a quarter score and two weeks ago

i have been blogging (rather inconsistently) for five years ago. the first picture posted was of my cat in my apartment. i certainly do not have a cat now. this is us in front of our apartment now.

still rainy, but in a different way. redding, california cannot claim vancouver, washington's epic rainfall count. bryan's nose still has an oakley sunburn line. people in the pacific northwest go to tanning salons to acquire this effect in december. here, you just work outside for a day.
the third entry of this blog is about us visiting redding. now we live there. here. whatever.
in five years i've finally realized a truth about people: most are nuts.
really?
this comes as a shock.
we just got our fourth round of neighbors in the unit behind us. within 48 hours they fulfilled the quota: swearing, screaming, threatening, throwing things, slamming doors, and general domestic dispute-age. why i've been surprised at this every time comes from a gross ignorance i've now officially nullified.
people are nuts.
duh.
we don't fight like that in our family. i've never lived in a home where cussing each other out or whooping on someone is a matter of course. but apparently, brawling with the folks you live with is commonplace.
Nearly three out of four (74%) of Americans personally know someone who is or has been a victim of domestic violence. 30% of Americans say they know a woman who has been physically abused by her husband or boyfriend in the past year. 
gross.
thank you Jesus for a sweet family. this is ever-gracious of You.

trashy food worth purging

i think the creators of fruit loops took color theory or something. or maybe i'm quilting too much. but this cereal seriously makes me want to make a quilt.
why do i even have this nasty stuff in my kitchen? sigh. it was buy one get one free. so duh i bought these and apple jacks. and maybe corn pops.

the colors look so happy together. i think it's to counter the illness you feel after you eat them. and there's only 12 grams of sugar per serving... but it's super toxic sugar. it's the only time i think i've ever read the ingredients start with SUGAR. how do you start with sugar? is this hard candy? ew.
and am i not supposed to be cutting this stuff out of my diet? yes. i have been. really. then i had a cereal craze. it was cheap. so yeah. i see how people who don't have a lot of money are obese. i mean, eating poorly is super cheaper than eating well. man did that binge make me feel ill.
don't do it friends. don't.

one thursday morning

written on my cell at  0400 hours...

life. the series of odd and seemngly unrelated visions.

a french-braided ER nurse with a pink scrunchy.

bryan singing the theme song to married with children.

a moaning obese woman with her gown wide open.

a bubbly x-ray tech with hari reminiscent of a painter of happy little clouds.

princess patient stickers.

the codeine glaze of my child's eyes.

and the blessing of the discharge.

i used to play the piano

which is interesting. but only if you have known me a short while.
i took lessons preschool into high school. i even have a cassette tape of me accompanying my mom singing sandi patti. (pause/silence for a bygone era of quality synthesizer music.)
i used to be rather good. now i forget how to read the notes below the lines. have a hard time hitting each note of a chord at the same time. my fingers forget where they are. and here i am trying to remember how to place my fingers just so to play a run of fifths.
i'm rusty.
whenever i see my grandpa, he asks if i still play. no.
clearly disappointed in me he asks, why?
well, it has a lot to do with the fact i live in an apartment in a county with a high number of individuals toting guns.
and also, somewhere along my history, it started to hurt. so slowly, i played less and less.
not that i ever dreamed it would bring me somewhere. or make me money. or solely fulfill my need for the arts. but it was nice to do. therapeutic somehow.
a gift given to me by my parents. lessons and a piano. do you have any idea what sort of sacrifice it entails having someone learn how to play an instrument in your home? a huge one. at times i was so irritated with practice. with teachers. with the time i had to spend. but they knew better. and it's a grace to me that i can sit down and play what i like. that with practice i could sound good. could. if i wanted to.
by the way, hiromi uehara is my hero. what?! you haven't heard of her? uncultured swine. :)
(if you don't have the patience to watch the whole video, go directly to 2:00. you will not be disappointed.)

shovelers not among us

it got a lot cooler. in the 60's. the wind is chilling my fingers as i type. a welcome change.
with the cooler weather i'm reminded, among other things, of my previous home in the great pacific northwest. how with the changing weather comes the huge migration of birds.
at the ridgefield national wildlife refuge (here's a little picture of it), we used to drive slowly around the loop and watch for the newly arrived birds of the season. mallards, wood ducks, canada geese, red-tail hawks, bald eagles, yellow-headed black birds, soras (which have the coolest call in the world. just click on the little play button to hear it. you won't be disappointed.), snow geese, cinnamon teals, ruddy ducks (with blue bills!) even sandhill cranes once. to name a few.
but my favorite has always been this little guy:

i know. he's adorable. i was thinking the same thing. he's like a mutant mallard. but much prettier. and as long as i've drawn his bill, i think it's actually longer. they swish it around in the water eating plants. like how someone would swing a metal detector.

i think people shoot them and eat them. i'm not going into that.

they're only here in the winter on the way to mexico. and in california, i've only seen one pair at delevan nwr near sacramento. i'm hoping i get to take a trip there and see him this winter. 

thursday september 9, 2010 11:07

see what i mean: 

http://vimeo.com/2095656

she makes a queue o' wee folk

the melting pot one

currently, i'm phasing out refined sugar. it's part of an inner quest for peace.
peace from pain. (other recommended fasts are from coffee, red meat, and dairy. who are these people? and why do they hate joy?)
anyway.
i didn't know why chef ramsay calls this a hot chocolate "fondant" cause that's like, fancy cake frosting. i looked it up and it means melting in french. ahhh. i can see why he renamed it. it sounds much more neato.
regardless of what it is called, i do know it had sugar in it. i know cause i made it. duh.
but i am allowing a nice dessert once a week, so this was this week's from Gordon Ramsay Makes it Easy.

and it's so ridiculously easy. it's almost wrong. you melt two things together, whip two other things together, and add some other thing. it bakes for 12 minutes and you flip it over. like i  said. ridiculous. oh. and delicious. though next time i'd use 72% cocoa instead of 60%, and add liquer for sure. just to make it even more ridiculous.

especially when paired with peet's uzuri blend. mmmm....

the book says "100 sophisticated but simple recipes." sophisticated. read: never heard of unless you when to a culinary school in france. but truly simple. which i can get into. it's like, a minimalist's approach to diabetes, really.

(but to cancel it out, my sis and i made this beautiful roasted butternut squash soup. very wintery of us. i know. but that's what happens when it gets in the 70's here. we go a bit crazy.)

a dream i had

okay, so in this super-rough sketch of mine, where proportions and perpective are a thing of disregard and shading has gone the way of the dinosaur...
my cousin, rachel (of ridiculously beautiful ayrshire, uk) and i are playing wii. everyone was wearing white choir robes. isn't that obvious? except she. she was normal. stylin' even. don't take my color pallete's word for it. seriously. i have limited drab-colored pencils to work with.
we're in a an old folks home. i tried to recreate this ambiance with said drab colors. again... obvious. we're not old. everyone else is. but we fit right in, of course. and are playing on an ancient television. the kind that they tried to make look like furniture?
our grandparents had one like this for a long time. it was sweet. and sort of more like a stocky refrigerator than anything high tech. it was brown. and smelled weird.
the old folks were cleaning my clock at wii. and rachel was laughing hysterically at me. isn't that obvious from her facial expression?
dreams are weird, yes? this goes without saying. and so often i can determine why certain features are in my dream. like what i ate, who i was thinking of, what movie i saw on hulu. but this one was way random. and worth sharing.

left is ridiculous ayrshire. by glasgow. heard of it? i know. it's like she's famous. 

it's like they say...

before you have a kid people tell you all this stuff about how it will be when you have one. some of it's true. some of it isn't.
the following is true for us. because God blessed us with this one. one He knew before she was created. to be our love and joy. this little one. for His lovingkindness is everlasting.

this little one is precious.

she's very chill.

makes great faces.

gives joy and affection.

is a true and beautiful gift.

and is a year old.

O LORD, our Lord,
       how majestic is your name in all the earth!
       You have set your glory
       above the heavens.
 From the lips of children and infants
       you have ordained praise...

the two lennys, part II

pools are very important to the residents of redding. and while we've had a cool spell of high nineties this week, you will still find us basking in a chlorinated bowl of relief.
i have a pool. well, i have access to a pool between the hours of 7 am and 10 pm with the help of a walk across the parking lot and an old key. what good is apartment living if you can't partake in a communal pool? i got my polio vaccination. i'm good.
this pool is great because it is cool. it refreshes. and if one desires to observe a significant, albeit dead, representation of local bug life, it's perfect. i've never seen so many bugs in one place. and they're all floating and easy to study.
and if one swims at dusk, one is likely to see a few family of quail strutting by. adorable. (tasty, my husband would say. good eatin' he would add.) just adorable. well worth the germ and polio risk.
the second pool in my life is at my parents' house. this pool is great because it is not cool. you can swim at midnight without any risk of hypothermia.
it is dark and pretty. it's rated one of the nicest in town. (i guess there was a contest or something. very appropriate for redding.)

it also has a leviathan. named lenny. he cleans the pool. runs over your feet. wraps his tentacles around your legs. scares the resident golden retriever. and squirts water all over when stuck on a rock.

but because of lenny, this pool is always clean (save maybe some golden fur after a certain pup takes a dip) and bug free.
it also has quail. but bird dogs don't like birds in the their yard. weird, huh?
anyway, my neice and i went "swimming in gramma's pool" today and i must say. the folks who thought of making artificial ponds in one's backyard are geniuses. they deserve the ranks of the creator of cheerios, sewing machines, and frisbees. on par with kalashnikov even.

the two lennys, part I

what place is shady even at night?
when's the last time you've been to a denny's? i know. think hard. my girl kelly and i couldn't remember so we went. that, and the black bear was closed for maintenance (bear-ification? whaaaa? they still don't have bear paw prints on the carpet. this is stupid. and thusly not bear-ificated [not to be confused with bifurcated]).
so as we sat in the car mourning the loss of real mac and cheese, we thought long and hard about where to go after 10 in redding. bars and in-n-out don't count. we came up with one place. and this is that one place.

initially, what is so endearing about lenny's-i-mean-denny's, is this sign. as if we would get seated served and cashed out in less than 90 minutes denny's. i just wouldn't happen. so already our hopes are lifted and dashed.

first off, the cherry cola float. it was only after a few sips that i came to wonder... why is this pink? what is making my float pink? cherry coke is not pink. am i sucking down a dye-rich food? why yes i am. upon further reading (there is fine print at denny's if you're faithful to look for it.) i learn that it is coca-cola with cherry flavor added. and who knows what was in the ice cream. i didn't ask.
regardless. it was delicious. i mean look at it. no photoshopping! this is true to life. i know. you can hardly believe it. you also wouldn't believe the film of ick that was on that paper-thingy i placed next to it for juxtapositional effect. (i made that up. just now.)



the club was alright. nothing to write home about. the bacon didn't speak to me, you know?
in the background of this next photo is little round balls of love. pancake puppies. aside from the fact i find it terrible disconcerting to eat anything with nomenclature from my favorite animal (besides the red panda, of course), it was very tasty. how could they not have been? basically they are berry and white chocolate chip pancakes rolled in a sphere and deep fried. deep fat fried. and they came to us hot sprinkled with powdered sugar and wholly unnecessary side of dipping syrup. (check the outrageous nutional value of just one.) so of course i had three.

i regretted this later. but not as badly as i anticipated. there is, after all, something magical about acidophilus pills and herbal tea (homemade yo! calendula, chamomile, peppermint, and lemon grass).


on a side note: blogger is really ticking me off with this layout mess. how hard is it to get their code savvy? apparently, very.

shotgun

i've been working on a quilt. and when i say working, i mean, sometimes i pick up the hoop and hand quilt for 30 minutes. it's supposed to be for the small one's first birthday.
it's looking more and more like a christmas present.
i'm learning to set reasonable goals.
i'm learning that i truly do not know what it means to set reasonable goals.
so i grace it.
for you see, often my mind races so. the creative thoughts ignite and explode all over my brain. their intensity is overbearing. and there's no telling what, if anything, will control the choke. sometimes it's like the improved modified to extra full and i don't know how to control the pattern. we're talking grouping of pellets at a given yardage. we're talking crafty ideas and thoughts. we're talking, grab some graph paper and get sketching. dump out the fabric stash and get scheming.
where do goals fit in here? they don't. save one: don't start it if you aren't going to finish it. (or afford it.)
it's a hard one to respect. because of the shotgun effect. but i'm getting better. and my sketchbook fuller.
and someday, maybe i'll be more of a doer. but for now, i'm mostly a schemer. something this world needs anyway.
i hope.

of high hot heat and porridge

the view from the jeep this week:

in other news...
i think i'm on the INS watchlist. i'm sure true patriots question my citizenship. my very country of origin. my allegiance is sketchy. the border patrol hover ever so loftily above my abode.
because i hate watermelon.
it's pretty devasting. downright unamerican if you ask me. i can't help it. every year i try. have i had a good one? plenty. i have my father attest to their quality and amazingness. i try again and again. and hate it again and again. i even know if it tastes like it's supposed to. if it's delicious or not. i just can't eat more than a bite. and even then, i'm sorry i did.
determined to not raise a child of such bewildering faults, i got to thinking.
what would go well with that summer day? i know. i thought the same thing. porridge. watermelon porridge. give me that food grinder.
gross, yes? yes. but the small one liked it. maybe not her bowels. did you know watermelon gives you gas? i didn't. like i mentioned. i don't eat it. also, did you konw if you spit it up during your nap and rub your face in it, you are liable to get a sweet rash that itches a bit? me neither.

my summer education part 1

reading non-fiction this summer. if it's been published in the last five years. why? i want to look smart. no! i'm trying to stay (become?) current, okay?

i just finished my first summer read. the art of eating in by cathy erway.
sum up: young girl living in manhattan swears off eating in restaurants for two years and learns about cooking and eating and sustainability and local foodie cults and where food comes from.
a classic hippy read.
moral of the story: if people without God can be respectful of the earth's resources and conscientious-er of what goes in their mouths, why can't i?
the concept stems from what i've been reading in luke.  

If you love only those who love you, why should you get credit for that? 

Even sinners love those who love them!  

And if you do good only to those who do good to you, why should you get credit? 

Even sinners do that much! 

And if you lend money only to those who can repay you, why should you get credit? 

Even sinners will lend to other sinners for a full return.

exactly. follow? i'll elucidate: if "sinners" can treat God's green and blue earth with honor, why am his children not the example? others do it to save the earth, thwart global warming, or pay homage to their mother-god the earth. can't i do it because i personally know the one who spun the globe into orbit in the first place?
ah stewardship. every popsicle stick, broccoli stem, and steering column came from something in the dirt. it cost something something. and one can't go shoving the cells back into their original form to make it all better by some twisted reverse reincarnation. when it's spent, it has to be tossed somewhere. there are no cosmic disappearing bins o' trash to hold our discarded stuff. so we best take care the first time around.
grace angle: i will refrain from going berkeley on everyone. but i am going to eat and use things with the knowledge that it's by God's grace that it's given. and not take more than i need.
that's the sort of minimalism i can get into.

green things that are not reused, recyclable or reduced

so extremely excited about what i purchased at the farmer's market this morning. the small one (in her owl pouch) and i got there at 8 am. it was cloudy. in the upper 50s. i do not take this for granted. it was a lovely rare morning. the like will be far and few between in the coming months. as in, only when i leave redding proper. 

i've really enjoyed the astonishing number of days that are overcast here. especially after a few days of 90s. it also makes me dread the future. like, when is the summer coming? why won't it come? it's messing with my mind.

from a very kind lady (who helped my rid by bag of a half a dozen very plump and active earwigs) i snatched four of the first apricots i've seen this season. at various other booths i gleaned a couple very squishy and perfect peaches, some free range eggs hatched in some adorable ladies backyard (some are greenish. very cool.), thin leeks with gorgeous blue-green stalks, frizzle-haired drunken lady lettuce (really? yes.) and a silvery something tomato plant that's supposed to be good for the upside-down growing thing i got from a dear friend for my birthday. the tomato plants leaves are delicate and light-colored. i've never seen anything like it. 

eating two of those unconventionally hued eggs microwave soft-boiled with a dash of kosher salt and freshly ground pepper, i can taste the appeal. the romance of home grown and local fare. (i should've put some minced leek in this. dangit!)

but then i sensed the fear. without deliberation certain thoughts popped into my head. what did that lady do to the chickens? are these eggs okay? i mean , they came from a stranger at the market.  

heartily i rebuke such thoughts. because there are a bunch of money-grubbing strangers in charge of eggs at the winco. why is it easier to assume sinister motives to the local private farmer than a corporation? what's wrong with me? again. rebuke!

sidenote: they're from an americana hen. i found a cute video about these guys on flickr. they are like all the chickens you've ever seen in those hokey/i mean antique paintings.

in other news today, i've started taking liquid vitamin and other nasties supplements. this furthers my quest towards caffeine independency. fm patients are given the no-no on caffeine yet are some of the most fatigue-stricken folks. so not fair. 

i've tried this stuff before and it seemed to help the energy level. all in my mind? we will see. it tastes like the worst medicine ever, but strangely less gagging then the vanilla flavored powdered form that goes in your juice. it doesn't really dissolve and... i'll spare the details. assume a tragic method of wrecking juice.

free tip: eat protein with fat soluble vitamins or you will be a sad puppy. take it from a vitamin a and b poisoned veteran. blech.

anyway, this round, i'll take a shot of it and wash it down with juice. even if the juice has aloe vera in it. that doesn't have much of a taste anyway, and i'm used to what little it has.

and that donkey is the raddest thing ever. see his little aloe plant pack? he's a hard working little ass.

dyhyst?

now that i have a kid. i think about what would happen if i died. okay, i've thought about that before i had a kid, but not in the following a context. what would i be leaving her? aside from the legacy of faith, do i have my stuff together? essential papers are in files. yes. but some papers aren't. and there are boxes of photos, projects, gear, books, and clothing.
i thought this as i looked around my apartment.

a word about the apartment. 

'tis small. six hundred odd square feet small. and while that technically is enough for a family of three, it is not so much for a family of three with one member who sews, crafts and cooks as much as i and as much outdoor performance gear as we.
the baker's rack in the kitchen/dining room/living room/family room is filled with supplies. the small one sleeps out in the living room. there's a closet full of backpacking gear and yarn. bookcases full of books (though i've given away countless novels and periodicals and have yet to crack open a few boxes at the parents' attic/storage unit), and laundry.
where does one put clothing? or anything for that matter when you don't have a room for a dresser? we own one recliner and a salvaged couch besides our bed and crib. everything else is borrowed. yet we still haven't enough room for stuff. at least not the way i'd like it. as in. invisible.

my dream, within a dream.
this situation is difficult for minimalists. us.
i read books on lofts, flip through ikea catalogs, and peruse magazines on simplification of space and there is only one solution: spend money to acquire appropriate storage and organization.
for ages i've avoided this because the idea of spending money to keep in check things you have spent money on is ridiculous to me. did you know more stuff costs more than less stuff costs? why not get rid of more stuff? but like i mentioned. so little is ours. and so little is overwhelming me.
is it time to invest in some serious storage solutioning?
i want empty space. barren floors. clean walls. and a puppy.
okay, the last one is off subject. (but if you're curious, one of these.)

all neatly packed.
i hate boxes. and bins. and rubbermaid thingies. i'm so over looking at them. but what's the alternative? because i also hate moving dressers and shelving. as in, emptying them out and watching others heft them from one abode to the new. keeping everything taped up and stacked is simple.
always in my mind is the prospect of moving again. we've done it enough. we know what makes it most efficient: give back what you've borrowed and sell what you salvaged. move the mattresses, gear, culinary must-haves, and craft bins. and i guess the clothes.
maybe it's time to shun that mind set. we don't have plans to go anywhere. so why am i living like a nomad? cause it's stressing me out.

dye fail and heat

the amaranth family

it wasn't an effort to be green, hippy or resourceful. i just wanted to be creative. that, and the white packages were cheaper.
enter beets and a onesie. 
i'm awful at following directions--by choice, mind you--and this was no exception. though because there were so many steps i skipped, i'm not sure which was the critical impetus to failure. you see a representation of the end product. i had--and this is probably obvious--wanted to turn the thing a pinkish hue. it worked on youtube.
beets are from the amaranth family. incidentally, amaranth flour is a fabulous high-lysine (an essential fatty acid lacking in most grains) grain with zero gluten for my celiac friends. so if the dinosaurs in jurassic park ate it, maybe they could reproduce? (that was for my movie buff friends.) can can boil or roast the tap root and eat it savory or sweet style. if you like a mild flavor of soil in your meal, you will especially appreciate these. the ancient romans thought it was a great laxative (it has three times the fiber as wheat). don't eat too many because its abundant oxalite equals kidney stones.
i did end up being resourceful afterall. i ate the beets with cottage cheese for breakfast, and the greens wilted and paired nicely with the freshly caught bass i fried in a smattering of bacon grease. take that, Fail!

last of the sleeves

it was in the 70s and then 90s this week (currently 97 to be exact). the wind was cool and now it's not ("feels like 92"). i've embraced the beginning of a long summer. questions currently filling my brain are:

1. are those flea bites or heat rash?
2. is an $80 cotton car seat cover (why do they insist on poly-fleece fuzzy lining?) worth it or can i make a linen one for less?
3. could i sell said linen covers?
4. will my heirloom "russian purple" tomato plant die in the heat?
5. can our jeep's a/c last another year? what's that burning smell when it's on?

here, the small one waits for her capuccino during the last day of long-sleeves. she's a customer service nazi, just like her mama.

fibro blog

this entry is for you. because chances are, if you're a human, you know someone who has fibromyalgia or chronic fatigue syndrome. (both are very similar. in fm, the pain is more pronounced, in cfs, the fatigue is.) their life is a journey of realization and acceptance. of what one can and cannot do. should and shouldn't try. what once was possible, but now impossible.
all because of how it would make them feel.

i’m realizing i spend much of my subconscious energy wishing i felt better. rather hedonistic.
wishing there was an escape from the dull pain throughout my body. a fix for fatigue. i also realize this is the mentality of a drug addict. now there’s a new perspective. can’t judge. i understand the need, the desire to be without. though not at the expense of others and one’s own body. well maybe the latter is understandable, albeit not commendable.
what a waste of thoughts.
been reading about the work of deception in our lives. i’ve been working through it slowly (it’s a brain bender) and it’s making me sharper about recognizing the lies. catching incorrect thinking. like the aforementioned. does it really matter if i don’t feel good? really?
pain and suffering don’t have good synonyms. (let me know if i’m wrong on this.) which is a shame. cause i’m especially done with hearing the word “pain” in my head. “hurt” is emotional in my mind. so that won’t do. (plus, phonetically, it leaves much wanting. i don’t think i like any words with a “bossy ‘r’”.) anyway, the difference between p & s is that the latter has no end in sight. a hopelessness is attributed. i refuse to be hopeless! i rebuke it. fight it. feel it. am plagued by it. and then weariness turns my thoughts to mush. (there's an actual term for this: fibrofog. ridiculous sounding. but scarily accurate.)

the conclusion? it has something to do with the facts: a. Christ cares for me in a way i can't describe, but fully rely on. b. His grace really is sufficient. if i'd pay attention to it. and c. it doesn’t NOT matter what i’m feeling. it matters how i respond. i can’t wish pain away. i can waste away wishing. it’s really insignificant in the scheme of God’s great world aside from the goal—of somehow reflecting the Lord’s glory, “being transformed into His likeness with ever-increasing glory…” which is…
… pretty significant.
p.s. i used to think i needed a therapy dog, but now i’m sure i don’t. i have a therapy daughter. inexpressibly better. like i said. grace.

psalm 139 elucidated

when God said He knit us together in the womb, He was not messing around. the sheer amazingness of this feat has just increased four fold. 

enter the dragon. 

knits.

sewing with knits is a beast. and 5 minutes into this project there was a little voice of reason that said to me: yr outta yr league. of course i didn’t listen. i didn’t listen to the quilt lady who insisted i needed a serger, and i didn’t listen to the little voice in my head that insisted i needed a serger. shoulda. but didn't. 

i put my machine’s overlock and stretch stitch to the test. but ended up cussing and fusing everything together with melty tape that makes seams like magic with the press of a blazing iron. did the knit gods win? no. did i win? no. look at the pictures. the beanie was made by hand. the first attempt at reusing my materials. but that was months ago. the blue dress is the final product. no zooming in please. yikes. the extra stitches in the top are where i misfired the machine. apparently when working with recycled organic cotton, the stitches tear the fabric? i like to think Royal Robbins would be proud of my recycling ways. dashed as the efforts were.

so, God is amazing. He didn't like, mess up royally with the dna and have the second round of dogs sprout wings. or mess up the thermostat and facilitate the freezing of our brain juices when the sun goes down. (though there is a frog that lives on the tundra in alaska and literally freezes until the spring. take that darwin! wild.)
He could have let this sin thing Adam embraced really twist us up so everyone couldn't walk, or laugh, or enjoy coffee.
but He didn't. and i'm grateful. grace all around my friends. 

the spiritual state of the show

spoiler alert: this is going to be a long one. i’ve been working on it for quite some time. it all started with a quilt show…

Shasta County quilt Sew-ciety put on a show in Anderson. can’t say much about that particular town. they have a super walmart. ew? that’s about the most significant fame they can claim.

that and the fairgrounds. in one of their big warehouse things was the show. there were some amazing quilts. there were a lot of ho-hum quilts. saying nothing of the time and effort put into them, there seems to be a significant lack of color theory knowledge in the greater northern California craft community. i’ve been spoiled as i was introduced to the art by Marge. she puts these fools to shame, yo.

but onward. i learned some things. first, hand quilted items are a thing of the past. i saw about three, and they were vintage. everything is done by machine now. tragic. second, silk thread is the best for hand quilting. it’s fabulously strong and doesn’t tangle like cotton. (whatever.) third, people mostly copy designs. rare is the quilter that actually designs.

now for the social and i guess spiritual commentary. know how at a gun show there’s a ton of shady folks with militant bearings and scruffy appearances? know how they unpack the back of their ford ranger covered bed with it's boxes and chests of relicky junk to sell and show? know how many vendors are just downright arrogant know-it-alls? 

(my fave is when my hilarious husband asks a straightforward, albeit difficult question, and a guy will give this elaborate opinionated answer after which, walking away, my hilarious husband will say under his breath: “that guy was full of crap. he has no idea what he was talking about.” And then proceed to explain the real answer to me. He’s sort of an instigator, I suppose.)

well quilt shows are just like that. but it smells better. um. to clarify, gun oil is rather lovely smell. old men? not so much. old women? well... take yr pick (read: choose yr poison.) in this instance the doors were open and the breeze smelled of sweet grass.

in both venues you have a bunch of very lost people looking to express themselves through their life work. which is, may I say with all respect, quite futile. read song of solomon. you’ll get my point. gor the second amendment freaks, it’s their right to defend and the love of firearm mechanisms. for the quilt ladies it’s the sweing machine snobbery and the need to make pretty textiles. but it’s all vain. and that leads to me to my point… while I enjoyed myself (or was visually overstimulated to the point of a headache), there was indeed a prevailing spirit of sorrow and darkness. a palpable futility that left my heart sad.

but here are my favorites:

the third one is all of old testament stories. it was fun to figure out which ones. and the last i dug because of the salmon at the bottom balancing the mountains on top.

one booth inspired me to make something. but not the way it intended, i’m sure. i was looking at this pattern (by pink fig) of this girl’s tiered skirt. now, at a quilt show it is very faux pas to touch any of the work, so i asked (who i’m pretty sure is the owner of this vendor shop thingy) if i could handle it to see the work underneath. long rant short: she tried to sell me a serger telling me it was the ONLY way to make this garment.

lies. oh the lies.

so to prove her wrong. i decided: “i’m embarking on a knit garment sewing challenge. i’m going to turn an old super worn and soft organic cotton t-shirt into a summer dress.” for my elite model. you can guess who.

on project runway (the and only reality show on television i watch), they always freak out when they have to work with knits. i’ve always laughed at the drama with the overlock machine. blah blah, people. suck it up, i would say.

well… we'll see how it goes.

trojan horse 1, pc 0

just got the computer back from the shop. the demons have been exercised exorcised. thank you cyber terrorism and yr noxious viral-warfare. pernicious even.
and now the thoughts compiling in my brain and journal shall pour forth. but give me a few days.
i have so many things to share. but i'll be merciful. i'll work slowly. i've been sewing like a psycho-spider. to the left are some photos of what i've been doing. the summary, in pictures is that my sewing machine is amazing. swiss preciss-ion. that's all i have to say.

husqvarna... but not so chainsawy.

for those of you close to me, as in, close enough to hear me, you know my latest gripe has been mechanical. the brother sewing machine i have has angered me beyond retribution. the glitch in tension control is ridiculous. never has it worked right. and when i brought it to the certified technician or whatever, he was like, "get rid of it." the other lady was like, "you sew how much? with what kind of designer fabric? with what quality thread? uh, yeah. you have the wrong machine for sure."
great.
what do i sew with? i sew everyday. i can't just not have a machine. i will truly lose my mind. knitting is so not a summer sport. what will i do come june? (after cutting out 5 dress patterns, i actually started crocheting a dress in the interim.)
driving home monday i prayed with confidence that God would give me a machine. "i really want one. and i know You'll provide one for me. i have no doubt. cause You are hilariously generous like that." the question was when.
five minutes pass.
i walk into my home, and my husband hands me an envelope of cash.
that's pretty quick. told you He was hilarious.
so i shop around. hear some hilarious contrived sale's pitches. (my favorite was the one where the older lady told me that it was better to have metal housing. because even though it weighs as much as a couch, plastic is cheap. it breaks. didn't have the heart to tell her it was the machinery that counted. that and oh, did you know cops carry guns made of plastic? yeah.) basically i was to spend, according to one lady, "at least a thousand".
but that didn't jive with my internet research. i'm telling you man, you can NOT mess with gen x on that stuff. we are the informed customer. we see right through it.
so thanks to lyla, i get a machine that's usually $899 for under $500.
hilarious. simply hilarious.

excuse me while i read the manual for the next four hours... don't want to mess with the perfect precision that is swiss mechanics. 

more to come. i assure you.

a new hat

finally i finish the new hat. the one she's been wearing is squeezing her brains.
it's a soundlikefox original. merino/silk sock yarn. so lovely. and a bit of a twist cause i'm lazy and didn't want to mess with real cables and sock yarn. can you blame me? just wanted to finish before the 112 degree heat hits.

mostly, though she's lived her whole life in a hat (no hair is cold), she likes to take it off. a disadvantage to a hat that doesn't squeeze the brains.

great expectations

i need one of those venture capital loans. is that the right word? yes. i googled it.
to make cute things for all and sell them at farmer's markets would justify my time spent on crafts.
this little number was a fun challenge. my first use of the come-to-find-out infamous jelly roll. this is what it looks like when you buy it. precut. presorted. sister: "doesn't that go against everything you believe in?" me: "yes. but time is a merciless master." i had a week. and the lady at the quilting store (who has a sick obsession with tiny perfectly-sewn and aligned little jewel quilt square thingies) made it sound super easy. yay! right? super frustrating was this one. i think expectations can make or kill a project.
so i purchased a jelly roll. actually a deal for the amount of measuring, cutting and coordinating it cuts out. a great way to make your first quilt. there are books and books written on the (cheater) method. suffice it to say i used none of them. books? instructions? whaaa???

so the (second) pattern i turned out is to the right here. (we won't go into the first. it's a subject of bitterness. and annoyance. like i mentioned. the lady made it sound easy. such it is with the ways of the geniuses.)  36x48. machine washable cotton. moda's look and learn by american jane. the backing is a black print. done in a week. well... it would've been a week if the machine hadn't fritzed out.  another subject of bitterness. i was very pleased with the result. i think the sweet boy it was for liked it, too!

but back to the venture capital thing. i mostly want to make tops for girls and ladies for the summer. (it gets warm here, if i remember correctly.) fashionable ones with much spunk. i'll take orders now. for the two of you that read my blog. ha-ha! 

finished, mrs. butler!

amy butler, being the genius print-maker that she is, has re-awakened my love for little dresses. so, knitting on hiatus, i finish up this little number today. made of ohio sky and basil from the daisy chain and midwest modern collections. i know. i combined two collections. but they were gazing lovingly at each other from across the bolt stacks. i wanted to liberate their desires to be close to one another. 

i don't think amy would mind. (she's so brilliant it hurts my brain.)

and do you see the weather today? unbelievable. they don't make blue like that just anywhere. 

people can bash Cali's culture, immorality, economic problems, and outlandish home price medians. but when it comes down to it... we know you want to live here. there is something very capitivating about the mediterranean climate. and our super fun politics.

update 02/24/10

and here it is on the model!