Summer Sweet

Sometimes you're lucky. Sometimes tomorrow is rainbow day at music camp and your Mom happens to have a pillowcase with a rainbow on it at home.


Sometimes you're lucky.

The Complex Life

Safiya took this picture on the subway the other day. I love it.

Someone said, roughly speaking, that the "simple living" movement is a misnomer; that's it's really complex, rich, meaningful living that we're after, and that "simple" does not mean "easier". My life has certainly felt like that recently. Rich and busy since the last time I posted. So, to kind of update on at least one layer of my life:

Our neighbour removed the 10'x10' metal shed in our backyard so now Safiya has the largest sandbox (read "mudpit") ever...Hmmm, what else? I'll probably expand a lot on some of this stuff later, but since right now I'm supposed to be getting ready for the Leslieville Tree Festival tomorrow, here goes:

There was the day that my friend Katharine and I decided it was a great plan to take our four kids to the Textile Museum of Canada's annual fabric sale, walk a couple of subway stops to Royal Ontario Museum, and then top the day off with another friend's school fair (they all slept really well that night) ::


A new icecream place opened up right across from our favourite local park (bad idea, really bad idea :-) :: There's been the conflicts and dramas of childhood played out in said park, with many hugs and the stretching of confidence and bravery and the holding tight of her hand :: She had her friend over for her first sleep-over ::


Bike Pirates is a new favourite haunt, where Safiya has handled a wrench with much frustration and little aplomb, but has made new friends and changed her first set of brakepads (I'm so so proud) :: we've got a homemade bike trailer in the works ::


She and I went out of town with friends for a couple of days :: my good friend Lara's much anticipated baby was born, safe and sound (yay!) :: There have been visits from family, a graduation, and much last-minute house cleaning :: A rather dismal craft fair last weekend :: The farmer's markets have started up :: Music and swimming lessons have ended for the summer, and beach season has started ::



And in-between everything there are books to be read, questions about advertising on cereal boxes to be discussed, sarcasm to be discovered, popsicles to be bought with her own money, really bad jokes to be laughed at, sculptures of dinousaurs to be made, food to be made, arguments to be had, and a lot of laughing.

She's getting really big. And it's happening so very fast.

The Litterless Lunch and Food Fit for a...

King? Queen? Sultan? A hungry kid and her mom.

Today is Wednesday, which means we have lunch at Sultan's after swimming lessons at the community centre. We are fortunate to have an amazing network of community centres in Toronto which provide an astonishing array of classes for large and small for very little money. We are also fortunate to have people like Tamara and Samer who provide the yummiest falafel ever, not to mention homemade lentil soup, vegetables with garlic sauce, and other delectable handmade Jordanian food (vegan and gluten-free not even on purpose!)....mmmmm.....it's only 8:45 in the morning and yet I crave already.....that's Tamara walking away in the picture below, protesting the picture :-)


Safiya has been taking classes at this particular community centre for a couple of years, so it is a ritual and delight to walk in at lunchtime. She orders "the usual" and has started being in charge of the money, and we chat with Tamara and Samer and watch Danforth Avenue life pass by, usually playing "I Spy" as we eat.


That white sauce on the vegetables is the garlic sauce. It's basically just garlic and oil blended together. Soooooo good.


This Wednesday ritual has also provided me with an opportunity to practice and perfect the litterless lunch. We try to eat mostly at home, but it would be foolish to pass up good Toronto food and the opportunity to support our small restauranteurs, so I always carry our water bottle and cutlery roll with us. And now, I've added a couple of tiffins (got them here, but I'm sure there are many places to get them) and, on Wednesdays, a lug-a-mug (Tamara makes Safiya a special sweet black tea with fresh mint that we savour on the way home). At Sultan's they gladly fill up the tiffens instead of the foam one-use dishes that are offered, as do most restaurants if you ask nicely and just emphasize that you're weird that way :-) Or, even better, with a smile say that you're trying out the first "R"; the reduce one. Most of the time no explanation is necessary, which is great.


The tiffins took a while to take, as with any new habit, but they're perfect for picnics, which we will be doing a lot more of as the weather gets warmer, and, also important, leftovers from restaurants, even ones that are sit-down with china (apparently if you have kids, you have left-overs :-) I don't know the energy input required to make these, but they're light, unbreakable, I can pass them down to Safiya, and they're better by leaps and bounds than recycling, which also requires high energy input and doesn't always happen as it's supposed to. Sometimes the recycling thing seems to me to be just a salve on the eco-conscious, kind of like buying indulgences were to the church in the Middle Ages.

So, if you're in Toronto, say hi to Tamara and Samer at Sultan's, which is at the north-east corner of Main Street and Danforth Avenue. And bring your tiffin :-)

Mending Mondays: Evolution of a Patch

Remember the yelling hole in the pair of cords that I was working on patching? Well, two weeks ago I finished it, with little ado but a lot of satisfaction. So, using the tutorial that I posted worked fantasticly (is that a word?), although when it states "most pants have extra fabric that you can steal from to make a patch to match" (maybe that's another tutorial I'm thinking of - I vetted a lot of patching tutorials, you know :-) this is not true of factory made pants made by say, G*P (that's a swear word around here). They are stingy! I had to steal that little extra front pocket that I only ever use for tampons, and since these are destined for a guy friend, I doubt he'll miss it....

