of "Rustic Chic". He believed this is a legitimate genre of craft.

My friend Kerri makes quilts that will be honored as heirlooms. I make quilts that you throw in the back of your station wagon when taking the dogs to the lake.

Rock throwin'

2007-08-09T21:30:00.001-04:00

So tonight I am walking into TJ Maxx and this woman is walking out toward me and I think, "Boy, that outfit really isn't working for her." And then I look down and realize that I am wearing the exact same outfit - a purple tank and khaki shorts.

You know what they say about folks who live in glass houses...

Hinges of Hades

2007-08-08T14:23:00.000-04:00

It is 8000 degrees here in NC. It's true - I saw it on the thermometer.

Well, maybe not exactly 8000, but definitely over 100. When I got in my car this afternoon it was 120. Lawhdy.

I took the sorbet over to our new neighbors last night, and they are just the sweetest things - going to get married in October, so he's moved in now but she is going to wait until after the nuptials. So old-fashioned....I love it. I mean, I lived in sin with Pete for 2 years before he "bought the cow" (as my mother was apt to put it), but I still love the idea.

Anyway, I couldn't help but think how lucky they were to have me bring sorbet, because for goodness sakes, who in the world can eat lasagna in this weather?!? I just want to crawl between cold sheets, a George Pelecanos novel in one hand and some frozen grapes in the other.

So you want to hear a funny story? Well, I have this friend - a new friend - who isn't too much older than I am but has a daughter in her late teens and another baby on the way any day now. I taught her some childbirth education classes a while back, and when I discovered that she lived right around the corner from me I invited her over for dinner. It was supposed to be on Saturday but I had made myself horribly nauseated on too much BBQ and sweet tea, so we postponed it for last night.

Her daughter is really cool and I invited her along as well, but my friend said she'd be unlikely to make it, so I prepared a small dinner for just the three of us (Pete included). I set a pretty table and had everything ready to go, so all I would have to do was barely lift my hand to combine the topping for the pasta (as my other hand was busy tending to a wine glass).

So she was a tiny bit late, and when she arrived I saw that she not only had her daughter, but her daughter's sweet boyfriend in tow! I was thrilled to have more company (really, truly - I was), but historically I have not handled last-minute changes to plans very well. I'm kind of rigid about stuff like that, but I have to tell you - you would have been proud. I nearly effortlessly rearranged the table and rustled up some more eats. The only glitch was when I was about to serve the crab-dressed pasta and the boyfriend shyly informs me that he is deathly allergic to shellfish. Oops. He graciously dined on a frozen pizza with fresh basil instead, and it was an all-around lovely, fabulous evening.

If there is anything better than sharing a delicious impromptu dinner with delightful friends, I do not know what it is.

The Scoop

2007-08-06T12:36:00.001-04:00

I guess I must be about to ovulate, because I can't think of anything else that would account for my recent burst of domesticity, an urge so strong it has me just short of propping Pete's feet up on an ottoman, scotch-on-the-rocks in hand, when he returns from work.

Some time last week I borrowed The Perfect Scoop by David Leboviz from our local library. I've mentioned ice-cream making before, but I am a bit suspect of new recipes, especially ones that call for things like Jello and pudding mix. David's recipes are fantastic and inspired by his life in Paris, and it wasn't until I read the back cover that I realized that this was the same David whose blog I just love and have been reading for the last 2 months. Cyber-world and real world collide once again.

Saturday I whipped up a bit of Strawberry-Rhubarb Sorbet and then yesterday concocted Toasted Coconut Ice Cream. Both were so good I wanted to hit the container face-first. It made me a little sad to eat the coconut one because my dear, dear friend Bo just loves coconut and I wish he'd been there to share it with us instead of all the way across the country. He would have flipped. Today I've made some strawberry sorbet for our new neighbors.

Pete even got into the action and whipped us up some DIY pizzas for last night's dinner.

I made this little tablecloth for our kitchen table. I love the ruffle but forgot how tricky they can be to make...my thread kept breaking. To be honest, I probably would have rather bought one, but I looked and looked with no success. Why is it so difficult to find a decent-looking tablecloth out there? They all look like they should be on some banquet table at the Sheraton.

Today Andrew and I were returning from our early-morning jaunt to Trader Joe's and I suddenly became obsessed with the sensation of entering our house and having it smell clean. Like, really, really clean. And cool. It's about 100 degrees here today and I just ached for that feeling I used to have when we'd go to the beach and be tired and hot and then walk into our hotel room which would be almost icy and smell so sanitized.

This could also be due to the fact that I was raised in the Church of Bleach, a cult in which my mother and sister are still active followers. Nothing in our house was clean until it had been doused with Clorox. Today I returned to the fold. I scrubbed our kitchen to within an inch of its life and when I was done, I actually stepped outside on our porch for about three minutes and then walked in the front door to enjoy the fruits of my labor. Heavenly.

Vice

2007-08-04T16:53:00.000-04:00

I've been feeling just so totally icky and grumpy this week...lots of mental eye-rolling coupled with a very short fuse. In other words, tons of fun.

Some folks, when faced with the doldrums, do emotional eating, which boils down to cramming in as many fist-fulls of high-caloric shit as they can while watching The Girls Next Door. Instead of testing my junk-food limit this weekend, I have had a compulsion of another sort: junk shopping.

I kid you not when I tell you that today I have darkened the door of a mega-Dollar Tree, a Burlington Coat Factory, two huge Asian markets, and a Big Lots. And our local Hood Lion. I didn't end up with anything even remotely sexy - just some deodorant and kitchen towels and a scrub-brush, but I was on the prowl. Since I am a total crap shopper because I hate to spend alot of money, potentially going for broke in a discount store is, for me, the equivalent of a dieter tearing through a church pot-luck with no witness. My heartbeat quickens a bit in the Dollar Store...What do I want? What do I want? With a twenty in my pocket I am on Supermarket Sweep.

I never really end up buying much, but that feeling of indulgence, even if it's mostly on crap, makes me feel a bit satiated, much like a full pan of caramel-pecan dark-chocolate brownies.

Too Much

2007-08-02T14:04:00.001-04:00

I started TiVo-ing all of the Sex and The City reruns, and a few days ago I watched one of my favorite episodes: the one where Big and Carrie try to be friends as he marries Natasha, but everyone knows how that works, and Miranda says that it reminds her of The Way We Were. Carrie then concludes that the world is made of of 2 types of ladies: the Katy girls and the Simple girls.

Call them Simple girls, call them Cornflake girls...they're all of the same sweet-ish tribe. But me, I'm a Katy girl. Sometimes I'm kind of self-conscious about this. I feel like I'm too much. I'm kinda funny and kinda intense and you either love that in a broad or you don't. I'm also nearly 5'10" with huge, curly red hair that's all over the place.

Last night I had a long-overdue evening with my fabulous friend Brandee, who is just what the doctor ordered when one is feeling self-conscious about being Too Much. She walks into a room and people notice her, not just because she's beautiful and her retro-styled hair is brightly plum-colored, but because she has alot of succulent energy that just exudes from her. She tells funny stories and laughs loudly and drinks beer. She drives a PT Cruiser with orange flames painted on each side and a vanity plate on the front that reads "Elvis".

Brandee and me (in one of my rare un-crazy-hair moments)

We're quite a pair together, let me tell you. Last night she nodded toward a group of three very pinched-looking women at a nearby table and whispered with a laugh, I swear, those girls are staring at me!! Who could blame them? I bet they wanted to be her friend too.

A few days ago I forwarded a picture of a project I've been working on to my friend Kerri and she wrote, So, so cute. You are too much. No, not too much... just the right amount, really. ; )

Thanks, girl.

The Devil Buys $180 Secret-Santa Gifts

2007-08-01T09:44:00.000-04:00

Anne Hathaway was on TV this morning, and even though I'm not a daytime-watcher, I did manage to catch her on both GMA and Live!. Just love that girl. First, I think she bears an enviable resemblance to Nigella Lawson. Second, Kelly Ripa (whom I find very tiring) was asking her dumb questions and she responded to them with a thoughtfulness and integrity that almost seemed out of place among the scads of mindless talking heads that usually appear for interviews. I am going to round up girlfriends and go see Becoming Jane.

Thinking about Anne makes me think about The Devil Wears Prada. I loved both the movie and the book. Show me a fledgling career-person in NYC who has not had that kind of job and I will show you a liar (or someone with a very rich Daddy). My first job in Manhattan was for a very large pharmaceutical advertising agency, based in Times Square. I didn't do the advertising - I got to work for the "medical education" department of this agency, which was FDA code for "Bribe-the-Doctors-with-Expensive-Lunch-and-Learns-and-
Vacations-
and-They-Will-Feel-Guilty-and-Prescribe-Our-Drug" department. I was working crazy hours with even crazier people and making slightly above minimum wage. The offices were always filled with an anxious, uncomfortable energy and the employees took out their frustrations on their subservients. Since I was literally the lowest rung on that nasty ladder, you can just imagine the hell.

My most vivid DWP moment was around Christmas time. We had drawn names for the office Christmas (er, Holiday) party and had capped the price at $20, but since I hardly had money for groceries that seemed like a total extravagance. I had umpteen supervisors (Pete would say "too many chiefs and not enough Indians"), mostly all flamingly gay, yet contrary to the population's reputation, completely void of any lusciousness. One such supervisor, I'll call him Dean, called me into his well-appointed office one day to ask me to accompany him during his shopping expedition for the holiday party. The request didn't make sense, as we weren't friends, but clearly I had no choice but to go.

I hated walking around NYC in the cold, and I hated being with that man. He marched me straight over to 5th Avenue, and preceded to very obviously drop $180 on a Secret-Santa gift! I was so young and cold and poor and bored that I didn't figure this out right away, but when I reminded him that the cap was $20, his MO became disgustingly clear: he just wanted to rub his wealth in my minimum-wage face. Even worse, he insomuch said so on the walk back to the office. Looking back on it, I should have felt angry with him or even sorry for him, but for some reason I just felt ashamed.

I quit the job 2 weeks later.

It was in the elevator of this office building where I met my sweet Peter. I saw the value of Dean's Secret-Santa gift and raised it. Exponentially.

Park It

2007-07-29T09:37:00.000-04:00

Yesterday Pete thought it would be fun to take Andrew to Pullen Park in Raleigh for the afternoon. We'd only been once before, last year, and he was too young at that point to appreciate anything. Silly baby.

When I was a reluctant city-dweller, I secretly held the belief that only urban folk had a need for a park. Why would other children need a park, I reasoned, when they had the luxury of a back yard?? But there I was, back in a park, really loving it. The value of a park in any setting became immediately obvious to me: Basically, it's fun to be around lots of other people having fun. Duh.

This park is full of goodness, and in my mind the carousel from 1911 is worth the trip. It's so, so beautiful, and the animals are elegant and vivid and even a little scary. The horses' tails are real horse hair and it is in remarkable condition considering its 100th birthday is right around the corner. Andrew didn't know what to make of the carousel, though, and Pete ended up sitting in a chariot with him while I rode my trusty steed.

They also have a little train that you can ride around the perimeter of the park, an activity much more Andrew's speed, and just like the wee ones, I too was sad when our little ride came to an end.

Since this is NC, land of Andy Griffith and Mayberry, they have a lovely bronze statue of father and son, walking together, carrying fishing poles. My mother watched this show every single night of my life while making dinner. Here's a little Opie:

There is no admission to the park, but I would have paid one just to have overheard the follow exchange between two 7-yr-old boys while waiting in line for the concession stand:
Boy 1: (arms flailing about, legs restless) This is the longest line I've ever been in!!!
Boy 2: (with superiority) Well, then you haven't seen the Dollar Store at Christmas Time!

Art vs Craft Throwdown

2007-07-28T10:24:00.000-04:00

It finally dawned on me this morning while walking through my home that I spend so much time flaunting my craft projects that I have never even mentioned that I'm surrounded by other artists in my life. My mother is a painter and my husband is too, and here I've never really even given them the props they deserve. Shame on me. But it's my blog and I'll dwell on myself if I want to.

by my mother, hanging in our living room

Pete did this one while I was in Paris a few years ago.

Another one by my mother, hanging in our hallway

I really love this one. She did it for our half-bath, of all places.

I've been thinking more and more about craft and art. Growing up, my mother appeared to have drawn a very dark, thick line between the two. Although much may have been lost in translation to my young mind, I gleaned from her the opinion that craft was the purvey of those who crocheted padding on coat hangers and decorated light bulbs as Santa Claus. Art, on the other hand (a camp into which she has two feet firmly planted) was something all together different. It involved a particular vision, a specific subset of skills....it had value just because it is, not because it has a practical function.

