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.
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....
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
I feel a bit about blogging as I do about popular TV shows - I never seem to get into them until they are in syndication. But I am feeling so motivated by some of my favorite blogs that I wanted to give it a shot. I assume that a first paragraph of a blog is most likely the hardest to write, just like with a term paper. Only, with a term paper, of course, you can go back and write the first paragraph last. Bear with me.
Yesterday was mother's day, and I have to say, this year even more than the last, I feel as if I'd earned it. I was awakened by Pete throwing Andrew in the bed to cuddle and then invited to a breakfast of popovers and insanely-priced butter and organic preserves.
Later we trekked it into Raleigh to do some flea-marketing. When we lived in DC, I thought the Georgetown flea market could not be topped. I stand corrected. The Raleigh one is absolutely fabulous and for $24 I amassed the menagerie you see before you:
Pete took a shot of this scary little dog.
We came back to the house, visited with neighbors, and after Andrew was in bed treated ourselves to what we call "Sideways" night - a dinner of (cheap) wine, cheese, bread, etc. And usually the movie. We didn't rent the movie this year because, wonder of wonders, it was supposed to be on TV. at 7 pm. I checked. not 5 pm. so we missed the film. but the evening was a big hit anyway, making ourselves sick on cheese and delicious farmer's market finds.
Really a perfect day in the midst of what has been a very difficult year.