Here's that hole:


1. Inside reinforcing patch (just used a scrap of mine) to prevent further tearing, pinned, seen from the wrong side (the inside of the pants):


2. Seen from the right side:


3. I basted it on the right side so that I could see where I was going, and knew to stay on the inside of the pins:


4. Basted patch, seen from the wrong side:


5. I zigzagged around the edges of the patch:


6. Seen here from the right side of the pants:


7. And then, on the right side of the pants, zigzagged the edges of the hole (I know, this is getting really ugly):


8. So, the inside reinforcing patch is done. Now, made a matching patch from that little pocket and sewed it on the outside. Now, ideally, you'd have enough fabric to turn in the edges better and be picky about whether the patch itself was already a little worn, but whatever:


Ta-da! Considering that he said not to be to picky 'cause they're just hanging around pants, but they're his favourite, I say "not bad!" and pat myself on the back.


It's a crazy number of pictures for such a little thing, but I went a step further than the other tutorial by adding an outside patch as well. I think it's a really effective, thorough way of repairing clothes, and I fully intend to keep doing it this way. Also, I have to teach Safiya how to do this, 'cause she's just taken a pair of scissors to her newest jeans that she got from Granny. When I asked her about it, she said, "That's o.k.! We can just patch them!" Ha!

In Which a Young-ish Woman's Brain and Body Start Arguing

I found this awesome pillowcase on Mother's Day. It made me laugh out loud in the thrift shop. Seriously? Ahhh, 1976 (it says so on the pillowcase).

I need pillowcases like this to remind me of everything. Could you imagine? I mean, if you sat and embroidered or silk-screened "email your cousin" or "pick up soymilk" on a pillowcase, you would remember, right?

It's been a month, almost. For a while there I was falling asleep with Safiya at 9pm, which does wonders for tiredness (kind of) but nothing for blogging. And then it got into the guilt loop of if-i-take-a-look-at-the-blog-it-will-remind-me-that-i've-neglected-it. And then life got a bit crazy, and there were obligations and duties just like there aways is, and grabbing moments while I could became very important. It's odd that although this place is a retreat for me in many ways, to someone on the other side, the majority of my life and joys and fears and worries and work are in the background. It's like I've put a really pretty flower-shaped-crafty tatoo on my arm that becomes a focus, an identity, but there's the whole rest of my body that is covered up.

And I feel that writing only about the tatoo is becoming limiting.

This may go somewhere, it may not. For once, I'm not promising anything...

Green Dress for a Green Award

This is one of my favourite fabrics, and I've been saving it for something special. Tonight is the Green Toronto Awards, and Not Far From The Tree is a finalist! Yay! Safiya and I are invited with Laura to the reception beforehand, and then Mr. S. is joing us for the awards later in the evening. I'm really excited for Not Far From The Tree - cheer for us!


I made it this morning, out of a pink tablecloth (the back), that favourite fabric of mine (which was an apron), some other scraps, and some vintage buttons. Green dress for a green award (we hope!) - an offering to you, dear readers, to balance out how curmudgeonly I was yesterday. I was thinking late last night that maybe Earth Day for some people is like Christmas for others. It doesn't make sense to waste resources in the middle of a long cold winter to have a big party, but sometimes it's what people need. It's the corporate "sponsors" that irk me, not the people I know, my neighbours, celebrating Mother Earth :-)




Now, I need to give Safiya a bath to remove the honey from her person before we leave....

I'm so excited! Wish us luck!

EVERY DAY IS EARTH DAY

Yes, that's me yelling. This is my obligatory Earth Day post. Mostly, "Earth Day" makes me feel like cussing.

So, two quotes. The first, from one of the best movies ever, The Princess Bride. The second, from Ali, the prophet Muhammad's son-in-law, who became fourth Caliph of the Islamic Empire in 656. You can regard whichever one you like as the most authoritative.

"Life is pain, Highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something."

"Truly the destruction of the earth only results from the destitution of its inhabitants, and its inhabitants become destitute only when rulers concern themselves with amassing wealth, when they have misgivings about the endurance of their own rule and when they profit little from warning examples."

Now, I'm going to go back to clapping my hands to save Tinkerbell......

Mending Mondays: Mending Myself

The cold knocked me out. The rain knocked the kitchen ceiling out. This means that as soon as I recover I'll be on the phone trying to find a roofing company who will just do repairs and not try to convince me to replace our whole roof. Of course, if the guy with the dreads in this video came and told me to replace our roof, I'd do it in a heartbeat ;-)



Don't ask me how I found that. Sometimes a girl just wants to know how to make shingles. (ahem. he shows up at 4:55 by the way. you know, in case you're wondering.) And randomly, the only good thing about getting a wicked cold and sore throat is that I get to crack open one of the last jars of garlic I made in the fall:


Mmmmmm dill pickled garlic. That'll cure 'ya.

And, unfortunately, keep the cute shingle guy away. sigh.......




~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

p.s. yes, i know it's tuesday again. i started this post yesterday and then went for a nap. sorry - one of these days my body will catch up with my brain :-)

Hunt and Gather at The Workroom

I love The Workroom. Karyn lives craft. It can't get much better than that. And she's created such a welcoming space; it's airy and cosy, which is quite a feat. Too bad it's on the other side of town from me, but that makes it more of an event for me when I do get down there.


And the fabrics! I do my best to only buy second-hand fabrics, but I think the biggest compliment I could give to Karyn's fine eye is that her selection has tempted me many a time to fall off that particular wagon ;-) (I haven't given in yet, but I think it's inevitable....)


The show today was lovely - not quite as hopping as the last one, which was actually good because I'm fighting whatever cold nastiness Mr. S. has and I'm feeling a little lopsided. This allowed me to peruse many of the craft books that Karyn has for sale (and perusal :-) So, my pictures may be a little lopsided too - for a better idea of the whole day and to check out the other vendors' loveliness, check out Karyn's pics.


All of the vendors (links here) are truly talented and it's a joy to see all the jewel-like cases of goodness spread out like a specially selected, intimate, and well considered bazaar. My case was a jumble, as usual - I've really got to work on my visuals, I think. I got to hang some stuff (thanks Becky!), which helped a lot.


Mr. S. is unwell, and since I was feeling it coming on, Safiya stayed home with him, which was just as well, but I did miss her. Lately Mr. S. and she have started a tradition; whenever I do a trunk show here, they make a new piece of clothing for the resident doll, something which Karyn very kindly gave her blessing to. Miss Doll will have to wait until next time, sad to say.


I slipped out a bit early, slugged home, and am curled up pathetically in the spare room. At least most of the day was really nice :-)

The Story of the Mountain of Sweaters

I have an Aunt and Uncle who are great jokers, storytellers, and generally good to hang around with. Come to think of it, most of my aunts and uncles are like this. But, growing up, this particular couple was always regaling us in amazement with tales of how things just "happened". Coincidences, good luck, or what have you; good stuff somehow always happened to them. They were always so lucky.

As I got older I realised two things: one, they work very very hard, and two, they are genial people, that is, they talk...to practically anyone, and they pay attention. And so, I believe, they make their luck. This was an important lesson for a serious, reserved introvert such as I.

And so, I'm glad my Aunt and Uncle are in my life, because without them, I would have never met Sara (well, I'm glad for many other reasons, obviously), and without Sara I would never have been able to fill my latest order.


Sara was at Seedy Saturday. She was selling recycled sweater longjohns (coolest thing ever - she did the One of a Kind here in Toronto, and she's got an etsy shop - check out the cute undies - but I really wish she would make more of these!). We started chatting about craft, and then she said these magic words: "so I've used all the arms on all these sweaters, but what am I going to do with the bodies? I have a mountain of wool sweaters at home!" Well...


Seedy Saturday was fantastic (I was there with Not Far From The Tree - that's another post), but underneath was this panic gnawing at me: how was I going to fill an order for three (turned into four later) wool blankets all at the same time? That's a lot of Value Village coasting.


I got up courage and mentioned that I might be able to help, or that she could help me? Later that week she emailed me an invite to come over and there was this amazing picture attached:


So I went over, found out she's a wonderful person, and that it was true: she did indeed have a mountain of wool sweaters. We bartered a bit and voila! (although I still owe her a pie :-)


Now I have a tiny mountain of done blankets.

Thanks Sara!

After the Long Winter...

Hey! It's really spring! The signs are everywhere; today we finally had warm-even-without-a-jacket weather, chalk drawings adorn our neighbourhood sidewalks, and bluebells are gracing the lawns.


That, and the sidewalk-painting/mud-making fun has begun:


At the end of the day, I sat on our slightly dilapidated front steps with mending on my lap, delivered pizza in my hands, dirt standing in for a front lawn before me with dirty children in it making believe, Mr. S. to lean on, and the warm sun caressing my face.

...and I said to myself, "what a wonderful world"...

Mending Mondays: Patches

Yes, I know it's Tuesday. I started patching late last night after some other work because our usual Monday morning routine was delightfully topsy turvey due to visiting Granny, so let's get on with it, shall we?

Now, these holes look suspiciously square. As in, cut-out-with-scissors square. Hmmm.....


This one, however, seems to be yelling at me:


Probably because I promised the owner of this particular pair of pants that I'd mend them... a year ago. sigh. I suppose I should work my way through this pile and not try to compost it.

Last April I patched a couple pairs of Safiya's pants, and I learned a lesson. The hard way. Patches are great, but it would be a much better idea to actually fix the hole so that little toes don't get caught in the gaping-ness of the old jeans as they're making their way down while getting dressed. I thought that patches fix holes. They do not. They cover them.

I found this really good tutorial on how to fix holes, which I'm in the middle of trying with these cords. In the tutorial the stitching is left bare, but I'll try adding another patch on top, just to pretty it up.

As for those other little holes in Safiya's clothes, I did some basting tonight while Mr. S. read evening Winnie-the-Pooh stories aloud, so I did get some zen-like mending in anyway, which was nice :-)

night-night!

Changes

For many years, my brother-in-law Z. lived with us while he was in law school, and included in the many changes that have transformed a lot of the space in our house lately was the re-doing of his old room, or, as we now call it, the "spare room", or, the "kids' room". Not "Safiya's room".

There was no way this was going to be "Safiya's room". Mr. S. and I could care less, but it was interesting to see her reaction when we talked about moving some of her stuff in there.

"But I sleep in our room. (pause) It's o.k. if my toys are in here. (another pause) Will Granny still sleep in here when she comes to visit?....Hmmmmm.....maybe I could try sleeping in here once. But just once. (head nodding up and down with finger pointing for emphasis) Because I sleep in our room."

And that's perfectly fine with us, because just like everything else, she'll make changes in her life, whatever they are, when she's ready to.


Case in point: I've been working hard to finish up an order of wool blankets, and today Mr. S. came to me and said "I have an idea". huh.

His "idea" was that he and Safiya could go ahead today and travel out-of-town to visit family as we had planned this weekend, and I could stay, finish the blanket that I needed to, and join them...tomorrow morning.

This sounds like a normal plan. No problem, right? One small detail. I've never slept away from her. Even when I've been really really ill, the farthest I've been is the next room. Mr. S. has had to endure nights away from Safiya, but not I.


I said, "Um, o.k.?" and that was that. Good thing that I had work to do, because what else was I supposed to do all night? Sleep? Clearly not. Two things:

First, when she called from my father-in-law's house to talk to me before bed, I'm not ashamed to admit that I cried a little. It was her little grown-up voice, and knowing it was coming from that far away.

Second, when there were plans being made today about the trip, when I walked into the kitchen, Safiya turned to me and said, excitedly and very adamantly:

"Mama! We're going on an adventure! And you're not coming!"


Like I said, I'm not worried about her and change...

The Pigeon Meets a New Friend

I have a feeling that Safiya's memories of me are going to consist mostly of me hovering about taking pictures from odd angles...

That being said, this is a good snapshot of our typical morning table. Books, craft, crepes, cookies...I'd be lying if I said that I don't eat cookies for breakfast. (Someday I'll have to share why they get baked a mere four at a time in our house.) As for the bird, Safiya cut up the wool sweater scraps into tiny pieces to for stuffing, which she proceeded to execute with enthusiasm (not the bird, the stuffing of), after she figured out that making a stuffed animal was a lot like making beanbags (she's helped me with hundreds of those, what with the child labour laws routinely being ignored around here):



And after it was all done, the old pigeon finally met the new pigeon...


I think it looks a little stunned :-) They'll both be travelling with us wherever we go for a while, I'm sure...

That Fierce Love of Making

I really love this. I love working hard on an order, immersing myself with this soft skin of quiet around me. Maybe that's why I push deadlines sometimes - deep down I know it'll be an excuse for uninterrupted time in the studio. And late-night coffee.

Co-existing with my love of work-time with Safiya is this love, and sometimes I fantasize that I really want to live like I imagine the (male, I guess - is that sexist?) artists of yore: hours in the studio, someone brings you food, the house gets cleaned, you go wandering in the city seeking inspiration, you procreate with abandon because, well, you can, and someone will take care of the children....Of course, there's always the problem of finding patrons and having to live in poverty if you don't, but somehow that doesn't factor into my fantasies :-)

I saw a little of this part of myself in Safiya today, actually. She had planned a project, drawing it out, making a pattern, making a list of things she needed. There's been more of this lately; more long-term planning on her part.


She wanted a companion for her pigeon that we swapped for last year at the Queen West Art Crawl from Fish on Fridays, and I knew that encouraging her in this way would result in the satisfaction of working of a longer project rather than just the pleasure of the end result (i.e. me making it for her).


What happened was that fierceness that arises when you are not to be swayed from your task at hand; she needed neither sustenance nor washroom breaks, apparently. The only way she would come to table was if the project came with her.


I was glad. It sits here, next to my work, waiting for her hands tomorrow. I wouldn't give up being here for that for anything.

In a Nutshell...

Mr. S: "When Uncle Z. comes to stay over, he's going to work in the morning."

Safiya: "Work?"

Me: "Yep, he doesn't go to school anymore, he goes to work. Some people do that; they go to school and then after that they go to work. Or, some people just work, no school. Or, some people go to school, and then more school. And, some people don't do any of that."

hardly any pause at all, and then enthusiastically, with a large grin:

Safiya: "Yes! Like us!"

Mending Mondays

Having recently removed the last remnants of Things That Do Not Belong from my studio in the basement back to their rightful places all over the rest of the house (post-bathroom renovation), I was aghast to see that my mending pile had secretly and mysteriously procreated when I wasn't looking. I say "mending pile" as if it's had that allocation my entire life. As if my mother had a Mending Pile to which she tended, and so I too, was destined to have a Mending Pile.

This one got created late last night....corralled might be a more appropriate term. And so, I have instituted Mending Mondays. Today it was buttons. And also, the removal of some embellishment on a thrift store jacket find for Safiya. I get that she's a girl and she likes glitter, but I fail to see the need for a bunch of sequins to be situated at her hip on a jacket as if she's going to toss her hair and wink at me from across the kitchen. She's four.

So, because it takes me ten minutes to eat breakfast and it takes Safiya nearly ten times that, my fingers were kept busy while she ate and drew and we chatted about things that matter to us both, mainly dinosaurs and time machines. Unfortunately, any documentation of my progress did not turn out well, due to the dim light this morning.

Why dim, you ask?


Arg! Snow! or...rain?....Whatever!....Bah!



The bunnies want to go outside and play.....


We made do with crossing the backyard for an impromptu tea party in our currently-being-fixed-up-shed. Just us, tea, and the wood shavings, while it was miserable outside. It was lovely, really....

..............................................

p.s. I think my early morning mending enthusiasm might have stemmed from the Repair Manifesto (found via Swiss Miss) which might get carved into our fridge, I like it so much ;-)

A Different Kind of Investment

Sometimes, when I sit down to write, the screen stares back at me and says, "Yes, but that's not what you're really thinking about, so let's cut the crap, shall we?" And then my fingers lift off the keyboard and I go and pour anxious energy into something else. It's been like that for a while because Mr. S. and I had a rather large decision to make. Not a negative one. One that we had the opportunity to make from a position of privilege and opportunity, for which I am grateful.

We are not selling our house.


There, I said it. Our lives were headed one way, and then in the middle of yet another discussion I realised: we could move, which would be the fiscally responsible decision (my vote) or we could stay and tough it out, and I would have a partner with a little bit more peace in his heart (arg! also my vote). The two, it seems, were mutually exclusive. That's not to say that Mr. S. wouldn't have gamely gone along, it's just that......

The problem, you see, is that Mr. S. trusts me. I am very fond of telling the story of how we (read me) put an offer on this house, sight unseen by Mr. S. You see? It's problematic, that amount of trust. It comes back not to bite you, but to nuzzle you with big hazel puppy dog eyes, and then what am I supposed to do? Good thing I think Mr. S. is cuter than our realtor ;-)


So for the past month and a bit there was tearing down and organising and making things presentable in Order to Sell, and now there's building up and reorganising and deep breathing because now it's really ours, because we have Made a Decision.

Whew.

How To Feel Like a Homeschooler....

Stop at a patisserie for mid-morning sustenance. Bring lino-cutting equipment along for making stamps out of rubber erasers. People ask: why isn't she in school? Mention homeschooling. Smile when girl behind counter comments, "Well, then, I guess that means you get to stop for treats whenever you want!" Why yes, yes it does....


Meet up with (preferably equally crazy) friends to go letterboxing. Walk along a frozen Lake Ontario beach on a blustery February day following clues for said letterboxing.


Have great adventure following clues. Rejoice with frozen tears of joy upon finding sought after spot. Have small children laugh at you while you try to retrieve small box from rock crevasse by gamely wedging your body down into a tree, head-first.

Curse rock crevasse.

Curse missing box.

Realise that there's not too much disappointment in the air because 1) kids really do like the hunt, and 2) kids are frozen.

Retreat to restaurant (after a gasping-from-the-wind walk back around a small bay, a far-too-quick run for a bus, and another short-but-seems-long walk, fixing scarves and hoods and mittens continuously en route) and reward wonderful children with waffles, french fries, and icecream.

Watch children create weird maple-syrup/water/apple juice/ketchup/pepper/vinegar/salt/sugar concoction.

Laugh with friend. Wait for warmer weather.

The Shop Is On Vacation

I'm closing up my etsy drawers until April. There are a few craft shows coming up on the radar, which I'll announce on the sidebar here. If you're in Toronto, come on by and say hi!

peace

marnie

February Love

I love February. It's when the sun comes back into the house. November/December/January are gone, melted away in their darkness, and February arrives; still a little chill, a little coy, but leaving you with sun-warmed hair on a bright still day.


The true passing of the year is marked like that: the first musty smell of dried dead leaves in the fall, the first day that the sun leaves the back of your jacket between your shoulderblades warm, the first new earth smell of spring, and that day in August when it's so humid that the crooks of your elbows stick.


That's too far right now.

Now. Now I need to bring things back, closer to home. For more days like these:


There's a lot going on these days. Most of it very good, some of it everyday-worrisome. But home has been on my mind a lot lately. It's been February for a while, and for me that means the beginnings of my new year. Time to re-assess and re-imagine. We'll see what happens....

This is Supposed to Be Good For Me, But it Probably Won't Happen Again

Mr. S. likes to say that I think too much.


Sarah recently had a lovely post about potential; about that moment when your brain flexes and you start the process of nudging your limits around. She referenced a couple of other bloggers who had recently written about keeping it real, and now there's an In Real Life Flikr group. Right now I'm trying to keep my brain from going off in all directions like an exploding puffball of bunny tails, but here goes.


I don't do keeping it real. Not here, not in real life. Editing is my coping mechanism. Managing is the sweet music of my bedtime story. Mr. S. is probably afraid I'm going to manage him to the ground ;-) This seems to be in direct conflict with keeping it real. How to appreciate the beauty of the everyday when you'd really rather be vacuuming some of it up? I like a clean house. That doesn't mean it always happens. That doesn't mean I always care. It does mean that I try. I really do.


There are so many voices out there. Some of them shout, some of them whisper, but they are still other people's voices.

"The unexamined life is not worth living!"
"The unlived life is not worth examining!"
"Relax, let go, live in the moment!"
"Be wise, plan!"
"Be real!"
"Clean your room!"

ha!


As I read Safiya The Encyclopedia of Dinosaurs for the hundred-thousandth-umpteenth time this evening, me with a bowl of not-fair-trade-not-organic pineapple in my lap (a most welcome gesture from Mr. S. the other day) and she with Sugar Snaps (!) in hers (a gesture from my father-in-law) finally a quiet, most welcome, voice came into my head that said to me calmly, "it's my life. all other voices can be taken under advisement, but it's my life."

What does my voice say?

i live with others who i love. i hum a little, dance once in a while, make a lot of food, clean, do some other stuff, try to pay attention, and in the end there is that pure aloneness which could be oneness, and that's why "it's my life" matters. just as i am. and my choices are my own.

My voice also says that homemade peanut butter cups are worth examining.


'Cause life with homemade peanut butter cups is worth living.


Now excuse me while I go clean....

Preparing to Love and Rummage

Did you know that I have precisely twenty-seven vintage aprons? What is that? A flock? A pride? A.....parliament of aprons? (Oh yes, definitely the last one ;-)


These ladies are taking over, so I will accompany some of them to the Love & Rummage Trunk Show in a week so that they can find new homes. Also finding new homes will be packages of fat quarters,


some of my usual wares, and a small project that I've been working on......


hee hee! Please come by and spread the love!

And in that spirit, of the money that changes hands between us that day, I will donate 10% to help make the weekly community lunch in our neighbourhood (the P.L.O.T. lunch coordinated by Shoelace Collective) a little more sweet for Valentine's.

See you next Sunday!

Tonight I Hunger

Tonight I look at this picture and think that there could be nothing more exquisite than that beetle. It lives, along with myriad upon myriad of other fascinating things, in something called the Tree of Life Web Project.

Except that of course, it doesn't. So far tonight I've watched a couple of short clips; a swan eating grass, a malaria sporozoite inside a human liver cell... As I watched that swan eat and move there was a familiar ache in my heart that is rooted in my now normalised disconnection from nature. "Really? So that's how a swan moves?" I'd forgotten.

The website is amazing, and I am grateful for people doing that kind of work so that I can have the opportunity to immerse myself in it, and I look forward to sharing it with Safiya tomorrow. But it is bittersweet, isn't it? Because the beetle isn't really there.

Safiya asked the other day if reptiles have belly buttons. We've talked about it together, she's had some hypotheses (including umbilical cords with pointy ends to get through the shell to the embryo), she's talked about it with someone else (who is an obstetrician), and we've mentioned getting books out from the library or looking it up on the web.

Just now it occurred to me how ridiculous and sad it is that my first thought was not:

"Why don't we check out a couple of reptiles?"

Lengthening Long Johns: Yet Another Use for Sweater Sleeves

Safiya is growing tall like a lovely weed, so her ankles are poking out the bottom of her long johns like, well, legs poking out the bottom of too-short long johns. They fit her otherwise, so enter the old sweater sleeves, once again! This took about ten minutes.


1. Fold up the cuff of the long johns:


2. Pick a sweater that has been felted only a little, or not at all, so that there's some give, and make sure that the sweater sleeve cuff will be the right size to be comfy around the ankles. Cut the sleeves however long you need. Slip over the turned-up long johns, with the cut edge of the sweater matching the end of the cuff. Match the seams and pin, evenly gathering and pinning any extra fabric:


3. Sew about a 1/4" seam. I used a straight stitch, loose-ish tension, and a walking foot, which is perfect for knits. (Sorry about the blurry picture!) Notice the direction of the pins now; you kind of have to flip the leg around and make sure that you don't sew the leg shut! :-)


4. Obviously the cuff edge is finished and the sweater sleeve edge is not. I didn't zig-zag finish the seam, though, just in case I someday want to remove the cuff...you know, just in case there's anymore kids around here....someday, maybe..... It should hold up because we wash woolens gently. So there you have it:


A longer leg!


If she keeps growing this fast she'll have rainbow coloured long john legs soon!
:-)

Touchstones

Other than anecdotes and a shout-out here and there, I rarely talk about my friends. I don't really ever discuss friends with other friends, because I'm painfully aware that I could represent them wrongly, or unfairly, and that would be disloyal. Or only flatteringly and gushing, which would be unfair and disloyal as well, I suppose, because no true friend wants to exist in only one dimension. There is a seeming ease, a swimmingness that others have in their friendships that I think I lack, genetically speaking :-) It's not for want of sentiment or spirit or feelings, it's just that I'm perhaps a little odd (anyone who knows me can keep what their thinking to themselves right now.....) and a lot of the times that makes for an awkward fit.

Sometimes I luck out. I have a twin friend (we know this because our husbands have the same birthday...what more evidence could you want? That, and she wants to buy bulk flour with me, which I think a big step in our relationship.....) This is comforting, because now I know that I'm not alone in the weird universe. She is very important to me. There are many knowing glances in the time we spend together, and living is effortless with her. If we ever move, our proximity to their family will be a concern.

There are old friends, you know, the good ones; the ones who you haven't talked to for forever, or they've moved across the country (or world!), and yet when you connect again it's as if no time has passed (which reminds me, I need to make a phone call or two...) Or, they're the friends who always call when you're sick, or who call for no other reason than to tell you a really bad joke (and you laugh).

There are family friends. People who were as accursed or as lucky as you to be born or marry into the same family and who know what's going on and what the threads are and who don't need a whole lot of explanation, who can read between the bloglines, and who will always be there, because they just refuse to go away :-)

Then there are friends who are in flux - the ones that you've experienced major things with - it changes your relationship, makes you tentative again, and it feels like the relationship is metamorphosing, waiting.....

Other friends you meet because you're on the same path; the family strings are vibrating at the same frequency and there's someone there who quickly understands when you need help, that it's o.k. to ask you for help, who can laugh with familiarity at the ridiculous things your four-year-old says, and share in the bounty and the crap that life throws at you.

Obviously delineating people into categories is artificial; many of my friends cross boundaries, dip in and out of the pools I've just described, many are un-categorizable. All are important. But it does let me lead you to this last bit; new friends.


Most of the people I meet now meet Safiya and I together. There are very few instances when we are apart. It's a package deal, which is great, because "like me, like my kid". It's true. I certainly wouldn't hold it against anyone if they're uncomfortable around children, that would be extremely unfair, but practically speaking it makes it very unlikely that we'd be able to spend any amount of time together.

Even within the Toronto craft world, once in a while I'll show up at a show without Safiya and then, as my friend Katharine said, it's feels like I'm walking around giving people an incomplete picture, like I should have a sign stuck on my forehead that says "I'm really Safiya's Mama...." Granted, she has three kids, so her sign would have much more impact than mine (and be larger, so, more silly :-) but still.....

Oh yes, that last category of friends....


New friends. People who, by their presence, allow room for trying something you might not have before. Now, some of these may come to fruition, and some may remain acquaintances, which is the way it goes, but in the beginning they are all people who you witness taking much-appreciated chances about friendship, and for whom you're willing to be just a little bit vulnerable. Who you unwittingly test.....are they wildly talented and encouraging? Do they have a fabric stash or some other appropriate obsession like picking fruit in the middle of the city? Do they like Scrabble? Do you wish you could meet them in real life, not just in blog-land? (and there's lots of you!) Are they just enough weird? What are the important people in their life like? Will they go out of their way for some really lovely chocolate? Is there laughter in their life? Everyone has their own list. (My list is very long, and not everyone I know has a blog-link, but I'm thinking of you ;-)

Do they get down on the floor and paint collaborative pictures of dinosaurs with your four-year-old?


If the answer to any of these is "yes", then I may have lucked out :-)

Like MacGyver, Except with Felt

We're on our hurried way to visit friends. Mr. S. is packing the bag, Safiya is running away from her jacket, and I.....drop my cherished new glass belt buckle from nanotopia onto the ceramic floor.....

There are no other belts. I need a belt. No time to change. Quick, what to do, what to do? Ah ha! Time enough for a quick seam, a quick....


....belt cozy.

Oh yes, MacGyver has nothing on me and felt, baby.

Time Again

You can stop time. There's a button for that.

Someone asked me recently when I write. When I haven't taken an unintentional blogging break, these days I write in the evening, mostly. Right now it's 3:36pm and Safiya is playing with a friend and there are a million other things to be done, but I'm here. Not making dinner, not un-decorating the solstice tree, not making things for the "Love and Rummage" trunk show coming up. Not sorting out rotten apples.

Here.

Here is a good place. It used to be that here was when time really did stop. I started writing back when Safiya still napped. Because as every parent knows, when you have but one child, naps are "free time". There are no obligations during naps. I could have sat on my behind and scratched every once in a while. Naps are catch-up. Those lovely liquid golden light afternoons when the house was quiet and with a sigh you sank into the couch, feet up, and closed your eyes briefly, drinking it in....

Maybe I romanticise a bit. Obviously, Safiya doesn't nap anymore, and hasn't for a while. So the words come at night, or in the middle of the afternoon, or while she watches the Zaboomafoo DVD from the library for the umpteenth time. But they still come. Sometimes they don't come for a while. I find it amazing that other blogs are so reliable. It's an admirable quality and one that, as a parent, mystifies me. She doesn't nap anymore. Our worlds change. Our timing changes. Our needs change. Here will change.


I suppose that's because here is personal. I like being here. In fact sometimes, when a post is done and it feels good, I'm not ashamed to say that I'll go back and re-read it. More than once. I'll go back an hour later and read it again. Maybe out loud. And even better, I get to converse with you out there to boot.

But part of it is, as they say, making time.


Part of getting older is learning how to make time stop. Or how to let it slide right around you. How to catch it in your hand when needed.

Time as partner, not adversary.

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Addendum: It is now 10:20 on Sunday night and I've finally finished this post. We've had a full day of cleaning, a friend's birthday party, and family to visit in the evening. As of today, the apples are sorted, the tree is un-solsticed, and the laundry has been caught up on. In fact, the dishes are done (thanks to Mr. S.) and there's even an apple cake in the fridge.

So it changes, so it goes......

Let's Start the Year with Crepes

Happy fifth day of the New Year! To start off the year right, I want to thank everyone who sent warm wishes through here recently; each of those was a wonderful gift, and I'm so fortunate to be surrounded by you lovely people.

Now, to dive right in. There is a reason why the empty plate in the mundane scene above is important. I ate a stack of crepes. And then I called Mr. S. at work to tell him that I'd eaten a stack of crepes.

Mr. S. is now used to me randomly calling him at work with news like this. That's because this past fall I'd finally figured out why I've had almost daily stomachaches since my early teens. Stomachaches sometimes so severe that when Mr. S. and I were first together he would insist that I needed to go the hospital and I would insist that I was fine and that it happened all the time and it was no big deal.

I've got celiac disease. (We're still testing, but it's pretty sure.) I haven't said anything about it here yet because I wasn't ready. I wasn't ready to talk about the crying in the kitchen, the confidence shattered (if I can make vegan Mennonite food, I can bake anything, right?), the frustration over all the work done to eat local, over the fact that there is no way that rice is local to Toronto, and the throwing of the stupid cookbooks with their serious recommendations that I shouldn't try baking until at least 6 months after stopping eating gluten so that I wouldn't remember what bread really tastes like.


After the success with crepes this morning, I was ready, and more importantly, I felt moved to say something, just in case there's someone else out there throwing cookbooks and eating only naked salads at restaurants (gluten is in f-in' everything). In case there's just one other vegan-gluten intolerant-locavore out there, just to say that it will be o.k. (Bear with me here while I sound like a bad 80's self-help book....)

It will be o.k. mostly because of amazing people like Karina at Gluten-Free-Goddess. (Thank the heavens for the internet.) It will be o.k. because buckwheat, chickpea flour, and corn are local, and because quinoa and amaranth someday could be. It will be o.k. because right now rice is my medicine, and I'm pretty sure no-one's advocating local medicine (thank goodness!) And, very importantly, it will be o.k. because Pizza Pizza has a gluten free crust.

I was always so tired, fuzzy-headed, and worse, always always fighting that ball of irritability in my core. I had cramps, stomachaches, and Mr. S.'s favourite, gas that would gas a skunk out of an outhouse :-) For the first, oh, 16 days after starting to not eat gluten, I would call Mr. S. at work: "Guess what?" What? "I don't have a stomachache today!" and I'd gleefully hang up.

So, to finally share the celebration, here's the crepe recipe, adapted from Veganomicon (which is kind of ironic, because it was the hours of agony back in July after the chickpea cutlets, made from vital wheat gluten, that tipped me off):

the amazing incredible gluten free vegan buckwheat crepes

1 1/2 cups soy or rice milk
1/4 cup water
1/2 cup buckwheat flour
1/4 cup gluten-free flour (I keep a homemade blend of 1/2 brown rice flour, then arrowroot/sorghum/tapioca/quinoa flour to make up the other half - you generally need some starch and some protein when making a blend)
1/4 cup chickpea flour
1 Tablespoon arrowroot flour
1/2 teaspoon salt

Combine everything, whisk/beat until smooth. Pour into an airtight container (I use a large jar for easy pouring) and let sit in the fridge, preferably overnight. When ready to cook the crepes, stir briefly (or shake the jar) if ingredients have separated.

This batter will be more viscous than usual wheat based batter. They say that when making crepes, the first crepe or two must be sacrificed, but we have a trick that works well (on our well-seasoned cast iron pan, anyway). When the pan is nice and hot (medium to medium-high heat, depending on your stove - a sprinkle of water should dance), add a little oil (a teaspoon) and coat the pan using a pastry brush. The bristles get sacrificed a bit, but the crepes will never stick and seem to always cook evenly, even on the first go.

Pour 1/4 to 1/3 cup in the pan, swirl around, then cook until there are bubbles showing and the top is mostly dry - the edges should be starting to lift. Flip, cook a little more, and voila! Perfect crepes!

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And for a good laugh (mixed with a few tears) for all you proud food freaks out there (of any ilk), I just found this list. Enjoy, and happy eating!

Process and Pleasure

Pleasure can mean letting go...forgetting and focusing...existing in that liquid, effortless bit of time where judgments and qualifiers slide off you and it feels like it's forever and nothing all at once.

All of that to describe an afternoon of potato stamps.

I hadn't done potato stamps since I was a kid, and it was Safiya's first try. We decided to make cards, and her suggestion was for us each to pick an animal and a colour and then people "would know who the card was from."

The T-Rex gave me confidence.




Soon it will be solstice...preparations are being made...

A Long Week for a Little Person

You know it's been a long week when you think it's perfectly reasonable to try on a pair of but-they-have-such-a-nice-sheen gold pants at the thrift store. You look at the mirror thinking, "I could wear a long sweater over them." Then you ruefully realise that no sweater, no matter how long, would be able to hide the expression on your face that comes with the knowledge that you are wilfully walking around on gold-encased sausage legs.

Instead I came home with this:


Seemed appropriate, and all three of us had a riot this evening, especially when it degenerated into the four-year-old version.

Safiya had had an infection this week, one that landed her in the hospital for IV antibiotics, so it was good to see her giddy and energetic and just silly. She slid into this sickness over the course of a week-and-a-half (which culminated in four days of high fever), so it wasn't until the antibiotics kicked in this past Wednesday morning that I realised just how un-Safiya-like her behaviour had been for the last little while. Poor honey.

She had the IV not because it was an advanced infection, but because it was a weird bacteria that had got into her urine. So, a UTI ("not uncommon in little girls", the doctors kept saying...and I'm sure that, when she's older, Safiya will really appreciate me writing about this....) But to me, I mean, isn't that one of your primary jobs as a parent? To make sure that poo stays away from everything? sigh.

She was awesome. Mr. S. was at attention, doting, and, as he will readily admit, a wreck (and I love him even more for it). I discovered that I am not a craft-in-moments-of-stress kind of person. I do not sit there and knit. I sit and watch. So I'll be pretty much useless in any craft emergency. I'll just sit there and watch all of you work away.

And I've also discovered that "saint" is actually an everyday kind of word. It is not reserved only for those who, with great courage and determination, rise to overcome seemingly insurmountable odds. It's not so much the circumstances, it's the action that counts. Does that make sense? They are those who call because they're concerned, who don't bat an eye when you have to reneg on a commitment, who relay the awesome gifts their kids have made for their friend who is hurting:


and who bring to the hospital their welcome company and (as if it's a normal thing to do) ridiculous things like sushi dinner, homemade cinnamon buns, and this:


You know who you are.

Thanks.