Hello Again

Sorry for the silence. I've been working full time the past few weeks and can you believe it has affected my blogging?? I had a whole post saved in my drafts about my thoughts on this "Bang Braid" sweeping the blogging world but I finally deleted it because it wasn't nice. And since I didn't have anything nice to say, I simply didn't say anything at all on my blog for way too long. Please forgive me. I'll be getting back in to the swing of things soon, but until then.....have a great weekend!!!!

And because I know you are curious: this is what the Bang Braid reminds me of every time I see it.

To emphasize my point let me do this:

SEE! NOTHING NICE TO SAY.

Make new friends but keep the old. One is silver and the other is......

GOLD.

So much fun this past weekend with these lovely ladies from yonder days. What a good boost for the soul.

On My Mind: Daniel and the Squirrel

Image found on Google Images: This is NOT Helen Keller

When I was living in LA and going to FIDM, I had a job working for a clothing company called Kritik. It was a pretty exciting job as the company was really taking off and there were only 7 employees to man the fort. We were getting big but not quite big enough to justify hiring more help so there was always plenty of work to be done. We operated out of a house in Beverly Hills and our storage room for all our past season clothes was the guest house out back. Despite all our best efforts it never failed that the storage room became disorganized and our computer inventory was never quite accurate when compared to what sat on the shelves. As a result, we turned to outside help. Someone found a "professional organizer" on Craigslist and a week later he started. His name was Daniel and every time I was around him I couldn't stop thinking about Ernest Saves Christmas. He was definitely eclectic, eccentric and he may have even lived out of his car but he worked hard. One day Daniel showed up a teeny bit late with a really big story. He found this squirrel: a baby squirrel. And he was able to confirm that the baby squirrels' mother had died. So he did what any good Samaritan would do and put the baby in his car. He put the squirrel in his car to live until she was old enough to fend for herself. Remember how I mentioned that Daniel might have lived in his car? Well he did live in his car and therefore spent his nights with a rambunctious baby squirrel hopping all over his face and seats, doing heaven knows what else. Have you noticed how fast squirrels really move? He would show up to work with scratches as evidence of her handiwork. He named her Helen Keller. I would sit at my desk on the second floor and look out the window at a spastic squirrel literally flying from one part of the car to the other and I would think to myself.....no one could write this. That image is forever ingrained in my memory and I laugh every time I think of it. I know that Helen Keller was eventually released because I remember the tears streaming down Daniel's face when he told us of their departure but every time I see a squirrel (which is 20 times a day here) I find myself often wondering what happened to Daniel. If you live in the LA area and happen to find a "professional organizer" on Craigslist named Daniel: hire him. I'm positive you will walk away with a wonderful story of your own.

A Pillow for a Chair

The black and white striped armchair in my sewing room needs a pillow, but I'm afraid the story needs a little more back information than that.

We purchased a model home. We were newly wedded, freshly pregnant and suddenly we needed more space than our current two bedroom home afforded. We searched, we sampled, we argued, we agreed and we moved in to what is now our current home. The best part: it's a former model home. The even better part: we bought it furnished. For a meager amount over the price of the house they threw in the furniture with it and in we moved to play house. It was so surreal the first few days. I felt as though I was living in a hotel but a very odd hotel at that. There were place settings on the table with dishes and a folded napkin which looked quite lovely and inviting. But upon closer inspection it became apparent that the plate was glued to the place mat along with the silverware. In to the trash it went. There were decorative piles of books all hardbound and lovely in appearance but they were bonded by sealant to one another. In to the trash they went. There was a 25 pound 3 foot tall rooster on the kitchen table, in to the.....no I think we still have him somewhere. There were beautiful silk drapes in many of the rooms but the rings by which they should have moved were glued to the curtain rod and so they served no real purpose. In fact, they were stapled to the walls in some areas. Down they came. (Does anyone want large yardage of ivory silk dupioni?)The refrigerator was real. Thank goodness. The plastic computer and television were not. Thankfully we didn't expect them to be real. The towels hanging on racks throughout the bathrooms were clamped with an industrial steel that has proved so difficult to remove they still remain on the racks in the bathrooms. Don't use them if you come over. The house was a jungle; we later gathered every artificial fern, tree, palm and bush that had been placed throughout the house and with no exaggeration the total was 65. The decorative jars were lovely but the tops were....take a guess: sealed to their bottom base. I get the reasoning. I can only imagine what people would find funny when touring a model home. I can only imagine what happened in our house before it became ours. It makes me laugh to think I'd walked through that house years before it became ours. I distinctly remember turning to my mother in the master bedroom and saying "Yep, I could definitely live in this room." And now I litter it with my belongings every single day. So the pillow that currently parks its arse in my black and white armchair (which is so much my favorite chair that some might be lead to believe I purchased the house just for the chair) is just a pillow. The silk is faded, the tassels are breaking apart and leaving their hairs throughout my house, which is strange because the pillow does not get moved. This chair demands A PILLOW. And I've been scouring Etsy for the perfect vintage embroidered pillow and after weeks this is what I want:

Are you still with me? I cannot explain it. I have made the conscious decision to decorate my home with things that make me smile and this pillow is that. While I really do love the colors and the flowers, I really laugh hard at the unicorn in its mystical pen. While 99% of me is sold the 1% of me has its reservations and they are as follows:

1. What is the lettering above the unicorns head? Is it witchcraftery? Dungeons and dragons? Games of Thrones?
2. Is this a recognizable image that medieval fanatics will know and as a result deduce that I know? I assure you I do not know.
3. Is my taste, which is dominated by things that make me smile, really just bad taste?
4. Is a smile really worth the $47 it would cost? Especially in light of the fact that the other pillows I am considering are much less expensive?

Writing this out is really therapeutic for me and has brought me to the great realization that bullet point #3 is the truth. And I must be crazy because even this realization is making me smile.

Tell me...

Why does cold water taste disgusting when drank from a coffee cup?

Stoking the Hunger

 Bring another platter of the baby, s'il vous plait.

So thankful for this picture so I never forget her darling birthmark.

 Feeling a little nostalgic around here and so grateful to the bottom of my soul for these pictures. Lorie Chambless is amazing. http://www.loriechambless.com/

On my Mind: Stuffed Animals in the Road

Fair warning: this post may be a little dark.

You see, I have this terrible habit whenever I drive. It is very odd, a little perverse and never fails to make me extremely sad....and yet I cannot stop. I am always scanning across the lanes and sides of the roads for roadkill. I'm so embarrassed to admit that but it is a real problem. It seems as though the amount of stray dogs and cats has increased tenfold in light of our economic troubles and it never fails that I see something everyday while driving. There was a loose dog near our neighborhood that I tried for weeks to catch. A cute little black and white pug looking thing who was terribly skittish and managed to evade me every time. And others too. I would often see cars pulled over on the side of the road trying to get him but he always made a mad dash under a chain link fence and that was that. I was driving to work one morning and from a mile away, I could see and I knew. I knew that this sweet little dog had met his unfortunate end. I called Dave immediately crying hysterically. I should have saved this dog. It was my fault. I could have been the one to save his life. This is how I feel everytime. I have this irrational belief that I could have somehow prevented these tragic events and it causes me great distress that sticks with me longer than it really should.

I was driving downtown one morning and I spotted it quickly. In the middle of the road, tan and little. As traffic caused me to slow I could make out the object more accurately and I realized it was a stuffed toy dog. I was surprised that I didn't feel relief but the same recurrent sadness I feel everytime.

I have too long personified stuffed animals. When I was 9, it took me 45 minutes to pick out which Winnie the Pooh on the shelf I was walking home with because I didn't want to hurt the others' feelings. I ultimately chose the one with the wonky eye because I figured he would be the first to get discarded by others. To this day when I visit my mother's house I have to walk in to the guest bedroom and give a hello kiss and a paw rub to my childhood teddy bear Gummie. Every time. And I can't stop myself from cringing when Rivers carelessly throws her stuffed animals on the floor face down. I always walk right over, give them a pat and sit them up properly.

So when I saw this little stuffed dog dirty, matted and laying so alone in the middle of the road I felt my heart sink. I imagined some little boy holding Whiskers (look I'm naming him - this is a seriously problem people!) out the window letting him feel the wind in his fur. Although Whiskers remained stoic and managed to keep his tongue from flying out to taste the fresh air, I could almost hear his thoughts at what a great time this was and then whooooosh. Out the window he goes. Tommy (oh brother) cried for little Whiskers but mom was in too big of a hurry to flip her Yukon around and there really wasn't even a light for half a mile where you could make a u-turn. I wonder if Tommy sees Whiskers every morning when he drives past. He can't, right? Tommy would surely demand that mom pull the car over and let him run to rescue Whiskers from the dirty asphalt. I'm about crazy enough to do it myself. Poor little Whiskers. How long will he have to lie so alone? I can't take much more. It's making me too sad.

Pattern Review: McCall's 6328

McCall's 6328

It's funny to me that during my high school years and most of college, I was too self-conscious to wear shorts or really be seen in a swimming suit. I'm not sure if it was the ballerina in me being too critical of my body image but I continually shied away from this particular garment that would expose so much of my thighs. I didn't find them comfortable. I would constantly be pulling at them and heaven forbid the spillage I felt when i sat down and my leg muscles spread to cover the seat. Do you know the feeling? I always felt like my leg muscles weren't as firm as others because I'd sneak a peek and no one had leg seat spillage like I did. And I find it ironic that now when my body and legs have been changed by age and baby weight gain, now I want to wear shorts. And if they aren't quite short enough, then I don't want to wear them. I am almost 30 and I'm trying to squeeze out every bit of youth before it is really inappropriate to do any of it. Am I there already? When do short shorts become too much much for a ladies' age? These are questions I think but deny myself an honest answer. And so I find myself searching out the right kind of shorts in stores and rarely do I find the right kind of pair.

When I spotted this pattern for SHORTS I knew it was right up my alley. The top two versions were exactly the bit of dressy, fun and flare I had been looking for and I was so anxious to sew them up. I paid a whopping $2.95 for this pattern online and it only sat idle in my sewing room for three days before I dove in. It felt like there was a lot of cutting involved and I started to get overwhelmed by the amount of pieces. It said EASY on the front, but what kind of authority had given it that title. Was it my kind of easy? I was starting to doubt myself but I knew I could do it as long as I gave the energy and time required to do so.

This was my new sewing attitude. I used to sew quickly and carelessly because I didn't have the patience to read the pattern properly. Truthfully I didn't have the patience to sew up the garment at all. I had lofty ideas for what I wanted but I wanted to snap my fingers and be wearing it. After years of creating sorry clothing articles that sat sadly in my closet, I had a change of heart. I would take the time to sew the garment properly. I would rip out rows of stitches if something didn't line up properly or look right. I would read the directions 17 times if that is what it took to understand a step. I would actually clip the corners and trim the seams. And what do you know? With this new mantra, my sewing improved. Patterns became less daunting, my stitches neater and by some small miracle I was lining up seams and at times even patterns!

So ultimately, I knew I could do this pattern. What I was suprised to discover was how well I could really do this pattern. I am pretty proud of the result. My seams lined up very well, some of the stripes converge perfect into diamonds (a happy accident) and the round corners of the fake pockets lie pretty flat for the most part. The pattern was truly EASY. Perhaps 20 minutes of cutting time and then I was able to sew them up all within a Saturday morning. I was wearing the shorts by that afternoon. The fit is great with the exception that no one should bend over in them. The width of the legs, which gives it the charming sailor shorts look, mixes badly with the lack of booty space and they ride up when one bends over. This is not ideal for someone with a toddler who casually changes her mind every 30 seconds on whether or not she wants to be held or let free. The saddlebag look is not terribly flattering and at times during stolen side glances in the mirror I think it looks really odd but I mostly love the quirkiness. Overall, they are winners in my eyes. I have a feeling I will love these perhaps a little too much this summer. I'm already scanning my fabric stash to see what I have that may work for the ruffle version. Overall rating: A-.