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.

A Sorta' Fairytale

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.

Sweet Souls

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

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.

Wuv, Trooo Wuv

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

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.

Hinges of Hades

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.

Too Much

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.

Ghosts

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

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.

The Queasy Need not Read

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

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

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.

Once In a Blue Moon

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.

Just Up My Alley

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:

1. I think you should definitely make something for my wedding. Perhaps out of large bananas. Jumbo.
2. For my next decade birthday, I would like you scupt the Statue of Liberty out of hummus.
   
3. 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: