Workin'. Sorta.

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.

The Chosen One

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

Of Mice and Men

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.

Envy and the 8-hr Quilt

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.

This American Life

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

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.

Bonne Nuit

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.