Shape of a Spoon

the human element of art

2012-03-09T10:06:00.001-08:00

We mustered up enough courage to take our children to the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art this weekend. There were moments when it felt like a foolhardy endeavor of the highest order:

I glance over and notice the 5-year-old standing where some shaky film footage is being projected onto a white wall. Then I realize she is poised with her pencil millimeters from the wall. I dash over and (I think) barely avoid disaster as I pull the pencil from her hand and move her back a few feet. Fast forward two minutes. The 3-year-old is now standing at exactly the same spot with an eraser in her hand.

Apparently I wasn't quite quick enough - she was trying to mitigate her sister's overzealous involvement with the exhibit.

Then there was the rest of the visit, filled with the enthusiasm of the 3-year-old moving from room to room proclaiming what she saw in the art, which was so very open to interpretation. Or with her older sister intently sketching the paintings on the wall (which was why she had that dratted pencil in the first place).

The children drank in their surroundings. Their excitement was contagious. Dare I confess that I am not particularly fond of modern art? I am one of those unenlightened people who looks at a painting of squares and paint splotches and says, "my five-year-old could do that." But that day my children helped me feel the paintings.

Confined to one room for a bit while my baby nursed, I was particularly taken with a painting by Mark Rothko. My children and others moved in and out of the space in front of it. The combination of painting and the people interacting with it created a constantly changing work of art.

After they could no longer stand to be mere observers of art, we headed over to Golden Gate Park. In addition to your typical playground structures, there was a climbing wall in the shape of an ocean wave and sculptures of various beach wildlife. Again, art unfolded before my eyes.

reunited, and it feels so good

2012-03-09T08:52:00.004-08:00

My camera came home yesterday, and hasn't been out of my hands much since. Funny how much of a difference a little hunk of metal and mirrors can make in one's life, in the way one sees life. I swear there are more birds out today, and that I actually could smell the musty dirt of early spring driving home this morning. Even with the windows up.

So happy to have you back.

wednesday's ode

2012-03-07T06:33:00.004-08:00

To beautiful surroundings.

24 kindergarteners and some circles

2012-03-06T05:30:00.002-08:00

With my oldest entering kindergarten this past year, I've been reintroduced to the world of school fundraisers. I told my husband, as the flyers came home for fundraiser after fundraiser, that I would prefer to simply donate a share of the amount of money the school needed rather than feel obligated to buy overpriced chocolates, buy popcorn and soda for a class gift basket and then bid on it, go to the school "carnival" and yield to my daughter's pleadings for paying for cotton candy and a cake walk, or pay my daughter for running around in a circle half a dozen times. I'm feeling rather Scrooge-ish as I type this. Perhaps I don't yet understand the community that is built from fundraising in this way.

But when my daughter's teacher asked me to head up the class art project for the upcoming school art auction, my interest was piqued. I scoured the internet for ideas on what 24 kindergarteners could put together that would command lucrative bids from other members of our community. Kandinsky's Squares with Concentric Circles kept popping up. It seemed plausible and my daughter's teacher liked the idea, so I ran with it.

Squares with Concentric Circles. Wassily Kandinsky.

Past endeavors I had read about had the children use pastels or paint on cardstock squares, then assemble them into a cohesive picture on paper. I really wanted the kids to be able to work with canvas, though, so I prepped a few yards of canvas with gesso and cut it down into dozens of 7" x 7" squares.

The day of the painting session, I introduced the artist to the children. I read some of his inspiring quotes regarding how he felt his art captured emotion. I gave a quick refresher on color mixing (we only gave the children red, yellow and blue to work with). I put on some inspiring music. Then the painting began.

I came home with 24 beautifully unique squares. Over the next few weeks I went through the process of turning them into a cohesive work of art. I trimmed down the squares to 6" x 6" and arranged them on a 2' x 3' canvas. I attached them with a layer of gesso. A few coats of varnish helped complete their unification.

My 3-year-old helped to document the process. Along with about 50 unnecessary closeups of my (and the baby's) behind. (Orange juice and Trader Joe's soup cartons were among the many household items carted out to help press down the canvas as it dried.)

I attached a card to the back of the canvas explaining a bit about the finished piece. But it didn't do justice to the excitement I had felt from the kids as they painted.

How wonderful to be part of their creative process. And what a beautiful creation it was!

visual obsessions: maynard dixon

2012-03-05T05:00:00.000-08:00

We were living in Indiana when my brother-in-law sent us a book of Maynard Dixon paintings. Ohhh, how those colors and shapes invigorated and tormented me. There are hues that exist in the west, you see, where there is no humidity to diffuse the color, that never showed up in seven years of midwestern sky. Sometimes I would look through the book and think the clouds were borderline cartoonish, nigh unto absurd. And the swaths of rock on sky, the miniscule scale of humanity -- these paintings seemed like a dream of a place, the painter just a few steps beyond melodramatic.

But I don't think I've gone one day in the past year and a half without being floored by the clouds around here. They really are cartoonishly spectacular. Bold. Intense. Frothy.

Driving home the other night there was a swell that rolled right off the foothills, bending and bowling just like a horizontal twister.

Just, as a matter of fact, like this.

Maynard really did know what he was doing.

riding (or not) pants

2012-03-02T08:22:00.000-08:00

I suspect I'm mixing my riding styles here (English vs. Western?), but I've been so taken with her prancing about in her cowboy boots as of late (and she's been so short on pants, especially with all the ones in the to-be-patched pile) that I decided to make her a pair of riding pants. Flared out just below the hips, more fitted from the knees to the calves, and with built in patches (though, shamefacedly I admit, more for looks than utility). But awfully fetching, nonetheless.

wednesday's ode

2012-02-29T06:47:00.001-08:00

To beautiful surroundings.

fairy rings again

2012-02-28T09:51:00.000-08:00

What wedding gift do you give to someone who has everything? (Or two someones, that is.) Why symbolism, of course! And some original art. This was my second painting of a ring of giant redwoods (aka fairy ring).

An excerpt from my blog post about my first Fairy Ring painting:

Also referred to as a Family Circle, these tree formations occur when a redwood starts sprouting new trees, a method of asexual reproduction. When the central "parent" tree dies and eventually rots away, the only indication that it ever existed is a ring of giant redwoods, empty in the center.

I could easily get carried away in the symbolism of such a phenomenon - parents leaving behind a strong circle of children, interconnected by the source of their existence (perhaps in some families the only thing they have in common, but a strong binding nevertheless), providing support and shelter to each other.

When writing in the card to the bride and groom, we left out the part about asexual reproduction.

a year ago

2012-02-27T07:03:00.004-08:00

Last year as February was rolling out and March barreling in, I was bracing for some serious cold. We had a mild winter last year, even by Colorado standards, and after seven years in northern Indiana (land of the 6-month-freeze) I was assuming the cold would hit in earnest any day. And that it would last through June to compensate for the late start. But the cold never came. March rolled in like a lamb, and left with a blissfully extended baaaaaa.

Last year as february rolled out I was still figuring out how to parent across a spectrum that included teens and an infant. While I'm still figuring that out (and anticipate working on it for, well, forever), we seem to have found at least some semblance of rhythm. And oh, looking at the photos from last year, those baby toes are irresistible.

This week that tiny baby is playing "face plant." I missed the first twenty-five drops, but still. The boy is an absolute clown. And yes, we do usually try to keep the marbles off the floor. Oh well.

Last year seems like a very long time ago, but the sunny warmth of the day today got me thinking backwards. Maybe we're in for another early, mild spring.

I wouldn't mind.

darned patches

2012-02-24T09:22:00.000-08:00

I wouldn't generally classify myself as a follower of trends. I've chuckled lately at the contrived patches I've seen cropping up. These ones are painted on.


image source

And these ones are felted on. A pretty cool idea, actually - adding things to an old sweater via felting? I'm filing that idea away for future use.

image source

They are striking, yes, but also a bit amusing to someone who patches clothing out of necessity.

But when my daughter's favorite tights proved to be in need of major reconstructive surgery, it was too easy to choose a fun yarn and tweak the shape of the darned holes slightly.

wednesday's ode

2012-02-22T05:50:00.002-08:00

To beautiful surroundings, and thoughts of spring. And to hopes of a camera returning home. Eventually.

patches of topography

2012-02-21T13:36:00.000-08:00

I decided to try another approach to patching jeans. This time, inspired by this beautiful topographical art.

spoon

2012-02-17T14:57:00.000-08:00

I arrived at Pier 1, a gift card in hand (thanks to my mother-in-law) and a 20% off coupon for recently moving into the area, yet not really in need of anything.

I came home with a giant spoon in the back of my car.

We've lived on a student budget for so long: every purchase so agonizing; each line of logic for why we should buy something so easily dismantled. The absurdity of walking into a store juggling my three young children and walking out juggling a giant spoon as well? Irresistible.

My baby pulled it off the wall twice before I wised up and moved his high chair. It's pretty much the most impractical thing ever, yet a secret part of me thrills whenever someone walks into our kitchen and is struck by the incongruity of it all.

lights

2012-02-16T05:00:00.000-08:00

With the holidays long over and the rooms stripped of all their festivity, I've been thinking a lot about lights lately. The past few weeks have been the darkest of the winter -- long and cloudy and low. Or maybe they have just seemed darkest, without that extra umph of bright lights scattered over the walls and trees around the house.

I have been skimming through my archives and thinking about how small wads of lights completely transform pictures.

I have been thinking about light while my camera is in the shop and the babies crawl around on the wood floor in the early morning sunshine. The light hits the floor just so, and they chase the stripes and try to grab the shapes.

And since I can't chase them through a lens, I just watch. Or I climb down on the floor with them and put my hand in the light too.

There is something about stepping out from behind the lens, from behind the book and cthe omputer and the phone and the window pane. Life is so much different three steps removed. There is something about getting into the light and air and sounds and smells, about experiencing it all first hand.

I'll be grateful to have my camera back eventually (please, please, please) but in the meantime, there is something to be said for being without.

wednesday's ode

2012-02-15T05:00:00.000-08:00

To beautiful surroundings.

valentine juvenility

2012-02-14T08:47:00.000-08:00

My daughter and I butted heads over valentines this year. The absurdity of this admission is quite apparent now that she is in bed, safely tucked away from the stack of valentines that she will hand out to her fellow kindergarteners tomorrow. She is five years old. I am thirty-three.

Does anyone else out there struggle with giving their children free reign on projects that are, well, theirs? For some reason, if I am in any way involved in the project, I can't seem to relinquish control of it. Oh, the shame of the other five-year-olds receiving a generic valentine from my daughter. Unbearable enough to warrant my increasingly desperate attempts to align my daughter's valentine vision with my own.

Not desperate at all: presenting in a detached way the brilliant idea I've come up with.
A bit concerned: talking excitedly about my idea... really trying to sell it to her.
Bordering on desperate: pointing out why my idea would turn out better than what she has in mind.
Full-on desperate: "Fine! Nevermind! We'll just go buy boring valentines from the store!"

Oh boy. Did I mention that she is five years old and I am thirty-three?

She insisted on pretending to hold a sucker. I talked her into at least pretending to hold a Hershey's kiss.

Am I planning to grow up a little by next Valentine's Day? As I type this, I am thinking of how soon I can go ahead and finish up my original plan. If it's already done, there's no room for negotiation next year, right?

Did I mention that next year I'll be thirty-four?

a little space

2012-02-13T05:00:00.000-08:00

Somehow on friday the entire day came down to the baby and me. That doesn't happen often, and oh my, it was heavenly. We read and played and ate treats for breakfast. Normally when that boy naps, there is another baby or a five year-old to chase around, but friday when he went down I crept into my room and closed. the. door.

Do you remember the sad state of my sewing desk last fall?

Well it's been getting sadder by the day (which would make 106 days of increasing sadness).

I started off stacking things by machine and hand sewing (seriously, where have all these buttons gone?), and then split the machine stack into colors, because who wants to change the thread out more than absolutely necessary?: blue (flower patches, mended jeans, closing up millions of holes in tights); white (ripped shirts, skirt hems, more tights -- see previous); orange/pink (tablecloths for a friend, backpack seam, still more tights. sigh); and a couple of tan suit pants.

My boys, it seems, are growing -- daily, hourly perhaps. They check their muscles in the mirror and test out new vocal ranges and have been running around in, well, floods. I stole their suit pants a couple of weeks ago, and finally found the time to open the waistbands an inch and drop the hems by two. Or three. Or five. My oldest boy, whose pants drooped over his shoes just last spring, needed them let down so far he only has a half inch hem left. Half an inch to barely scrape the top of his shoes. He's going to tower over me by summer, I'm afraid. Absolutely crazy to have one boy on my hip barely mouthing "mama" and another with a driver's permit (be still my panicked heart).

But they certainly looked spiff in their newly fitted suits.

And how.

Now my sewing desk looks like this,

Inspiring, isn't it? What a little clear space and a stack of good fabric and a well-oiled machine can do for me is always surprising. Maybe if I could pare the rest of the house down this well, toilet cleaning and dinnertime would seem a little more magical. Worth a try, anyway.

Olive You

2012-02-10T05:30:00.000-08:00

My daughter's name lends itself quite nicely to valentines, as it turns out.

This pillow? Cute idea. And when your name is actually Olive? Voilà - the best valentines ever. Plus, I get to watch her write the E at the end of her name over and over again. She's been known to put as many as 10 lines on it when inspiration strikes. Ah, the thrill of watching her thoughtfully add line after perpendicular line and then pronounce, "There." when it looks just right.

How many years running do you think I'll be able to keep her excited about this one?

wednesday's ode

2012-02-08T06:57:00.001-08:00

To beautiful surroundings.

ruffle sweater dress (a pattern... sort of)

2012-02-06T05:30:00.000-08:00

I am not a very experienced knitter. Sure, I've undertaken some pretty advanced projects, but I had no idea what I was doing or why - I simply followed the pattern. (Granted it's quite possible I am alone in my knitting theory ignorance.) But the insight I've gained via many projects has been ever so helpful in modifying knitting patterns, or even creating my own pattern. In case there are others out there who look at a pattern like a recipe to be followed exactly, perhaps my explanations of what I did and why will be helpful.

I made up this pattern as I went along. There were a few things I would change about it were I to knit it over again. This pattern is for the dress as I knit it, but I've included some suggestions for potential ways to improve it, as well as resize it.

Size: 2 (my daughter just turned 3 and she can still wear this). Her chest measurement is 20 inches and this dress is about mid-thigh - I designed it to be worn over pants or a skirt. Knit yours longer if you'd like.
Yarn: An unraveled wool sweater from Goodwill. Sorry I can't provide a specific source for the yarn.
Gauge: 15 sts/4 inches
Needle Size: I think I used a size 8, but you should simply use the needles and yarn that will yield the correct gauge.

I knit this in the round. When I finally finish knitting something, it pains me to have to sew the pieces together before it is useable. However, you could definitely knit it in two pieces (front and back) and then join the pieces together. The cast on is brutal, as you'll be casting on four times as many stitches as you'll be knitting with after the first two rows, but it will quickly become a much more manageable number of stitches.

Cast on 496 stitches (You see? Brutal.)

First note: This dress ended up a bit wider than an A line, so the sides ended up hanging down further than the middle. If you like the way it looks, great! If not, you could reduce the number of stitches you cast on. If I were to try for a more traditional A line, I would probably cast on about 384. Your cast on number should be divisible by 8.

bottom ruffle - to create this we will rapidly decrease the number of stitches, like gathering a longer length of material onto a shorter amount.

Row 1: Knit (remember, I knit this in the round, so all the stitches were knits. If you knit a front and a back separately, you'll alternate with knits and purls in order to achieve a stockinette stitch.)
Row 2: k2tog (all stitches). Now you'll have 248 sts.
Row 3: k2tog (all stitches). Now you'll have 124 sts.

A-line body of the dress - to create the A-line, you will use the measurement of the bottom of the dress, the chase measurement, and the length of the dress to determine how often you will decrease.

After my first 3 rows, I had 124 sts. (or 62 sts for the front and 62 sts for the back). My daughter's chest measurement is 20 inches, so according to my gauge (15 sts/4 inches) I would want to end up with 76 sts (20 * 15/4 - I rounded up to a number divisible by 4) at the armpit (or 38 sts for the front and 38 sts for the back). I wanted the length of dress from the armpit to be 13". So, I needed to decrease one stitch on each side of the front and on each side of the back about every inch.

124 - 76 = 48 (number of sts to be decreased)
48 / 2 = 24 (number of sts to be decreased each on the front and the back)
24 / 2 = 12 (number of sts to be decreased on each side of the front and on each side of the back)
12 sts / 13" = about 1 stitch per inch

Row 4: k all stitches
continue knitting for 1 inch.
next row: ssk, k58, k2tog, ssk, k58, k2tog (120 sts)
continue knitting for 1 inch
next row: ssk, k56, k2tog, ssk, k56, k2tog (116 sts)
continue knitting in this pattern until you have 76 sts and about 13" of length.

armholes and keyhole opening at back
next row: bind off 3, k32, bind off 6, k32, bind off 3
You will have to stop knitting in the round at this point. Place half of the sts on a holder. Continue knitting the other half - these will form the back of the dress.
next row: k all sts. Continue knitting all sts until it measures 3" from the bottom of the armhole.
next row: k14, bind off 4, k14
Place half of these sts on holder.
next row: k all sts. Continue knitting all sts until it measures 2 1/2" from bottom of the keyhole opening.
Repeat with the other 14 sts that you placed on the holder.

front upper bodice
k all sts until it measures 5 1/2 " from the bottom of the armhole.

shoulder seams
Using the kitchener stitch, join the last 7 sts of the back to the first 7 sts of the front bodice.
Do the same to join the first 7 sts of the back to the last 7 sts of the front bodice.

buttonhole and ruffle neck
Starting with the 7 sts on the back to the left of the keyhole opening, k2tog, YO, k5, pick up 1 or 2 sts at the left shoulder seam, k32, pick up 1 or 2 sts at the right shoulder seam, k7
next row: p1, M1p, p1, M1p ... continue for all sts
next row: k1, M1, k1, M1, ... continue for all sts
next row: bind off all sts

Attach a shank button opposite the buttonhole created by the yarn over.

The end.

giveaway winner

2012-02-02T05:30:00.000-08:00

Beyond Unraveling - a repurposed sweater

I can see that next time I will need to resort to randomly choosing a winner. Only three responses to the Wear it Out giveaway, but almost painful to have to choose between them. But choose I did. This will be my new clothing redemption project:

"I have some (ugly) brown velvet overalls that belonged to my aunt who died when I was only 15. I have kept them all these years, not ever really wanting to wear them but not wanting them to be thrown out either."

I'm eager to begin!

wednesday's ode

2012-02-01T05:00:00.000-08:00

To beautiful surroundings.

not quite up to the (chisel) challenge.

2012-01-31T10:49:00.000-08:00

"We need a chisel-challenge, don't you think? (peer pressure is how I manage to get myself to pull off about 85% of everything I do). We each need to make something with chisels for next week. deal?"
- Allyson, Chisel Challenge champion

Allyson, you have won this chisel challenge, fair and square. Despite having twice as many children as I and a camera on the fritz, you rose to the challenge and managed to document it as well. I salute you.

In all seriousness, I can't wait to see the finished attacking lion stamp. I was planning on trying my hand at a woodblock printing. Now I'm thinking I might be able to handle a button. I pulled this sweater out to prove that, once upon a time, I did use my chisels and carving knife. A green cable sweater knit from Irish wool - a perfect remembrance of my trip to the Emerald Isle. The buttons, unfortunately, proved to be made of plastic and began to break after a few times of tossing my sweater onto a table. So I carved some wooden replacements.

Shame-faced, I offer my erstwhile (eight years ago, to be exact) woodcarving. Ah, but will you win the next chisel challenge??? (Quite likely, but it doesn't hurt to put up a brave front, eh?)

an extra leisurely tutorial

2012-01-27T10:35:00.000-08:00

This jumpsuit is, by far, my favorite thing to put on my baby these days. The sweater I started out with just happened to be perfect, making this quite a leisurely project indeed. Chances of finding a sweater exactly like this one for repurposing purposes is unlikely, yes, but the general method can be tweaked depending on the style of sweater you are using.

This is the sweater I began with.

I left the collar untouched. The length was also perfect for my baby's length, so bottom was finished as well. I laid a pair of my son's pajamas over the sweater (centered over the zipper and collar) to get an idea of the width, inseam, and armhole size. The white lines below show the places I cut into the sweater.

Next, I cut out a circle to add a bit more room for his big diaper bum.

I pinned it to the crotch of the back piece, right sides together, and stitched it about halfway around. (Note: on all seams, I sewed a straight stitch first, then used a zigzag stitch over top to keep edges from unraveling and to make the seams stronger.)

This is what the back looks like once the circle is sewn on.

Next, sew the side seams, right sides together, up to the armholes.

Measure the circumferences of the armholes. Cut two strips this length, and about 1 1/2 inches wide.

Fold the strip in half, right sides together, and stitch the short ends together. You will use this as a binding for the armholes. Pin this, right sides together, to the armhole.

Sew the binding to the armhole. Turn the jumpsuit inside out, turn under the edge of the binding, and pin it to the inside of the armhole.

Whip stitch the turned under edge to the inside of the armhole.

Finish the inseam as you like: snaps for diaper changing ease, simply sewn shut, or, as I opted for, a zipper! (I'm now wondering why all baby inseams don't have zippers - so much easier than fumbling with snaps as my baby frantically tries to crawl off to his next adventure.)

The embroidery on the back was such fun. And, in fact, quite leisurely. I just freehanded it (the little knits all throughout the garment were kind of like grid lines to keep my lines more or less straight). This was my inspiration.

knives, [no] camera, action!

2012-01-26T15:44:00.000-08:00

So I've been chiseling today. I pulled a trapezoid from the scrap box in the garage last night and traced an "attacking lion leaping on this lamb over here" from the seven year-old's sketch stash and, well, at that point I hit the end of any previous expertise. I've never chiseled anything but soap before (which, for the record, is slightly easier to shave off than poplar), and had to consult "the experts" (google) for the next steps.

Apparently the main issue in chiseling a picture is whether to chisel-within or chisel-around. Technical, yes, but an important distinction, say the experts. Since I plan to stamp this lion on anything I can get my hands on in the next few days, chiseling-around seemed like the better option. Time will tell, but so far so good.

Unfortunately, things are not so good so far when it comes to my camera. On the fritz, so to speak. I feel slightly unnerved and thoroughly naked without a camera on my arm. How did I get so attached?

In the meantime, a Photo Booth shot will have to do. Me, some chisel, and a very slowly emerging lion.

Anyone else playing with wood this week?

wednesday's ode

2012-01-25T05:00:00.000-08:00

To beautiful surroundings.

If you're stopping over from Prudent Baby, welcome! We hope you'll stay and look around. And make sure to check out our one of a kind giveaway.

extra leisurely suit

2012-01-24T09:18:00.000-08:00

Ah, leisure suits. Or, even better, leisure jumpsuits!

image source

For my baby, who is just about as leisurely (and dashing) as any of those classy people from the 70s, here is the epitome of comfort and style. Whether contemplating what to order for lunch,

or composing a little music,

he'll be doing it all in a cozy wool jumpsuit, repurposed from a Goodwill sweater.

With some city row houses embroidered on the back for good measure.

Tutorial forthcoming...

wear it out! (a giveaway)

2012-01-23T05:30:00.000-08:00

Allyson and I have been tossing around the idea of a giveaway. But this isn't your typical giveaway.

Giveaways seem to be all the rage these days. Ten years ago, I would have jumped at the chance to win a giveaway - any giveaway. Pre kids (and pre the ensuing clutter and cramped apartment), if something was free, I was on board. Was it something I really had a use for? Perhaps not. But it was free! Career fairs at my university with all the accompanying free pens and stress reliever balls? Count me in! A free t-shirt I would probably never wear for applying for a credit card? Sign me up!

But now the pendulum has swung in the opposite direction. I feel almost panicky when someone offers me something free. Where would I put it? What if I ended up not using it? Then I'd have to find someone to give it to or else feel incredibly guilty just disposing of it. I'd certainly hate to provoke a similar state of anxiety in someone else by offering them something they might not want.

But here is what we would like to give away: the opportunity to make use of something that might otherwise end up in the trash.

Some of my own favorite art (in clothing form) has come about because I was trying to make the fullest use possible out of something. Some of my favorite results have been:

My husband's pants, destroyed during a biking accident, now a tribute to his uncomplaining recovery and a favorite of my daughter.

A great Christmas gift from my husband: alas too small for me, but, with a few modifications, perfect for the 5-year-old.

Second-hand leggings, in good condition when acquired by my daughter, but soon stained and with a few holes in the knees - now just as comfortable, but also a one of a kind canvas for reminiscences of our sojourn in Santa Cruz.

Unflattering second-hand overalls from a good friend, now the coolest maternity overalls ever.

A nondescript shirt my mom picked up on clearance and passed on to me, now bearing a flock of geese for my bird-obsessed daughter.

Kind of ugly corduroys, now an ode to spring and gardening.

It's a bit of a New Year's resolution for me to not buy new clothes until I'm sure I've used up what I already have to its full extent. I'm even trying to curb my trips to Goodwill and the resulting purchases of things that go into my "to be repurposed" pile. More clutter, you see. Even though I'm potentially saving something from the landfill, I'm still adding to my own pile of STUFF. So instead I'm trying to look at my own things and find some way to make them useable for a bit longer. In light of my inattentiveness to past New Year's resolutions, I'm going the extra mile with this one and helping others fully wear out their things as well.

This isn't a random giveaway. To enter, leave a comment describing the item you'd like to extend the life of, as well as why it may have some sort of special significance to you. We'll then choose the one that sounds like the project with the most potential. The winner will send the item to us, Allyson or I will work our magic on it and then send it back.

Is this giveaway even viable? Will anyone be interested? Am I the only one obsessed with the old-fashioned idea of "use it up, wear it out"? I guess we'll see.

This giveaway will close on Monday, January 30th. We'd like to make this a continuing project and so plan to do a similar giveaway once a month during 2012. Here's to wearing it out!

new in the shop

2012-01-20T05:30:00.000-08:00

I can't decide which this dress ended up reminding me of more: a 70s house dress or one of those traditional chinese dresses with the high collars.

I'm a big fan of pleats and this was a great print to incorporate them into - it highlights the symmetry of the dress while at the same time breaking up the busyness of the fabric design. I was really happy with the way the two fabrics came together - a perfect contrast.

An original design and one of a kind, this dress is available in the Etsy Shop.

visual obsessions: sepia

2012-01-19T07:26:00.001-08:00

Way back in 2003, we received our first digital camera. Our photo library from that year is pretty sparse (ever the slow-to-change girl, I was wary of filmless photography) and our computer space even sparser. I only have a few dozen pictures archived from 2003, and of those, fully half seem to be saved in sepia. I don't know if it was the novelty of photo-adjustment software (ahhh, no more red eyes), or if I was feeling extra nostalgic for the faded prints of my childhood, but I seem to have gone a little overboard. Eventually my husband, who had actually learned the non-sepia aspects of the software, suggested I duplicate the photos before playing with them -- ingeniously simple, if slightly more space consuming.

But in those early years my originals are the experimentals.

Looking back through them today, I find the sepia effect thoroughly appropriate. Those first years were my long ago and old fashioned, my novice experimentation, those simpler days with just three little kids and no lessons, no school, no long-term-financial-plan, no real sense of the passing of time.

And yet. I say all that fully aware that "back then" nothing seemed simple, that three little kids was a completely overwhelming dynamic, that I was tired, anxious, and uncertain just as often as I can be today.

But the sepia soothes the print, takes out the glaring colors and off-tune composition, and leaves for me a sense of the joy and confusion and wonder those years contained as well, of our continual forays into new beauty -- within nature and home and all of the people I so intensively loved.

Those pictures ignite a sensation that once upon a time things were somehow more open and clear, and that someday maybe they will be again.

wednesday's ode

2012-01-18T05:00:00.000-08:00

To beautiful surroundings.

fingerless gloves and books

2012-01-17T05:30:00.000-08:00

Having just returned from a wonderful visit to my mom and dad's house, I have a few observations. Observation number one: my parents have an impressive collection of books. Not only the quantity, but the beautiful vintage books, many of them from when my dad was a child. The books that my kids cart out during our visits bring me back to my childhood. And yet with all their nostalgic and probably actual value (for the extra vintage ones), my mom never places the books out of the children's reach. They reside on the bottom two shelves, awaiting the sticky, none-too-gentle fingers. More often than not, those little fingers eagerly bring them to Nana for lazy, lengthy story-time sessions.

Which brings me to observation number two: my mom is a reader. She loves reading on her own. She loves reading aloud to other people. Not only does she love to read, but she's excellent at it. Most of the Sunday afternoons I remember growing up were spent lounging in the living room while she read Tolkien's tales of hobbits and rings. How many times she must have read those books to us. If she ever picks up The Hobbit while we're visiting, I still thrill at her reading of the three trolls, who in her rendition have cockney accents.

Fingerless gloves for my mom, interwoven with fairytale vines, will hopefully keep those reading sessions going strong for years to come.

new toys

2012-01-16T05:00:00.000-08:00

My husband got a set of new chisels post-Christmas for making frames, and spent the rest of the break playing (er, working) with them.

He is in process of adding hand-carved corner samples to the sets he is making for some local galleries. There is something about wood chips at the kitchen table (and all over the floor, and in the baby's mouth) that is absolutely bewitching. Freshly carved wood -- every kitchen should smell that way.

The lingering wood aroma has got me dreaming about playing with the chisels myself. Wood cut prints, toys for the kids, maybe even a dog shaped bobbin holder? The possibilities seemed boundless.

I mean, think about it. What can't you make with eleven different shapes of sharp knives and a block of wood?

What would you make?

vintage overalls

2012-01-13T11:01:00.000-08:00

A visit with my parents always finds me with vintage treasures in my return trip suitcase. This time some clothes, too small for the other grandchildren, had recently made their way back to my parents' house. The ratio of overalls to non-overalls was surprisingly (and happily) high. My husband hasn't vetoed overalls on the kids, so I snatched up the ones that still fit my youngest.

These ones are extra vintage - my dad's when he was little. The five of us wore them as toddlers. The strap in the back makes me think of a little Austrian boy yodeling on the mountainside. Ah, lederhosen.

These ones are the same style, also my dad's. But they have the addition of a dog embroidered on each knee. The embroidery isn't just for decoration, though. It holds in place a knee patch - crawlers don't wear out the knees of the overalls and they have some extra padding as well. Made me think of Allyson's pants. With all our new innovations, we seem to have forgotten the brilliance of how some things used to be made. Speaking of which, it's not unheard of for my kids' brand new clothes to wear out before they outgrow them. These overalls are now in their 3rd generation of consistent use. Hm. Suspicious.

My mom made these, complete with an authentic vintage Youth Conservation Corps patch courtesy of my dad's active involvement as a teenager.

These are my all time favorite. Also made by my mom and with the cutest little handkerchief poking out of the back pocket. I've been in possession of these for awhile.

And lastly, I don't think I can adequately convey my excitement for when he's big enough to fit into these beauties.

handmade gifting: freezer paper edition

2012-01-12T05:00:00.000-08:00

While I am thoroughly enjoying this post-holiday season (I think I just may love the undecorated emptiness of the house even more than the heavy laden festivity of lights and evergreens and continuously mobile decorations), but I thought I'd post one last seasonal set of pictures.

I've been wanting to try freezer paper stenciling for a good long while, but never quite got around to it. Then I ran across a big box of freezer paper on sale, and decided it was now or never. Really, I actually thought to myself "it's now or never," which is clearly a case of dramatic overstatement, but it did get me to pick up the box and buy it, which was enough momentum to send me to one more store for a t-shirt and fabric paint. A little melodrama can go a long way, it seems.

So for my Tom Waits addicted husband, a little something groupie.

Some shiny metallic silver over a freezer paper cut-out of this photo (on a thin t-shirt shot in lousy light, alas), and voila! a new gift for . . . the twelve year-old. It turns out that guessing t-shirt size while quickly skimming the aisles of Hobby Lobby a day or two before Christmas is not the most reliable way to guess the right t-shirt size. I'm calling this the "prototype gift," and he seems to be buying it.

At least I have an excuse to pull the freezer paper out again.

wednesday's ode

2012-01-11T05:00:00.000-08:00

To beautiful surroundings.

a break and some balance

2012-01-09T05:00:00.000-08:00

In the end, a three week break from school proved to be rejuvenating after all.

If you sense a tone of surprise, that's because "vacation" and "rejuvenation" have rarely gone together around here. I am going to go way out on a limb and assume that for some parents the peak of enjoyment is traveling with and entertaining sugar-hyped kids. Either that, or there are a lot of parents out there willing to take far more for the team than I tend to be. Either way, the expectation of vacation, not to mention vacation itself, can sometimes put me right on the edge of a nervous breakdown. I generally need a solid week to recover from a long weekend.

I remember vacations before I was responsible for anyone else, and long before I was expected to keep the train rolling on through, as it were. Vacations meant books and naps and hours in the grass, watching clouds. Over the past decade, they have meant extra laundry and food prep on the fly, combined with limited sleep and even less quiet. This has to be some sort of mistake, I find myself thinking. Surely there is a way to vacation that is like, well, a vacation.

More recently I have been trying to learn to simplify and streamline (and plan, oh my); trying to find that elusive middle ground of enough activity and enough relaxation. For all of us.

And this winter break, for the first time in a long long time, we somewhow seemed to landed well in that middle ground range. Visits with cousins and grandparents and books on the couch; skiing and sleeping in. Juggling seven kids downtown for ice cream and a solo trip with the birthday boy for a donut.

Ahhh, balance. I'm always so startled when it happens to show up.

We closed out our break with a trip to the ice rink downtown. A good place to put the finishing touches on balance.

School starts back up tomorrow: early mornings and homework and long miles in the dark on bikes. Back to the rhythm of days and nights and weekends. Back to the rhythm of quiet during naptime and remembering to make dinner.

Back to a renewed search for balance.

kids in the kitchen

2012-01-05T05:00:00.000-08:00

I'll admit, I can be skittish about kids in my kitchen. There are so many sharp items and so many places that heat up. And when I'm working on a meal, there are also generally about five hundred other things going on at the same time; it's hard to concentrate in chaos, and even harder to concentrate when the chaos is "helping." But with three meals for eight people to prepare everyday, I have happily relinquished lunchtime to the ten year-old.

She brought five cookbooks home from the library last night. Annabel Karmel's "Mom and Me Cookbook" made its debut today. Since I was juggling two babies all morning, the ten year-old assumed the role of Mom, with a five year-old assiting as the Me. They pulled off guacamole, drinks, and even pizza (complete with yeast dough from scratch -- I kid you not).

The food was fantastic, with the pizza being crowned the favorite homemade version ever.

The muffins, however, had a little trouble. I thought that was only fair. I mean two-out-of-three is a thoroughly respectable showing for one's first time running a kitchen, don't you think?

wednesday's ode

2012-01-04T05:00:00.000-08:00

To beautiful surroundings.

roadtripping window shots: small doses

2012-01-02T05:00:00.000-08:00

More roadtripping through the vast expanse that is Wyoming these past few weeks. We somehow timed our traverse between storms, and traveled on clear roads in saturated light. With the kids quiet in the back and good music wafting, the stage was set for hours of merry window shooting.

Then the camera battery died.

We bought a new battery on holiday (merry christmas to me), but only managed enough charge at the shop to last through morning festivities on the 25th. So for twelve hours on I-80 and a big old empty photo card, I have only half a dozen shots to show.

But the light was definitely good. Sometimes a little can go a long long way.

classic book and a Christmas gift

2011-12-27T12:40:00.000-08:00

My little brother's favorite book growing up was Where the Wild Things Are.

His most requested bedtime book, he would usually "read" it to us instead of the other way around, reciting it perfectly from memory with intonations in all the right places.

Sent to bed without his supper, Max embarked on an adventure, arriving at the place where the wild things are. I can't think of many things more adorable than a three-year-old who can't say his R's properly quoting the part where the wild things "woared their tewible woars, and gnashed their tewible teeth, and wolled their tewible eyes and showed their tewible claws." But Max kept his cool and soon was made king of all wild things.

"And now," cried Max, "let the wild rumpus start!"He took poetic license with the blank pages after the wild rumpus began, chanting, "rumpus, rumpus, rumpus, rumpus..." as he turned the pages.

My little brother grew up and got married this summer.

On the brink of the grand adventure of marriage, trying so hard to be grown up, but really not any more grown up than before you came to that point. I think of Max. In the midst of the wild rumpus, he cried "Now stop!" and sent the wild things off to bed without their supper. Funny the things we do that we think make us grown up.

"[But] Max, the king of all wild things was lonely and wanted to be where someone loved him best of all... so he gave up being king of where the wild things." And upon returning to the night of his very own room, he found his mother had relented and brought him his dinner after all.

Sometimes the grand adventure of life is grandest of all when we give to and accept simple kindnesses from those we love most.

Geoffrey, hold on to the best childlike qualities as you embark on your life as a grown up with your beautiful wife. I hope this drawing reminds you to be eager to learn, trusting, loving without holding back, excited for the simple things in life, and willing to compromise and share (with only a reminder or two).

wednesday's ode

2011-12-21T12:30:00.000-08:00

To beautiful surroundings.

And to a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. All around.

homemade tree

2011-12-19T23:07:00.000-08:00

At first I planned to just forgo a Christmas tree this year. Our current apartment is far too small for one. We aren't even going to be here for Christmas. But I felt like such a scrooge.

And so the children and I went off to collect sticks. They were in their element. I bowed to their stick-choosing expertise. They revelled in it.

We drilled holes in them and slid them over a dowel. The kids decorated the tree, first with leaves. Then we carried our teetering tower inside and hung the ornaments and strung the lights.

Note to self: next time, use rebar. It lasted a grand total of one day. Our Christmas tree was short-lived, but well-loved.

trees that smell like trees

2011-12-19T04:00:00.000-08:00

When I was growing up, our Christmas tree was always freshly cut. Freshly cut, and then flocked and covered in pink lights, pink bows, and clip-on pink birds. To paraphrase a four year-old we once knew, it looked like a flamingo threw up in our living room. Granted this was the 70's and 80's, and granted we were a household of girls, girls, girls, but pink? My aesthetic sensibilities of today recoil, but back then I loved it all -- the colors, the fluff, and most of all the smell.

Ahhh, the smell of fresh pine. Forget cinnamon and nutmeg -- this is the smell of Christmas. Even entombed in gallons of flocking and pink.

When we first got married we didn't even discuss the option of a fake tree. No, we just took a week's worth of grocery money and headed to the tree lot on the hill. Some years we bought trees, others we cut our own on some desert property my dad had. But we always had fresh pine for the holidays.

Then we moved to Indiana.

For seven years we made do with a student-housing-mandated-fake-tree, but only barely. Fake trees, it turns out, don't smell like pine. They smell like plastic. All the simmering cinnamon sticks in the world can't make up for it.

So imagine just how thrilled we were last year to make our way back to pine. And not just any old pine, but family-picked-and-cut-pine from the Forest Service property up the canyon. It felt so good to dig out the saw and hatchet again; so good to get up in deep mountain snow.

So good to have a home that smells like Christmas again, and a tradition reborn.

new in the shop

2011-12-16T01:37:00.000-08:00

I combined some of my favorite holiday-ish fabric with my favorite shirt design and ended up with a ridiculously comfortable, elegant shirt for the holidays. Now available in the Etsy shop.

more (teeny) tiny: doll knits

2011-12-15T07:27:00.000-08:00

Judging by all of the matching outfits in that doll magazine that keeps coming (and coming and coming) to our house, I'm going to venture a guess that it's not just my girl who loves to coordinate with her inanimate wee babe. So a little Christmas knitting has been happening around here on the sly.

Remember the sweater I made for this girl? Well, here's my attempt at a matching ensemble.

It just so happens that Premie-sized knits are perfect for a 12" doll. I created a modified version of the "cardigan, beanie, & mittens" in Tina Barrett's Natural Knits for Babies and Toddlers -- shortening the sleeves and adding bobbles and eyelet holes toward the top. I also kept all the buttons near the collar, rather than spacing them down the entire front.

Not an exact match, but close enough. Hopefully.

But. Now that the doll has a hat, it looks like I'm going to have to cast one on for the girl. (I'm thinking that Soulemama's Favorite Hat might be a good, quick, option -- close enough, do you think?) Of course, if I've done a sweater for the doll to match the girl, and I'm doing a hat for the girl to match the doll, does that mean I'll have to do fingerless gloves for the doll . . . to match these ones for the girl?

Oh my. Just don't say the word "socks."

wednesday's ode

2011-12-14T06:51:00.000-08:00

To beautiful surroundings.

wooden wreath puzzle: a tutorial

2011-12-12T04:00:00.000-08:00

We've started decorating around these parts. A little late, I know, but festive enough to make up for the tardiness. This not-so-little boy, in particular, is fascinated by all the new things to look at and pull down and smash with a hammer. Ahhhh, the sweet explosions of holiday cheer.

Post-holidays, we keep all of our decorations in one box in the basement, and every year it's something of a mystery as to what will emerge from the depths unscathed. Something always manages not to. (Speaking of, how is it that a string of perfectly functional lights can be carefully packed into a box in January, and emerge eleven months later no longer functioning? Exactly what happens in that box all year?) But the mysterious state of the contents only adds to the anticipation; a whole year later, everything is brand new again.

But even with the novelty factor, the favorites are the somehow always the same. My animal-girl bolts for "the bird of wisdom" while the youngest girl twirls the star on its stick. The boys dig for lights and the 10 year-old sorts the breakables. Then everyone pulls back and comes to watch as the wooden wreath puzzle emerges, and the pieces are laid out on the table.

Hands down, this wreath is the family holiday favorite.

The wreath was designed and hand carved by my husband the first Christmas we were first dating. I'm telling you, for a girl who begged for a pocket knife and spent hours whittling soap bars in the garage, this was about as impressive a gift as he could have come up with. Every year when we pull it out, the intense smell of wood knocks my mind back twenty years. A good twenty years, and every Christmas between then and now.

The kids always jockey for turns putting the puzzle together and taking it back apart, while it stays down on the table. But once the wreath goes up on the wall, the enjoyment is more of a visual nature.

{See it back there on that bland cinderblock wall? Way off in the distance . . . }

So for today, an attempt at a holiday tutorial.

Wooden Wreath Puzzle

The wreath in its entirety is 16" diameter. You can either shell out for a 1x16 or, as my husband did, use a (much cheaper) 1x10 or 1x12 and cut the puzzle in two sections. Follow the instructions below for both options.

Material:

A 1x16 piece of wood, at least 16" long, or 2 pieces of 1x10 or 1x12, at least 16" long.
A hand saw OR scrollsaw/jigsaw OR bandsaw.
Sanding equipment. Either an electric sander, or plain old sandpaper is fine.
Beeswax polish, or other finish.
Ribbon for hanging - at least 1 yard long.

Safety: Wear safety goggles and proper ear protection if using a scrollsaw/jigsaw, bandsaw, or electric sander. Make sure they are in proper working order to ensure safe use.

Print out and trace the above pattern pieces. (If you have any trouble with the pdfs, please email me or comment below and I will send them to you directly.)
Lay the puzzle pieces out on a table, making sure the places where they meet fit well together.
If you are working with a 1x16 piece of wood (or have printed the pattern smaller and can fit the entire wreath onto a smaller width board), lay the entire puzzle, completely put together, on the wood. If you are working with a board that is too narrow for the entire puzzle, put it together in two halves (4 pieces each) and lay them on the board/s in two separate places.
Trace carefully around the pieces, one at a time.
Cut out each piece using either a hand saw, scroll saw, or band saw. (Note: if you are using a hand saw, be very careful to cut between the pieces as vertically as possible. Any slant in your cut will make it difficult to get rejoin the pieces from both the front and the back). If you have cut out the pieces in two sections, make sure that the end pieces of each section join to the other section well. Adjust the cuts on these outside pieces as necessary.

Finishing the puzzle pieces:

If using power sanders, gently and evenly rotate each puzzle piece along the sander. Be careful not to remove too much from the points of attachment, so the pieces still fit snugly together.
If using sandpaper, start with a coarse grit (60) and sand all surfaces until smooth. Use progressively finer grit (higher number) sandpaper until you are happy with the feel of the surface.
Wipe the sawdust carefully from all pieces.

Finish the pieces.

1. Protect with beeswax.

Apply beeswax with a soft cloth, working it into the wood.
Let dry.
Apply additional coats as desired.
To maintain your puzzle, periodically reapply beeswax.

2. Protect with paint, stain, or other sealant. [Note: If you prefer to finish the pieces with a clear polyurethane or paint, be cautious with the joints; any build-up between pieces can make them difficult to fit together.]

Apply with a fine bristle brush.
Let dry.
Apply additional coats to surface (not between pieces) as desired.
When finished, double-check that pieces are able to fit together smoothly, and sand lightly at attachment points if necessary.

Hanging puzzle.

If your pieces fit snugly together, it should be safe to hang your wreath on the wall. Make sure to first attempt hanging it against the wall very close to the ground, with a soft surface to catch any pieces that might slip out. If your wreath does not stay together when vertical, you can put a small piece of finish-safe tape at the joints to keep it from coming apart.
Put puzzle together on a solid, movable board or piece of cardboard, on a flat surface such as a table.
Slide ribbon under the puzzle and tie at the end.
Carefully move the horizontal board to the wall and attach the ribbon to the hook or nail on the wall. For the safety of your wreath, do not hang it on a door or other mobile surface.
With the wreath weight on the ribbon, hold the pieces to the board with your hand while you shift it from horizontal to vertical, hanging against the wall. If the wreath is secure, remove the board.

And enjoy.

Black Friday ride (and a sweater dress)

2011-12-09T04:55:00.000-08:00

The day after Thanksgiving found us expending our energy rather than spending money. It was the longest bike ride yet we've attempted with our five-year-old on her own bike rather than in the trailer. And it may have been a bit overambitious.

Our bike riding enthusiast, though easily distracted (and with an inevitably itchy nose that must be scratched an average of two times every block we ride), is a trooper. She thrills at moving herself from point A to point B on a bike. I'm her enthusiastic cheerleader each morning as I bike alongside her, pulling the trailer behind. She's her own coach, willing herself on with shouts of "Come on, come on, you can do it!", "Almost there!", and "Don't stop! Don't stop!". That day that, careening down a hill, she shouted out "I'm free as a bird!" was classic.

But oh, those inevitable mornings that we're running late for school and she has to ride in the trailer... the accompanying grumpiness is a bit over the top as well.

I'm not sure if it was the unfamiliar bike route (and the accompanying novelties that distracted her), or the preceding day of Thanksgiving festivities and travel, but she was struggling on this blackest of all Fridays. Our suggestion that we simply lock her bike to a tree and she continue on in the trailer was not an option for her. Until it was. Beaten, she defeatedly climbed in. But the next moment was in tears, desperate to go home rather than ride in the trailer of shame. Some crackers and clementines smoothed things over enough so that we could finish the ride.

Her younger sister, though, seemed blissfully unaware for the most part of her sister's turmoil. Her feet stuck out of the trailer as she reclined back in her chariot, snug in her homemade sweater dress.

trying to be a giant

2011-12-08T04:00:00.000-08:00

{photo via stylebyemilyhenderson.com}

Have you seen the I'm a Giant Challenge? I don't surf around much, but somehow I happened upon this and couldn't get enough of all the variations in progress. Maybe the addiction was my past resurfacing: I built my very own dollhouse, you see, way back in the preteen days, electrical wiring and handmade quilts and all. Apparently I was a budding design guru back then, when all along I just thought I was a little extra dorky.

When I stumbled upon it, this official Challenge seemed like a gift from the heavens, dropped right at the opportune moment. A little something to redirect the design impulses of my 10 year-old. Maybe if she had a mini-kitchen to revamp, I thought, my actual kitchen could go back to . . . usable.

So I pulled out some wood glue and went about repairing the kids' dollhouse. I glued the front panels and stairs back together, took the stickers off the outside, and even put the lintels back on the front windows. And then I told that girl of mine to have at it.

"You can paint it or wallpaper it!" I said. "We can make rugs and curtains and quilts if you'd like! Heck, we can even decorate the thing for Christmas! It's all yours to rearrange and redecorate over and over and OVER!"

"Hmmmm," she replied, considering carefully. "That sounds fine . . . as long as I can still rearrange and redecorate my room. And stuff."

Dang.

How in the world did she know where this whole idea was headed? I knew I should have left off the exclamation points.

The 7 year-old seemed to know as well. That night she stormed into her room, furious about one thing or another, and took a sharpie to the exterior. The entire front now looks a lot like an Andy Warhol variation of the word "NO!"

Of course, a little NO is nothing a can of paint can't take care of. Or maybe a layer of fake bricks? Siding? Even if I'm the only one redecorating the dollhouse, it looks like it's going to be getting a little facelift in the coming days.

At least there will still be one home over which I've got some creative control . . .

wednesday's ode

2011-12-07T04:00:00.000-08:00

To beautiful surroundings -- sunrise edition.

belated quilt blocks

2011-12-06T13:12:00.000-08:00

I finally finished my third set of blocks for the modern quilting bee. A little belated, yes, but I'm hoping it was worth the wait. November's quilt was an alphabet quilt. The only direction given was to use some of the dark grey fabric that the host sent to us. I was assigned the letters C and W. The 5-year-old was eager to offer ideas for the blocks (and some very good ideas, at that). I used her idea for Clothes hanging on a Clothesline, and I came up with a Writing desk set against Wallpaper.

The letter C gave me fits as I tried to piece it into the quilt instead of appliqueing it on. I opted for embroidering the W.

a room of her own

2011-12-05T04:00:00.000-08:00

There are eight of us living in this townhome of ours, and quarters are what we like to call "cozy." Cozy, as in warm and interactive and integrated, and yes, cozy as in absolutely no space to oneself.

The beauty in this set-up is that things simply cannot fester long. There is nowhere to hide and avoid one another -- if you're stuck within five feet of a pleasantly humming sibling, especially one who is engrossed in making something you absolutely cannot stand not to see, it's just plain hard to stay mad at them for long. But as the kids have grown, and their personal stashes of stuff increased, cozy has become harder to manage. Or more specifically, my need for some range of tidy within cozy has become completely unmanageable.

Once upon a time there was our stripped-down bedroom -- a bed, a clean-topped dresser and nightstand, a laundry basket. But here in Cozy the bedroom has morphed into a deeply layered study/shop/sewing room, in which we also happen to sleep. Once, we had our very own kidfree bathroom that housed two towels and a small rug. But now, this six-person bathroom is perpetually littered with plastic horses and bobby pins and, well, unwashed diapers.

And once, not so long ago, I had pretty exclusive rights to the kitchen counters. But last night the ten year-old spent an extra long time on the dishes while I put the younger kids to bed. After a solid hour, she ecstatically invited me downstairs to view the new set-up.

Oh my.

And here's where my need for some level of tidy (because completely chaotic rooms are right up there with sleep deprivation for me) collides with my absolute love of the creative energy these kids weave into and all over this place.

I love that this girl spent her entire evening arranging measuring cups and spoons waayyyyy over by the pencil jar, far, far away from the mixer. I love how carefully she shifted all of the sun-hungry herbs to the top, sunfree recesses of the cupboards. She took the apples from the counter where the kids snack, and put them in the corner between the fridge and the toaster oven. She hung the aging scrub brush on the wall near the oil painting -- with a thumb tack. And all of the items I had hidden from view? They are now proudly in the open, messiest items out front.

I love that she thoughtfully considered and arranged and reconsidered and shifted, and I love that she did it all for me.

But at some point I'm going to have to cook in that room. And it's going to kill me.

skirts + satchels ON ETSY

2011-12-04T17:54:00.000-08:00

You can view the pile here.

skirts + satchels

2011-12-02T04:00:00.000-08:00

For those who have requested (and those who have not but may be interested) I'll be putting a bunch of Skirts + Satchels in the Etsy shop over the weekend. This first round of skirts are made with various fabrics, shirred at the waist and hanging about 30" long -- a great fit for the twirling 4 year-old and the fashionista 10 year-old, as well as all sizes in between. Other lengths, of the shorter and longer variety, are available upon request.

And why the satchels? you may ask. Well, mainly because I'm told that outfits come in combinations of two or more components. Oh the things this 10 year-old knows that I never managed to pick up on. Around here, skirts have always been a year-round mainstay -- layered over tights and leggings, slapped on top of a swimsuit, or most often just pulled on over bare legs, freezing temperatures be hanged. But more recently satchels have made the move to Mandatory Status as well. And while my sewing desk is loaded down with the goods from last friday's trip to the little local fabric shop (my shopping concession to the 10 year-old, who begged and begged and begggggged me to pleeeeaaaasssssssse take her shopping somewhere, anywhere, on Black Friday), I decided that a pile Skirts + Satchels was naturally called for.

Not all of the new digs will be making it into the shop, however, as these girls have already laid claim to a few. And as if a handful of new outfits weren't enough? I mentioned today that I would be needing some models. Oh my, you would have thought Christmas arrived a whole month in advance. I think we might as well just wrap up these photos and call the holiday season a success.

'Tis the season for joy in the oddest places, wouldn't you agree?

wednesday's ode

2011-11-30T04:00:00.000-08:00

To beautiful surroundings.

the art of leftovers

2011-11-29T11:26:00.000-08:00

I've never really attempted food photography. Food presentation has never been my strong point - my energy goes into making it taste good, not necessarily look good.

But please give this concoction the benefit of the doubt.

Year after year when I make pumpkin pies, I can never quite squeeze all the pumpkin pie filling I've prepared into a pie. But of course there isn't enough to make another pie, so, at a loss as to any alternative, I regretfully pour it down the drain. This year I saved it just in case I felt ambitious enough to make mini pumpkin pies with the children.

I did not.

So on Sunday as I was poking through the fridge for Thanksgiving leftovers, I decided to try concocting a "leftover pie" pie. I had about a half a cup of leftover fresh cranberries from the cranberry apple pie in addition to about a cup more or less of pumpkin pie filling. I had no desire to rain down chaos on my kitchen by making a pie crust, so here is what I did.

Mix together about:

1/2 cup old-fashioned oats
2 Tbsp. melted butter
2 Tbsp. brown sugar

Press this down in the bottom of a pie dish. Pour the leftover pumpkin pie filling over this. Mix the fresh cranberries with a tablespoon or two of brown sugar, then pour these into the pumpkin pie filling. Add some chocolate chips (1/4 cup?) as well. Bake at 375 until the pie filling is set (I think I baked this for about 25 or 30 minutes). Let cool completely.

This turned out as a tasty, almost cookie/bar-like treat (a gluten-free thanksgiving pie, if you will). Not overly sweet, it was perfect for a breakfast indulgence the next morning. And I didn't feel guilty at all, knowing I had made use of my thanksgiving pie leftovers that were otherwise bound for the garbage disposal.

Don't forget to check out the Etsy Shop sale going on now!

Etsy Shop Sale!

2011-11-28T09:29:00.000-08:00

Just a note to let you that the patterns in the Etsy Shop are marked down for a limited time. If you've thought of sewing something special for your little one for the holidays, this is the perfect time to purchase a unique and artfully created pattern.

In addition, if you use the coupon code CYBERSPOON10, you will receive an additional 10% off all items, including ready made clothing, in the shop. The coupon code and sale will be valid until this Thursday 12:01 PST. Happy Holidays!

thanksgiving preparations at our house

2011-11-22T08:44:00.000-08:00

Last night found my 5-year-old and I in a passionate debate. Topic of said debate: is her recently acquired rubber chicken (thank you, random person on the street disposing of Halloween paraphernalia) a representation of a dead chicken, or merely "a baby chicken who doesn't have feathers yet."

Though the controversy was never formally settled, it seems I may have swayed her opinion. Suddenly focused, as she gets when inspiration strikes, she began making place cards for each member of our family. She then arranged the rubber chicken in the center of the table because, as she explained, "it was almost Thanksgiving."

ahhh, jersey

2011-11-21T04:00:00.000-08:00

Nearly two years ago my baby-addicted girl asked for a trip to the fabric store for her birthday.

"You just need three yards of jersey for a wrap," she said, "And I know exactly how to make one for each of us."

So off to the store we went. We bought three yards of a soft grey jersey with light ribbing. Back home we rolled it out on the floor, folded it lengthwise, and cut right down the middle: two three-yard strips of jersey for two wraps. She showed me just how to position the baby snuggled on her chest, just how to wind the fabric around her back, just where to tie (off to the side rather than in back, please). Talk about snug. Then we tried the whole process on me. Turns out that three yards is just a wee bit small for my slightly larger body, and very quickly the second strip of jersey became her "back-up wrap." Alternating between the two, she carried that boy around for months.

But at some point his excessive rate of growth became a little too much for her waify back. The wrap went into the doll basket, and she shifted to hauling him to-and-fro on her hip.

The wrap went out of circulation, that is, until tonight. At bedtime it made a come back.

One three yard length of jersey is not only the perfect size for a wrap, it turns out, but also for a double hammock. And considering that this ten year-old tied all the knots herself, the greatest miracle of all is that lightly ribbed jersey happens to be remarkably non-slip as well. Even in full swing in two directions at once.

I had planned to snag the jersey for a project myself, but my idea wasn't nearly as good as a hammock. I just wish that three yards would be sufficient for me to swing around in.

as girly as we get around here

2011-11-18T05:30:00.001-08:00

When my daughter discovered this t-shirt in my pile of potential sewing projects fresh from the thrift store, the purple-sequined bird silhouette immediately caught her eye.

"Is this for me??"

I had recently made her a rash of t-shirt concoctions out of shirts that didn't look particularly girly. My daughter, who I've tried so hard to steer away from princesses and all things frilly, was dying for something a little prettier. She requested a dress and I got to work on it. This one took me all of about half an hour. I cut down the sides, then used those strips as a yoke to gather the shirt onto. I then cut off the bottom, decreased the width of it a bit, then gathered the bottom of the dress back onto it.

Girly enough, yet still suitable for romping about in the park.

a perfect day

2011-11-17T04:30:00.000-08:00

"Today is a perfect day!" the five year-old announced, as she ran into the house with a basket of leaves. "You want to know what it's a perfect day for?"

Well, of course.

"Leaf tracing!"

Of course. Leaf tracing.

She pulled out some paper and a stack of old crayons, peeled off the crayon wrappers, and away she went. After tracing a solid dozen, she cut them out, and then headed back outside.

Five minutes later she returned with a very large stick.

"Their TREE!"

But of course.

"This is the perfect tree for these leaves. You know why? Tall tall tall. Have we got a pot?"

I washed out a vase and she put in her tree, which immediately tipped over. I suggested small rocks; she brought in a handful of mud with traces of pebbles. We walked the mud back outside and instead picked "the prettiest sparkliest rocks in the whole driveway!"

She punched holes and laced string and hung leaves. For half an hour.

All the while the wind was going crazy outside, tossing garbage cans and whatever they once held around the street, scouring leaves off their limbs. But the inside tree just kept gaining leaves, to the point I had to start carving notches for them to hang on. And every little part of it all has been pronounced "perfect!"

Sometimes when I can't muster enough enthusiasm for the day, I wish I were five again. And sometimes just watching a five year-old marvel at the whole wide world can load me with enough enthusiasm all on its own.

wednesday's ode

2011-11-15T19:59:00.001-08:00

To beautiful surroundings.

downsizing (a sock redemption tutorial)

2011-11-15T05:30:00.000-08:00

I admit it. I have a problem letting things go. It's hard for me to say, "This item is completely unusable. Its time has come. Let it go, for heaven's sake!" A pair of ratty pants, patched multiple times, finally given up on and put in the trash... oh, the immense guilt that ensues!

Yes, there is the option of turning clothing past its prime into rags, but I always think, "There must be some way to keep this usable as clothing."

I happen to like socks. Knee high socks. Argyle ones in particular. My recent admission that I do not mend socks means that I regularly have to throw out socks that are perfectly fine everywhere except the bottoms. I have a few long argyle ones that developed holes long ago that I never wear, yet haven't mustered the courage to put to rest in the trash can.

As I was about to finally man up and throw these away the other day, I realized there might be a chance to save them. I put one on my 3-year-old and pinned it so that it comfortably fit her little leg. I then took it off and cut along the pins, leaving the top of the cuff intact.

Next I pinned the sock, right sides together, and using a straight stitch I sewed the side seam until the heel, leaving the bottom part open. I went over it again with a zigzag stitch for added durability. I then trimmed the seam close to the stitching to reduce bulk.

I had my daughter put the sock on again to check the fit, then traced around her foot. I cut out a new bottom for the sock, using two layers of a knit fabric and adding about 1/2" around the tracing.

I then pinned the new bottom to the sock, right sides together, stitched around it (again with a straight stitch first and then a zigzag stitch), and trimmed the seam. And there they were: a cute pair of knee-high argyle socks for my little girl.

I am not blind to the fact that remaking socks is a perilous journey to undertake. My children regularly go into hysterics because the toe seam of their socks is slightly skiwampus. I have a few more pairs of great argyles dying to be put back into circulation. Perhaps I'll skip the bottom altogether next time and simply make some little leggings. My daughter said these downsized socks felt "a little funny", but she happily wore them as we played at the park surrounded by the glory of autumn.

(I hadn't thought of matching the pattern at the back when I cut out the socks, but I imagine it could be quite easily done.)

middle ground

2011-11-14T05:30:00.000-08:00

I like to think of that first sweater I made twenty years ago as my fiber residency: so much learning packed into such a short time, with a good dose of pain and sleep deprivation mixed in. And while I was thoroughly pleased with the result, I have not been overly anxious to venture into the realm of large scale knitting since. Sure, I've put together a few adult sized hats and scarves (and even made up some finger gloves one year -- note to self: use a pattern next time you try finger gloves). But for the most part, infant-to-two years has been the sweater extent.

So imagine my hemming and hawing when, after finishing up the last little sweater, my ten year-old requested one for herself. "It won't be that much bigger than the baby sweater, you know."

Well, you know, maybe it won't be after all.

So after a quick flip through Farmyard Girls and Tractor Boys (I am well on my way to making every single thing in this book, I love it so), the sweater was chosen and cast on.

And here's the thing: a ten year-old sweater really doesn't take much longer than a baby sweater. Especially when one is using size 5 needles rather than size 3.

So for this week's installment of Modeling Time (instituted last month by said ten year-0ld), I bring you a non-baby-not-quite-adult "Short-sleeved Cable Yoke Cardie" (really, that's the actual name -- I couldn't have made all that up if I tried).

The yarn is Berroco Pure Merino Heather, and the buttons are mother-of-pearl flowers from JoAnn's. And that last picture? Well, the big boys thought they would add a little bit of class and sobriety to Model Time. As if Model Time weren't already those things all on its own.

a moral quandry (5-year-old style)

2011-11-11T10:30:00.000-08:00

My 5-year-old's only wish for her recent birthday party filled my heart with dread: a piñata.

Allyson, I know that you are the piñata queen, but the thought of all that candy (her birthday party was right after halloween) or on the other hand dozens of plastic trinkets that would break minutes later or kick around the house for months afterward... ack! A piñata is my worst nightmare. Besides, I'm morally opposed to the idea of getting as much stuff as possible just because it's available and free. (I have to remind myself of that fact all the time.)

But I couldn't deny my daughter her fondest dream, could I? (Or so my husband told me.)

The girls volunteered some of their Halloween candy - I readily agreed to the chance to give some of it away. I also put in some (sugarless) gum, punch balloons and glow sticks. I also hit upon an idea that I thought might counteract some of the individualistic grabbing behavior usually elicited by candy raining from the sky. I drew a treasure map on the back of a puzzle, planning to have everyone put it together after the piñata was smashed to smithereens. They would then work together to find the treasure (in this case some hot cocoa and the makings for s'mores). Sadly a thunderstorm forced us to find an alternate venue for party, so it became a virtual treasure hunt instead. The idea showed promise, though. I'm really excited at exploring this more. Next time I'm considering filling the piñata with only puzzle pieces and the treasure will be a bag for each child containing something fun and lasting.

And, according to my almost 3-year-old, I'll have the chance to do so very soon. It turns out her fondest dream is also a piñata.

What are your thoughts on piñatas? Any suggestions for fillers?

piles

2011-11-10T04:00:00.000-08:00

Do you see that little over in the corner at the back of the sewing desk? Oh my. This photo was taken over a week ago; the pile has grown and spread since. A LOT. I've got mending and repurposing and scratch projects all mixed up together in what has become a deep, dark teetering abyss. But I've been inspired by Lynne's art room rebirth -- this corner is going to morph into something sleek and accessible this week. And the pile upon it, I am quite sure, is going to miraculously shrink to manageable.

In the meantime, at least one person is still able to work her way through a project on the sewing machine which, as of tonight, is only partially visible. Ahhh, for the unfazed creativity of a ten year-old.

wednesday's ode

2011-11-08T19:14:00.000-08:00

To beautiful surroundings.

wear it out

2011-11-08T09:59:00.000-08:00

I've been thinking a lot about this old adage lately:

"Use it up, wear it out, make it do or do without!"

A pair of comfortable leggings, well-worn by my daughter, as evidenced by a few stains and a small hole on the knee. Clothing these days is so easily gotten. With some patience in the clearance section, you can easily score shirts and whatnot for a few dollars. Heaven knows these leggings could easily be tossed in the trash and replaced with hardly any effect on my pocketbook.

But just because I can throw them away, does that mean I should?

I get such satisfaction from squeezing every last ounce of use from an item. Sometimes through repurposing, but also just by old fashioned mending. It's kind of a game I play: how long can I make something last? And not just last, but last in a fashionable way?

I mended the hole in the knee, then used freezer paper to create an seabird motif that covered the stains.

persuasion and parenting

2011-11-07T05:50:00.000-08:00

The way our kids tell it, they are the only inhabitants of the 5th-12th grades without cell phones. Alas, alack. I know I'm fighting a losing battle here; eventually they will have something plugged into their ears/eyes/fingers every waking moment, but my job, as I currently see it, is to delay the moment as long as possible. They haven't bought the argument that if their parents don't need cell phones, surely they do not as well. Nor are they convinced that the two $12 track phones we picked up for the family at large quite do the trick. Our phone request conversations cycle around something like this:

"But no one knows what number to call me at!"

They can call the phone in the kitchen -- it's never lost.

"But what if I'm not in the kitchen!"

Then you're a) on your bike, b) at school, or c) doing homework. You're not supposed to be on the phone at any of those times.

"But what if I'm out with my friends and I need to talk to you!"

Then take one of the family phones and call me in the kitchen.

"But if I've got one of the family phones, no one knows what number to call me at!"

They can call the phone in the kitchen, and I'll tell them.

Ahhhhh, circles. In general the kids have handled their deprivation well, but every once in awhile we have a flare up. About three years ago the older boys were dying (literally, I'm assured) for a phone and my scholarly husband told them if they wanted to convince us, they would need to write a 5-paragraph persuasive essay. And it had to knock our socks off.

All three of the older kids had drafts to us that week; all three of them were given back drafts with red circles around grammar and spelling issues and comments such as "anything related to the mall is not going to convince me." After the fourth draft, with its increasingly desperate arguments and increasingly comical commentary, the boys took a break while they work on strategy, but the 10 year-old brought a new draft to breakfast this morning. A four-pager which a friend had pre-corrected for spelling:

Cellphones do not have a way of putting pure joy into your heart but they have a way of helping your daily schedules such as time, calling, calendars, notepad, alarm clocks, taking pictures, music, and so forth.

Cellphones can be great to check time on as all you have to do is flip the screen of happiness or push a simple notch.

Cellphone games are pathetic, dinky, little games . . . [that are] no fun anyway – like playing hopscotch with a two year-old.

Cellphones have genius little calendars. If you had a calendar you could note when things are officially due. We could plan when to do jobs around the house.

My goodness. If I were convincible on this point right now, she'd have me for sure.

What is your kids-and-cellphones strategy? I'm all for input on this one -- I know it's only going to intensify.

darned if I don't

2011-11-03T12:10:00.000-07:00

My mom has a great vintage bag. Inside are socks, yarn, a gigantic needle, and a light bulb. Growing up, this bag would sometimes come out in the evening after (most of) the chaos of the day had been tucked into bed. This was the darning bag.

Did any of your mothers darn? My mom would place the lightbulb into a sock in need of mending and position it where a hole had worked its way through a sock. Using the needle, she would patiently weave yarn back and forth over the hole. And suddenly the socks were wearable again. No more heels or toes poking out.

I have to admit that I wasn't a big fan of darned socks growing up. The mended spot was a bit thicker than the rest of the sock, and irritated me all day as I walked around on it. Yet I attempted to keep up with the tradition after I got married. I had a bag. I had a light bulb, a gigantic needle and some yarn. I definitely had a lot of socks with holes in them. Oh, but I couldn't bring myself to darn them. It just took too darn long. When the few I actually mended ended up back in the darning bag where new holes had formed, I figured I was fighting a losing battle. It felt almost criminal to throw holey socks away, but I decided my time was better spent elsewhere.

I still mended clothing - first only when a seam had popped open and it took two seconds at the sewing machine to stitch it back together. Then (after watching my mom expertly fix a hole in my husband's pants with an extra layer of denim and the mending stitch on her machine) I began mending holes that weren't along seams - also a quick fix with a sewing machine.

What do you do when you have snatches of time when your kids don't require your assistance? At home, the internet is perfect ...ahem... for sucking these moments right up. But when we're out and about, I tend to just zone out. I can't bear to waste these rare moments, so I always bring a book along with me when I take the kids to the park. But, really, who am I kidding? I can't read at the park. I am usually bombarded with "watch me! watch me!" as the children show off their playground playing skills. Or unable to read more than one page in an hour as I glance up every 30 seconds or so to make sure the children aren't about to wander off or kill themselves (or each other). And so I thought, darned if I don't need a darning bag!

Still no socks for me. But, surprisingly, I really enjoy mending clothing by hand. I am actually creating new cloth as I set up a row of parallel threads across a hole and then weave over and under them. And in 15 minutes or so, my shirt is perfectly wearable once more - and with only an inconspicuous spot of regenerated fabric. I don't have the space, money or time right now for weaving cloth on a loom (wouldn't that be amazing?). This is the next best thing.

wednesday's ode

2011-11-02T05:00:00.000-07:00

To beautiful surroundings.

2011-11-01T08:56:00.000-07:00

1 day off school

5 extra pairs of hands

12 bags of apples

4 quarts of apple pie filling

24 quarts of applesauce ("are we just going to eat applesauce all winter, mom?")

2 rounds of dried apples

And also a whole lot of this.

Today I'm cleaning sticky floors and reading a book. And eating applesauce. Naturally.

snow

2011-10-27T05:30:00.000-07:00

I was working on the dishes late last night when the snow started to fall. The radio announcer had predicted snow, but I never trust the radio announcer. These flakes took me by surprise. Outside the trees were still heavy with leaves; snow was beating all the scouring wind we get on the edge of the plains. The leaves were the downfall, providing too much surface area for the snow to settle. October snow is heavy, so much white-walled water coming down thick, with no deep freeze to fluff it up. All over town the curbs and yards and medians are choked with limbs.

The snow also beat my best intentions for cleaning out the garden. A measly fifty square feet, and all I'd managed to do was bring in the last tomatoes and unhook the hose. When it warms back up (it always warms back up at least once, right?), I'll clean out the beds and coil the soaker hose. For today I let the snow accumulate undisturbed.

So much good-packing snow is irresistible; the girls were begging for boots before they even rolled entirely out of bed this morning. By noon the five year-old got tired of waiting while I searched for the winter boxes and headed out in jeans and tennis shoes. I finally found them in the garage. See that shelf? No, no, the shelf way over there in the back. I had to pull out the ladder, climb onto the first overhanging ledge, crawl over the frame moulding, and then shimmy (literally, in full snake fashion) all the way to the back to retrieve three buckets of boots, snow pants, and heavy jackets. Four hours later my family room is littered with the soaking remains.

All morning I harbored grand illusions of a snow day spent knitting on the couch or sewing at my desk. I never quite managed to do either. But the five year-old pulled it off. She made "a hanging thing with a scrunched ball on top." Hand sewing, it turns out, is just her thing: "I never knew I was so good at this mom. I should make a sweater."

If it's still snowy tomorrow, maybe we'll both make a sweater.

wednesday's ode

2011-10-26T06:49:00.000-07:00

To beautiful surroundings.

venus de milo

2011-10-20T05:30:00.000-07:00

Have I mentioned my incredibly crafty friend who can do everything? Two days before we packed up our moving van I spent the afternoon at her house getting wrapped in duct tape.

Months previously, she had promised me that she would help me make a dress form. I didn't quite make it back to my pre-pregnancy body, but it was close enough. She methodically wrapped me in two rolls of duct tape, cut a slit up the back, and sent me home with a dress form in need of stuffing. As our move was imminent, I decided to wait on finishing it.

Those who helped us unload our moving van were a group of people we had never met but who would comprise our new church congregation. I'll never forget the look on a 10-year-old's face when he dragged in the sunken, unfinished bodice and asked me where I wanted him to put it.

I finally got around to stuffing the dress form the other night and taping it closed. Can I tell you how excited I am? I'm counting on this being the key to remedying the dearth in clothes I've made for myself.

frost

2011-10-20T04:00:00.000-07:00

The wee hours of Tuesday morning were scheduled to host the first frost of the year, so Monday night I stripped the plants.

It took all of about 7 minutes.

I know I was the one who planted late, who left the "garden" for a week with only moderate substitute care, who designed painfully shallow boxes. But still I had hoped for more. Sometimes my tendency toward optimism is a real handicap.

So I'll call this first year the practice round. The first year back in arid landscape, the first year with new soil, the first year trying to pack an acre of food production into a 6x10 yard.

Next year is going to knock our culinary socks off.

But for this year, farewell. Farewell to the beans that did not climb,

To the parsley that was press-ganged into a nest for plastic horses,

To the lone strawberry that survived the birds,

And to the hail-flattened lettuce.

But most of all a fond farewell to these fingers and this face plastered endearingly, anxiously, against the door every second I spent outside. On the days I left him waiting for me in the house (entirely, emphatically against his will), he yelled and pounded and tried to climb right through the glass. Now and then I brought him out with me and the destruction was instantaneous -- stripped stems and snapped supports and mouthful after mouthful of dirt. Oh, and the hose. How he loves the hose. Just a few months and we'll rebuild some boxes and spread some fertilizer and try again. Just a few short months and the hose will be all yours again, my boy. I promise.

wednesday's ode

2011-10-19T04:00:00.000-07:00

To beautiful surroundings.

repurposing: more shredded knees

2011-10-16T20:08:00.000-07:00

After nearly forty years on this hurtling planet, I am finally coming to accept that there are holes-in-knees that can be salvaged, and holes-in-knees that cannot. Sometimes it's hard for me to let go; sometimes I just keep wearing my gaping pants for years, assuring myself that no one is noticing the pasty knees sticking out. But I'm am trying to learn to move on, to fix what can be fixed, and turn everything else into . . . something else.

I've been turning the kids' ripped pants into shorts for years, and am heartily grateful that their school dress code includes that option. In the fall we have new pants, over the winter we have thinned out pants with a pair of tights underneath (which also have holes in knees, more often than not), and in the spring the pants go to shorts.

The circle of sartorial life, rotating with the seasons.

For a few years I chopped off those lower legs and tossed them. Then one day my all-time favorite pants for the girls, those dark green cords with a gazillion pockets and ties, hit the end of their long-legged road. I pulled them out of circulation, cut off the legs at the rips, and turned to toss the extra ends into the trash, when suddenly I realized that the extra ends were actually cooler than the shorts. A big zippered pocket, an already hemmed opening -- can you get a better set-up for a quick purse/satchel/explorer's pouch? Two seams and an attached ribbon later, the new bag was hanging on my girl who was sporting the matching shorts, as she headed outside at a gallop.

So for today, shorts and a pair of purses.

I generally cut the legs off just above the hole in the knee. That way I can make the shorts as long or short as needed, with as deep a cuff as I'd like.

Shorts:

1. With wrong-side out, fold and press the raw edge of the leg 3/4 inch (or as desired), then fold over again and press 1 inch.

2. Stitch along the top of the fold.

3. And there you have it -- shorts.

Not too painful, right?

Purse/Satchel/Pouch/Bag: (names are very important to the girls around here -- "Mom, you don't take a 'bag' to the mall, you know.")

1. Right sides together, stitch the raw edge of the leg 1/4 inch.

2. Turn inside-out and press the seamed edge. Stitch 1/2 inch -3/4 inch from the edge (making sure to enclose the entire raw edge on the inside of your seam).

3. On what used to be the cuff of the pant leg, attach a strap (or a ribbon, or bias tape --whatever you would like). For this one I used leftover bias tape from another project. Turn the raw edge of the ribbon or tape under and stitch over the top. This will both secure the strap and give it a finished edge.

4. And, well, there you have it. At this point, you're welcome to spice up as desired. My girls like a little applique -- the five year-old prefers felt flowers, the ten year-old wants her initials. And for today's birthday girl? always a horse.

Happy birthday my girl. Eight is just so grown-up.

painting art

2011-10-14T05:30:00.000-07:00

A few years back while in Bordeaux, France, I snapped a photo of a pigeon sitting atop the head of a statue. Though I felt almost sacrilegious doing so (the statue was part of a cathedral's exterior) it made a striking subject for a watercolor: the absurd combination of a bird unabashedly resting upon such a solemn scene.

And those folds of cloth. Irresistible.

As an art student I initially was required to draw others' art. Translating a 3-dimensional piece of art onto a piece of paper was an interesting exercise.

wednesday's ode

2011-10-12T05:30:00.000-07:00

To beautiful surroundings.

I'm a ten

2011-10-11T10:18:00.000-07:00

My five-year-old pulled her worksheet out of her backpack. "I am... a mom lover; a dreamer; a girl." Loving me being a defining characteristic for her? Wow! Perhaps I'm better at this whole motherhood thing than I thought. Then the uncanny resemblance to the lyrics of Rainbow Connection (a betimes requested song at bedtime) dawned on me: "...the lovers, the dreamers, and me."

Thank you, Universe. Bubble successfully burst.

Her worksheet reminded me of a funny little unit ages ago in my 5th grade class. Perhaps meant as a self-esteem builder, it was quite the opposite. Picture this: Twenty-five 5th graders are asked to come up with ten positive words to describe themselves. This isn't, however, just a list for the writer. On the contrary, they are then instructed to write these ten words on a bright red t-shirt, then finish it off with an enthusiastic "I'm a Ten!" scrawled underneath. As if this wasn't enough for awkward ten-year-olds on the verge of puberty, each is then required to stand on a table with a microphone in hand and rap their list in front of their classmates.

Yes, that is what I said: rap their list of ten words they hesitantly placed on a seemingly benign list.

When asked to pump ten descriptive words out under duress, you are bound to end up with one or two odd ones. My (and my husband's) favorite? Alert. What did I even mean by that? Whatever I may have meant then, I am anything but alert these days thanks to my baby and two-year-old. To borrow another line from Rainbow Connection:

Have you been half asleep?
And have you heard voices?
I've heard them calling my name.

Despite the trauma associated with creating this shirt, I have kept it, intending to eventually make it into some sort of self-aware, wearable statement for myself. I couldn't get it to fit me right, though, so I decided to tweak it (yoga shirt-style) and bequeath it on my daughter. When I handed her the finished product, she was pretty excited.

"Are these all things that I am, Mom?"

I should say so, my dear.

making it up as they go

2011-10-10T05:40:00.001-07:00

I ran across the most superb quote from Abigail Adams the other day, she who was wife to John Adams, erstwhile second president of these United States. "All children should know how to suffer want," she said, to which I add a hearty Amen. That is the new go-to response when my 10 year-old asks why she can't have a cell phone and my 15 year-old wants a box of Poptarts. Suffering, my children, is the name of this lifelong game.

In truth, I am partially in jest about the beauty of want. There are many people suffering real want around the world that is not beautiful at all, and there are many opportunities and experiences and even stuff I would love to give these kids that are on hold at present. But there is also an aspect of invention and gratitude that surface necessity (and deferral and desire) are prone to ignite, and for that I'll weather the whining that sporadically comes along for the waiting ride.

A girl scraping aspens to make sunscreen and a beach party on the front porch; a rainy day picnic on the floor (complete with ants) and a pig roast on the stairs; for all the invention our lack of beachfront sun and backyard livestock inspire, I give my own thanks.

visual obsessions: silhouettes

2011-10-05T14:06:00.001-07:00

A couple of years ago I mentioned to my mother-in-law that I had managed to put together Christmas cards (an every-other-year achievement at best these days), and had even included a picture.

"That's fantastic," she said. "And can we actually see your faces in the picture?"

Oh.

Until that point I was well aware of my personal aversion to family photos of a forward-facing and stationary fashion. Maybe because we don't stage all that well, given our current head count and energy levels, and maybe because I'm just plain impatient, but I gave up on trying to get everyone looking (and heaven forbid, looking pleasantly) in the same direction a long time ago. And truth be told, I really love the effect. The pictures feel alive to me, as if a taste of the daily motion of our lives is captured right along with the people.

But I was not entirely aware that I have a tendency to skip faces altogether. I don't really have a good explanation for this one. I certainly like the faces of the people I photograph -- in fact I am almighty prejudiced when it comes to the exceptional beauty of my girls and the rugged handsomeness of my boys. But flipping through the photo logs, there is no doubt that I tend to go after motion that avoids direct eye contact.

One result of this tendency has been a slew of silhouette pictures. There is just so much going on where there seems to be so little going on; what these pictures leave unseen is even more potent to me than what they show. And maybe in the end that is the draw of the silhouettes, of the away turned faces, the mystery and possibility of all that is left unseen.

wednesday's ode

2011-10-05T05:30:00.000-07:00

To beautiful surroundings.

ordered chaos

2011-10-04T10:32:00.000-07:00

from Block Party

So the block I made for September? This is an approximation of how the finished quilt will look. The idea and instructions for this quilt come from Block Party - The Modern Quilting Bee: The Journey of 12 Women, 1 Blog, & 12 Improvisational Projects. Isn't it amazing? This and the other 11 quilting projects in the book strike me as ordered chaos.

I get tired just thinking of trying to create a quilt like that by myself. Randomness and disorder are not easily contrived. Consider the numerous online tutorials for "messy hairdos" of one kind or another. Or how much time and planning it might take a teenager finding their own style to put together a mismatched outfit. Apparently mismatched socks are all the rage and actually being sold - my sock-eating dryer saves me money in that sense (though Allyson, your kids seem to be trendsetters). But take quilt blocks from 12 different people following some general guidelines and, voilà! There is your ordered randomness.

Although for most of my life I've thought of myself as someone who religiously follows instructions, patterns, or recipes, I have recently become enchanted with the idea of creating, pattern/recipe-free. Sometimes I go a bit overboard and end up with an unwearable item or an inedible meal (just ask my husband). But this quilt block was such fun to work on since there really was no recipe for success. I found the process quite liberating.

into october

2011-10-03T05:30:00.000-07:00

I unboxed all the quart jars this week. For an entire year they sat huddled in a corner of the basement, empty and (I'm quite sure) thoroughly depressed. A whole year without homemade jam or applesauce; months and months without bottled peaches. I ask you, what is a box of jars without peaches? Oh, how I missed those peaches last winter.

So I unboxed the jars on wednesday and hauled the girls to the home of a friend-of-a-friend. Her apple trees were being cut down, and she was looking for a loving home to send the year's harvest. For the first time in my life, I picked apples at a stoop rather than a stretch. But considering I had three young girls along for the picking, ground level access was a decided boon. Less romantic, to be sure, but much more effective.

All day thursday I made applesauce (with my "helpful" little boy reaching for the knife at every turn -- how does he always know just where the knife is when he can't see onto the counter?!?). Friday I passed and then turned back to a farm stand selling local peaches and tomatoes, and just like that a busy saturday became much busier. Tomato sauce, bottled peaches, apple butter, and peach jam, all in the name of a tasty winter.

Saturday evening our round of fall birthday celebrations belatedly began, complete with requisite piñata in the neighborhood tree.

Happy birthday my boys. Consider the peaches an extra gift.

thoroughly modern

2011-09-30T05:30:00.000-07:00

I feel like I've just been picked to be on the cool kid's team at school. I've been coveting the chance to be in a modern quilting bee ever since I saw this and this (aren't her squares amazing?). And then my amazingly talented friend started one and invited me to join! The premise of a modern quilting bee? There are twelve members, each member is assigned a month in which to pick a theme as well as fabric if desired, then all other members make quilt squares that meet the guidelines. By the end of the year, each member of the quilting bee will have a quilt.

What do I like so much about this? 1) I am notoriously bad at finishing big projects, like quilts. 2) I get incredibly sick of pumping out square after identical square for quilts, but overwhelmed by putting together a more interesting, free-form quilt. 3) I have faith that I can, actually, finish one to two quilt squares per month.

I haven't much experience in quilting. I have made three quilts. The first was when I was 16. It has purple-ish calico cows appliqued all over it. It permanently resides in my parents' house with all my other embarrassing early forays into the world of crafting. The next was a white on white wedding quilt for my older sister (I used to be afraid of color). The third was a wedding quilt for my younger sister using a set pattern, white space and rich colors. I liked the way this quilt turned out. I felt a glimmer of hope that I could, too, learn to create beautiful quilts. I then began having children and haven't quilted since.

I still owe my brother and my other sister a wedding quilt. As well as myself.

With my position secured in this modern quilting bee, I feel like my time to do some excellent quilting has finally arrived.

I just finished the block for September. More on that soon.

quick skirt: a tutorial

2011-09-29T05:00:00.000-07:00

Alright, I'm going to try to make this somewhat easy to follow. Fingers crossed.

Quick Skirt

1/2 yard fabric (For adult size, use 1 yard fabric).

1 spool elastic thread.

1. French Seam - back: Begin with fabric folded in half, with wrong-side edges together. Sew 1/4 inch from outer edge (if there is fabric information printed along these edges, or a strip of plain fabric, you'll want to sew 1/4 inch from the inside edge of that and trim the excess off, so that you will not see it when the seam is finished).

2. Turn the fabric inside out and press seam. Sew 1/2 inch from your pressed edge to create a french seam, hiding the unfinished edge inside.

2. Fold and press both hem and waistband (top and bottom) edges under 1/4 inch.

3. Fold and press waistband edge another 1/4 inch.

4. Fold and press hem another 1-3 inches (or 6 inches if you like, depending on desired length of the skirt).

5. With presser foot against the inside fold, stitch around hem.

6. Fill an empty bobbin with elastic thread. I use my machine threader just as I would for regular thread. You will have elastic thread on the bottom and standard thread through the needle on top. Set your machine to the longest stitch it allows (a "4" on my machine) or a zigzag stitch (both have worked well for me -- it just depends on what kind of stitch you want showing on the outside). With the fabric right side up, stitch just as you would for a normal stitch, with the needle in the center position, beginning with the presser foot on the outer edge of the fabric. This will both begin your rounds of elastic stitching and stitch down your waistband seam (folded in steps 2 and 3).

7. When you reach the end of your first round of elastic stitching DO NOT STOP. Simply stitch over the first few stitches of the first row, and then sew at a slight downward angle for 1/2 inch until your presser foot can use the round you just stitched as a guide. Continue going around in circles 6-10 times, shifting downward in a smooth drop at each circle-end. When you are finished with your last round, close your final circle by stitching firmly over the beginning of your last round to make sure the elastic thread won't unravel. Don't worry if the waistband seems very loose at this point -- it usually does.

9. Wash and dry your skirt on low (be careful drying elastic, as it can harden -- don't you hate fried swimwear?) Your waistband will be tight and firm now. After the initial washing, I usually hang dry any clothing with elastic (for the aforementioned reason, and also because I just like to hang our clothes), but you are more than welcome to dry the skirt howsoever you normally dry clothing with elastic.

Then throw it on and enjoy!

wednesday's ode

2011-09-27T20:24:00.000-07:00

To beautiful surroundings.

new school year art

2011-09-27T10:05:00.000-07:00

As my daughter and I prepared for her to enter kindergarten this year, her excitement reminded me of my own (ages and ages ago). There was nothing more lovely than pristine pencils, unbroken crayons and fresh notebooks without doodles, scribbles, or tainted by the telltale marks of an eraser.

This year, I saw beauty in the aftermath of preparations. And in contemplating the creations and learning that would ensue from the pencil stubs and crayon halves; the bursts of creativity (or boredom) that would leave their mark on the pages of her notebook.

date night with my girl

2011-09-26T05:30:00.000-07:00

On friday night, dinner is a hurried affair. Something quick and easy that doesn't require a lot of clean up. The kids and I eat early and then I hand out assignments: make sure to change the baby before you put on his pj's; please clear a footpath across the floor in your room; please please please put away the food that will rot before I get home. With the necessities under control, the seven year-old and I head for the car.

Over the past few weeks we have discovered a route to her riding lesson that is almost exclusively rural -- fields and horses and broad views of the hills. We turn off the radio and roll down the windows and talk about farms and animals and the horse we want one day. I'm partial to grey arabians; she is dying for a black Rocky Mountain. [Speaking of dying for a horse, she brought me a Shel Silverstein book the other night, plopped it open to 'Little Abigail and the Beautiful Pony' and announced, "You really need to read this mom, to see what can happen to a girl when she doesn't get her pony."] Before the car is even in park, she throws the door open and sprints for the stalls. I gather up my knitting or a book, and go looking for a spot with a little shade and a good view of the paddock.

This week, as fall officially kicked in, there was a new edge to the air, a new hue in the sky. Fresh -- can I call that a color? I brought a jacket from the car but could not bring myself to put it on. She rode bareback for the first time, and could hardly stop hugging the horse.

For a full hour she did this:

While I did this:

And all while the sky was doing this:

and this:

and even this:

Sometimes I think the whole combination is a show put on entirely to soothe my sanity, to ease up the tension from much of the week. But even if the audience extends beyond one, if part of the display is for the benefit of everyone managing a glance out the window, I'll still happily buy my ticket. Friday's drive and lesson fee and hurried day are a price more than worth paying for the pleasure of watching the sky dance and evolve, while this girl of mine strokes her dream.