As someone who loves to create, this stigma against crafts left me feeling confused. I didn't think (and still don't) that I am blessed with the gift of being a fine artist. I can't draw or sculpt or paint... When I visit art museums I gaze upon the works with the same wonder that I feel when I see a spaceship launch or an Olympic athlete perform - the ability to do those things completely eludes me. But I still had this very strong desire to create beautiful (often functional) things, so where did that leave me? I often felt inwardly ashamed of my passion for craft - like I was playing for the intramural team because I couldn't make the Fine Art Varsity team. (**For the record, I must add that I received nothing but adoration and encouragement from my mother in any creative endeavor, blah, blah...not blamin' anything on Mom.)

I secretly have held onto those childhood prejudices until very, very recently. Being a part of an online craft community has literally changed my life, and I become very emotional even writing about it. For the first time I feel that my craft is art. It may never hang in a museum or be auctioned by Christie's, but I am proud of what I create and it makes my home a richer place. Moreover, I now see the crafts of others and experience that "museum" feeling - I am in awe, moved by the expression of their talents. The work that other fine crafters produce has somehow liberated me, validated my own creations, set me free.

Ghosts

2007-07-26T09:11:00.000-04:00

Have I mentioned how much company we've had this summer? Sooooo much company. Pete and I were counting last night and we have had only 7 days in almost the last 5 weeks without visitors. It's been really fun and boy - has it made the summer fly by - but now the last of our scheduled company is gone and I am without purpose. No real incentive to keep the house tidy, no meals to prepare, no pillowcases to iron. It's both a relief and a disappointment.

A while back I posted a picture of this banner:

It's a design I came up with after admiring similar types of pendants and banners. Yesterday I took one that I had designed specifically for The Red Hen to DeeDee, its owner, and she wants to start selling them in the store. I'm still making the baby cloths like gangbusters too, but it's always nice to diversify a little. Keeps me from sleepwalking through my studio.

I guess I am going to go and get to work on them, alone in the house, save for a sleeping baby and the lovely energy of ghosts of visitors past.

This American Life

2007-07-22T14:54:00.000-04:00

In yet another hefty leap onto a bandwagon that nearly passed me by, I have to tell you that I cannot listen to enough episodes of This American Life. I love them all. I love Ira Glass. I love listening to any of the tales: from the inside of Chicago's Golden Apple Diner to those family legends that, retold to generation after generation, morphed into an all together fabulous story. Most of all I love that it is on the radio (even though, ironically, I listen to it on the internet). I know, I know, rumor has it you can find it on Showtime, but I just want to listen. What's the frequency, Ira?

I listened to the "Special Ed"-themed show today while performing a minor overhaul of my studio space. This was not an Extreme Makeover. It was more of a Slap-a-Little-Lipstick-On Makeover. A few weeks ago I found out that our local Pier 1 Outlet was going out of business and not only was clearing out everything on the shelves, they were clearing out the shelves themselves! So for $30 I got 2 pretty incredible display cabinets to stack my stuhf in. You know, my fabric stuhf, my notion stuhf, my crafty stuhf. And of course, the amount of stuff you have automatically and obligingly expands in direct proportion to the space you've allotted to store it. Even though I don't feel like I have alot more room now, I do think things are more organized and accessible. In the deepest, most obscure recesses of my being I lust for a type of neurotic organization, although precious few examples of my secret desire can be identified in my life.

p.s. I have been crocheting little cakes like some kind of crazy crafter-baker on crack, and I will post them soon. Norma Lynn wrote me the sweetest little note after my last post. Gotta love her.

ch1, sc around

2007-07-19T15:22:00.000-04:00

Okay. I am just going to admit it. I used to be a bit of a crochet....what should I call it? Ah, yes. A crochet snob. In my own defense, I have knitted for about half my life (in striking contrast to my music preferences, long before it became trendy) and never quite got the hang of crochet. Thus I deemed it an inferior craft to knitting, as it so obviously must have been since I couldn't do it.

My interest in crochet had been growing for the last few months, and I was particularly fascinated by all of the unbelievable 3-D structures that can so easily be crocheted. More than that, I started to be drawn to the texture of crocheted pieces, their weight and knotty appearance. However, I still had my reservations since I had not fully recovered from the trauma of Nick John's failed attempts to teach me how to crochet hacky-sacs during my freshman year at Wake.

But when I stumbled onto Norma Lynn's crocheted confections, I was so overcome with glee and lust that I vowed that I *would* teach myself to crochet, like it or not.

First of all, let me just tell you that Norma Lynn might just be the nicest lady to ever draw breath. I wrote to her in a panic after my first attempt at making her little cakes yielded a design akin to a large yarmulke. I told her it was her fault that I was in this mess because her patterns were just so daggum cute that I couldn't restrain myself. She wrote me back within hours, and not only did she give me some really excellent advice, she was so positively flattered that I would find her inspirational! Excuse me, Norma Lynn - have you seen your cakes? They are just the most fabulous crochet creations I have about ever laid eyes on. And she donates the proceeds to animal charities. If her little desserts were real, they could not be sweeter than Norma Lynn.

The first thing I crocheted became a little do-hickey for the table. Honestly, it was the top of a failed cake (art imitating life?) that was saved from being completely ripped up to salvage yarn.

The second thing I made was this little cake sachet (I know, it's lopsided and not quite done, but not too bad for my first real project, eh?).

My third project I did in about 40 minutes this afternoon, by myself, with not even a pattern to guide me. I just tried to duplicate one of Norma Lynn's precious desserts. It's really, really tiny.

I love crochet!!! Yea for Crochet!! I've only known how to do it for 2 days now but I think I am caught - crochet hook, line, and sinker.

Seeds

2007-07-18T11:06:00.001-04:00

I recently saw a T-shirt that said I listen to bands that don't even exist yet. I have a handful of friends who pride themselves on that very achievement, but I am so not one of those people. One of two things usually happens when I think I have found a wonderful artist or album: either everyone is like, "Duh - we know" - or - "They are sooooo overrated".

So I am not going to even embarrass myself by claiming to have found a diamond in the rough in Martin Sexton's new album, Seeds, I will only say that it has been a long, long time since I have enjoyed a CD this much. (Readers insert thoughts about my music taste here.)

It's the kind of music that you want to have on when the weather's balmy and you haven't got a care in the world. Or at least when you wish those things were true.

I'm a really crappy dancer, but that album makes me want to grab a cold one, tie up my shirttails and shake that thang.

The Queasy Need not Read

2007-07-16T19:44:00.000-04:00

Stephanie, one of my dearest girlfriends, one of The Most Succulent Women of All Time, Living or Dead, came to visit on Thursday with her family. I was at her son's birth almost 4 years ago and have not seen him or his lovely mama (or papa or little sis) in 2 whole years. The thought of it brings a tear to my eye.

Alex, age 4 (almost)

Ruby, age 2

Stephanie's birthday was on Wednesday and I promised to continue the celebration onto the next day, as all birthday celebrations should rightly proceed. I decided to make her Nigella's chocolate cheesecake, a treat befitting the Queen of Succulence. Unfortunately, I didn't have a chance to make it to any good grocery stores around here so after dinner I headed off to our local place, the Food Lion. Or, as it's known in this house, the Hood Lion. We actually live in a pretty nice neighborhood, but this grocery store is pretty rough. Pete and I joke about it. Por ejemplo:

If your checker-outer is named Destynie and her fingernail length prevents her from ringing up your items correctly, you might be in the Hood Lion.

If the person in front of you has 4 children and has placed on the belt 12 2-liter bottles of grape soda and an extra-large bag of generic Cheetos, you might be in the Hood Lion.

If the guy behind you starts to cuss a blue streak because he left his wallet in his pick-up and can't purchase a case of Milwaukee's Best Beer, you might again be in the Hood Lion.

Not very sweet of me, eh? But I digress. When Stephanie and her delicious family showed up at my door I had to choke back tears and I thought my heart would burst. A few times in my life I have had the experience of not seeing a beloved in a long time, and then once I see their face in person it's like a familiar shock of recognition - like they're just so completely vivid and vibrant and there.

Even though I am a nurse-midwife, anyone who knows me will tell you that I defy some midwife-stereotypes. I, for example, am only crunchy-granola on the inside. I don't smell of patchouli, wear Birkenstocks, or smoke pot. Stephanie is intimately connected with all-things childbirth (a childbirth educator, doula, lactation counselor, infant massage therapist, birthed her second at home) yet is even less crunchy than I am. She lives in Boca Raton, for goodness sake! I had to teach her how to bargain shop! This girl is full of contradictions. So when she parked the car, hugged me and Andrew and then thrust a small cooler in my hands, I could only assume what was inside. Her placenta from her last birth. Frozen. She's in the process of moving from OH back to FL and was transporting it. The cooler looked very official - like there might as well be a beating heart or some corneas in it.

I am loathe to tell you, less you think I am a complete freak, that I too have my placenta stashed in my deep freeze. Not to ingest or anything, just to maybe plant a tree over (although the threat of it does come in handy when Pete complains there's nothing to eat). I knew that I could not let Steph's visit pass without documenting the crunchy just oozing out from us. So here it is, the birth-junkies and their frozen placentas. (they're in bags - don't worry!)

The visit was far, far too short, but my home has such lovely residual energy from her family's visit. Miss you, miss you, miss you, girl.

Sweet

2007-07-12T09:52:00.000-04:00

There's been a lot of change in my life lately and the other day I was talking with a friend about how external change can really cause a change throughout. I shared with her that the older I get (and certainly after becoming a mother), I was trying to shed some of my harsher edges and become....what's the word?....I couldn't find the right one, so I just said, "sweet." I hate the saccharine connotation of the word, but for some reason it seemed the right adjective to choose.

Nearly days later, and right on cue, as books have always been with me, I was reading Michael Pollan's The Botany of Desire and found this beautiful paragraph. It took my breath away when I read it, as it completely captured what I was trying to express to my friend. To share:

Sweetness is a desire that starts on the tongue with the sense of taste, but it doesn't end there. Or at least it didn't end there, back when the experience of sweetness was so special that the word served as a metaphor for a certain kind of perfection. When writers like Jonathan Swift and Matthew Arnold used the expression "sweetness and light" to name their highest ideal (Swift called them the "two noblest of things"; Arnold, the ultimate aim of civilization), they were drawing on a sense of the word sweetness going back to classical times, a sense that has largely been lost to us. The best land was said to be sweet; so were the most pleasing sounds, the most persuasive talk, the loveliest views, the most refined people, and the choicest part of any whole, as when Shakespeare calls spring the "sweet o' the year." Lent by the tongue to all the other sense organs, "sweet," in the somewhat archaic definition of the Oxford English Dictionary, is that which "affords enjoyment or gratifies desire." Like a shimmering equal sign, the word sweetness denoted a reality commensurate with human desire: it stood for fulfillment.

Perfect. Beautiful. Sweet.

Total Joy

2007-07-10T08:41:00.000-04:00

Ooooohhh, boy! It has been busy in our little house! It seems like we've had one big revolving door this summer, with friends and family stopping by to stay a bit and then off on their way. Last week Pete's brother and sister-in-law came with their two kiddos for several days. The "little ones" are now 11 and 13, ages that seem incomprehensible to me since they were in our wedding 5 years ago and seemed to be getting too big then! They were a total joy to have about and Andrew thought he was in baby-heaven with all the activity and attention.

I'd made French vanilla ice cream for dessert the first night they were here and both of the kids exclaimed that it was the best vanilla ice cream they had ever eaten (emphasis theirs). So I got busy the next morning and stuck them both in the kitchen with me to make the best chocolate ice cream of all time. It then, of course, became the best chocolate ice cream they had ever eaten. They flatter me so.

Of course we went to get BBQ (or just Q, as it's known around here) and then we took them to the Museum of Natural Science in Raleigh. Hard to say who enjoyed that museum more, the kids or their biology-major-dork aunt. I think that place is so amazing because everything is fantastically larger than life, exactly the way all my memories of childhood seem.

This is from a butterfly exhibit. Some of these are chrysalises. Chrysalis. Prettiest word ever.

Oh, couldn't you just melt? This is a photo of a photo taken by Brooks de Wetter Smith. It's called Whiskers.

We had pizza parties and played poker and monkey-in-the-middle in the pool. It was fantastic to have some older kids around as it gave me an itsy-bitsy gimpse of what it's like to have older children. So, so much fun.

I made Lemon Bread Pudding French Toast which I found on the delicious food blog Cream Puffs in Venice. It was to die for.

After they left on Sunday we took Andrew to a big birthday bash for the 5 babes in our playgroup who are turning one this month. It was such a sweet get-together and tons of fun was had by all. Check out my mama friends - aren't they just beautiful??

I want to thank those who sent me such kind words about my little quilt. Craft blogs are filled with such gorgeous creations that I am often insecure about showing mine, but you've given me a boost of confidence! xoxo to you.

Suzanne's Quilt

2007-07-07T10:25:00.000-04:00

Things are really busy here right now since we have a houseful of delightful company, but I wanted to post a quick pic of the little mini quilt I made for my sister. I first saw this quilt on Hillary's site and was so appreciative that she pointed me in the direction of the pattern at BHG. I pieced it all together in one day (one evening, really - after which I scurried off to the birth center to assist at a late-night delivery...how's that for productive?) and then tried my hand at the quilting part. I'm not very good at that. I can't figure out how to drop my feed dogs and lessen my foot pressure without getting really tight stitches. Any suggestions?

But the important thing is that my sister just loved it, and I am so glad that she'll have something hanging in her room all the way back in LA to remind her just how special she is.

Chores

2007-07-05T09:22:00.000-04:00

One of my favorite blogs is I Hate Laundry, which I was attracted to initially because of its title. I don't think it's appropriate to say that I hate laundry. Perhaps it's more appropriate to say that I loathe it. I've tried all sorts of things to get me to relish (or at least tolerate) the experience: a new washer (nope), a Martha-would-be-proud makeover of our laundry room (nope), a menagerie of detergents and dryer sheets (nope).

I hate doing laundry. But here's a caveat: I love to iron my pillowcases. And I do. Everytime I wash them, with lavender-scented spray. I'm often a little embarrassed to admit that I do this, less others would assume that my household is, in any other even little way, subject to maintenance of this extravagance.

Ironically, I hate to iron just about anything else (except dinner napkins) and I literally cannot recall the last time any item of my clothing was kissed with an iron's fiery weight, but ironing my pillowcases and slipping into sleep upon slick, smooth pillows is a little bit heavenly.

Now for some wrinkles I am really into:

Not So Great

2007-07-03T09:00:00.001-04:00

Here's the third installment of my projects from The Crafter's Companion. I made this little market tote for one of my girlfriends after months of her visibly pining for every little thing I'd made, me unable to believe she'd want any of it. But here it is. You asked for it, Allyn.

This pattern was designed by Anna Torborg herself, and it's a really nifty little sac, although I must admit that, alas, I am not so pleased with it. My disappointment has nothing to do with the pattern or the directions, which were crystal-clear and fully illustrated, but entirely to do with the fact that I am a complete loser in the game of anything even remotely garment-related. If we'd played Garment-Making in 3rd grade PE, I would have been chosen last. Or sat the bench. Someone would have yelled to me, "Get your head out of your @#$!" like my friend's father screamed to him when he was a little bitty tot on the soccer field.

I would love nothing more than to be able to construct clothing deftly, but I am not particularly detail-oriented or patient, 2 qualities apparently essential to this type of skill. Shamefully, I spent all last Sunday making a dress that ended up being (at least) 2 sizes too small because I hadn't measured myself properly before cutting the material. Why bother with the details when - Whooppeeeeeee!! - I can just start into the fun part?? I always attack projects with greased britches, unwilling to dwell in minutiae, barrelling toward the finishing stitches.

Big Love

2007-07-02T08:55:00.001-04:00

Please don't hate me because I have a husband who will willingly clean out the refrigerator, unprodded, with only minimal eye-rolling when he turns one of the shelves upside down and sees that the jar of lemon curd hangs on tightly, like a DQ Blizzard, because someone didn't wipe up the sweet tea that leaked throughout the fridge. Ages ago.

The Good Ol' Days

2007-06-29T09:13:00.000-04:00

I remember my mother telling a story of the summer she worked at a Piece Goods store to raise spending money for college. She learned to sew then, because the mannequins in the displays all wore garments made of in-stock fabrics and the employees were expected to know how to sew. Ahhh....does anyone out there long for that time?

I had a most unsucculent experience yesterday at a large chain fabric store. The employees might as well have been working in an ice-cream parlor, that is how little they knew about fabric, notions, and sewing. I think this is a trend in the larger fabric stores I frequent and it makes me sad. Maybe turnover is high or employee training is lacking, but it's always disheartening to visit a fabric store, so ripe with possibility and rich with sensory stimulation, only to see employees looking bored, often irritated, and worse of all - completely uninformed.

The obvious solution to this, of course, is to patronize small, locally-owned fabric shops staffed by active quilters and textile aficionados. And I do, with frequency. However, due to budget constraints, these sprees are largely limited to times when I am working on an extra-special project and am in need of only the finest fabrics. I really cannot afford to spend $9/yd on solids or interfacing, tempting as it is.

I think I am going to write these corporations and in my little voice encourage them to select and train their employees in a way that enhances the shoppers' experiences and just the general vibe of the store. There is actually one guy who works at said disappointing fabric store who is just *awesome* - so knowledgeable and passionate and helpful. He wasn't there yesterday and was obviously very missed.

ahhhhh...that feels better.

Goodwill, on the other hand, it a totally different story. I love it. I love, love it. I dabbled in some thrift shopping several years ago with great success, and for some reason took a break when we were in Manhattan. Now I'm addicted. Look at all of the beautiful things I found yesterday for less than $17!!! (2 exceptions in this picture : the pitcher was found at an antique show for $5, and I got the creamer/sugar on sale - they're Nigella's - at a local gourmet kitchen shop.) The little painted pitchers are Vietri and usually cost a pretty penny. When I saw them there for $1.98 my hands started to shake.

My sweet niece is coming to visit next week and I wanted to make her a little something (since I am her only crafty aunt!) and so I again attempted a project out of The Crafter's Companion and here it is - a little clutch designed by Lyn Roberts. She'll love it - if I don't keep it for myself!

I hope all of you have a most lovely weekend, filled with tender moments and little treasures.

Essential Reading

2007-06-27T10:03:00.000-04:00

All my life I have felt called to particular books. A library is like a literary Ouija board for me...I walk the aisles aimlessly and inevitably the books I randomly choose seem to be exactly the book I was needing to read.

Although Anna Torborg's book The Crafter's Companion came into my life via recommendation rather than a karmic attraction, it is evidence none the less of books appearing in my life right when I'm ready.

I'm not going to go on about the lovely projects and photos (they speak for themselves), but I was so touched by the stories of the crafters featured in the book. What struck me about so many of them is that although they had always "had their hand in it", they weren't professional crafters out the gate...it was a place they arrived, instead of barreling forward to that career with blinders on. I can very much relate to that. I also felt inspired that so many of them had children at home. I've never felt more artistically prolific than I do now, but I do feel that having a small child around had really changed the way I work: no large blocks of time, my supplies get spread from one end of our home to the other, and I've had to become accustomed to interrupting a project mid-stitch. These crafters show that mothering and creating are beautifully linked and even just possible.

More than anything else, though, I was so moved by how candidly the artists spoke of their relationship with being a crafter. I struggle with my feelings of pursuing an outlet of expression so different than what I've been educated to do. When I was doing midwifery, I always felt very comfortable discussing it with anyone, but I find myself reluctant to tell people about Petite Toile and my other crafts. I was at the pool the other night and saw an acquaintance from the neighborhood. She has a son Andrew's age and went right back to work full-time after her son was about 3 months old. She's a really lovely woman, very sweet and smart. We chatted for a while and she asked me if I was working at all, and I said that I was still doing some shifts at the birth center, but I didn't tell her about my baby cloths. For some reason I suddenly felt timid and vulnerable about it. I'm working on letting myself share this part of my life with others...everyone I've ever told has been so incredibly supportive. I think that when one woman shares her dreams and passions, it shines light on those parts of the souls of other women.

I love, love the part of the book where Amy Karol talks about how crafting to her is just as essential as eating or sleeping. She says that it's awkward when people ask her how she does so much stuff - it's just part of her being alive. I had a friend over they other day and when I showed her my embroidered pillowcases she said with a smile and exasperation, "How do you do all this? It must take up all your free time!". What I couldn't seem to articulate then was how it isn't work to me, it is my free time. I find this hard to explain to non-crafters.

Which brings me to my final comment on this book (for now - it's really a treasure trove), which is the importance of having a crafting community. I find most of my community online, in the form of my lovely readers and other blogs, but I also have a craft bosom-buddy of my very own. What I love about her (well, one of many things) is that she manages to balance a very active professional life (as a tax attorney) with a downright impressive domestic prowess. She's a fantastic baker and quilter and decorator and we talk for hours on end about chocolate tortes and fat-quarters. The irony is that we were college roommates and rarely ever did anything even remotely crafty together. We don't even live in the same town, but I am so amazed and pleased that we share this love of crafting and we continue to deepen our friendship in this way, all these years later.

So thank you to all my crafting inspirations and to Anna for compiling a delightful, essential book for my library.

ps: this is my first project out of the book, a sweet little pillow designed by Lisa Congdon. I'm just tickled pink with it.

Who Knew?

2007-06-23T11:43:00.000-04:00

Oh, sweet Durham neighbors...don't you love me no more? Why have you held out on me? Why did I have to hear about it from something as impersonal as a newspaper?

Well, the word is out about The Scrap Exchange in downtown Durham, one of those fantastic places that I could have only imagined in my wildest crafting fantasies. To borrow from their website, "The Scrap Exchange is a nonprofit organization that collects material donations from hundreds of individuals, businesses, industries, and municipal sources and distributes them through our Creative ReUse Center. The materials collected represent a snapshot of local industry and businesses. Our donors receive a tax-deductible donation receipt for the fair market value, the arts community has access to hard to find, affordable materials, and TSE prevents reusable items from entering the waste stream."

In other words, just unbelievable. I walked around for 1/2 an hour with my eyes bugging so far out of my head they began to ache. The Scrap Exchange completely embodies what I love so much about crafts...the ability and willingness to look at common objects and assimilate them into something interesting, and often useful. There were many items there whose use was immediately evident, like the vintage fabrics (for $1) and wooden boxes for Andrew's room. But the beauty of the Scrap Exchange is that it carries so many items which challenged me creatively, made me think about finding expression in objects I'd never considered before. Like glass pipettes and test tubes. Or huge old wood spindles. Or piles of 20-yr-old office supplies.

I had the feeling there that I experience infrequently, but always deliciously: the sensation that I'd stumbled upon a treasure right out in the open. I can't wait to go back.

Lucky Ducks

2007-06-19T09:04:00.000-04:00

This weekend we were offered the vacation home of some friends of my parents in Wilmington, NC, right off the coast of Wrightsville Beach. It was a beautiful house in an even more beautiful development, full of multi-million dollar homes on huge manicured lots, each one deserving of a spread in Traditional Home or Architectural Digest. The Stepford-ness of it all prompted Pete to comment, "This does not look like the kind of neighborhood where people put their garbage for pick-up on the curb. In fact, this does not look like the kind of neighborhood where people even make garbage!". We did quite a bit of eating out, and stumbled upon this little gem, an Asian restaurant whose back patio made me covet.

It was a fabulous opportunity to spend some quality time with just my boys, and a wonderful place to celebrate Pete's 2nd Father's Day. Nothing that Pete does in terms of generosity of spirit surprises me, but I am continually amazed by his commitment to our marriage and to our son. I cannot imagine anything he could do to be a better father to Andrew, and my heart bursts when I am reminded of the obvious, that he is not just my husband and father to our son, but Andrew's dad. Our child is an incredibly fortunate little man.

Last week we were crawling into bed and out of nowhere Pete says to me, "Every night when I go to bed I have that great feeling like I used to have on Christmas Eve, knowing I get to wake up to Andrew in the morning."

I know the feeling.

Bonne Nuit

2007-06-12T11:03:00.000-04:00

The last time I was home I went rummaging through my mother's linen closet and found a pair of pillowcases that my grandmother had embroidered for me when I was about 10:

I have very vivid memories of evenings spent at my grandparent's house, my grandmother and me sitting on her couch embroidering while watching ice-skating and eating popcorn with pecans. One of the first things I ever embroidered was on a little towel for my father. I carefully transferred and stitched a design of bowling balls and pins on the bottom corner of the linen. This is a funny gift to me now, since I have not even one memory of my father ever bowling.

The pillowcases stowawayed with me back to NC and the very same week Alicia posted an entry on her blog about the pillowcases she had done. Not to ignore a directive from the embroidery goddess, I immediately set to work gussying up my plain sheets and cases.

This is my first little project, for the sheets on my guest bed, and it turned out okay, I guess. I'd forgotten almost everything I'd ever learned about embroidering, like how many strands of thread to use and how to fashion a french knot, and these cases are Exhibit A of my learning curve.

This is my current project and I am really pleased with how it turned out. Isn't that just the sweetest little pattern? I have one down, one to go. There is just something so quaint yet sophisticated about sleeping on adorned linens...like with so many forms of art, improvement of the aesthetic can elevate a common event. Last night my dreams were filled with George Clooney, so something must be working.

Yummy

2007-06-07T10:01:00.000-04:00

I think I neeeeeeeeed this book by Denyse Schmidt:

Has anyone bought it yet? Is it totally delicious?

I have so many lonely scraps that just sit around my studio languorously and I would love to be able to piece them into something dignified. The only quilt I've ever made is pretty but very formal-looking...a classic pinwheel design. I think if I do much more quilting I'd like to to be a bit more free-form, a la Gee's Bend.

This book looks nice because it seems to have some small projects that I could sit and do in a day and then feel gloriously triumphant in my accomplishment.

My 2 Cents

2007-06-05T08:37:00.000-04:00

I have been to 3 universities for my 3 degrees, all private, all very expensive (just the thought of my $90,000 grad-school debt makes me throw up a little in my mouth). My first undergraduate degree (courtesy of my parents) was awarded to me by a prestigious southern college, an institution recognizable by its breathtaking and gated campus, old-south traditions, and a predominately Anglo student body with young adults who looked as if they had one foot in a J. Crew catalog and the other in a prestigious, stuffy law school.

It was its own unique type of hell.

It's hard for me to tease out my feelings about this school because even though I felt so screwed by it academically, financially and socially, I do count my friends from that place as among those very closest to my heart. (Some of those friends even survived the institution and subsequent prestigious law schools with a great amount of succulence intact.) I've been known to attend a few homecoming games and get a bit wistful when walking around campus (it is, after all, where I got engaged, many years later), but it has no real designs on my heart. I would not actively encourage my children to apply there.

Yesterday I received a large 8x10 envelope from the school, addressed to both me and my husband, who is not a graduate of said institution. The envelope was so large and somewhat grand that I had the fleeting fantasy that this might be an invitation of some sort. I've been known to do some guest lecturing on women's health there, so clearly they were granting me some honorary degree.

The contents turned out to be what I largely expected: fundraising propaganda. Let me preface this by saying 1)I know that schools are expected to do fundraising and that alumni should expect some degree of upper-echelon panhandling, and 2) I know that alumni gifts are credited with providing many opportunities for less-advantaged students. Even knowing these things I always bristle a bit at these requests. As the saying goes, you can't get blood from a turnip, and the way I see it, if Pete and I are able to scrape together a bit to give to a university, it will daggum sure be Andrew's future college, not the one who has already received a pretty penny from my parent's estate (to the tune of $100K +).

However, instead of just being able to shrug this off as yet another philanthropic opportunity for those graduates not living off a single, modest income, this year the institution urged us to consider ways that even the smallest donation could be a big help. And, in most cases, I believe this is true. We give to our church and other organizations not because we have a huge amount to give, but because I feel strongly that if everyone just gave a little, things could truly be improved for the human condition. Like famine. And health care. So I read on.

For example, it said, $18 would buy a case of toilet paper - to roll the quad!!!!!!!

Oh my gosh! Why had I never considered this? How selfish of me!!! You mean for just $18, an amount that would provide a full course of vaccinations for an Ethiopian child, I could buy a whole case of toilet paper not to be used, but to decorate old Magnolia trees after our basketball team won a championship game???

Now that's where the little man can make a difference!!

Once In a Blue Moon

2007-05-31T10:33:00.000-04:00

Tonight we will see a blue moon. I learned on Good Morning America today that blue moons aren't actually blue (how did I go 30 years without that knowledge??) - it just refers to an occasion where there are 2 full moons in one month, a phenomenon that occurs only about every 2.5 yrs. I always kind of get a kick out of these events...maybe we should do something to mark it. Clearly a meal of Moon Pies are in order. God bless the South.

Aren't these just the prettiest things? Allyn brought them yesterday to our playdate and I picked up a handful for home because Andrew couldn't get enough of them. He even ate one pit and stem and all. It's funny - I don't like many things that are cherry-flavored (even cherry pie) but fresh cherries make me happy to be alive. I remember being in New York in the spring and I would buy cherries on the street...the gold and pink water-coloured looking ones, and I would eat them as I walked along to work or to do my errands.

We're expecting company this weekend, one of my lovely roommates from college and her hubby and edible little boy. The anticipation of company for me is nearly always a good thing, as it is the only thing that truly can motivate me to clean and tidy my home. We're thinking about hitting a farmer's market and getting ice cream from the local dairy and then having some other friends in to join us for cocktails and dinner. I can't wait.

As much as I think our new friends here just hung a blue moon, I do often think it's sad that some of my oldest friends are living so far away. I miss them so much, and although most feelings are lessened with time, my achy-ness for them only intensifies as the months pass. One of my very best friends just moved across the country and sometimes when I look at a map of the US it's like I'm looking at it through a fun-house mirror...the ones where the center looks really big and bulging and the sides are really tiny and so far away from each other. Last night he was going to pick up some gum at a little store and I found myself a bit jealous of the cashier and the other shoppers for just having him around. I feel that way about all of my friends who aren't close...I just would love to say to the people who interact with them in little ways all the time, at the grocery, the dry cleaners, Do you know who this person is?? This is only one of the most fantastic people to ever draw breath. You are so lucky to be ringing up their gum and bread.

I wish we could just all live in some little commune together, working the land and drinking martinis.

From Pete after reading 237 Curious George books to Andrew

2007-05-27T13:02:00.000-04:00

I think when I read Andrew's book to him I am going to say, "This is George. He is a good monkey and always very bi-curious...".

Hecho a mano

2007-05-25T13:02:00.000-04:00

It's no secret among my friends that I am one of the most frugal people they know. It's not so much that I don't like to spend money, as it is that I hate to spend money on things that I could so clearly make myself. This trait is both a blessing and a curse. I've attempted to make various items that would be obvious purchases to less financially neurotic folks, with mixed results: a wedding cake, my son's entire nursery linens, wool sweaters, board games, jewerly chests, built-in shelving. A few weekends ago we were invited to the our first BBQ of the season (sadly, our first BBQ in years) and I literally was sewing up a shirt to wear as we walked out the door, a necessity since my closet looked like a store of ugly clothing which had just gone out of business, leaving on the racks the garments that were just too awful to sell. It looked like a place where clothes go to die.

So no one was surprised when I launched my baby cloth business that I would need a website, and that, of course, I would design and build it myself. I realize that in this day and age building a website is really no big deal for a lot of people. But, kind reader, please keep in mind that I have an MA in midwifery. Web design is seriously out of my scope of practice. I'd always prefer the work of IUDs to CSS.

Although the site isn't totally complete and I'm sure has code that would make web developers die a slow death, I'm really tickled with how it turned out. Like with so many of my projects it's about the aesthetics - don't look too closely at the details. But I think it's a sweet-looking site, very friendly, which manages to capture the spirit of Petite Toile. It really wasn't that hard - I just spent countless hours on Lynda.com trying to maneuver my way through Dreamweaver, and it also doesn't hurt to have a live-in art director who is willing to trade Photoshop work for sexual favors.

Most importantly, building this website just reinforces what I've always believed and what I hope to teach to my children: even if you can buy something, there is a unique satisfaction in diving in, getting your hands dirty, and making things yourself - just as you like them.

I scream

2007-05-22T15:54:00.000-04:00

The first year Pete and I lived in Manhattan we decided to buy an ice cream maker with some wedding-present credit we had at Williams Sonoma. This was a very logical purchase, since our kitchen was (literally) 21 sq. ft and we were already storing canned goods in our shoes.

Space issues aside, I have to say that I've never regretted the purchase. In fact, I nearly dropped to my knees and kissed its little base when it helped me produce Nigella Lawson's World's Best Chocolate Ice Cream this weekend. I urge you to get your sweet tooth on a copy of How To Eat and make some magic happen in your kitchen.

I won't kid you and tell you that it's an effortless creation, but you will be amply rewarded. It's everything I love in chocolate ice cream: smoky, dark, heady. Any ingredient would be honored to meet its end as part of this concoction. It will make you happy when temperatures soar.

This Time of Year

2007-05-22T09:03:00.000-04:00

Although it's been beautifully detailed in both prose and song, there really is nothing like late spring in the South. Early March typically heralds its arrival with unfurling of daffodils and crocuses from the ground and the most delicate buds on the trees. By April the yard is a rapidly evolving ecosystem which leaves me, Queen of the Black Thumb, constantly questioning whether the many sprouts around our home are weeds or something that I may actually want to grow.

And then there's May. Oh, May. May is, for all intents and purposes, really considered summer in my part of North Carolina. Pools open early, the buzz of air conditioners provide the soundtrack to the outdoors, and lawns already suffer due to early droughts. But the most spectacular part of May is the presence of tremendous overgrowth of flora, cloaking homes in a shadow of Kudzu and ivy, a blanket to gently deflect the summer sun. The density of green has an unusual effect: instead of appearing brighter in the summer, many locations seem more obsure, darker, more mysterious. This is Flannery O'Connor's South; the alluring, enigmatic region that I love so.

Don't Feel Like Dancing

2007-05-19T19:22:00.001-04:00

Although my friend Bo and I joke about it, I'm beginning to be a little concerned that all Andrew will listen to in the car is the Scissor Sister's Ta-Dah! CD. It absolutely never fails that 3 minutes into any drive he will start to scream, Song!! Song, Please!!!. If I do not immediately switch off whatever I am listening to and put in the Sisters, screaming commences.

It really is my fault, since after receiving the album in November I played it ad nauseam, but now the kid is the one that can't let go. I always suffer a pang of guilt when I'm around mothers who discuss their child's love affair with Raffi or the Wiggles. Inevitably they inquire about Andrew's musical preferences and I admit that no, G-rated albums simply don't stimulate him enough - he needs disco/glam-rock and yes, I listen to it with one finger on the fast-forward button to skip over the cursing and nasty sexual innuendos. Typically, this is the end of the discussion.

I'm not so much worried about the music itself, since it really is very catchy and fun and his comprehension is quite limited, but more concerned that he refuses to listen to anything else. It's driving me mad. Pete got me the new Tori Amos CD for mother's day (wonderful) and we tried to listen to it in the car, Andrew protesting the entire time. Finally Pete said, "Andrew - this is the new Scissor Sisters!!!". No deal. My sister sent me this link though, and I laughed so hard I nearly wet myself.

So we have kind of agreed to ride it out, although every time I put it on my eyes start to cross a little. However, the other day we were driving to church and Pete and I both looked in the backseat at our little guy. There he sat in his carseat, completely blissed-out, Scissor Sisters blaring, chewing on my sister's makeup brush.

It doesn't bode well.

Sloth

2007-05-17T12:26:00.000-04:00

I am just totally useless today. I did manage to run to Trader Joe's and come home to make mango sorbet, which is truly one of the most magnificent creations to come out of my kitchen in a long time. But my house is dirty and I have cloths to make, and my mojo is gone on both fronts. I was sick last week and then Pete has been sick all this week and the house feels like it's come down with something too. I feel like I need to go around the rooms opening windows and waving a smudge stick and ringing a bell.

I finally got a big order of little cloths out to The Red Hen in Carrboro. I couldn't believe how long it took for me to finish them, but I was really pleased with how they turned out. The business is growing, slowly but surely.

Tomorrow marks the one year anniversary of the "restructuring" of Pete's work at that awful agency. When I think back about that time I still get sick to my stomach, but I am also so, so grateful. What seemed like the worst-case scenario (new baby, single income, strange city) really made us reach out and grab opportunities which have been nothing short of miraculous. Case in point: If Pete had not decided to leave his job, I wouldn't have started working at the birth center. And the birth center's lovely little store wouldn't have asked me to make baby cloths. And then I wouldn't have decided to see who else was interested in my little cloths. And, of course, I wouldn't today have my sweet little business.

I think that Pete and I are going to celebrate all that we have done and become in the last year. Our wedding anniversary is lovely because it marks the day we made our vows. But May 18th is so meaningful because that's when those vows were tested, when we had the choice to fall apart or to meet our lives head-on, as partners.

Just Up My Alley

2007-05-15T10:28:00.000-04:00

A few days ago we went to WV to celebrate my friend Karen's 30 birthday. Her husband was throwing her a surprise party (nearly always a very bad idea) and had recruited me to act as the ruse to throw her off the track of suspicion. So of course I agreed to help out with that and in a further gesture of generosity asked if there was anything else I could do (nearly always a very bad idea).

At first he declined, but then I heard a glint of opportunism in his voice. Yes, if you really want to, I have a project that is just up your alley, he says. He then points me in the direction of this site and tells me that Karen has dreamed of nothing more than a pineapple palm tree to call her very own.

For those of you who have always fantasized about sinking a 1" bit through tropical fruit, let me assure you it's a nasty business. Pineapple guts covered the floor of my parents' garage and I ended up having to spray a hose through their core, a pineapple douche, if you will, before sodomizing the poor things with table legs.

My 82-yr-old grandfather helped out and was both mesmerized and repulsed by what we were doing.

Sadly, the tree was not the hit I had anticipated and I think Karen barely noticed that it was there.

Upon my return to NC I emailed pics of the final products to friends and offered to extend my talents to mark their special occasions too. Like a guillotine out of field strawberries. Or a suckling pig out of kiwi fruit. These were their requests:

I think you should definitely make something for my wedding. Perhaps out of large bananas. Jumbo.
For my next decade birthday, I would like you scupt the Statue of Liberty out of hummus.
A fetal feline out of french fabric.

We all agreed that I should be very thankful that he didn't ask me to make this: