on the selvage

bloggers unite... bring some sanity to the cpsia

2009-01-28T15:21:00.004-05:00

Okay, file this under "last ditch", "hail mary" and "what the hell"... the d-day of Feb 10 looms and still Congress is playing dumb, passing-the-buck and nothing seems to be getting accomplished. But I think it's still a good idea to keep doing what I can, so I am joining in with an Etsy group for the CPSIA blog-in. Here's their cut-and-paste summart, which is actually better than anything my fevered mind can come up with at this point:

As parents and concerned citizens I’m sure most of us at one time or another have been confronted with the question of lead poisoning. But have you asked yourself what your government is doing to protect your children from lead contained in toys? The answer? They're banning toys, taking books from schools and libraries, hurting low income families, killing entrepreneurial spirit and risking putting the economy in an even greater depression than we've seen in decades. I'd like to introduce you to their solution: the CPSIA.

Do you know about the CPSIA? No? Then I ask you to take a few minutes to find out about it.

The CPSIA stands for Consumer Product Safety Improvement Act, a new set of laws that will come into effect on 10 February, 2009 and will impact many, many people in a negative way. Make no mistake, this is very real. View it for yourself. If Forbes, the American Library Association and numerous other media are paying attention, perhaps you should too.

How will these new laws affect you? Well, here are a few examples:

To the Parents of Young Students:
Due to the new law, expect to see the cost of school supplies sky rocket. While those paper clips weren't originally intended for your student to use, they will need to be tested now that your 11-year-old needs them for his school project. This law applies to any and all school supplies (textbooks, pencils, crayons, paper, etc.) being used by children under 12.

To the Avid Reader:
Due to the new law, all children's books will be pulled from library and school shelves, as there is no exemption for them. That’s okay though, there's always television. Our children don’t need to learn the love of reading after all.
Article from the American Library Association http://www.wo.ala.org/districtdispatch/?p=1322

To the Lover of All Things Handmade:
Due to the new law, you will now be given a cotton ball and an instruction manual so you can make it yourself since that blanket you originally had your eye on for $50 will now cost you around $1,000 after it's passed testing. It won't even be the one-of-a-kind blanket you were hoping for. Items are destroyed in the testing process making one-of-a-kind items virtually impossible. So that gorgeous hand-knit hat you bought your child this past winter won’t be available next winter.

To the Environmentalist:
Due to the new law, all items in non-compliance will now be dumped into our already overflowing landfills. Imagine not just products from the small business owners, but the Big Box Stores as well. You can't sell it so you must toss it. Or be potentially sued for selling it. You can't even give them away. If you are caught, it is still a violation.

To the Second-Hand Shopper:
Due to the new law, you will now need to spend $20 for that brand new pair of jeans for your 2-year old, rather than shop at the Goodwill for second hand. Many resale shops are eliminating children's items all together to avoid future lawsuits.

To the Entrepreneur:
Due to this new law, you will be forced to adhere to strict testing of your unique products or discontinue to make and/or sell them. Small businesses will be likely to be unable to afford the cost of testing and be forced to close up shop. Due to the current economic state, you'll have to hope for the best when it comes to finding a new job in Corporate America.

To the Antique Toy Collector:
Due to the new law, you'd better start buying now because it's all going to private collection and will no longer be available to purchase. “Because the new rules apply retroactively, toys and clothes already on the shelf will have to be thrown out if they aren't certified as safe.” http://online.wsj.com/article/SB123189645948879745.html

To the American Economy:
Already struggling under an economy that hasn’t been this weak in decades, the American economy will be hit harder with the inevitable loss of jobs and revenues from suppliers, small businesses and consumers. The required testing is far too costly and restrictive for small businesses or individuals to undertake.

To the Worldwide Economy:
Due to this new law, many foreign manufacturers have already pulled out of the US market. You can imagine the impact of this on their businesses.

If you think this is exaggerating, here is a recent article from Forbes
http://www.forbes.com/2009/01/16/cpsia-safety-toys-oped-cx_wo_0116olson.html

And for those of you prepared to be stupefied and boggled, The New Law
http://www.cpsc.gov/about/cpsia/cpsia.html

Please contact your Congressman and don't listen to the buck-passing lies about how he/she is sooooo concerned and has written a very stern letter to the CPSIA... blah, blah, blah. The only change that matters is the change that CONGRESS alone can make.

According to Kathleen from Fashion Incubator (hail the queen...)...

So what can you do?

You can email but avoid putting the word “CPSIA” in the subject line so they can’t create an email filter to dispose of them easily. Also, be smart with your subject line, do not write “HELP” or whatever in all caps. Even I delete those thinking those are spam. Write a professional subject line.

In addition to emailing your legislators, send an email to all these congressional aides who like the eunuchs of Imperial China, hold the power over what your congressman or senator sees.
If you’ve posted an Etsy protest page listing the costs of your product with testing, it is requested that you email that. Do not email a link to your page, they won’t go. Paste in your photo and the text.
Email your testing price quotes.
Fill out the Economic Impact Survey
Continue calls, letters and emails to the media. Of everything you are doing, this has the greatest impact. Do not be persuaded that Congress is acting on this; they are not.

she has her mother's eyes!

2009-01-26T11:57:00.005-05:00

This morning I woke up to a text from my friend Lee Ann... "Guess who just fell asleep in her new sling..." The sling she speaks of is the one I made for her new baby girl, and the "who" she speaks of is that girl who she and her husband just met today for the first time. They have loved her since before they knew her name.
Their first two daughters came the "easy way" (haha), but Tarik was born in a 3rd world country and spent her first 11 months of life in an orphanage far away from the family who will care for her for the rest of her life. This week, Lee Ann and Reed flew to Ethiopia having no idea what to expect. They had stories from other adoptive parents, they had books and lists and their imaginations, but their hearts were baffled. I saw them just before they headed to the airport, and they looked like those parents you see in the movies being rushed to the er during labor. It's amazing how similar it is, no matter how a child comes into your life there is an intoxicating cocktail of fear, anticipation, relief and expectation that washes over you right before the moment finally arrives.
Something hit me hard that Reed said in their blog post, describing their first meeting with their daughter.
"...They put us in a room with a few couches and brought her in. It was amazing. We kind of had to slowly let her warm up to us, which was strange to do with a child who has already been a part of our family. It was hard not to grab her and overwhelm her with our love and affection. Instead, we had to do simple little things like let her fiddle with the buttons on Lee Ann’s shirt. But there was no doubt that our love for her, whether we could fully communicate it or not, was already overpowering."
Even reading it again brings tears to my eyes. It made me think of how God loves us the way we need to be loved... slowly making us aware of the incomprehensible feelings of compassion, protection, adoration that he has for us. It made me think of Aaron, and how important it is that God takes his time with him, slowly showing him that he is the God of truth and grace... not overpowering him and scaring him away. It's how God is with all of us. Babbling, throwing up, playing with the buttons on his shirt, totally unaware of the life that he has waiting for us, or even of the life of famine that he is saving us from.
This is adoption. It is the most tangible example we have for grace... pure, unselfish love, undeserved by anything we could do or say. Our abilities are insignificant compared to the abilities and resources of the one who has chosen to lavish his love on us... even if we are only aware of it in tiny bits.

sometimes random beauty is the best medicine

2009-01-15T15:39:00.000-05:00

wish I was just overreacting

2009-01-12T02:06:00.004-05:00

This whole CPSIA thing has me so worn out. The very idea of how easy it apparently is for our government to pass a bill so quickly and quietly that We, the People are only finding out about it as the damage is beginning to happen. How ready they are to eliminate China's American competition, to drive a stake in the heart of what economists call the heartbeat of the American economy (small business/ cottage industry) when we are already in a resession. Oh, I could say so much. But I am about out of words. (you can read ab out it here)
Right now I am going to go to bed and pray myself to sleep. And try not to cry anymore at the thouhgt of kids being banned from libraries. My dear Grandmother would not have been able to bear that one, and this makes me realize another way I am like her. Bittersweet.

Murphy, we're not in Brooklyn anymore (part 4)

2009-01-10T12:45:00.005-05:00

oh, Murphy, what have I become?
(desperate times...)
Ok, I've been dunking for 45 minutes and it still isn't robust. What now?

(where there's no dunking required)

dance...

2009-01-01T01:12:00.000-05:00

happy... 2009

2008-12-29T13:32:00.002-05:00

"When a beloved person disappears, everything becomes impregnated with that person's presence. Every single object but also every space is a reminder of his or her absence, as if absence were stronger than presence."
-Doris Salcedo

bittersweet

2008-12-16T02:35:00.006-05:00

About a year ago I babysat my pastor's little boy so he and his wife could go to "a show". In the hip(ster) neighborhood of Greenpoint, Brooklyn, "a show" does not mean a movie (common... $12 per person plus subway fare?! whatever) or anything anywhere near Broadway.
Being new parents, they called to check in (from a noisy concert-sounding event) about an hour or so later. Monique wanted to make sure everything was okay because they were going "on" and wouldn't be able to answer the cell phone until their set was over. (as if they wouldn't have answered mid-set... or even turned it off, I'm sure)
huh. "their set?", so they were in the band? I didn't think much of it, because in Brooklyn it is not particularly uncommon to be doing one thing or another on various stages in the area. And I knew that they were good friends with Sufjan Stevens (he's the Vito from Vito's Ordination Song), so I just figured that maybe Sufjan needed some back-up or something.
I tend to prefer the babysitting to going out and being among people more hip (and young) than myself, so I never inquired about where I might catch their next "set".

Then I moved from here

to here

And miss everything about what I left behind so much it's hard to focus on anything else.
Oh, and I was just lamenting about the things I always meant to do but didn't do in the 6+ years I lived in NY... like ice skating and taking pictures of the most beautiful church I had ever seen in my life, where God showed up and sat by me in the old wooden pews and soothed my sorrow with that lovely "old church" smell, and held me tight in the arms of his people, and spoke to me through a man that signs even casual emails with "your servant" (and he means it). Yeah, I've really been wishing I could see those stained glass windows again.
So, anyway, I stumbled across this album on itunes today, and later the following video on youtube. And tonight I am just so homesick, I can't stop the tears. But also thankful for the feeling, because I can't say I've ever been connected enough to miss a place like I miss my home there. Thanks, Vito and Monique (and the lovely Church in your care)... for being my servants.
xo.

waiting is hard

2008-12-12T18:02:00.003-05:00

It's a Small World

2008-12-06T04:56:00.002-05:00

it's a world of laughter, a world or tears
its a world of hopes, its a world of fear
theres so much that we share
that its time we're aware
its a small world after all

its a small world after all
its a small world after all
its a small world after all
its a small, small world

there is just one moon and one golden sun
and a smile means friendship to everyone.
though the mountains divide
and the oceans are wide
it's a small small world

feast

2008-11-26T19:09:00.004-05:00

I am thankful for memories so rich, laughter so hearty, joy so full that they are able to sustain in times of famine.

2008-11-22T23:26:00.001-05:00

11/21/99

2008-11-21T14:07:00.001-05:00

if I knew then what I know now...

I'd still say "yes".

sometimes the force is just with you...

2008-11-01T00:18:00.004-04:00

and sometimes it isn't...

when all else fails, dance...

2008-10-30T12:44:00.001-04:00

2008-10-22T14:32:00.002-04:00

When it was over and they could talk about it
She said there's just one thing I have got to know
What in that moment when you were running so hard and fast
Made you stop and turn for home
He said I always knew you loved me even though I'd broken your heart
I always knew there'd be a place for me to make a brand new start

Oh love wash over a multitude of things
Love wash over a multitude of things
Love wash over a multitude of things
Make us whole

When it was over and they could talk about it
They were sitting on the couch
She said what on earth made you stay here
When you finally figured out what I was all about
He said I always knew you'd do the right thing
Even though it might take some time
She said, Yeah, I felt that and that's probably what saved my life

Oh love wash over a multitude of things
Love wash over a multitude of things
Love wash over a multitude of things
Make us whole

There is a love that never fails
There is a healing that always prevails
There is a hope that whispers a vow
A promise to stay while we're working it out
So come with your love and wash over us

thanks, Sara Groves

Murphy, we're not in Brooklyn anymore (part 3)

2008-10-16T13:14:00.008-04:00

pressing questions that come up in daily life in Brooklyn:
did I remember to bring baggies to pick up Murphy's doo doo? (thus avoiding the threatened $1,000 fine)

Is it sad to drink alone, even if it's happy hour? (What time was happy hour again?)

what's the difference between "waterproof" and "water-resistant" boots?

is it Halloween or just any Tuesday night in Manhattan?

pressing questions that come up in daily life in Kansas:
ohmygoodness... what's crawling on my neck? ohmygoodness... what do I do with it?
is it drinking my coffee?!what is it?!
how long ago was I outside?
please, please let it be from outside and not inside.
has it been living in my hair?
is it a girl monsterbug?
did it lay a colony in my hair?
how long will I have to stand under scalding water to eliminate said colony?
what did the insert in my water bill say about the water being "not exactly drinkable"?
doesn't skin drink water?
is that crawly feeling all over just the "heebie-jeebies" or is the colony hatching?!
oh Lord... I miss the peace and safety of Brooklyn.

so, so aware

2008-10-09T23:48:00.006-04:00

I found out yesterday that this is National Mental Illness Awareness Week. I love anything that brings attention to the very tangible reality of mental illness, as our society leaves behind the destructive stigmas and prejudices of mental illness and those who are subjected to it.

I am often baffled at how it is more acceptable to take a pill or seek professional treatment for a headache, but crippling shame and fear keep people from seeking relief from conditions that cause symptoms just as real and even as deadly as cancer. How so often the only way to get the treatment you need is to let your life spiral so out of control that it becomes "suicide prevention" or "chemical dependency recovery". What if diabetes was ignored until limbs started falling off?

Mental illness has woven itself throughout my life, effecting me personally and ravaging some of the people who are closest to me. I truly believe that it has become a plague on our generation, and that its methods of "divide and conquer" have the fingerprints of the dark enemy that is out to destroy us.

I've been reading a fabulous book called Touched With Fire, which points out the connection between mental illness and the arts, and discusses fascinating moral and ethical questions connected to treating these people who have added color and dimension to our world through the expression of their suffering. It is an interesting question, whether an artist would be so driven to produce art, would he reach so deeply into his soul if he did not NEED to? Would the world be as interesting if those minds were whole?

I have a lot to say about this, being an artist and being married to an artist, both of us using our talents to create a visual expression of the turmoil we experience as a means of survival. It reminds me of the whole story of our broken, fallen world, versus a world restored to the design of our great Creator. What causes us to create is our need to be who we truly are... a creation reflective of God. I feel closest to him, most like him when I am immersed in his creation and when I am creating, because I am wired to experience a connection to him in that way. In the same way, some people feel closest to God when they are immersed in intellect or service. We are fallen and separated from full communion with our God, so anything that reminds us of what we should be, what we will be, makes us feel more whole.

Through my husband's artwork I have seen depression articulated in a way that is very unique. It shows the stillness, the lure and the beauty that calls out to you and draws you into the abyss. Yes, there is an ugly side, but that is only revealed once you are trapped in its grips. It's the slow, methodical whisper of the darkness that promises comfort.

His work reveals the trap and the torture. My belief is that it will also show the escape, once he finds it. It is my job as his wife to hold on to the knowledge I have of how the story ends, and to trust in the Creator who our souls ache to emulate while this testimony is formed. And rather than standing still, or even laying down and giving up, it is also my job as an artist to narrate the journey to the best of my ability. Because my soul aches to heal like the great Healer, and to tell a story like the great Author. What true comfort that we are allowed to do so much more than merely survive the trials of this world...

the love of a mother

2008-10-06T14:49:00.003-04:00

There are times in life that a message is given to you, that something that may have been written thousands of years ago (or a few days ago on a blog) feels as if it was the opening line of a love letter written to you by someone who knows you deeply.
Just before the first big move of my life (the first of many, as it turned out), a stranger came up to me on my last Sunday at that church and said, sheepishly, that she believed that she had been told that a verse she read when she woke up that morning needed to be told to someone she would meet that day. And when she saw me, she heard that intangible whisper... "it's for her". Poor girl, she obviously had never experienced such a thing before as having to choose between looking crazy and going crazy holding something in...

SO, this was for me that day, and it rings true in my life constantly:

"I tell you the truth," Jesus replied, "no one who has left home or brothers or sisters or mother or father or children or fields for me and the gospel will fail to receive a hundred times as much in this present age (homes, brothers, sisters, mothers, children and fields—and with them, persecutions) and in the age to come, eternal life..." Mark 10:29-30

This is most present when it comes to being maternally nurtured... as I have given up the "right" to hold on to the bitterness for the lack of mothering I had from the one who holds the title, I have been flooded by care, protection, love and wisdom by the women in my life who mother my heart on a deeply spiritual level.

Many of them have no idea that their words do that for me, like this wish for her children that put to words the lesson I have been on a path to learning recently:

"I hope they learn that when times are good, your circumstances don't have to enslave you or define you. And that when times are bad, your circumstances don't have to enslave you or define you. "

The world is filled with love and hope and all of the nurturing we need to survive, thrive and grow. It's an eternal love that pours over us and truly fills that thirst, but the pitchers are so much a part of the beauty.

love

2008-10-02T02:07:00.009-04:00

Love is believing in what you know a person's character to be even when the evidence stacked against it seems to prove something altogether different. That belief doesn't always come naturally... it is usually a choice, a mastering of the will.

It is how I am able to walk through the valley of the shadow of death, knowing that my God is for me, that he is kind and good and faithful.

It is how he is able to not give up on us or the world he made for us to live in, even when we reject him and mess up his beautiful creation.

It's how I am able to look through actions and heartbreak and see family in lost and empty eyes.

And a mother's love... it is the most powerful a mortal can possess. It is able to believe that this note from her daughter's kindergarten teacher is a description of her girl:

"I just need to tell you what a sweet helper Gracie has been this week. Earlier in the week I was kneeling on the floor and couldn't push myself upright because of my broken wrist. She saw me struggling and came immediately over and offered to help me up. Then, today, a friend was upset and refused to come into the classroom. Gracie asked if she could go out to comfort her.

What a great job you've done fostering empathy in Gracie! Thanks!"

Even when that same day Gracie used her wet underwear as a weapon to hurl at mom's face as she works out her issues in the safest relationship in her life.

bake sale!

2008-09-22T14:20:00.002-04:00

Q: what's better than a good, old fashioned bake sale?
A: a good, old fashioned bake sale for a great cause, with a modern twist!!!
head on over and take a look at all of the cookies that are for sale, including 2 batches from my own oven...

Dar's Peanut Butter cookies

and... (my tribute to NYC) Black & White Cookies
(I can't promise mine will look this perfect, but I will promise they will be delicious!)
p.s. thanks, http://www.epicurious.com/
for letting me borrow this picture since I didn't get my actual ones baked in time to photograph myself

be careful what you say...

2008-09-21T01:28:00.002-04:00

Huntington Harbor c1982

2008-09-18T04:15:00.003-04:00

I miss you, Uncle Rudy... hope you and Topaz are safe.
(last docked near Galveston, TX)

Murphy, we're not in Brooklyn anymore (part 2)

2008-09-13T23:40:00.003-04:00

the East River from my neighborhood in Brooklyn

the river forming East of my porch, Kansas (thanks, Ike)

seasons

2008-09-12T15:05:00.004-04:00

Growing up in California you miss out on a few things. Snow days, dogwood trees, summer rainstorms, lightning bugs. And the changing of seasons. Sure, December tends to be a few degrees colder than June, and it generally rains in the "winter" months, but you never get that pull of the season really changing like you do in other climates.

I need seasons. Mentally, emotionally, even spiritually. I need the tangible example to throw in the face of the "you're always going to feel this way" melancholy moods when they hang on me like wet jeans. I think that before I moved away from the West Coast I was stuck in a sort of limbo, like in the Mid-West and East when it's not quite cold enough for your favorite sweater yet but all of the color is gone from the trees. Sure, the occasional sunny day would hit, but for the most part the weather was of no help when it came to wrestling with depression.

The first winter I lived in Detroit was the worst they had had in 15 years. We got our first blizzard on October 8 (16 inches that stuck around), the last one in April, and nothing but cold and dreary in between. We were living in a basement, so the lack of light did a number on me. I cried a lot for no particular reason. But I will never forget the first sprig of color I saw on a rare clear patch of ground around early May. It was green with a tiny crown of purple petals. It almost hurt my eyes it was so magical and bright against the sludgy snow. I sobbed like I had found a long lost sibling. That was a great moment, even worth what it took to make it happen. How else could I be so effected by a blade of grass? ("...not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these")

In Detroit I discovered the joys of geraniums. Very hearty (so I almost cannot kill them) and cheerful through many temperature changes. Today they just looked so beautiful to me, perched in their pots as autumn was whispering her arrival. The change of light, the slight drop in temperature. Remembering that soon the trees will be glowing with reds and oranges and yellows that don't exist anywhere else in the world. A little nudge out of my "mood". Deep breath. Forced smile that sticks a little longer than the last one. I think I need to bake a pie.

BEST BY SEPT/11/08

2008-09-11T12:35:00.005-04:00

You know your birthday (or anniversary) is near when it shows up as the expiration date on perishables. When I bought these eggs a couple of weeks ago I had a "gasp... is it really coming again?" moment. But I had to get back to my shopping and couldn't dwell on it because it wouldn't be good to start sobbing in the dairy aisle.

We were living in the suburbs of Detroit on 9-11-01. I was late to work because the house across the street was on fire and I couldn't get out of our parking lot. The radio in my car didn't work, so I had a cd in. When I rushed into the store where I was working (a major home decorative fabric retailer that isn't worth mentioning), ready to pour out my big story about why I was late, everyone was gathered in the office. My "you'll never believe what just happened" disinigrated in the air as one of my co-workers put her arm around me and said "honey, a jet just crashed into the World Trade Center". (I can't even type that without tears)

There are moments that are forever frozen in time, and that is one that cannot leave me. I remember every thought that raced through my mind in a second, trying to process the impossible. "No, wait... what Bruce Willis movie was that? This is a "War of the Worlds" broadcast, it can't be real."

I called Aaron and woke him up, told him to turn the TV on. He asked what channel, and I said "I don't think it matters".

As the day went on (our manager still opened the store and "suggested" that we carry on as normal... with the radio on over the PA system) the shock rolled over me in waves. I will never forget the woman I got stuck with for hours that day. Middle-aged, fake tan, fake boobs, shortish. She was really concerned about finding fabric for draperies that would pull out the mauve in the flame stitch on the wing-chairs in her living room.

The next August we moved to Brooklyn. On the first anniversary I didn't really know what to do, so I took the train into Manhattan. I wanted to just be near the people and the city I had grieved for. I think I hoped they would recognize me, that they would know how I would come home from work at 6 and still be sitting in front of the TV with my keys in my hand, purse over my shoulder when Aaron would get home at 11, just not wanting to miss when they found someone. I wanted them to know how I ached too as hope dwindled, that I sent work gloves with messages written on them and biscuits for the rescue dogs.

I wanted to be a New Yorker, but I felt more like I was crashing a funeral so I just came home. I realized by the silence and the look on their faces that I could not comprehend what their grief was.

Over the next 6 years of living there and becoming a New Yorker, I realized that there would forever be 2 classes... pre and post. I never met a pre 9-11 New Yorker that did not have some personal loss that day. Every fire station that I ever walked past had a memorial to the brothers they lost. Not that they lost some, but that these were the ones who were lost. We all have a story about that day, but it's not the same as the stories of the people who were there.

This is the first anniversary of that day that I am not in New York. It hurts. It forces me to realize that even this sorrow is a feeling of empathy, not of personal grief. When a tragedy happens that effects you on a deep level that you don't understand, I think our nature is to dilude ourselves into thinking that it makes us part of it. The feelings are real, but when you are on the inside you don't have to be reminded of a day like this by the stamp on a carton of eggs.

my dear sewing machine

2008-09-09T17:42:00.019-04:00

Between ages 13 and 26 I burned out 3 sewing machine motors. (I started working on patience more into my 30s)

You know it's bad when your sewing machine repair man begs you to please buy one "you can't break". Honestly, all I knew at the time was I had 7 purple bridesmaids dresses to finish in about 3 days and anything he gave me that would get the job done would have made me happy. Bless his heart, he talked me into spending about $600 on my Janome New Home My Excel 23x, rather than just getting yet another "disposable" one.

I love that machine. Deeply, madly, truly. We've been through a lot together, and it has been just as kind to me when I have made it disgrace itself with purple taffeta bridesmaid dresses or Route 66 upholstery fabric pillows with fringe and a zipper as it was making my lovely silk wedding dress. In fact, I think it was kinder in those moments of what I like to refer to as "whoring my talent", patiently understanding that I needed to pay the bills.

The first time I moved to Kansas there was a tornado warning in the middle of the night and I was down there in the basement with my machine. (never lived that down)My theory is that as long as I have it (we have eachother) I can always start over. Can't you just see me in one of those terrible late night interviews outside in my ragged jammies, talking about how it "sounded like a freight train", clutching to my beloved machine!?

And when I was thinking of adding to the "family" and buying a serger (which, by the way changed my life), I decided to be as unbiased (no pun intended) as possible and really do the research. But what I came up with is that New Home is the best. So much less expensive than the others, and the only thing you can't do is be part of the Husky or Viking Cults. (who am I to talk?!)

So, here are the practical reasons I love my particular machine:

it doesn't beep at me, the motor is computerized but there are no digital annoyances telling me what to do or scolding me when I do something wrong (although I will build an altar for the person who invents a bell that goes off when the bobbin thread runs out during sewing)

the needle up/needle down button (makes corners a breeze), also the needle always stops in the "fully up" position so there's no need to turn the dial on the side when removing what you were sewing (LOVE that)

automatic button-hole maker (pop the button in and it automatically makes the button-hole the right size!)

drop-in bobbin with the see-through top

conveniently located thread cutter

flip-open "junk drawer", which also comes off to reveal the free arm

all of the pressure feet, what they are for, and how to use them is right there in front of your face

pressure feet pop right off with a red button, so no screwdriver needed!

rolled hem foot

Although, the relationship you develop with the item you use (and depend upon) most in life really does happen over time. Late nights, last minute alterations, baby clothes, Easter dresses, curtains and everything in between are what make the bond develop... but being a great machine is what keeps it in that place for you to love.

(p.s. yes, I fully realize that I am crazy to have spent so much time on this post professing my love for my sewing machine while it sits 5 inches away waiting to accomplish the pile of work we have.)

Murphy, we're not in Brooklyn anymore

2008-09-09T00:35:00.006-04:00

out my window, Brooklyn
3a.m.
rap video shoot

out my window, Kansas
3p.m.
jr. high marching band practice

Mrs Imiss

2008-09-03T18:52:00.005-04:00

Today I almost called my grandma. The flood of "I miss" began as the "oh, yeah, I can't because she died" wall came tumbling down. Dam. (Damn dam) *sigh*
Must be the rain outside my window and the drop in temperature bringing on the melancholy mood. All I can think about today is what I miss...
*grandma, even her propaganda (this election would have made her crazy)
*baking (I think I have some brownie mix to pacify me until I can get the kitchen in proper post-move condition for making some Irish Soda bread)
*Brooklyn
*the Pacific Ocean (oh, dear... any ocean or body of water larger than the giant puddle in my Kansas driveway)
*the kitchen in my last home, with its high counters and deep sink and drinkable tap water
*Mr. Softee (more later on the ban)
*My nieces and nephews
*feeling like the Queen of Ireland, mastering driving on the wrong side
*looking over at the King of Ireland in the passenger seat

Happy Birthday, baby sister

2008-08-30T01:11:00.003-04:00

you were the first baby I ever held, the woman who I look up to, and the inspiration for more than you'll ever know
think about the hard road these girls traveled before they became best friends and don't lose hope in the power of the bond that begins in moments like these

deep sigh

2008-08-28T16:14:00.004-04:00

so much has happened since I last posted.
Mostly, my intention to "start writing" is relentlessly nagging me, and the "but where to begin?!" answer is becoming swallowed up in the pleas of that voice inside...
And something happened to motivate me... I was inspired by the sweetness and creativity of a woman who is busier than I (with 4 darling children to attend to). A woman who I feel a connection to although our paths have never crossed (as far as I know) and maybe won't in this life. But her story moved me and motivated me in ways I just cannot explain, which I find is common for a spiritual connection... God just places people on our hearts and says "I'll tell you later...".
So much of what holds me back from telling my story is that it doesn't look pretty right now. A few close friends can see the dazzling beauty that I see in the hope of it, but for the most part it is still messy and rarely enjoyable to put in print. In my less faithful moments I am reminded that the only difference between being devoted and pathetic is the outcome... if the story ends well it is romantic and inspiring, but if it's not a happy ending the one holding on to hope looks like a big loser. Maybe I hesitate to share the beauty I see until there is more tangible evidence of it... since the current state of things seems to taint the love story that came before, rather than being part of a bigger story that is just beginning to unfold. Sometimes I just get tired, and I wish THIS wasn't my story, that it didn't include such ugly things. Sometimes I am stunned by disbelief that this is really happening.
As I process this, I think I understand why I feel so close to Stephanie and her story. It's because she is about to wake up in the midst of the ugly part, the part that she would never choose for herself, the part that will truly test her and stretch her and hurt her, but will make her privy to a facet of who God is that most will never know if she will just keep looking at him. She will have moments of agony and dread that break my heart to even think about. She will have nightmares recalling what happened and wake up still in that reality, wishing that she could wake up and stair at the ceiling as her husband assures her "it was just a bad dream". She is on the cusp of something that I understand and would not wish on anyone; when the tranquility of your lovely story is shattered, and the future is more scary than anything you ever imagined. But the other thing I know is that she will have some moments, (maybe not for a really long time) that she will be so cared for and loved and refined that she will catch herself more than once being glad for this. The terrible, agonizing, transforming power of grace will astound her when she gets the meaning of it on a different level than she could have ever known had her story lingered any longer in "happily ever after".
I think that could be the difference between a story and a testimony.

Local Lunch

2008-03-15T14:43:00.003-04:00

Today was one of those days that made me feel like I never want to even consider leaving Brooklyn. It is the closest I have ever felt to my childhood fantasy of living on Sesame Street. (more about that someday...)

I took Murphy (my silly little dog who needs dog friends lest he start believing that he is one of the cats) to the dog run at a sort of near-by park.
On the way home, we stopped by the farmer's market and picked up some random goodies, and came home to make the most perfect meal... braeburn apples, strong cheese, hard-boiled egg, wheat bread and wildflower honey, all from farms within a short drive of NYC. (if it looks like it wasn't much of a feast it's because I gobbled up most of it before it occurred to me how beautiful and "photo worthy" it was.)
I feel so eco! (so much better than a Big Mac)
And for dinner I can fry up the purple potatoes and red onions... yum :)

Happy Birthday Dar

2008-03-11T23:02:00.001-04:00

March 11 was Dar's birthday. I don't remember what the date was that she died... I know I was 14 and I remember that the sunset was extraordinary that day. My dad had picked me up from work and we decided to make a detour down PCH (Pacific Coast Highway) to watch it over the ocean. I still remember him pulling over and saying "it looks like the gates of heaven are opening". We just sat there and marveled as the sky grew darker and less colorful.
It reminded me of that Lifesavers commercial from the 80s where the little girl and the dad are watching the sun set behind a mountain... he's saying "going, going, gone." and she whispers "do it again, Daddy".
We drove home, went in the house and someone (I think it must have been my mom) said that they had just gotten a call, Dar died.
Really, she had been gone for a long time, a prisoner in her broken body. Personality and character lost to Alzheimer's. And I remember feeling relief that it was over for her, not my own relief but as if hers was so great that it spilled all over the earth and comforted us. She was free from the prison, and her Carl was welcoming her home after being apart for more than half a century.
She wore her wedding band until she died, and I wear it as my wedding band now. It's been through a lot in both of those marriages, and it's worn and nicked and scratched. I hope it lasts to be a reminder of love and devotion for another generation. The engraved date is still visible on the inner edge, actually it says "C.B.W. to G.E.T. March 25, 15". I'm sure it wouldn't be hard to find the date that G.E.T. went to C.B.T. (my sister knows every date and time and place, and what everyone was wearing...). But I'd rather just remember the date that she was sent to us. March 11, 1894.

The Isles of Shoals

2008-03-01T11:44:00.006-05:00

This unlikely couple met at a little island hotel on one of the rocky islands divided along the border of New Hampshire and Maine. She was a waitress and he was a scholar and Shakespearian actor from a prominent family. Fortunately, opposites attract, because this pair are my great-grandparents (that's Dar on the right!).
My Grandmother told the best stories of their adventures together... she being the one to change a flat tire when the car broke down, and her mother-in-law scolding him because his wife preferred the company of "the help" in the kitchen to that of the high-society guests at a dinner party.
I have their wedding silverware, and I use it every day. The thought of her standing over a sudsy sink, laughing with the servants (she had such a servant's heart) makes me smile and makes washing my own dishes a little more pleasant.
Maybe this Spring I'll make it to this place that was so special to all of them... I've always wanted to go. It's not so far from Brooklyn...

mmm... warm

2008-02-12T00:13:00.000-05:00

when it's 15 degrees outside, there's nothing like warm pb cookies inside

I'm a little teapot...

2008-02-10T01:45:00.003-05:00

short and stout,

here is my handle, here is my spout. When I get all steamed up then I shout
"TIP ME OVER AND POUR ME OUT!!!"

not only was this my favorite song when I was 5, but this teapot is part of a set (the part that must have been broken long before my time) that belonged to Dar. As far as I know, only the sugar dish remains. I still remember her lovely old hands (mine are looking more and more like them every day) holding that spoon steady, picking up a heaping teaspoon-full of sugar and expertly shaking the perfect amount on our buttered toast, then tapping the corners to sprinkle the excess back into the pot. Amazing how I even remember the sounds. A little dash of cinnamon, and we were eating like queens. But never with the teapot. We mostly drank oj.
I found this at the salvation army thrift shop down the street from our house (well, it was actually a questionably legal basement apartment in Pontiac, Michigan.) about 6 years ago. Preparing to move, we were dropping things off, and my husband made it very clear that we had no money and no room... we already had too much "useless crap" to pack. ("useless crap" is a term that covers everything other than his clothes, shoes, books, dvds and various other personal items that hold much more significance than, say, towels or dishes. They would fall under the "useless crap" category.) Anyway... I couldn't help but swoon over this sweet teapot; identical to the sugar dish from my childhood idol's kitchen table. But I immediately put it back down. I wasn't going to bother.
The next day I was packing, scrubbing walls, etc. and he walked in with my teapot. It was literally his last $15, and it was the least practical thing he had ever done (other than, perhaps, falling in love with me). Even still, after all of these years and what they hold, I can hear the "I love you" that it was meant to speak.
damn teapot. I love it too. What ever happened to that guy? I liked him.

2008-02-02T17:23:00.001-05:00

Make new friends,
but keep the old.

One is silver,
the other is gold.

A circle is round,
it has no end.
That's how long,
I will be your friend.

A fire burns bright,
it warms the heart.
We've been friends,
from the very start.

You have one hand,
I have the other.
Put them together,
We have each other.

Silver is precious,
Gold is too.
I am precious,
and so are you.

You help me,
and I'll help you
and together
we will see it through.

The sky is blue
The Earth is green
I can help
to keep it clean

Across the land
Across the sea
Friends forever
We will always be

2008-01-31T12:09:00.001-05:00

. . . but while I breathe Heaven's air, and Heaven looks down on me, And smiles at my best meanings, I remain Mistress of mine own self and mine own soul.

~Lord Alfred Tennyson
from The Foresters

stitches

2008-01-12T00:48:00.000-05:00

I am too clumsy for pilates (and I have no idea what my "core muscles" are, or if I even have any), and I just don't have the attention span for yoga (that part of my brain is stuck on "two-year-old who had a whole box of frosted flakes for breakfast" mode). So, how to relax? Trickery. Occupy my mean Left Brain and let Righty run wild; that's the best I can do. I am one of those weirdos that finds ironing and vacuuming relaxing... anything that requires concentration but not thought.
But my favorite "relaxing hobby" is knitting. I am not great at it. Well, I am good enough to almost never make a mistake (because I don't have the patience to learn how to fix knitting mishaps) as long as I do the same stitch, and there can be no counting whatsoever. I've gotten to the point that I can do it in the dark, which was really good last Spring when I got the majority of this scarf underway. I was given the incredible, only seen in movies, would have wished for it the rest of my life opportunity to fly from Brooklyn to CA so I could sit up all night every night at my dear grandmother's hospital bedside during one of her last weeks of her amazing life. We listened to opera, laughed, cried, and she told me lots of stories I had heard a thousand times before. (the last time you hear it is the best, I promise)
My favorite was about the one time she took up knitting, to do "her part" for the soldiers during WWII. (as if taking a boat to Germany to protest against Hitler hadn't been enough). There was a USO campaign to get the ladies at home to knit up scarves to keep the service men warm, and they were handing out balls of yarn. Being the over-achiever that she was, she loaded up as many as they'd give her, and knitted her heart out... the only thing she didn't know how to do was cast off. "No problem... one of those women down there can figure out how to divide them up, right?" So, when she told her mother (who was a domestic goddess) what she had delivered to the USO ladies, they ended up laughing until they cried... some guy ended up with a scarf that was about 12 feet long.
Someday I'd love to meet the family with the story... "when grandpa was in the war he got the longest, worst knitted scarf in all the world..."
So, my project may take years to finish (look at those tiny stitches!), and I lost the ball of brown yarn (on an airplane, I think) so the design has become a little wonky. But those stitches will tell their own story, and this will forever be one of my most treasured possessions.

California dreaming...

2007-05-28T23:31:00.000-04:00

Oh, California... I know I came from you, but the longer I am away the stranger you become. Your people seem to not even notice the tree robots that watch them from alongside your many freeways. Who started the rumor that they were cell phone transmitters? Maybe the trees suggested it through their mind altering radio waves. How else would they believe that a palm tree and a pine tree could live happily so close together?

show & tell... button of the week

2007-05-23T15:23:00.000-04:00

I have been told that this little one is an old diaper button, probably from the 1800's.

girlie girl dress

2007-05-16T22:44:00.000-04:00

so, the photo is a little obscure (I call it "self-portrait and hip, and by the way that is just a shadow on my armpit") but I had to show off the cute dress I made. It's a blending of two of my favorite designers, Heather Ross (fabric) and Aimee Dolby of Betsy Ross Patterns ("girlie girl" dress pattern)
It's like we're all hanging out together... sort of

show & tell... button of the week

2007-05-16T17:26:00.000-04:00

I really love these guys. They are Bakelite and HUGE.
When I first started collecting buttons about 18 years ago (geeze, that sounds like a long time!) I wanted them to make jewelry out of. But after the first few that I destroyed by removing the shanks and gluing them together to make a brooch or something, I had to stop. I felt like they weren't meant to be anything other than what they already are. And they all have a story.

I imagine these two, on some great slubby wool swing coat, braving any weather for the adventures of their coat's owner in c. 1964. (picture Marlo Thomas or Audry Hepburn in big plastic sunglasses and boots made for walkin')

deep sigh...

2007-05-15T11:56:00.000-04:00

Hope Wallace, will you be my friend? Or maybe you can just come over and cover the walls of my apartment with your magic...

edgar

2007-05-14T19:44:00.000-04:00

cats are just tiny women in cheap fur coats

Happy Mother's Day

2007-05-13T00:27:00.000-04:00

a page from a sweet little book I found from 1939 that seems very well loved. I imagine that many little chickadees were read to sleep by their mommas, heavy eyelids trying to stay open for their favorite bird...
to the women who tuck in, wipe up, kiss all-better and show their "cunning brood exactly where to look for food"... thank you for the world that your nurtured children will impact.
xoxo

twinkies

2007-05-11T23:02:00.000-04:00

a May day many, many years ago...
What could be better than a dress that matched your big sister's? Why, matching hair ribbons of course!

a few of my favorite things...

2007-05-09T13:31:00.000-04:00

Heather Ross, you rock.
Your fabrics continue to inspire me to buy and covet yards and yards even if I will never get around to the projects that will do them justice...

show & tell... button of the week

2007-05-08T12:31:00.000-04:00

okay, okay... so I couldn't pick just one. But they are sort of a set.
I went to Europe all by myself as a crazy 22 year-old (I'll never tell how long ago that was) and was trying to travel light, since my backpack already weighed more than I did.
Among the few purchases that I could justify as more than worth their weight were these lovely buttons. I picked them up from a sweet little old lady at a flea market in Cambridge, just before having my first taste of cider at a local pub. For those of you who think that cider is a nice, refreshing apple juice, perfect for guzzling on a hot day... I learned the hard way this is not so. But I digress...

the neverending quilt

2007-05-08T12:22:00.000-04:00

It's just like me to take on an endeavor that may never be finished... but it's all about the process, right?
This is the quilt that I have been making for my dad for going on three years. But the longer it takes, the more of a gift it is. So far it has been 3 Christmas presents, 3 birthday presents, Father's Day and a wedding gift.

Unfortunately, I'm getting a little attached to it myself...

what's your favorite color?

2007-05-08T12:08:00.000-04:00

Whippoorwills call, evenin' is nigh
Hurry to my Blue Heaven
Turn to the right, there's a little white light
Will lead you to my Blue Heaven

You'll see a smilin' face, a fireplace, a cozy room
Little nest that nestles where the roses bloom

Molly and me, and the baby makes three
We're happy in my, in my Blue Heaven

You're gonna see a smilin' face, fireplace, cozy room
And a little nest nestled where the roses bloom

Just Molly and me, and the baby is three
We're so happy in my Blue Heaven
We're happy in my Blue Heaven
We're happy in my Blue Heaven!

"what's a selvage?", you ask

2007-05-03T18:52:00.000-04:00

a selvage is the very edge of the fabric, where all of the threads come together in what looks like a frayed mess, but can actually be quite lovely

every stitch a loving thought

2007-05-03T13:59:00.000-04:00

So, I guess I'll start with Dar, because it all really started with her.

Dar was my maternal great-grandma. Her given name was Grace (which she always thought was "silly") but for some unknown reason an aunt started calling her Dar as a child and it stuck.
Picture a mixture of Lucille Ball, Martha Stewart and Mother Theresa. And since I only knew her from the perspective of an adoring little girl who soaked up every ounce of nurturing I could get, she became the roll model of my heart and hands. She was my idea of perfection. Sometimes I even think that there is such a thing as genetic memory, like the first time I smelled lilacs wasn't the first time.
But I digress. Dar was a seamstress, a knitter, a cook, a baker, a gardener, a story teller, a back rubber, a boo boo kisser and a total nut. But her greatest talent was her ability to make each of us great-grandchildren feel like her favorite at some point. Of course, I always knew the truth... but I would never tell the others for fear of hurting their feelings.
For a long time as a young woman I had a hard time trying to live up to her image, wanting to be her. But then I realized that the things about her that were in me were gifts, not burdens, and that I would do my best to be a woman that she would want to knit with or laugh with rather than trying to duplicate her (as if anyone could). I do, however, copy one thing that she always did... I stitch a little xoxo onto the edge of anything I make for someone I love. And I really believe in what she taught me... "every stitch a loving thought".

on the selvage

bloggers unite... bring some sanity to the cpsia

So what can you do?

she has her mother's eyes!

sometimes random beauty is the best medicine

wish I was just overreacting

Murphy, we're not in Brooklyn anymore (part 4)

dance...

bittersweet

waiting is hard

It's a Small World

feast

11/21/99

sometimes the force is just with you...

when all else fails, dance...

Murphy, we're not in Brooklyn anymore (part 3)

so, so aware

the love of a mother

love

bake sale!

be careful what you say...

Huntington Harbor c1982

Murphy, we're not in Brooklyn anymore (part 2)

seasons

BEST BY SEPT/11/08

my dear sewing machine

Murphy, we're not in Brooklyn anymore

Mrs Imiss

Happy Birthday, baby sister

**deep sigh**

Local Lunch

Happy Birthday Dar

The Isles of Shoals

mmm... warm

I'm a little teapot...

stitches

California dreaming...

show & tell... button of the week

girlie girl dress

show & tell... button of the week

deep sigh...

edgar

Happy Mother's Day

twinkies

a few of my favorite things...

show & tell... button of the week

the neverending quilt

what's your favorite color?

"what's a selvage?", you ask

every stitch a loving thought

deep sigh